Cursed to Kill Page 3

  Miranda moved away before he could witness her reaction. Her back to him, she bent over her milkshake and sucked on her straw. “Let’s eat.” She edged around his reach to wander to the couch, where she set her plate on the coffee table.

  Kicking himself mentally, Cian joined her. He should just let it go, let her go. But damn it, with the spell book found, they could actually have a chance. He could reenter her life, make amends for the horrible way he’d left it the first time, and all the darkness wouldn’t matter.

  Overly aware of the way the cushions dipped and pressed her thigh against his, Cian forced down a bite of burger. They ate in silence, Miranda staring at the blank television screen, Cian obsessed with the floral pattern on his plate. Tension spanned thick and heavy. Each breath he took filled his head with the sweet scent of her almond lotion. Each moment that passed made him jittery.

  He was so aware of Miranda’s presence his skin felt tight enough to crack. If he didn’t touch her soon…

  Cian shook off the thought as hate crept in, reminding him that touching her gave him opportunity to steal her life. Silence became damning, the demonic side of his nature raging for escape. He was edging closer to complete loss of control, and the longer he sat here beside Miranda, the quiet gave his dark nature time to contemplate the many ways she could die.

  Unable to take another moment without distraction, he pushed his unfinished burger aside and clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “Want to tell me about the book?”

  “Yeah.” She jumped to her feet as if she’d been waiting for the opportunity to move, nearly knocking over her milkshake. Her hand trembled as she steadied the plastic cup.

  That tremor unraveled Cian on a soul-deep level. He had seen her nervous only once before—the very first night she offered herself to him. Though her bedroom had been dark, the silver of moonlight that seeped through the window revealed the shaking of her hands as she turned down the covers.

  He reached for her wrist, capturing it the same way he had done that night. She stilled in an instant, her gaze slowly lifting to lock with his. Cian ran his thumb over the sensitive underside of her wrist, his body attuning to hers so precisely his pulse fell into identical syncopation. For a moment, he forgot why he was sitting in her living room, that he had ever walked away from the paradise being with her created.

  “I was going to get the pages.” Miranda’s voice was a distracted murmur.

  Pages, not book. Dimly, Cian made the connection, and sense slammed into him. He dropped her wrist. “I thought you said you found a book?”

  “Well, I did say that.” Color faded into her cheeks before she side-stepped around the corner of the coffee table and hid her flush from view. “I, ah…well…it was easier than explaining everything.”

  Pages. Cian’s brain couldn’t let go of that little disclosure. She had found part of something important. If the whole wasn’t nearby, he would be damned. Hell, so would she. No way could he keep the darkness at bay for another entire year. Even if he moved across the world from Miranda, the curse would draw him back. Taunt him until he couldn’t deny the calling of his father’s blood.

  “Tell me where you found these.” The order came out harsh and unyielding. He would have answers, know the location, before it was too late. Maybe the rest of whatever she’d stumbled onto would still be there.

  Miranda shook her head as she rifled through the bottom drawer on her desk and produced a manila folder. “I didn’t exactly find them. I found an old collection of hand-drawn Roman maps. These were rolled into one of the papyrus scrolls.”

  She dropped the folder on the table beneath Cian’s nose. He didn’t have to look to know what she’d discovered was legitimate. Despite the iridescent sigil that radiated off the manila binder itself, the sheer power of the ancient documents nearly bowled him over. It had been a long time since he’d felt such significant magic. Even his brother, Dàire, the strongest spell caster of their family, couldn’t weave magic like this.

  He reached out to open the folder and closed his eyes to the thrum of energy that met his fingertips. A storm of emotion tore through him. Excitement, elation, sorrow, and hate—all the things his mother had suffered at the time she penned the incantations. She knew she would die. That her husband would kill her for secreting away his children. Yet, she knew also she had found a way to defeat Drandar. While she would never have the opportunity to use her magic against him, she would pass the sacred knowledge on to those who could.

  When Cian’s fingers touched the outer covering, the darkness inside him recoiled. He fought the need to shred the pages and hurl the bits out the window, where they would vanish on the brisk autumn breeze. Grimacing, he clenched his hand into a fist and pulled it into his lap.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Miranda’s puzzled frown. “Don’t you want to see them?”

  Yes, he did. More than anything, he wanted to investigate his mother’s handwriting. But touching those writings would bring him indescribable pain. As it was, the mere thought of doing so had his teeth clenched so tight he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

  Miranda set a gentle hand on his knee. “Are you all right, Cian? You’ve been acting rather strange all day.”

  He nodded, still unable to speak.

  Her brows puckered more deeply. “Did I find something special?”

  Again, he answered with a dip of his head.

  “I think you need a glass of wine.” With that, the warmth of Miranda’s palm disappeared, and she headed for the kitchen.

  Wine was the last thing Cian needed. At this point, it would go straight to his head. He was already drunk off the power that saturated his skin. But before he could find the ability to protest, the cork popped in the kitchen. The sound drilled into his skull like gunfire. And he was certain, the effects would be every bit as devastating.

  Chapter Four

  When Miranda returned from the kitchen with two glasses of Merlot, Cian still wore the hunted look on his face. He hadn’t moved, stared at the folder he had yet to open. Concern laced through her, and she sat down gently, offering his glass as she sank into the couch. If she hadn’t seen a similar reaction the last time she’d presented him with something close to the age of these papers, she would have been afraid.

  He took his wine with an unsteady hand. The drink he swallowed drained half the glass.

  “Cian, you’re worrying me. What’s going on with you?”

  His gaze snapped to hers, bright green eyes unusually dark. For an instant, she’d have sworn the curving of his mouth mimicked a sneer, but when she blinked, his smile was intact. Perhaps strained more than usual, but present all the same.

  “I’m just a bit…awed,” he murmured as he looked back to the unopened folder again.

  “It’s better if you look inside.” She threw him a teasing grin. “Here, I found the idea for my tattoo at the top of this page.” Setting her wine glass on the edge of the table, she flipped open the folder and carefully turned each page face down until she reached the fifth. One short nail tapped the Celtic scrollwork drawn in the top margin.

  Beside her, Cian sucked in a sharp breath. “Go back. The first page.”

  As confusion puckered her brow, Miranda set the pages she’d overturned on top of those remaining. Elaborate runes filled the page, line after line. Handwritten, they were neat and tidy, but the sheer design of them made it impossible to distinguish several from half-a-dozen similar designs. It didn’t surprise Miranda, however, to find Cian bent over the page, scanning it intently, obviously translating every sigil into thought and word. The intensity that blazed behind his eyes sent a shiver rolling down her spine. In all the times Cian had discovered an old Celt document or translation, he’d never looked so absolutely fascinated.

  “What is it?” she asked, a hint of his catching enthusiasm creeping into her question.

  “A spell.”

  “A…spell? As in…magic?”

  He answered with a distracted nod.r />
  Magic. Her frown deepened. From the amount of time she’d spent collecting historical documents, she’d become familiar with the various early cultures of the world. Many believed in magic, supernatural happenings, and god-created myth. But witnessing those beliefs put to papyrus with charcoal, and that someone had taken the time to coat the writing with a preservative of some sort, drove spirituality to a new level. As if she had somehow touched something truly divine, a strange energy descended on her. The baby-fine hairs on her arms lifted, and goose bumps coursed over her skin.

  “What kind of spell?”

  Cian beckoned her to flip the page with an impatient gesture of his hand. “To banish demons.” His response held equal impatience, his voice gruff and biting. As if she were interrupting. Or worse, interfering.

  Fine. If he was going to sit in her house and treat her like she had intruded on his studying, he could leave. “Cian, if you’d rather take this with you and look at it at home—”

  “Turn the page.” He glanced up, his eyes touching hers for the briefest of seconds. “Please.”

  As Miranda prepared to tell him he was fully capable of turning his own damn pages, she caught the shaking of his hands. Nervous. He wouldn’t want to touch the crumbling papyrus and risk damaging it further. She used that logic to fulfill his request, or so she told herself. Not because the air felt heavier, denser, like something was pressing on her shoulders and instructing her to obey.

  With a heavy sigh, she eased the top page over, revealing the second. It was no more legible than the first. “Ten pages is an awful lot for a spell.”

  Cian shook his head. “Banishing demons is a great deal of work. There can be no room for error.”

  Miranda blinked. She knew he held strong beliefs in the basic principles of the ancient pagan religions—the affinity for nature, the balance between positive and negative aspects, the dual deities of male and female. But he didn’t actually subscribe to the belief of magic, did he? Or for that matter, demons? She squinted at the back of his bent head. “Do you believe in this stuff?”

  “Stuff?”

  When he looked up, she realized her mistake. Green eyes glittered like shards of jade. His determined expression warned her she’d get nowhere by arguing scientific fact against core beliefs. Why had she never known this about Cian? They’d talked about a lot of things in their inseparable time together. Surely, they’d discussed religion and spirituality.

  More quietly, she pressed for confirmation. “You believe in demons and magic?”

  “You don’t?”

  The fierce intensity behind his stare sent another bout of chills skittering down her spine. She tore her gaze from his, filled with the oppressive, unexplainable need to somehow distance herself from him. “I…I don’t see how I could.” Taking a deep drink of her wine, Miranda ignored the way his unblinking stare seared into her. If she looked now, she would see anger. Fury she had done nothing to provoke, and yet, the heat in those green eyes singed her skin.

  “You don’t…see how you could.” Though he spoke slowly, methodically, and kept his voice to a near whisper, his tone mocked her.

  Fed up with Cian’s rudeness and odd behavior, she finished off her wine and set the glass aside. Aided by a touch of liquid courage, she shifted her position, turning to confront his accusatory glare. “No. I don’t. And I don’t know what your problem is tonight, but—”

  Before she could spit out another word, Cian’s hand slipped behind her neck, and his mouth slammed into hers.

  ****

  It was either kiss her or rip out her throat.

  The words his mother had written so infuriated his demonic nature, Cian couldn’t combat Miranda’s innocent interrogation. Each benign question she asked stoked fury he couldn’t control, and as he looked at her, he had been possessed by the stark need to kill. Instead, he fed the beast inside the only other satisfaction it would have—a dose of unchecked lust.

  Miranda froze beneath the assault of his mouth, her shoulders rigid, her spine stiff as an iron rod. He was being too harsh, too inconsiderate. If he wanted her participation—and goddess above, he needed it to temper the hunger of his dark spirit—he must find a measure of control.

  Easing far enough away he could look into her eyes, he let go of the fierce hold he had on her neck and dropped his hand to her shoulder. Confusion filled her big brown eyes, but behind the unspoken questions radiating there, an ember of desire glowed. That solitary coal gave him encouragement. If he played this right, he could walk out of here and she would still be alive.

  For tonight, at least.

  He could return after his birthday, when he had fulfilled the words written in his mother’s hand-drawn runes.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  Drawn to the delicate length of her neck, Cian stroked his thumb over the strong pulse alongside her neck. Savage thoughts flickered again, filling his head with visions of wrapping his fingers around her throat. Telling him it would satisfy his soul, even more than making love to her would, if he slowly choked the life from her fragile, mortal body.

  He swallowed hard, focused on the simple goodness that met his palm and soaked into his conflicted body. Genuine heart—Miranda was full of it.

  “I’ve missed you.” His confession rasped in the thick silence that blanketed them. It was true. He had missed her more than he had believed was possible. Though he hadn’t really realized just how deep that longing ran until he felt her soft lips beneath his.

  The disbelief that flashed across her expression gutted him. He shouldn’t have expected anything less after the way he had abandoned her, but still it cut deep to know he had damaged the trust she once gave so freely. He would make it up to her. When this was over, he would spend the rest of his mortal days doing everything possible to regain that faith.

  For now, though, he needed the desire more than he needed her trust. He was too far out of control to leave her house and leave her unscathed. One way or the other, he was taking something from her tonight. Goddess help him, it wouldn’t be her life. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips across hers.

  Her sigh caressed his cheek like the gentle stroke of fingertips. Surrender came with the softening of her mouth, the nip of her teeth against his lips. He nipped back, slipped his hand into the silky hair at the back of her neck, and held her still for his kiss.

  The languorous heat that flowed between them as their tongues slowly tangled soothed Cian’s darkness. He began to feel Miranda, not the vile power that ran in his veins. He allowed her to overpower him, to soak so deeply into his being that he couldn’t possibly sift between where she began and he started. The less separation, the better.

  But with that all-consuming absorption, deeper emotion pulled his gut into a hollow pit. In a desperate quest to quench the need to somehow possess her, he tightened his hold on her cropped hair, and his kiss took on more demand.

  Miranda’s hands settled against his chest, her fingers curling into his long-sleeved jersey. Holding onto him. Drawing him closer until her arms slipped around his neck, her fingertips slid into his loose ponytail, and her breasts pressed against his body. He groaned at the splendid contact of her body. Cian twined an arm around her waist to pull her closer, hold her more securely.

  Miss her. Need her. Love her. Goddess above, he had never known a sweeter homecoming.

  “Cian,” Miranda whispered as she turned her head and pulled in an audible breath.

  “Hm?” With her throat exposed, he took full liberty and trailed the tip of his tongue along the thick vein there, grazing her skin with his teeth as he worked his way to her prominent collarbone.

  Her head tipped back, and he glanced at her closed eyelids, the long lashes that dusted her cheekbones. The hunger that struck inside him as he looked upon her enraptured expression hit with dizzying force. Not the thirst for death, but the deep need to hold on to her forever. To wake each morning with her at his side, to close each day the same. He had neve
r given much thought to family or children, Now he saw Miranda at his side, soft and round with the child his father had forbidden him to ever hold. And that longing, that desire for what he couldn’t have, brought such deep anguish Cian shuddered.

  “I need you, Miranda,” he murmured against the shallow V-neck of her sweater.

  Her hands dropped to his shoulders, and she leaned back against the protective circle of his arms. Long eyelashes lifted to reveal emotion he didn’t deserve. “Stay with me tonight.”

  Though it wasn’t a question, Cian nodded anyway. There was no turning back now. He was harder than a rock, and hurting in so many different ways he couldn’t begin to fight the calling of his dark soul.

  Shifting to the edge of the couch, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom, where he laid her on the down-filled mattress. As he tugged his shirt over his head, Miranda shimmied out of her clothes. His breath caught at the sight of dark lace against her skin. She’d always known what he liked best—a hint of skin, yet still enough covering he could enjoy peeling away her undergarments.

  He set a knee between her legs and lowered his body over hers. With a soft smile, she wrapped her arms around his waist, slid her palms up his back, and pressed him close to taunt him with a hungry kiss. If she had any idea how the needy stroke of her tongue aroused him, she’d run. Then again, he suspected she did know. That she knew exactly how the teasing prick of her teeth unraveled him until he couldn’t think straight. Until all he knew was the pleasure of her body, of the softness of her curves shifting against his skin.

  She broke the kiss to meet his gaze with a stare that mirrored all the feral wildness flowing through his veins. “I’ve waited too long for you. For this. Don’t make me wait tonight.”

  A raw groan slipped from his throat. It was all he could do to lift himself off her body and shuck his pants. When he knelt between her parted knees again, she was naked, and he no longer cared about the simple pleasure of sliding her out of her bra and panties.