Marked for Death Page 3

  Unable to quench the ferocious need raging inside him, he tangled one hand into her hair and deepened the kiss. His free hand slipped between their bodies to pluck at the buttons on her blouse. Her hands joined his, stripping away the barriers that divided them until her fingertips met the bare skin of his chest. Her nails scraped pleasantly. He sucked in a sharp breath, reveled in the heat that radiated off her fingers.

  Then, her palm flattened against his sternum, and she pushed him away. “Not like this,” she whispered. “You should leave.”

  Their ragged breathing hung between them.

  Yes, he should go and never return. He was a danger to her. And yet, the very reason he should leave was the very reason he couldn’t walk away. He loved her more than life itself.

  Taran backed toward the door. “You know I’ll be back.”

  Slowly, Solène nodded. “You know I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Four

  Beneath a midnight sky full of bright stars, Taran made his way down a darkened alley toward the ramshackle flat that had become his home. He paid no attention to the thieves that lurked in the shadows. There was no need. At one time or another, they had all tried to impress upon him the folly of choosing this abandoned path. In turn, they had learned the error was theirs. Now they knew better than to mistake him for a hapless wanderer.

  Intent on ignoring the agitation that crept through his veins, he stopped at a broken sewer grate that had seen nearly as many years as he and crouched before it. As he pulled a sealed packet of tuna from his back pocket, he let out a low whistle. In seconds, a pair of yellow-green eyes peered out from the broken iron slats.

  Taran took a seat on the curb. He ripped the packet open and dumped the contents onto the street, an arm’s length away. As soon as it hit the pavestones, a scarred tomcat crept from the sewers. He cast Taran a cautious look, his one good ear perked at attention. What remained of the other hugged his wide head in a crumpled mass. As he did every night, Mercury hissed at Taran, then padded to the food.

  A sigh spilled from the depths of Taran’s being. His one true friend in the world, and even the cat hated him. Why didn’t Solène, who had more cause than anyone?

  His body tightened at the remembrance of the way she had melted into him. He shifted position, earning a quiet growl from Mercury. Determined not to become caught up in the misery of caring for a stray that wanted nothing to do with him, Taran looked away from the tom and let the repressed thoughts of Solène surface.

  The dark half of his soul raged with the freedom. It hungered for her, as it had so long ago. Craved the hot, sticky feel of her blood as it slid through his fingers. His sire’s curse had claimed her once before, and it would not rest until it claimed her again. But Solène possessed one saving grace. She did not fear him.

  She never had, for that matter. And that indifference to his dark spirit had kept her at his side for three blissful years. If she hadn’t suffered a nightmare and awakened still in the throes of fright, she would have never suffered his sire’s vile poison.

  But she had, and now she’d returned, and she did not despise him. He could not rationalize the two, no matter how he tried.

  Nor could he deny how her acceptance filled the emptiness inside his soul. She’d been the only one to ever understand him. The only human being capable of tempering his spirit and making the fight between the divided halves of his soul bearable. He was tired of being alone.

  Taran turned back to Mercury. Even the creatures of nature—all but this street-worn warrior—turned from him. Time and again he had tried to entice life back into his world. He’d even resorted to attempting to trap animals just for the chance at a bit of companionship that didn’t expect what he couldn’t give. Those poor beasts…

  He grimaced as memories flooded him. By the sacred elements, he hadn’t known how to trap an animal. Hadn’t realized that predators would claim them before he could return to free them. Now they too haunted his sleep, as did the humans he had claimed in the days following Solène’s death, when his despicable soul had held free reign over his body.

  “Why, Mercury?” he asked of the cat.

  In answer, Mercury locked his stare with Taran’s and growled again.

  “Right.” Taran sighed. Probably best Mercury didn’t come closer. He genuinely liked the cat for all its indifference toward him. And if this familiarity was all Mercury would allow, Taran cherished it.

  His attention pulled to the mouth of the alley and the lights he could just make out on the second story of Solène’s home. Spend the night away from her, knowing she was only a few blocks from his flat—how could he, when everything he was craved her?

  How could he not, when he damn well knew what could happen again?

  Besides, he had pushed himself so far down the path of no return, done all he could to insure the ancestors would not grant him life, that he could never redeem himself before she slipped, revealed fear over something else, and he carved the life out of her again.

  Damn his damnable sire! Why must he have been born on the sabot that aligned him closest to Drandar’s dark ways?

  The atmosphere surrounding Taran shifted, drawing him out of his melancholy. He stiffened, sensing the calming presence of his mother. At his side, Mercury sat back on his haunches and cocked his head, staring at a nondescript spot in the air.

  Taran bit back a snarl as the particles of nature converged. A white mist gathered in the middle of the alley. Bit by bit, the tiny dots of light grew in density, slowly elongating into the ethereal form of his mother.

  “My son,” Nyamah greeted warmly. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she extended a lithe arm toward his cheek.

  He batted her hand aside. “What do you want, Nyamah? I’ve told you time and again you are not wanted.”

  She moved to the curb, and despite her lack of substance, took a seat between him and Mercury. To Taran’s utter consternation, the cat padded to her side and rubbed the top of his head on her thigh.

  The act only sparked Taran’s temper. He scowled at his mother. “I have no use for your games. Bringing Solène back from the dead will accomplish nothing.”

  “I did not restore her, Taran. But I am glad she has returned. Perhaps she will guide you to the understanding that the course you have chosen is not the only road to travel.”

  His scowl deepened. Did she genuinely expect him to believe such a blatant lie? She aligned herself with the ancestors. No one else could persuade the ancient ones into returning life.

  “Spare me your insufferable badgering, Mother. Leave me. Go to your favored. Isolde would find merit in your false promises.”

  Surprising him, Nyamah rose as if she intended to honor his demands. Her forlorn gaze held his. Sadness filled those silvery depths, pooling like molten metal. “How have I wronged you so greatly, my son? If you would but listen—”

  “How have you wronged me?” Taran bolted to his feet, consumed by a rage he couldn’t explain. It blistered through his veins, engulfing him before his heart could complete one full beat. “You allowed me to live with this despicable blood in my veins! I want nothing of your hopes, of your magic, of your constant persuasions designed to further torment me. Leave. Me. Be!”

  “Taran there is freedom within your reach.”

  “Indeed.” He scoffed. “I suppose you will grant it to me as well.” But his scathing response only cracked down an abandoned alley. All that remained of Nyamah’s unwanted visit was the stirring of a sudden breeze.

  Mercury stared at him. The broken tip of his tail undulated. He crouched down on all fours, hissed, and proceeded to groom his dirty front paws.

  Taran frowned. “You are no better than she. Traitor.” He turned away, annoyed by the cat’s fickle loyalties. Against his will, his gaze snapped to Solène’s bedroom window. Her silhouette moved behind the thin sheers on a casual trajectory across the room.

  There is freedom within your reach.

  As his mother’s words echoed thr
ough his mind, Taran’s heartbeat accelerated. Solène possessed the scroll. He must have it. The sabot bore down on him, escape offered in its coming. He’d tried to confiscate the others, but this one belonged to him. In taking it from Solène he would silence his mother, destroy the vile demon that had helped create him, and free Solène from his own horrific clutches.

  It was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

  She moved across the room again, her hair casting a halo around her delicate shoulders. Taran’s spirit arced in yearning. He pulled in a shuddering breath and shook his head against the longings of his heart. He could ache for her until he bled, and it wouldn’t change a thing. He had strayed too far from the path of goodness to redeem himself. No act of kindness, no labor of goodness would bring balance to his life.

  Not before he harmed her again.

  He had one choice—he must convince her out of that scroll.

  ****

  The sound of boots against the cobblestones outside drew Solène’s attention to her partly open window. Her heart skipped a beat. At this late hour, there could be only one person who would walk across her patio.

  She rose from her chair, set the scroll aside, and padded to the window to peer through the thin sheers. Taran stood in the fringe of shadows, only the tip of his boot touching the circle of light cast from the patio’s lamp. As she squinted at the shadows, his face took shape. He looked up at her, though the lightweight curtains prevented his gaze from connecting directly with hers.

  He made no attempt to conceal his anger—the harsh lines etched into his expression would have frightened many away. Sensing that controlled malice, her spirit wards pressed around her. She’d be wise to heed their subtle warning. But she’d known he would return, and she’d counted each minute that had passed.

  Solène pushed the sheers aside and opened the window fully. Taran stepped forward, into the light.

  “Has your anger faded?”

  Giving her a brief glimpse of his former self, Taran took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression smoothed. He never had been able to stay angry with her long. In a much more controlled voice he answered, “I must have the scroll, Solène.”

  On hearing his declaration, her wards crept closer, the indomitable presence near suffocating. She glanced to her left and murmured, “Falbh.”

  Only the churning of the air spoke to the spirits’ dislike of being dismissed. They fled, disappearing into the Aether, a simple summoning away. Solène pulled her lightweight robe tighter around her body and leaned her elbows on the window sill. “Would you like to come in?”

  He hesitated. His glance crept to the door, inched back to her. The curling of one hand accompanied the brief pinch of his mouth before he huffed a sigh. “There are two ways this will end, Solène. I promise both.”

  A shiver wafted down her spine. Death and pleasure—he didn’t trust himself with the former. The latter neither could control. They were too much a part of each other. The years between them, too many. She tightened her grip on the smooth wood beneath her palms. “The door is open. You won’t kill me tonight, Taran.” She knew one way to pacify the darkness in his soul and insure he couldn’t.

  Besides, she’d missed him too much to play these childish games. What he was, what he was capable of doing, had never kept them apart before. She didn’t fear him, though a smidgen of logic said perhaps she should.

  “Solène, I—”

  She stepped away from the windowsill. “The door is open, Taran.”

  Chapter Five

  Solène descended the stairs on legs that quivered. For the last year she’d been aware of Taran, keen to his comings and goings. Aware he watched and waited while she bided time of her own. One full year of longing to reveal herself, to know the life they had lived before, if even for a short while.

  She stopped on the bottom tread and stared into the dimly lit shop. Taran filled the doorway, his posture rigid as steel, his focus attuned to the creak of aged wood. Solène took a moment to simply drink him in. To bask in his magnetic presence and the power that ebbed off his shadowy form. He could make even the strongest of witches feel small and insignificant.

  But she knew beneath his alluring arrogance and dark vitality laid self-doubt and gentleness that was wholly displaced with the demonic blood he carried. And that intimate awareness charged her with life. The energy that arced between them tripped her pulse into double-time. She gave him a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  Taran bowed his head and shook it. His sigh filled the chilly corridor. When he looked up, anguish passed across his face before he frowned. “Solène, you cannot pretend nothing has changed between us. I have changed.”

  She stepped off the stairs and crossed to stand in the shadow he cast. “We are both affected by things beyond our control. Is it that difficult to believe in the one thing we have always understood?” Her smile broadened as she set a palm against his sternum. Beneath her fingertips, his heart bounded. His breath caught, telling her more than words ever might, the deep effect she still had on him.

  Further proving he was not as immune as he’d like her to believe, his gaze darted down the length of her body, then raised slowly, taking her in from her bare feet to the gaping V at her breasts. Infinitesimally, he stiffened a degree more. When his eyes lifted to hers, they glinted with the dark life that lived in his soul.

  Taran twisted away from her touch. “I killed people, Solène. In the days after your death, I couldn’t control my sire’s poison. That vile hunger still lingers.”

  Undaunted, she followed his short trajectory into the shop, careful to step over the broken glass. “It’s always been part of you, Taran. You’ve fought it from the first rabbit brought to your dinner table centuries ago. Why should it make a difference now?”

  “Why?” He let out a bitter scoff. “Are you so naïve that you believe I would not take your life again?” His back to her, he curled one hand into a tight fist at his side and lifted it to his waist. Tension rippled all the way to his shoulder. Frustration and anger gave his voice a sharp edge. “I cannot control this curse.”

  Solène’s heart twisted at the physical evidence of the war that waged within his soul. He’d fought what he was, the poison of his incubus father’s blood, since his very birth. At times it was all Taran could do to drag himself from the house to fetch a loaf of bread, it possessed him so. Together, they had discovered a means of tempering his malevolent side. Magic helped. Writing down the ancient phrases of power, crafting rituals that others could use, and in so doing, spending the tidal force of energy that roiled inside him by channeling it into words on a sheaf of parchment.

  What torture these last hundred years must have been.

  Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders, down the tapering length of his back. He had been this way the night they met—one knotted up mass of pain and tension despite his charming smile. Inadvertently she unveiled another means of quieting his dark spirit. A manner of feeding that demonic blood exactly what it wanted.

  She tugged at the belt to her robe and shrugged her shoulders. The satin puddled at her feet. Cool October air filtered through the drafty walls to envelope her body. Ignoring the chill that crept up her spine, she lowered her voice. “Then don’t attempt to control it, Taran.”

  He whipped around, his expression as disbelieving as if she’d just proclaimed him an angel. But when his gaze locked on her, the objection that parted his lips silenced. His jaw snapped shut. Predatory hunger filled his silvery stare as he dragged it across her exposed flesh.

  She didn’t know exactly what to expect—the aggressive man who had dominated her awareness hours earlier, or the playful, gentle lover who surprised her the night of their first meeting. Nor did Solène care which side of Taran appeared. She craved the feel of his hands, the weight of his mouth, the tickle of his long black hair as it swept across her skin.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

  Taran stood stock
still for an indefinable passing of time. She watched the full affect of his own yearning shift through his expression. Surprise morphed into harsh angles as he combated something fierce that she’d never fully understood but accepted as part of him. Then, those sharp planes and shadowed crevices smoothed with the hidden tenderness that lived in his heart. That softness, that brief glimpse of the love he felt for her, stole Solène’s breath away.

  When he took a step forward, he had settled into the confident, self-assured man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it, while simultaneously tapping into needs she’d never known.

  Another shiver slid down her spine, this one filled with the promise that burned behind Taran’s quiet stare.

  He stopped before her and drew a hand through her long hair. “I’ve never deserved you.”

  “We are not so very different.” She chuckled as she tipped her cheek into his hand. “I am no good fairy.”

  “No,” he murmured. “No you are not, my little witch.” His lips feathered across the crown of her head. “We share the same dark urges.”

  As if he had come to terms with her acceptance of him, he curved his fingers against the base of her skull and settled his mouth on hers. She opened to him willingly, delighting in the velvety stroke of his tongue. And though he took care with his perusal, she felt the greed, the hunger that vied for control in the slow deliberation of his kiss. A quiet moan wrenched its way through the back of her throat, and she stepped into the inviting heat of his body.

  Taran drew back with a shuddering intake of air. “I have missed you too,” he whispered as he pressed his cheek to hers. “So very much.”

  Solène slipped her hand into his, gave his fingers a squeeze. She turned to the stairs, leading him up the creaking wood, to the room that had been theirs. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. His attention jerked to the bed. The last place they had known together. A grimace stole across his face.