Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) Page 5

  His face hardened, and anger flashed in his eyes. His jaw stiffened, and she tightened her fingers around her glass, waiting for the accusation.

  "Why?" he asked.

  She lifted her chin defensively, preparing to launch into the sordid details of what had happened. Not that the facts changed anything or excused her, but because she had to tell him the whole story, as if maybe, just maybe, he would see something besides a cold-blooded murderer. "Because—"

  "You mentioned this in the jungle, didn't you? When we were with Rohan's team?"

  She frowned, trying to remember what she'd told the crew. She'd been so consumed with finding her friend and facing down an entire team of over-testosteroned Calydons, as well as trying not to notice her reaction to Eric, that she hadn't really thought about it. But now that he pointed it out, she realized she had. "I guess I did." She lifted her chin, preparing for him to give her a hard time about it, now that he was actually paying attention enough to register it. It was almost comforting to realize that she wasn't the only one who'd been so distracted in the jungle.

  "When you told us about it," he said, his voice edged with razor sharp lethalness, "you never told us what the bastard did to deserve it."

  "What?" She was startled by his statement. There had been no accusation in his tone. Not toward her, at least. His anger was directed at her soul mate, as if he'd automatically assumed it wasn't her fault. Suddenly, she had to look away, fighting against a surge of emotions she couldn't afford to feel. The bar was dark, and the patrons had started clearing out. There were only a few left, including the man at the bar who'd looked so haunted and ill.

  "Jordyn?" Eric touched her arm, jerking her attention back to him. "What did he do to you?" His jaw was tense. "Did he hurt you?"

  Electricity seemed to jump through her at his touch, and a part of her wanted to put her hand over his so he couldn't break the contact between them. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap, refusing to let herself be weak enough to ask for help. "He went rogue," she said.

  Rogue. What a simple word to describe a hell worse than anything she could have envisioned. On a literal level, a rogue Calydon was one who had lost his humanity and surrendered to the demon blood circulating through them all. Red eyes, deadly rage, and an utter loss of morality. A mindless beast who slaughtered at random, whatever was within his reach. But it was so much more. To see the man she had loved consumed by the monster had been horrific. To hear the screams of their family, friends, and daughter as he tore through them had been devastating. She could still smell the coppery blood of those she loved. She'd been surrounded by carnage where there had once been safety, and by blind hatred where there had been love. That night had been the utter betrayal and loss of everything that mattered

  Eric's fingers tightened on her arm, and understanding softened the hard lines of his face. "The sheva bond was completed? And then he went rogue and destroyed everything that mattered to you both? Just like the sheva destiny commands will occur?"

  She nodded, biting her lip as memories of that horrible night flashed in her mind. She'd tried to put it out of her mind, but the images were too strong. She had to tell him. She had to talk about it. She'd never spoken about it, not even to Tristan, but for some reason, she wanted Eric to know, as if maybe he could understand the depths of what had happened and it would expunge the stain from her soul. "We were having a party," she said softly. "It was our wedding anniversary. We'd worked hard not to complete the bonding stages, and trigger the sheva destiny. I was so in love." She looked away, her throat tightening. "And then, he got drunk." Drunk. Drunk. She would never forget the chill that went down her spine when she'd realized he was drunk. After all the hell with her father, she was terrified of men who drank. Walter had always had drinks, but he'd never been actually drunk, until that night. Until that night.

  "Why do men get drunk?" she asked, turning back to Eric. "Why do they have to do that?"

  "They don't all get drunk." Eric looked down at the beer in front of him, and then he slid it away from him. "But yeah, some of them do."

  She studied his glass, now on the other side of the table from him. "You're not drinking it?"

  "No. It makes you uncomfortable. I don't need it." He drummed his fingers on the table, the only outward indication of the tension radiating through him. "What did he do?"

  "The blood bond," she said, still staring at the beer. He really wasn't going to drink it, just because she didn't like it? He didn't even know her. He owed her nothing. And yet, there his beer sat, on the far end of the table, untouched. Walter had always drank, never crossing the line to intoxication, but he'd always enjoyed that pleasure in life, telling her to trust his ability to handle it.

  She had. Big mistake.

  Eric touched her arm. "It's not going to bite you," he said. "Ignore it. I want to hear what happened."

  She pulled her gaze off his abandoned beer and looked at him. "Once Walter was drunk, he had no willpower to resist the call of our connection. He grabbed me and pinned me down in the kitchen. He called out his weapon, ripped it across his chest and my hand, and then completed the blood bond with me. I couldn't stop him. He was insanely strong, a thousand times stronger than I was."

  A muscle ticked in Eric's jaw. "Of course he was. He was a Calydon. He had no business using his strength against you." A dark energy seemed to roll off Eric and over her skin. It was a cold, hard energy that sent prickles over her skin. "Worthless piece of shit."

  Jordyn couldn't help the smile that flickered across her face at Eric's words. He was so outraged that it felt good. "The blood bond was the only stage of the bond we hadn't completed. It had been calling to him for so long, but he'd held off. But once he was drunk..." She shrugged. "You know the old saying, how inhibitions vanish when the alcohol gets flowing?"

  "He had no business drinking in that situation. He deserved to die. How dare he endanger his soul mate like that?" Eric looked so furious, which should have scared her, but it didn't, because she could sense it was contained, unlike Walter's insanity. Somehow, for some reason, she trusted Eric.

  During those years with Walter, she'd always lived with the fear of the sheva destiny. She spent every minute looking over her shoulder, wondering when and if the man she loved was going to become a monster, which, of course, he eventually had.

  But with Eric, it felt different. He was even less refined than Walter had been. He had an edge of untamed wildness. He was arrogant and too sexy for anyone's good. He was flippant and irreverent. He was strong, so much bigger and stronger than she was, easily able to overpower her. And yet...for some reason, she wasn't afraid of him.

  She took a deep breath, needing to finish her story. She hadn't told anyone the details before. It was too gruesome, something she didn't want to remember or think about, but somehow, finally putting it into words for Eric seemed to be taking some of its power away. "The minute it was finished, he went rogue." Memories of bright red blood spraying through the air flashed in her mind, and she flinched. "There was so much blood. The bodies of my friends, literally torn apart. My poor daughter." Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them. "He went crazy. I'd heard about Calydons going rogue, but nothing had prepared me for it. It was...it was like a scene from a horror movie. I couldn't stop screaming. I was just screaming at him to stop, and it was as if I didn't even exist. I couldn't do anything."

  Eric swore viciously, and he moved his chair around the table, invading her space. He set one arm over the back of her chair, and leaned into her. His gaze was dominating, and unyielding, sending shivers down her spine. She knew she should tell him to back off, but there was something about his overpowering presence that was incredible and felt amazing.

  "Listen to me, Jordyn," he said. "It's not your fault. A rogue Calydon is a monster that only specially trained warriors can defeat. Only the elite warriors in the Order of the Blade can stop them. It's not your fault you couldn't protect them."

  He
was so adamant that, for a moment, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to retreat back into her naive world and believe him, but she couldn't. She knew too much. Sadly, she trailed her finger down his jaw, sliding over his rough whiskers, somehow wanting to convey to him that she was touched by his support, even though she couldn't accept it. "No," she said. "It was my fault. I have to take responsibility. Tristan warned me, but I didn't listen."

  "Tristan?" He frowned, his forehead furrowing with wrinkles that made him more human than she wanted him to be. "What does Tristan have to do with your soul mate going rogue?"

  She dropped her hand from his jaw. "I came back here six months before Walter went rogue. My father had finally died, and I needed to arrange the funeral. I met Tristan in the graveyard when I was looking at gravesites, and we became friends." She smiled faintly, remembering that moment. "He was so nice to me. He had this great smile, with dimples." She glanced at him. "Like yours. He was working on some project relating to ancient cemeteries, and we wound up talking for hours in the graveyard. I didn't want to go back to the house I grew up in, or socialize with the people from my past, and he wanted company. We hit it off, hiding in the graveyard away from real life."

  A muscle ticked in Eric's cheek. "He's a good guy."

  "He is." She took a sip of her drink, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat. It was her favorite beverage, but it tasted almost bitter in the face of so many ugly memories. "I told Tristan about my upcoming anniversary, and he told me that there was no way I'd be able to fend off the final stage of the bond forever. He told me I couldn't go back, but I loved my husband, and I refused to listen to him." She laughed softly. "Do you ever wish you could redo one decision in your life? That if you could do one thing differently, it would change everything?"

  Eric shook his head. "Thoughts like that will destroy you. You can't change the past."

  She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not an idiot. Of course I know that. I suppose you're above such mundane and human things as regret and guilt?"

  His dark brown eyes studied hers. "No. I'm not."

  The gritty intensity of his words caught her attention, and she looked sharply at him. Something dark roiled in his eyes, a grief so heavy she sucked in her breath. "What happened?"

  He shook his head, denying her request. "Tell me the rest."

  "The rest?" She shrugged. "There's not much more. I thought I loved Walter enough to save him from his destiny. I thought that my love was this great saving grace. It's like the ultimate reforming of the bad boy, you know? Save the rogue warrior from a living hell, just by loving him." It hadn't worked with her derelict father, and it hadn't worked with Walter. "I'm the worst stereotype ever. Isn't it pathetic?"

  Eric's gaze bore into her. "Pathetic isn't the word I'd select, no."

  "Naive? Is that better?" She shook her head. "Maybe just stupid. Whatever it was, I was determined to go back. Tristan said I would die if I did. He said others would die. I didn't care. I thought I could be strong enough for us both. So, he gave me a gun loaded with powdered demon bile. He said that was the only thing that would kill a rogue Calydon. He told me to use it on Walter as soon as I got home, before he went rogue."

  Understanding flickered in Eric's eyes. "You waited, didn't you? That's why you blame yourself?"

  She met his gaze. "I didn't use it, and Walter went rogue. By the time I ran into the basement and got the gun, people I loved were dead, because I was too selfish, stupid, and arrogant to stay away, or to kill him before he could turn."

  Silence hung in the air, and then Eric nodded slowly. "And then you succumbed to the final stage of the sheva destiny, and you killed yourself because you were so distraught over his death. That's when Tristan resurrected you?"

  "Yes." Oh, yes. God, she never wanted to feel that much anguish again. She'd felt like her soul had been wrenched from her body and sucked into a bottomless hell of torment and agony. Never had she understood what true despair was until she'd killed her soul mate and watched her daughter die. "It was horrible," she said. "It was as if a demon had gripped my mind and my heart and drained them of everything but darkness. It consumed me. Darkness. Agony. Grief. The most debilitating loneliness ever. I felt like I was standing in a vast wasteland of destruction, with this arid wind howling through me, ripping pieces of my soul apart as it blew." As she spoke, that familiar haunting came back, tightening in her chest until she had trouble breathing. She coughed, unnerved by how dark the bar suddenly seemed. That same haunting darkness was falling over her, that agonizing loss. Oh, shit.

  Eric frowned. "What's wrong?"

  She closed her eyes, and tried to take deep breaths. "Sometimes the desolation tries to come back. The last three times Tristan resurrected me, I thought I had it managed, then it would return with a howling vengeance. Like now." Sharp pains began to echo in her chest, and she set her hand over her heart. "I shouldn't have talked about it. It's making it come back." Her eyes filled with tears, and she shoved her chair back from the table. "I can't do this. I can't let this take me again. I can't—"

  "Jordyn." Eric caught her hand, as she tried to back away. "Stay with me."

  "No. I can't." She stumbled to her feet, gasping for air as the grief started to pour down upon her. Walter's face flooded her mind, and she saw him reaching for her as he fell, dying from her blow, his face twisted in the agony of her betrayal when he realized that she'd killed him. "Oh, God—"

  "Jordyn." Eric grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. "Look at me."

  She fought against his grip as the darkness began to close in around her. She heard the distant howl of the wasteland of her soul, and a cold chill settled in her bones. It was coming back again, attacking her, that insurmountable darkness from which the only escape was death...and Tristan wasn't around to save her this time.

  "Jordyn!" Eric framed her face with his hands, forcing her to look toward him. His dark gaze pinned her with its intensity, and she went still, shocked by how steady they were in the blackness that was trying to consume her. His eyes were like an anchor, plunging through the abyss to grab her.

  "Eric!" Instinctively, she gripped his wrists, trying to focus on the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. He was so alive, so strong, so warm, and so present. She tried to cling to his strength, and the sheer magnitude of his life force, but it wasn't enough. The darkness continued to build, an anguish so deep it wanted to tear her apart—

  He sighed. "You're faking it just so I'll kiss you again, aren't you?"

  Her legs started to tremble. "What?" His words were a distant blur in her mind, drowned out by the emptiness howling through her. "Kiss me?" The idea was preposterous. She was about to fall into the pit again, and he was talking about kissing her?

  "All you have to do is ask. I've been wanting to get you naked since the first moment you pulled that damned bazooka on me. I'm a good guy, so I'm willing to sacrifice my self-respect and honor and kiss you."

  His tone was so flippant, that same edge that he'd used in the jungle, that same subtle humor that was so good at prying her out from under the grip of stress, and suddenly, she realized he was her chance for survival, for hope, for redemption.

  He'd kissed her before, but she hadn't wanted it. She'd wanted space, not seduction, intimacy, or connection with another man. And yet, when he'd kissed her, each time it had been this great salvation, ripping her from her isolation and plunging her into a world where she felt vibrant and alive. Eric and his kisses could reach her in a way that nothing else could. Could he save her from this? She gripped his arms. "Eric?"

  His smile faded into a look of such unabashed thirst for her that her stomach clenched. "Just say the word, Jordyn, and I'm all yours."

  I'm all yours. The promise disintegrated the last remnants of resistance, and she looked up at him. "Kiss me," she whispered. "God, yes, kiss me. Kiss me like you want to own every last piece of my body and soul."

  "Now that sounds like a kiss." He grinned, a wicked smil
e of such promise and temptation that she wanted to run...right into his arms. "As you wish." Then he slid one hand behind her head, lowered his head, and let his mouth descend onto hers in the first kiss she'd ever wanted from him, or from any man, in far too long.

  Chapter 5

  Eric knew that he wanted Jordyn.

  He was well aware that his attraction for her ran at a fever pitch higher than anything he'd ever experienced.

  He knew damn well exactly what those few kisses they'd shared had done to him.

  But nothing had prepared him for how different it would be when she kissed him back without reservation.

  The moment his lips descended upon hers, she melted against him so completely it was as if their bodies had suddenly become one. Her hands slid around his neck, holding him close as her mouth opened to his. The kiss became a heated dance of tongues, ravenousness, and passion that wound through his body like a chain of fire trapping him in its searing heat. The lust that he'd held in check since they'd met exploded out of his grasp with no mercy.

  He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up against him, but she was already there, her body as tight against his as it was possible to get. The kiss was desperate, flooded with emotion that spun through his mind. For a split second, he wanted to pull away. He wasn't ready for a kiss that was so wrought with emotional need. He wanted light and irreverent—

  "Eric." She whispered the word, and the sound of his name on her lips undid all his resistance.

  With a low rumble, he angled his head and deepened the kiss. What had been hot and desperate a moment ago, took on an entirely new level of intensity. He couldn't touch enough of her, his hands roaming her lower back, her hips, and the curve of her butt. Her arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck it was as if she would never let him go. The heat burning between them was electric, pouring off them in batches of steam that made the humid, sweaty night even more intoxicating.

  Her shirt was damp with perspiration, her skin so hot that it felt like she was a living, breathing inferno wrapped around him. He slid his hand down her thigh and pulled her leg up against his hip. Her skirt slid up her thigh, giving him access to a broad expanse of flesh so tempting that he wanted to throw her down on the table and—