The Ghost Hunter (2 page)

The sun hovered on the horizon like a large fiery ball of warning as Cristian rode his motorcycle down the main cobbled street of Crossroads. The light would fade soon, and with night came beasts best left to nightmares and the imagination.

He pulled his bike close to the curb, cut the engine and studied the place with a casual disinterest. To an outsider, he seemed merely to be soaking in the historical ambiance. Cobbled streets, white plastered buildings with brown beams of the Tudor style huddled close together. Stereotypical
England
.

Although in the distance he could hear the roar of cars, the place was surprisingly empty of automobiles, but then most of the inhabitants didn’t need man-made transportation to clutter the streets. A fucking perfect picture post card. He knew better than anyone what perfection could hide.
 

Curtains were brushed aside from windows as locals peeked from their shops, attempting to spy on the intruder. A woman standing on her front stoop stopped sweeping and watched him openly with suspicious eyes. He gave the woman a wink. She huffed and turned away. They knew who he was. They’d known the moment he’d come to town a week ago. And they sure as hell knew what he was here for.

He moved off his bike and started down the footpath. Where the two main streets of town met sat the
B&B and Tea
shop. A place he’d probably visit often, not because he loved tea, but because he didn’t cook. But then he didn’t need to. He wrapped his hand around the cool, brass handle and pulled open a scuffed oak door. A bell tinkled merrily, heralding his arrival.

The local gathering place. The moment he stepped inside, all activity ceased. Chairs screeched across wooden plank floorboards as patrons turned to stare. Pausing for a moment, he took in the scenery, assessing every being in a matter of seconds. Eight in all. Two at the bar. Three behind him and three to his right.

He knew immediately they represented no threat. Still, he took a few moments to study the shop, paying specific attention to exits. You never knew when someone more nefarious might arrive.

The owner was sure trying to set an elegant mood. Low lamplight, fresh flowers in vases and plants littered every tabletop while mauve wallpaper splattered with brown sparrows was pasted to the walls. He was surprised the Queen wasn’t sipping tea at one of those tables.
 

Only a handful of patrons occupied the place, certainly less than he was expecting. Of course one could travel the twenty miles east to
Leeds
and find real civilization. But he had no doubt that most of the village residents were tucked away in their modest homes with their families, sharing a real dinner and attempting to feign normalcy. What were left here were those singletons, those pathetic sods that had to find a family elsewhere.

One by one, his new acquaintances studied his form, judging his threat level. They could feel his abilities even from across the room, but they weren’t sure what exactly he was, and in their world, it was impolite to ask. He wasn’t about to court conversation; he wasn’t here to make friends. He had a job to do and hopefully, when he’d proven himself, he could return home. Earth was merely a stopping point.

With a neutral expression in place, he moved to the round table in the far corner of the room, a place where his back would be protected, a place where he could witness all who came and went.

The kitchen door swung open and a man hunkered into view, a tea kettle in hand. Bald head, leather vest, gold loops in his ears; he wasn’t exactly what Cristian had expected in a Victorian Inn. Then again, the red roses on his teapot did match the red leather flames sewed into his vest.

“What can I git ye?” he barked, his voice traveling easily across the room.

They all eagerly awaited Cristian’s answer, as if his response would decide his fate.

“Ale.”

The owner pulled the tab forward, filling a mug with frothy beer. “Ye visiting family?” he asked, and in his voice was the soft lilt of an accent; leprechaun was Cristian’s bet. He started across the room and slammed the mug onto the table; the beer sloshed over the edges and fizzed across the tabletop.

Cristian lifted the cup and took a drink of bitter ale. An old recipe, a familiar hint of the past. “Nope.”

“We don’t git many visitors. Ye passing through then?”

Cristian shrugged. “I’ll be here a week, two at the most.”

There was hesitancy in the owner’s gaze that spoke of questions and confusion. But instead of insisting Cristian tell him why he was really here, the owner turned and busied himself with cleaning. The room slowly returned to normal and a low rumble of conversation overtook the awkward silence.

Finally left alone, Cristian turned his senses inward. She was in town. He could feel her presence… a low buzz that hummed from the very core of his body. He didn’t need to drive by the pub to know that she’d finally arrived. The moment he’d entered the town, his body and soul had found and focused on her. Fated to be together, the heavens had brought her here. He lifted his ale and drank slowly, barely tasting the bitter alcohol. Even now he could sense her coming this way…closer…closer. And with each moment his heart pounded a little faster, as if in time with her steps. The closer she got, the closer he was to completing his mission and getting the hell out of here. But how much to divulge when she arrived? He’d wait and see how much she could handle.

The door opened and the entire pub seemed to shift; a wave of shimmering awareness swept through the room. Cristian stiffened, but kept his gaze downcast, unwilling to draw attention to himself at the moment. He could admit though, that his curiosity was overwhelming. He felt her hesitation, felt her anxiety churning within the pit of his own gut. She knew something was odd here in this town, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. She moved across the room with sure, unhurried footsteps that belied her unease. Cristian smiled; pleased when so little pleased him lately. A brave one, she was. He was expecting a woman bent and broken by life, not a lass who swept in like she owned the place.
 

As she moved past his line of vision, curiosity got the better of him and he lifted his head. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Long legs encased in tight jeans, a curvy backside, further to her chest, covered with a bulky pullover that did nothing for her figure, and he had a feeling she had an amazing figure.

Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. A few wavy strands had escaped, framing her face. And it was one hell of a face that held him captivated; a pale, oval face dominated by large, hazel eyes. She was prettier than he’d expected. Younger than he’d expected. If anything, she looked like a fairy, but she was something else entirely unique. Damn, he hadn’t been fully attracted to a woman in a long, long while. His last seer had been seventy before she’d finally succumbed to death.

Although her chin was tilted arrogantly, as if she had no fear, her purity and innocence mocked them all. So innocent. So damn human. He knew she hadn’t been trained and not even her arrogance would save her now. She’d be destroyed within minutes.

Shite
. What the hell had her father been thinking to keep the woman in the dark?

Old witches with attitudes, Demons with bloodlust on their minds, even Fallen Angels with vendettas he could handle, but
her
? With a sigh he raked his hands through his hair and cursed under his breath. She was practically a child, for God’s sake. Then again, most humans seemed like children to him.

“You the new owner of the Pub?” A thin man settled on the barstool next to her.

The locals weren’t wasting any time in getting to know the newest resident. Startled, she paused as if she wasn’t sure how to respond. So, she wasn’t so innocent after all. An innocent would be giving him a welcoming smile by now. She wasn’t sure who she could trust. Good girl. Be leery of everyone, he wanted to warn.
 

Yet, the man’s wide-eyes and boyish face no doubt put her quickly at ease for only moments later she gave him a hesitant smile. If only she knew what her new friend was truly capable of she sure as hell wouldn’t be so welcoming. Cristian could smell blood on the vampire all the way across the room.
 

“Yep, I own the pub,” her voice was husky, almost sensual.

The vampire nodded earnestly. “Name’s Kipps. If you have any problems, you come to me.” He tapped his narrow chest for emphasis. “I’m just down the lane. The stone cottage on the right.”

Cristian rolled his eyes and took another drink, he needed the alcohol to numb the pain of this encounter. As if a vampire would be able to help. This town had no fucking idea what was coming their way. He’d known the moment he’d arrived they weren’t prepared in the least. Cristian settled back and frowned, attempting to weigh his options. She was stubborn, smart. She was a survivor. But she was also completely ignorant. She hadn’t a clue what she was getting into. Best to keep his mouth shut and his secrets close before divulging too much. He needed to know what she could handle.
 

“Tis supposed ta be haunted, ye know.” The pub owner leaned against the counter, those beady eyes pinned to her. He was testing the woman, seeing how she’d react to the statement.
 

Even as Cristian cursed the man for divulging too much too soon, he couldn’t help but listen with interest. After all, how much did he truly know about this woman? A woman who was supposed to be tied to him for the rest of her life. Still, if she didn’t work out, he’d do what he could alone. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She lifted her tea cup in a smooth movement and sipped. “Really?”

Cristian frowned. She didn’t sound interested nor frightened in the least. She had powers, he could see that in the golden aura surrounding her trim figure, yet she was pretending to be dunce. Obviously she didn’t want to announce her abilities to the world. Was she merely being cautious? He sighed in exasperation. Who knew what these mortals were thinking. He’d been here hundreds of years and still didn’t understand them.
  

Casually, he took a sip of his drink, his gaze pinned to her reflection in the mirror above the bar, attempting to read her face and know her mind. What did it mean that her eyes were slightly narrowed? That there was that tiny crease between her brows?

“Seen anything strange up there?” Kipps persisted.

Was her smile too tight?

She shook her head, that ponytail brushing back and forth between her shoulder blades. “Just got here, actually and I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Well hell, now she was just downright lying. Cristian frowned as he slowly spun his mug round and round, watching the foam slide up and down the inside of the glass. What was her game? He’d have to be careful with this one. Most children were trained to be a Seer once they were old enough to understand. But he knew Ashley hadn’t a clue what she truly was.

“Och.” The pub owner nodded slowly, continuing to swipe at the counter with his cloth. As the cloth was dirtier than the actual countertop, he didn’t see how it was helping, but whatever.

“Me son was up there one night, said ‘ee saw a white light,” a woman said, settling on the stool next to Ashley and slamming her huge, leather purse onto the countertop. “I’m Tabby Weathers.”

Cristian narrowed his eyes, attempting to read the woman. Fairy or nymph? At this distance, he couldn’t tell. But like the rest of them, she was no threat.
 

The bartender stopped cleaning. “Jesus, an’ had he been in yer husband’s scotch?”

Tabby frowned. “Pissed or not, John, lad was scared out of ‘is wits. White as a sheet, ‘ee were.”

Another man rested against the bar next to Ashley, too close in Cristian’s opinion. Hadn’t he ever heard of personal space? “What, exactly, was he doing up there?” the man asked, in a soft, French accent that most women probably would have found appealing. He grinned and gave Ashley a wink as if she was in on the joke.

Cristian’s frown deepened. A werewolf; the man was a damn werewolf. The animals had little control over their powers; never followed the rules. Ashley certainly didn’t need to befriend the beast. Still, the dogs did know how to fight, Cristian would give them that.

“I’m sorry, excuse me.” Ashley slid off her stool and stepped back. Overwhelmed by their nosiness, but also their powers, she just didn’t realize why. She was going to bolt and he’d lose his chance. He needed to get close to her in whichever way he could.
   

Cristian surged from his chair. “Are ye Ashley Hunter?”

The room grew silent, watchful, but he kept his gaze on her, ignoring the rest.

She paused for one long heartbeat, as if sensing the importance of that simple question, then slowly turned. “Yes, I’m ….”

Their gazes clashed.

Cristian felt as if he was falling, falling into a soul so pure, it was almost blinding in its radiance. She shone with truth and innocence and damn if he didn’t hunger for her; thirst for the humanity she represented… a long ago feeling he vaguely remembered. He hadn’t experienced the sensation in centuries, but he remembered it well.

Holy shite, he was attracted to her. This wasn’t good, wasn’t good at all.

Her eyes grew wide and her words tapered off as she scanned his bodily form. It was a typical response from mortal females when coming into contact with him. Cristian resisted the urge to shift like a child being judged by a teacher.