Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (5 page)

Her intuition was surprisingly on the mark.

“What are
you
that you can read me so well?” he countered.

She shrugged and sipped her tea. “My mother always said I had a keen sense of place in this world. And that I could place others too. Though I'm a bit of a mystery to myself. Thanks to the reincarnated soul, don't you know? It's a demon inside you,” she stated suddenly. “Am I right?”

Rook nodded, finding the centuries-old lie to protect his identity did not come forth with the usual practiced ease. What sense was there in lying when she had so cleverly figured him out?

Yet why couldn't he see her truths? How annoying.

He toyed with the porcelain coffee cup. “A truth demon,” he offered. “Asatrú has been with me for centuries. Allows me to read people's truths.”

“But not mine?”

“I'm not sure why that is. Oz is as baffled as I am. You're the first person I haven't been able to read. And your name is Verity. How ironic is that?”

“I'll count that as a good thing. A girl can't give up her secrets too quickly. A little mystery is a good thing, yes?”

As she drew her tongue along her upper lip, Rook decided that yes, mystery was indeed good.

“So you call the demon Oz?”

“Asatrú is his full name, and he is pleased to meet you,” Rook offered, though Oz made no whisper that he cared about the witch one way or the other. The demon was pouting because she did not have his soul.

“I don't understand why the vampire would want my necklace. It's just a wooden heart and of no value to anyone else. I don't think vamps can detect souls, can they?”

“I'm not aware that they can. He may have claimed it as a sick kind of trophy. Did you get a good look at him?”

“I was frantic and more upset that I'd expelled all my fire magic and was feeling helpless. He was bald, but you already know that.”

“Right. The one you blasted with fire. Good shot.”

“I've expert aim, but unfortunately using so much fire magic depletes my stores quickly. And I had been rehearsing earlier.”

“Rehearsing?”

“I've a fire act with the Demon Arts Troupe.”

“Interesting. It was a good thing I happened along last night. I need to find that vampire. If he has the necklace with my soul in it—”

“If it is your soul.”

“I think it is.”

“You want to believe it is.”

“Is there anything wrong with wanting to believe?”

“Not at all.”

Her mouth curved so prettily, Rook thought surely, if it had been his heart stolen by her, he'd let her keep it for as long as she wished to wear it around her neck on a leather cord.

“Would you mind taking a look at some mug shots at Order headquarters?”

“I, uh…hmm.” She twisted the teacup around on the saucer.

“If you're unsure about what you saw…”

“It's not that. I'm not particularly fond of taking sides within the paranormal community. I let the vamps do their thing, and they tend to leave me alone. If I should dabble in their affairs…”

“You fear reciprocation. What if I could promise you protection?”

She shook her head. “No. I'm sorry. I just…”

“That's fine.” He didn't want to push, though he couldn't understand why she wouldn't want to catch someone who had harmed her, no matter the breed. If he had been mortal, would she have helped him?

He wouldn't dwell on it. He had other ways to make the woman talk. And he didn't really mind what the topic of conversation was, so long as she didn't walk away from him now, never to be seen again.

“Would you have dinner with me?” he asked. “I find I don't want you to walk away from me. I'd like to get to know you better.”

“Where would we have dinner?”

“The location hinges on your decision?”

“Of course. If you suggest a seafood restaurant, I'd have to refuse. I'm not much for slimy cuisine.”

“My place,” he said. “I want to cook for you.”

“I've never had a man cook for me.” Her eyes brightened as she pushed aside a thick curl from her face. “It's a date. Right now?”

“Have you other plans?”

That smile would undo him. “Not at all. Do you live close?”

“On the Ile St.-Louis. My car is parked just down the street.”

“I am at your beckon.” She took his proffered hand and followed him down the street.

That had been too easy. Yet disappointment weighed down Rook's shoulders. He'd been so close to his soul, and now it was gone. Possibly taken by a vampire. He had to get it back.

Because he owed Oz for four centuries of imprisonment.

Chapter 3

T
he buildings on the Ile St.-Louis where Rook lived were old, and Verity knew anyone living here had to be wealthy. She suspected Rook was rich, judging by the stylish suit and Italian leather shoes he wore. She wasn't into brand names, but she could pin a designer label merely from the way it made the man stand, erect and proud, elegant and tailored. Right with his place in the world and not afraid to take on any challenge.

Of course, that could be the hunter in him, too.

And he smelled like something worth more than a quick spritz from a cheap bottle of cologne. Like burnt peaches and tobacco. The idea of tasting him effervesced in her core and warmed her skin.

Occupied by a truth demon, eh? Yet he couldn't read the truth in Veritas Von Velde. Interesting. And definitely worth further exploration.

After shedding her sweater and handing it to him to hang, Verity sat at the kitchen table with a goblet of Bordeaux to watch her host work culinary magic. Admittedly, cooking was not in her arsenal of magical or just plain practical household skills. She ate simple whole foods that required little preparation, but that was only because she'd never taken the time to learn to cook. She had always been busy with her magical studies. And when a woman grew up with a grandmother, great-grandmother and mother who always cooked, why bother? So to watch this gorgeous man move about with such ease as he concocted food for her was a dream.

Rook was tall and sleek. Beneath the gray dress shirt flexed steel muscles, and the very sinews of him conformed against the fabric as he reached for vegetables or high on a shelf for cooking oil.

In her imagination Verity glided her palms over his cool skin, mapping his contours and memorizing his hard angles. She bit the corner of her lip to contain a squeal of glee.

His slicked-back dark brown hair touted tufts of gray near his temples and a few sprigs of salty strands mixed here and there throughout. Dark brows commanded her attention to his gaze when he regarded her. While sitting at the café table she'd noticed a tiny scar above his left brow and fancied it from a rapier or even a vampire fang.

The groomed stubble that edged his jaw as if to frame his façade begged her to touch. A small triangle of stubble sat beneath his lower lip, and along with the mustache, it gave him a swashbuckler appeal. She loved facial hair and wanted to feel his mustache tickle her upper lip as he kissed her.

All in all? The man possessed a brutal beauty that she wanted to trace and learn.

Rook's frequent glances over his shoulder acted as if invisible touches shot through the atmosphere and made it impossible for her to relax because her entire body hummed with desire. Tracing the inner curve of her lower lip with her tongue, she tapped a fingernail against the crystal wine goblet.

“You like quinoa?” he asked over a shoulder.

“I'll like anything you offer.” Including a tickling kiss from that sexy mustache. “It's a treat to have a man cook for me.”

“I've been cooking for myself for centuries. I hired a chef for a few years in the early twentieth century but decided I prefer doing things for myself.”

“You like the control,” she guessed.

He nodded, conceding with a guilty grin.

“That's the difference between the two of us,” she said. “I prefer people doing things for me.”

“It pleases me to do this for you.” His wink caught her as if a hand about her heart clasped ever so gently.

Verity swore under her breath. The man was sexy. But she'd only just met him. Cool the fire, and calm the jets. She didn't need to trust him at this stage, but learning a little more about him would prove wiser than leaping blindly into lust. And after her last disastrous relationship, she was skittish.

By all means, she wanted to help him find his soul. Because—and this was just occurring to her now—if this hunter could find the vampire who may have stolen her necklace containing his soul, then naturally, he'd slay the longtooth. Then, if for some strange reason the spell she'd worked last night hadn't been effective, she would have a backup reassurance that she'd never transform to vampire.

Not that she needed backup. Her spells were always effective.

She wandered over to the stove and peeked around Rook's arm to inspect his creation. Bright chopped vegetables glistened in the frying pan. Scents of lemon, pepper and rosemary teased her nose.

“Looks delicious. Mind if I snoop about while you
create?”

“Go ahead. The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

As she strolled into the living room, her heels clicked on the parquet flooring. A vast ballroom-sized area, it was sparely furnished with only a massive turquoise velvet couch and a sleek glass coffee table that harbored a laptop and precise stacks of mail and books. Even the man's clutter was controlled.

Along the far wall stood various large artifacts that drew her interest. A marble sculpture of a nude woman stretched backward in an impossible bend intrigued Verity enough to glide her fingers along the cool white curve of her torso. The creation felt as cool as Rook's skin. Was he cold because of the demon within? Had to be. She studied the smooth stone. It had been carved especially for Rook. She knew it as she knew things about living, breathing people. It was that thing she had about knowing a person's place in this world.

Touching the small brass knobs on the unstained apothecary's cabinet next to the sculpture, she wondered at what might be inside the dozens of tiny drawers but respectfully did not pull any open.

Her heels clicked on the spotless wood floor as she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Seine. Although the sun was setting, the gray sky was illuminated from all the unnatural light that burst forth from a city that never slept. Across the river, lights inside the four- and five-story buildings formed a pixilated artwork against the cityscape.

Verity performed a twirl right there because she felt light, despite the events of the previous evening. She didn't want to think about that darkness. Tonight she would enjoy spending time with a handsome man.

Her mother would turn over in her grave.

“Just in it for the adventure,” she reminded herself, knowing her staunchly warned heart would never allow her to actually fall for a hunter. Any man, for that matter. Because just when she began to let down her guard and welcome in love, she had gained a stalker.

She walked on light feet to a door impressed with rococo carved wood scrollwork. She decided it must lead into Rook's bedroom. Glancing over a shoulder to ensure he was still in the kitchen, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

A bedroom was a person's thumbprint of their personality, and what an interesting study of the stoic knight. This was his sanctum.

Grays and blues designed the room's color scheme, with the parquet floor painted a soft gray, much like in her attic bedroom. Calming and serene. Verity released her breath and then inhaled the subtle blend of cinnamon and myrrh. Exotic scents for an equally exotic man.

She decided suddenly that Rook was chocolate yuzu. She had a tendency to assign macaron flavors to the people she knew.
Crisp and delightful on the outside, with a surprising tang on the inside.

Smiling at her assessment, she wandered inside the room. Again, little furniture, as if to collect possessions would somehow clutter the man's vita. She liked that. Some who lived many centuries tended to collect hoards of material things. This home showed restraint. Control was certainly Rook's mien.

A large turquoise velvet tufted ottoman—must be a match to the couch—sat near the window. Next to that a cloth yoga mat was spread out before an altar that featured a stone Buddha with tumescent belly and a gleeful grin.

“Disciplined,” she further assessed the man. “Yet also open, and…” her eyes fell over the bed “…so sensual.”

The middle of the room offered a peek beyond the tight-fisted control. A king-size bed sat beneath a fall of turquoise fabric tied up to allow entry to the innermost sanctuary. It resembled a harem hotspot, a post where illicit and exquisite pleasures could be had.

Verity tapped her lips. Such fantasies she could entertain beneath that gossamer fabric.

Keeping to the wall that hugged the living room, she tiptoed over to the wardrobe. Drawing her fingers along the steel front, she decided the modern-styled piece felt out of place in the room. A hinged door was open a crack.

Chewing the corner of her lip, she vacillated between whether or not to peek inside. She hadn't done so out in the living room, but here, so far from the kitchen…?

She slid a finger between the crack in the wardrobe, and the heavy steel door glided toward her to reveal not clothes but—

Bloody Hecate, it's an armory.

Must be the weapons he used when engaged in hunting. Dozens of titanium stakes were lined along the back of the wardrobe. Pistols and a crossbow and an assortment of blades. She marveled over the throwing stars she'd only seen used in movies. Ninja stuff. Did he use all this in the fight against vampires?

Daring to draw her fingers along the cool column of one of the stakes, she took it and held it, finding it was much lighter than expected. A flashlight was twice as heavy. Careful with it, she knew that the actual stake part came out of one end with some kind of release mechanism—

“You take that snooping thing seriously, don't you?”

Startled, Verity squeezed the titanium column. The stake sprang out, jerking her arm back to hit Rook in the chest with her elbow. He wrangled her wrist and spun her around, an expert offensive move that he may have only practiced on vampires previously.

“Uh.” She gasped and looked from the deadly stake, pointed toward his chest, to his smirk and those laughing blue eyes. “Sorry?”

“Be careful. That thing could take out an eye.”

“Or a life,” she whispered, releasing the weapon to him. He extracted it from her shaking fingers and set it inside the cabinet. “I'm sorry. It was open a little, and I—well, I did say I was going to snoop.”

“You should be chastised for such daring.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “And I'm of a mind to do that.”

“But I was just…uh…” She sighed and lifted her chin, losing all powers to reason as she fell into the depths of his intimately delving stare.

The man answered her astonishment with a kiss that landed on her mouth as softly as a butterfly. But as their lips joined, the too-gentle pressure demanded they seek one another more forcefully. Pulling her body against his, he claimed her in that moment. His fingers moved along her hip and curled, forcing her closer. His other hand swept through her hair and clutched it aside her cheek. He tasted like the herbs he'd used to season the meal, which mingled with the wine lingering on her tongue. His mouth seared fire against hers, teasing her to match his urgency.

And she did.

Every part of Verity shimmered, seeking, grabbing, wanting this delicious connection to never stop. It was as though she had not been kissed for centuries, and finally, exquisitely, she was being fed the life she had never known she needed.

Rook's hand swept down her derriere and his fingers traced along the ruffles that hemmed her miniskirt, his fingertips every so often touching the bared skin between skirt and thigh-high stockings.

Verity pressed up higher onto the tips of her toes, clinging to his shirt collar to keep him at her mouth. She needed his breath. Their connection made her feel as powerful as she did when throwing fire. Combustible, that was the word for this embrace. And if she could, she'd melt right into his arms. May he lay her across his vast bed of untold exotic pleasures and continue his exploration with a million more kisses.

Suddenly the kitchen buzzer tinged, and he abruptly pulled away from her. Verity gasped, stepping on her tiptoes to maintain balance at the loss of such utter sensual strength. The kiss had completely discombobulated her in the best way possible.

He bracketed her face with his hands. “Dinner's ready.”

Screw dinner. Another kiss, please?

Seeming to completely dismiss that he'd just kissed her silly, Rook closed the wardrobe doors, secured the latch, then strode out of the room.

Verity obediently followed him into the kitchen and sat when he pulled out a chair for her. Her body was still in the bedroom, crushed up against his powerful build. Her mouth was at his…

Licking her lips to savor the taste of his chastising kiss, she pressed a palm over her heart. So fast, it rushed toward something she hadn't thought to ever know. Excitement, adventure, romance. It all sounded deliciously decadent.

Yet he'd walked away from the kiss as if it had meant nothing more to him than, well, peeling away the rind from the lemon as he'd prepared the meal. Perhaps he was not as enamored of their embrace as she had been. Or maybe it had simply been as he'd stated: a punishment for her snooping.

If so, then what other kinds of mischief could she get into that required such admonishment?

Play it cool, Verity. It hasn't been that long since you've been kissed. Why the silly swoon this time? He's just another man. Take it slow or you'll end up in another wacky relationship with a stalker.

But Rook wasn't any other man. They had met for a reason, and she wanted to learn why.

When he offered white wine, she held up her goblet. Its scent was ridiculously strong, and she picked it out, even over the herbs and cooking aromas. “Raspberries?” she guessed.

“Very good. A friend of mine owns a vineyard in the south of France. They plant raspberries and peaches within the vines.”

After a sip, she said, “It's delicious.”

“You may claim an epicurean mastery of Paris's macarons, but I challenge anyone to match me at wine.”

“I bow to your sommelier skills. But is wine the way to your heart?”