Immortal Redeemed

Certainly he hadn’t expected to meet a female who was the equivalent of a Grim Reaper, but also perfectly fit his personal preferences physically, when it could just as easily have been otherwise.

“I’m meeting someone,” Kellan said.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought...”

“Yes? You thought?” he encouraged when she didn’t finish the remark.

“I thought I might have known you from someplace. Guess I was mistaken.”

She didn’t leave. She stood her ground boldly, as if she wanted to add something, or else wanted him to.

Kellan purposefully kept his voice steady. “Do you work in the hospital?”

He stayed close to the bike so he wouldn’t frighten her. Restraining himself from taking the few steps needed to reach her was hard. He wanted to press his mouth to hers in a kiss that might open Pandora’s box. A kiss that might let him know if nearly overwhelming odds against him finding the one person he was after in Seattle meant nothing when it came to the magic of ancient souls and secrets connecting.

The pressure of his need to know about this woman was like a fist to his gut. Her presence was curious and captivating for a man who not only had searched for such a connection, but also had forgone serious female companionship in favor of more pressing pursuits.

She stood across from him as if he had conjured her.

Maybe he had.

Still, what was she seeing? She was telegraphing her interest in him by remaining close. His senses were loud and clear about that. Some sort of combustible chemical reaction was taking place between them. The air was heavy with it, and warmer than before.

Animal magnetism at work? Lust at first sight? An instantaneous attraction between strangers on a street corner was possible, Kellan supposed, though unlikely—which surely meant that the odds against this being a benign chance meeting were in his favor.

Are you her?

With his heart misbehaving, it was impossible for him to remain inert for much longer. In order to place her importance to his cause, he’d have to get a peek at this woman’s soul. To do that, she’d have to be unwrapped. She’d have to meet him skin to skin for him to see what secrets, if any, lay hidden beneath those fragile feminine bones. And he was all for that skin-to-skin business.

“Do you recognize me?” he silently sent to her, hoping something deep inside her might rise to the surface and provide a clue.

“Yes,” she said, giving him a start.

She waved at the hospital across the street, reminding him of the other question he’d posed. “I work there, at Seattle General. Possibly that’s where I’ve seen you? Are you waiting for someone to be released?”

“Nope,” he said, unable to lie about even the simplest things. None of the Blood Knights could.

Nor was he good at small talk, especially when trying to reason things out. He kept wondering how an ancient soul could survive by being passed along from body to body in a long line of new recipients, without those recipients knowing about it. Same soul, different housing, in a special type of reincarnation. Not a myth. Absolutely real.

If this woman didn’t know what she carried inside her, though, how would she recognize him? In any case, why didn’t she run?

Did she like his looks as much as he liked hers? His appearance had once been legendary, but he was much leaner and more chiseled now. Time had done that. Time and the efforts of his quest. He’d been frozen in the body of a twenty-eight-year-old, but Kellan knew he looked older, and that he had always projected a dangerous edge. The leather and the bike helped that image along.

“I stopped for a breath and to get my bearings,” he told her.

As she continued to study him, his nerves burned. Seconds flew by in silence before she put a hand to her temple as if to ease an ache there. The brief flutter of her lashes gave Kellan the first hint that she wasn’t all right. Not just tired. Possibly she was ill. Small quakes ran through her, suggesting that her strength had ebbed.

“You couldn’t have called to me, I suppose,” she finally said. “And I guess I’m way too tired to be making sense.”

Her voice wasn’t just sexy. It was flammable.

Was that also a sign?

“Do you need help?” he asked politely, carefully managing his excitement and his reaction to her. “An escort to your car, or a ride somewhere?”

The busy street wasn’t the right place to hold an important meeting of any kind. The damn werewolf had got closer, as well as too many other people who hadn’t received the memo about their lives being safer indoors after dark.

Kellan had to pay some attention to the monsters prowling the darkness because if he hit the road, this woman, in her weakened state, would be easy prey.

Her lashes fluttered again before she briefly closed her eyes, leaving Kellan certain that the ashen pallor of her face wasn’t due entirely to Seattle’s sunless climate. The bold blonde was no longer steady on her feet. She looked as if she could have been a patient at the hospital across from them.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he repeated in a soft, clear tone. “Help of any kind?”

“No.” Her head shake displaced a few damp dark-golden strands that were starting to curl. “I don’t need help. Thanks for the offer.”

She inched backward without turning from him and ran into a post. After issuing a short bark of uncomfortable laughter, she muttered, “Hell, what a night,” and looked up to apologize a second time. “Sorry.”

It could have been the way she issued the apology—the rather forlorn enunciation of two drawn-out syllables—that caused Kellan to stir. He was beside her in an instant, utilizing the extraordinary speed and superior reflexes that had been built into him.

Chances were that not many others on the sidewalk had been paying attention to what might appear little more than a street-side tête-à-tête. Odds were also good that no one had noticed how frail this woman appeared to be, and how menacing he looked by comparison. He was two heads taller than she was and twice as broad. She tilted her head back to look up at him and met his eyes.

Her eyes were blue.

“I had a long shift, that’s all. I need to get home and rest,” she explained. “I used to be a cop, and that’s my excuse for confronting you, as lame as it sounds.”

Kellan’s hand hovered less than an inch from hers. She was in some kind of trouble and trying to make the best of it. He zeroed in on the thin white scar that ran from her right temple to beneath her ear, noting how the fingers of her other hand kept returning to that spot.

She’d been damaged, and she seemed to him like a real woman made of flesh and bone. Up close, he found nothing to suggest she might be a vessel housing an immortal knight’s off switch. She looked nothing at all like a Reaper in disguise.

He eyed her thoughtfully. Are you what my Makers tried so hard to hide so that my life would go endlessly on? Or are you merely a woman who appeals to my baser side?

It was conceivable that she was just a woman, but how could a mistake in identity happen between two souls intricately tied to each other for centuries, or when the termination of his life might be in her hands?

Each Blood Knight had a counterpart soul, though no one expected the two to find each other. They weren’t supposed to meet. Weren’t designed to meet. The Makers at Castle Broceliande had seen to it that the seven Knights could be taken down if they veered too far off track. This had been accomplished by planting fail-safe switches in seven other souls ultimately responsible for turning each Knight off, dealing a final death blow if called into action.

The way they’d do this was top secret. None of the Knights knew what their counterparts might have in store, or where in the world they were. It had taken Kellan years of research to pinpoint Seattle as the hometown of his, plus a lot of underground bargaining with his considerable fortune. Then there was the call he had felt all the way to his bones.

Was it this woman, then?

Is it you?

Will your touch end my existence? As simply as that? I show up and awaken what’s supposed to be off-limits, and you destroy me?

Her closeness produced feverish warmth in him. Yet he was minus the guidebook for unlocking secrets tucked inside someone composed by magical design, so he was on his own. And honestly, he now began to think that exploring this female’s hidden assets, no matter what she turned out to be, would be extremely pleasurable. He might even die a final death with a smile on his lips.

As he stood there, the urge to touch her was becoming an outright necessity. He wanted to trace her facial scar with his fingers and feel firsthand the lushness of her lips. Burying his face in her damp hair would be a luxury. She smelled damn good, and it had been a while since he’d taken the time to enjoy anything of a personal nature.

“I’m willing to help,” he said, gauging her reaction to his closeness. She shook so hard, his hand connected to hers automatically, sending shocking currents of electricity buzzing through him.

His excitement doubled. But was this a further sign?

Kellan smiled. While his sigils seared his skin and his heart beat wildly in his chest, raw physical need was trumping his internal warnings about having to use caution. Hell, he wanted this woman so badly, it was possible that sex held the answer to unlocking the Reaper, and all he had to do was insert a throbbing key into her lock.

“Let me help you...”

Had she heard that silent suggestion, too? She hadn’t pulled her hand away. He watched her lips part.

“Are you a good guy?” she asked.

“Trick question,” he replied. “Would I tell you if I wasn’t?”

“Probably not.”

“Everyone says I’m one of the good guys. Well, most people would, I guess, if they knew me.”

She nodded warily, sighed softly, allowing these moments to linger because of his silent influence on her.

“Where are you headed?” Kellan asked.

“To my car. It’s behind me, in that garage.”

“Do you think you can drive?”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t, but I’m going to try. My legs won’t hold me up much longer, and I’d rather not be seen like this by anyone I work with. Besides, I doubt if I could make it back to the hospital’s front door.”

“If I carry you to your car, will I be responsible for the accident waiting to happen between here and your home?”

She stared at him mutely.

“How about if I take you home and we avoid all those other potential problems?” Kellan suggested.

“You can’t take me anywhere, because I don’t know you.”

“Then I’m not sure what kind of help you need.”

She shook her head, spreading more of her subtle perfume in the wind. That scent was like honey.

“This is seriously embarrassing,” she said. “There’s no need to worry about me. I’ll call my partner for help. I’d be grateful if you’ll just stay here until I do, so that no other...”

“Stranger?” he supplied when her sentence dangled. “So that no other Harley-riding yahoo might approach you on the street?”

“So that no other person dares to come to my aid, and I have to start over, behaving like an idiot,” she clarified, looking up at him. “And so that no one looking out of a hospital window might assume I’m not up to the tasks assigned to me there.”

Currents of electricity continued to slam Kellan through his grip on her fingers. He had to monitor his reaction to each physical jolt.

The woman had palmed her cell phone but hadn’t used it. Kellan wanted to know what she might be thinking. When would she realize that a stranger was holding her hand? This unplanned touch had to be unusual behavior for her. It certainly was unusual for him. He never made physical contact with mortals unless absolutely necessary, and he kept clear of them whenever possible. Too much contact, too much exposure to another beating heart’s welcoming warmth, and a Knight’s blood oath might be called into question.

This woman’s fingers were cold, proving that she should have known better than to walk around with wet hair. Yet he sensed heat radiating off her, beneath her coat, and he wondered how long it would take before his desire to possess this mortal got the better of him, despite what she’d just said about having a partner to call. Another person in the picture could muddy things up quite a bit.

He detected something else. Silver. She carried a pocketknife. The folded blade produced an additional buzz on the periphery of his senses.

“Are you ill?” he asked, releasing her hand.

Only then did she look at her fingers. “Tired,” she replied. “Too damn tired.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you to use that phone. Go ahead and dial.”

She raised the cell phone, pushed several tiny buttons and held the phone to her right ear. “Officer Randall...” she started to say, then paused to clear her throat. “Ex-officer Randall on the line for Detective Miller.”

As she listened to the response on the line, Kellan filed that information away. She had mentioned being a cop in the past, and had mistakenly used that old title now. Possibly her training was the reason she had spoken to him in the first place. The cop in her might assume at first glance that a guy on a tricked-out bike could potentially mean trouble, whether or not she was in any condition or position right now to address that kind of trouble.

Then again, maybe she had responded to his call.

Was she a doctor? Nurse?

“I see,” she said to the phone. “No. Don’t patch me through. I have Miller’s cell number, and this isn’t important. I’ll get back to him later. Thanks.”

Her arm dropped. Kellan caught the phone before it hit the ground, lamenting that there would be no lusty night ahead with warm sheets and warmer bodies, given this woman’s current condition. If she wasn’t sick, she was close to it.

She needed help. More than she knew. The damn werewolf was fifty feet away and closing in, drawn to weakness like a moth to a flame and unaware of what kind of fate awaited if it attempted anything monstrous here tonight. Blood Knights weren’t known for mercy when it came to dealing with predators.

Since he couldn’t tackle that problem at the moment, however, and in public, Kellan had to handle things another way. He’d see this woman safely off the street. Even if his hopes were dashed and she proved not to house a special spirit, the pretty blonde would be another in a long line of people he’d protected.

“No one else coming to the rescue?” he asked.

She didn’t reply.

“All right. I guess that leaves me.”

Kellan peeled her from the post and pulled her into his arms before any remark she might care to make was possible. The momentum of his action caused her head to rest against his chest. Her body molded to his from her shoulders to her hips.

Whips of fire licked at Kellan’s bones, sending good-size shudders through him. These sensations were new. They were unique. But were they enough?

Her next words were muffled. Her hand closed on the knife in her pocket. “That was not an invitation, and if you don’t back off, I’m going to scream.”

“You asked for help,” he reminded her with his mouth edging her damp hair.

“Not that kind of help.”

“I’m not sure there’s another kind at the moment. Can you walk?”

“Let me help you.”

Her reply took some time. “Not far.”

“Ten feet, to the curb? Should I actually carry you there, ignoring your protests?”

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “I’m not a child. I can...”

Kellan didn’t wait for her to finish the argument. It was obvious to both of them that her legs wouldn’t hold her up for much longer. It was far less obvious to anyone but him that if the werewolf came any closer with thoughts of pushing its luck, Kellan would be forced to deal with the beast for safety’s sake, no matter who might be looking.

To avoid all that, there was only one thing to do—push his influence over her a little bit more.

“You must let me help you. Trust me to do that.”

He waited until she blinked. Then he swung the blue-eyed enigma into his arms and headed for the bike instead of the garage. He set her gently on the Harley’s seat and climbed on in front of her.

“Put your arms around me,” he directed.

She did as she was told.

Although she shivered, her body heat penetrated his leather jacket, reaching his skin as easily as if no barrier stood in the way. Kellan closed his eyes to absorb the impact.

Women didn’t have a place in the oaths he’d taken. He’d known a few of them more than casually over the centuries, but had loved only once, long ago.

He was supposed to have turned out angelic. History painted him that way. Poets sang of his life. Some said he was a saint. He was one-seventh of a brotherhood designed to protect one of the world’s most treasured holy relics. The Grail. Christ’s chalice. But in truth, he had always been a rebel, and the gift of immortality hadn’t changed that.

He might have desired this woman if they’d met in any century. He liked the mixture of strength and vulnerability she showed. He admired her looks, and had been mesmerized by those large blue eyes that somehow seemed so familiar.

Kellan ignored the soft click of his fangs extending in honor of his passenger. The razor-sharp canines rarely presented themselves and were a throwback to drinking the blood of his Maker in order to execute their plans. The outlandish teeth weren’t for biting or hurting. He had never used them on anyone, for any reason, and never would, since he considered them an abomination.

Those fangs extending now were a complete surprise. They were also proof positive that though he was a monster hunter, by physical definition he was also one of those monsters.

Smiling sadly, Kellan kicked the bike to life. “Now,” he called over his shoulder, ignoring the sparks of protest shooting from one of his shoulder blades to the other. “Where am I taking you?”

Chapter 3

Kellan maneuvered his way through the steady stream of traffic, drawing double takes from people in passing cars. He got more attention from pedestrians, who alternately viewed him as a threat or with envy while eyeing the shiny black bike.

He’d never been to Seattle. The streets had an uncomfortable look, as if the modern and older architectural styles were at war with each other. This, Kellan supposed, was another kind of metaphor for the dichotomy of the types of beings existing here. Humans versus their older, genetically modified nightmares. Werewolves. Vampires. And a whole host of other things.

Traffic, even at ten thirty, was thick. Horns sounded. Music reached him from the doorways of restaurants and clubs. Voices called to other voices, and a helmeted guy on a Suzuki gave him a thumbs-up.

Centered within all that chaos, Kellan’s feelings morphed into something much more raw and anxious. If the woman behind him was the shut-off valve to his overextended existence, and he chose to activate that valve, his soul could be set free. At long last, he would be able to close his eyes and rest.

He had wanted this for more years than he could count.

“Turn here,” his passenger directed.

Kellan did as she instructed, wanting to see where this beauty would take him. Having been a police officer, she’d know most streets by heart. She also would have recognized potential trouble when facing it, and when facing him, even before his understated commands had helped her to get on the bike. Maybe he didn’t come off as scary as he thought. Yet tugging an old soul free from someone unknowingly housing such a thing might change her mind about that. It wouldn’t be easy and could prove even tougher if he was up against someone trained to handle herself.

“Turn again,” she said.

Simply wrenching secrets from this woman would cost him less anxiety and get him to the end point quicker. The problem was that he already considered her special, and these days he reserved muscle work for dusting monsters.

She had a death grip on him. If she truly was ignorant of the soul she housed, this woman couldn’t possibly see the irony in that.

Fortunately, in this intricate game of hide-and-seek, he planned to come out the winner. That didn’t mean he didn’t like her arms around him and her heat. In fact, what he desired most right now was the time necessary for him to coax answers from her the old-fashioned way, by acting on an escalating physical attraction that would lead to sex. Nakedness and sex. Hard bodies on a soft bed that held lingering traces of this woman’s wonderful perfume.

Hell, he amended. Sex on any surface would do. One last time. Would she allow him that? Could he get her to trust a stranger enough to invite him into her bed without using his influence?

After coming all this way, was he going to wait for her to decide, or help her along?

* * *

“Almost there,” McKenna called out, and the handsome biker followed her directions without question.

It was all she could do to hold on to the stranger doing her a favor. He hadn’t headed to the garage where her car was parked, so she opted for plan B. There was no way she’d let him know where she lived. In her present state she’d be an easy target for any pervert on the prowl, and he’d already had his hands on her.

Didn’t matter that she’d liked it.

What did matter was why she had allowed such a thing.

“Fifth and G. Just a few more right turns and we’ll be there,” she said, not sure he’d hear that above the roar of the engine. But her gloriously muscled, incredibly handsome champion nodded his head.

He was a good-looking bastard for sure, from his cropped auburn mane to his boots. Everything in between seemed to have been molded to perfection by someone paying strict attention to detail. The fitted leather getup he wore enhanced his superior shape and smelled sinfully earthy.

She paid attention to the way he moved, and found him graceful and in complete control of the black custom Harley. With all his muscle and sinew, the guy was like a panther in motion. But he was too tall, too handsome and way too male. He might present himself as a white knight dipped in black leather, but in his presence she was experiencing a moment of moral and physical weakness.

It was a well-known fact that looks could be deceiving, so why the hell was she on this bike?

For the life of her, McKenna couldn’t find a reason for that.

Her old partner at Seattle PD would have rolled his eyes mockingly when catching sight of this guy, suggesting that a package like this one was bound to be bad. The nurses on her shift at the hospital would have drooled.

So, okay, he appeared to be physically perfect. The odds of this biker being merely a Good Samaritan without an agenda of his own rang in at about fifty-fifty. Granted, she’d been near enough to fainting on the street corner to have seen the lights dimming, and there was no way she could have made it to her car. But did that justify accepting aid from a stranger?

Other then Derek Miller, her ex-partner both on the force and in her bed, she hadn’t allowed herself this close to a bad boy without flashing her badge. Yet McKenna was pretty sure she had never wrapped her arms around anything so fine as this specimen.

“You can slow down now,” she called out, wondering if she had a subconscious motive for accepting this lift. Could she possibly use this stud to punish Derek for not being the right man for her? By flaunting someone in front of Derek who was in no way right? The exact opposite of right?

No. That wasn’t it. She’d never been the type to rub things into a partially closed wound. And Derek had, at one time, professed to love her.

“Fifth and G,” she repeated. “Half a block down.”

The guy glanced at her when they stopped for a red light. “All right,” he said, rocking the windblown look with deep auburn hair only a few inches long that smelled like dangerous forbidden detours.