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Eternally
Maureen Child
Eternally
To the real Bob Robison, friend and all-around nice guy who’s been bugging me for years to get into one of my books—and to his wife, Marilyn, for being able to survive the craziness with style!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Coming Next Month
Chapter 1
The body was found sprawled across Nicole Kidman’s star on Hollywood Boulevard.
The tourists who’d spent all night partying, stumbled across what was left of Mary Alice Malone and ended their vacation with a whimper.
Sunlight glittered off camera lenses and shone down on the scene with a merciless glare. Pooled beneath the young woman’s body, blood, in tiny dark rivers running from opened veins, crept into the gutter. The dead woman’s wide blue eyes were frozen open in surprise, staring into the morning sky. Her left breast was gone, excised, as if by a talented yet depraved surgeon and her yellow silk blouse had been deliberately torn and arranged to expose the injury.
Belatedly a blanket was dropped over the body. But Mary Alice Malone was long past appreciating the privacy.
Ghoulish crowds jostled for position, cameras clicked and the unfortunate tourists wept. Police strung yellow crime scene tape and hid the pity in their eyes.
In L.A., one murder more or less—even one this vicious—hardly merited more than a mention on the local news channels and a small article on page two of the newspapers.
One man took note, though.
One man stood at the edge of the crime scene, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered mob. He knew his quarry was near. He’d recognized the killer’s handiwork. He’d chased him before. And won. Now he would be forced to do it again.
And he knew that this murder was only the beginning.
The party was in full swing and Julie Carpenter swiveled on her desk chair to impotently glare at the door separating her suite from the rest of the house. Eardrum-shattering rock music pumped through the place, the bass making the walls tremble like a tired old man looking for a place to lie down.
Her head throbbing and her stomach growling, Julie surrendered to the inevitable. No way was she going to get any work done tonight.
“Thank you, Evan Fairbrook,” she muttered and tossed her pen down onto the legal-size pad of paper in front of her. Letting her head fall back, she stared at the ceiling through gritty eyes and called down one more curse onto the head of her ex-husband.
He couldn’t be just a liar and a cheat. Oh, no. Wasn’t enough just to sleep with her best friend and God knows how many other women in Cleveland. Evan, it turns out, was a first-class weasel. Before Julie had caught on, he’d emptied their bank accounts and stolen her car. If she’d had a dog, he would have kicked it.
She couldn’t stay in Cleveland. Not with everyone looking at her, whispering about her, wondering how such a bright woman could have been so knuckle-dragging stupid. Julie sucked in a gulp of air and reminded herself that moving to California had been a good thing even though she missed her folks and her younger brother. She was in a new city, with a new job, surrounded by people fortunate enough to have never even heard of Evan Fairbrook.
No more suburban split level for her, either. Now she shared a historic old house high in the Hollywood Hills with two women who had become good friends. And, she was reinventing her career. The career that had supported Evan while he got his software business up and running.
The same software business that had folded the minute Evan milked all the money out of it and took that plane to Barbados. Julie’s only hope now was that he got melanoma from romping around buck naked in the sun with her ex-best friend Carol.
“On his nose,” she mused, smiling. “He should get a big, black hairy mole on his nose. Or maybe another body part he’s equally fond of. Yeah. And then it should rot and fall off. The body part, not the mole. Slowly.”
As curses went, it was one of her better ones, she thought, enjoying the mental image of Evan standing helplessly watching as his prized member swayed, tilted and dropped to the sand. As for Carol, the treacherous witch, it was enough of a curse that she was with Evan in the first place.
Julie blew out a breath and snorted. “Good for me.” A year after Evan had screwed her over, she was able to see the humor in the situation. Sort of. Her pride had been dinged a little—okay, crushed, stomped and spit on—but once Evan was gone from her life, she’d been forced to admit that she hadn’t really missed him. So what did that say about her?
She shook her head. Man, it was way too late to do any soul searching. Instead she’d eat the last of the Coney Island Waffle Cone ice cream in the freezer. She got up and headed for the door leading from her suite to the hallway connecting it to the kitchen of the huge old house. The mother-in-law suite she occupied in the 1920’s Craftsman-style house was way at the back of the building, usually giving her the privacy she preferred.
She’d been lucky to find this place. Number one, she hated apartment living. But more than that, being a freelance writer for the L.A. Times meant she needed a home base that was flexible. She did a lot of traveling and having housemates meant she didn’t have to worry about her place while she was gone. Plus, she had company when she wanted it and privacy when she didn’t.
Eventually, though, she’d like to move to the beach. And she’d take summers off. And do some damn sand frolicking herself.
Her cell phone rang before she could open her door and she checked caller ID before answering. “Hi, Kate.”
“Hi.” Kate Davies, one of Julie’s housemates whispered into the phone, her voice almost lost in the slam of music still pounding through the house. “Hey, what do you want to eat tonight?”
Julie smiled. Living with two women who considered splitting an M&M a walk on the wild side had its fringe benefits. Neither Kate nor their other housemate, Alicia Walker ever ate if they could help it. And since they were determined to maintain their chic, skeletal look, whenever they went out on dates—which, let’s face it, was a lot more often than Julie did—they brought a doggy bag back for her.
“Where’d he take you tonight?” Julie asked, hoping for a decent steak for once. If Kate or Alicia brought her back one more box of sushi, she’d sprout gills.
“Oh,” Kate whispered, “you’d love it. Ruth’s Chris. Just breathing in here I think I’ve gained two pounds.”
“Thank God. Meat.”
“So, what’ll it be? Filet mignon?”
Julie sighed. “I think I just had an orgasm.”
Laughter spilled through the phone. “Baked potato or garlic mashed?”
“Please. Garlic mashed. Definitely.” Not like she had to watch her breath or anything. “Order the steak rare to allow for heating up later. And if he’s willing to spring for dessert, anything chocolate.”
“It’s been so long since I had chocolate,” Kate half moaned.
“Live a little,” Julie urged, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her favorite jeans were so old and faded, they were more thread than fabric. And her T-shirt covered a figure that was more rounded than was fashionable. But then, she wasn’t trying to catch a man, was she?
She closed her eyes to her reflected image and concentrated on Kate again. “Eat something you have to chew for a change.”
“I’ve got a shoot tomorrow, Julie. I can’t eat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Sorry. What was I thinking?”
“How’s the party?”
“Haven’t been out there yet.”
Kate sighed. “Live a little,” she retorted, throwing Julie’s words back at her. “Go. Have a drink. Talk to people. Maybe a male people. Person. Whatever.”
Julie pushed away from the door, shaking her head. “No, thanks. Been there, survived that.”
“You’re too young to be a nun.”
“And you’re too thin to diet.”
“Tell you what,” Kate said, her whisper hushing through the phone, “you get laid and I’ll eat a sandwich.”
“A whole sandwich?” Julie teased.
“Half,” Kate compromised.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” A pause, then, “Oops. Gotta go. He’s coming back from the bathroom. See you later.”
“Right. Bye.” Still smiling, Julie slipped her cell phone into the front pocket of her jeans and opened the door. Instantly music slapped at her. Thundering drums, wailing guitars and the crash of the bass that jolted through the floorboards and up through the soles of her bare feet.
She shook her head, winced and headed down the dark hall. Sounds of the party drew her through the shadows into the kitchen. The lights were on, glancing off the bright yellow walls and white cabinets, searing into Julie’s eyeballs like needles. On one side of the room, a man and woman were wrapped around each other as tightly as shrink wrap on a new DVD.
A quick jolt of envy shot through her, but Julie squashed it.
Sex=Bad.
If her hormones hadn’t been doing the happy dance when she’d met Evan, none of this would have happened. Celibacy had to be better than letting your desires lead you down roads that only dead-ended.
Deliberately she turned her back on the couple, ignoring completely the muffled sighs and groans. But her insides twitched and a wash of heat ran through her despite all her efforts. To fight the neediness, she grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and headed for the one sensual delight that never let a woman down.
She yanked the freezer open and a chill blast of air wrapped itself around her. Snatching up the carton of ice cream, she took a moment to appreciate the fact that because she shared a house with a wannabe actress and a part-time model, the ice cream she bought was always in the freezer waiting for her. Smiling, Julie had the lid off and tossed onto the counter even before she swung the freezer door closed again.
“Whoa!” Startled, she took a step back and stared up into pale blue, icy eyes. “Didn’t know you were there.”
She hadn’t even heard the man come into the room. Not a big surprise, though, considering the volume of the music. Although, she admitted silently, there was no way she could have missed this guy any other way. He shifted his cool gaze to the couple across the room from them and his jaw tightened.
Tall, at least six foot four, he had broad shoulders, long legs, night-black hair and sharply chiseled features. He was dressed all in black, from the jeans that hugged his legs to the T-shirt straining across a muscled chest to the three-quarter length coat that hung to the middle of his thighs.
A coat? In summer?
Ah, life in Hollywood, where image was everything.
When he swung those pale eyes back to her, Julie took a deep breath and a big bite of the ice cream. It wasn’t enough to cool her off, though. She had a feeling that standing buck naked in a snowstorm wouldn’t do it, either.
He frowned at her, then shook his head and glanced back to where the shrink-wrapped couple were practically horizontal on the counter. Before Julie could say anything, the tall, dark stranger was halfway across the room. He grabbed the guy’s shoulder and spun him around.
Lover boy didn’t much like the interruption. “Dude, what’s your problem?”
“Hey,” his girlfriend complained as she tugged her tube top back up to cover most of her breasts.
“Leave. Now.”
Something in Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous’s voice must have gotten through. The shorter man grabbed his girlfriend, swung her off the counter and tugged her across the room. Just before he slipped through the swinging door, though, he tossed back one last shot. “You are so lucky I don’t feel like fighting tonight.”
Julie half laughed as they disappeared into the main flow of the party. “You notice he didn’t try to threaten you until he was sure he could escape.”
“He’s here. I know he’s here. Somewhere.”
“Who? Hell,” Julie said, just a little nervous at being alone with a man bristling with a sense of power, “half of Hollywood’s here tonight.”
“This is your home.” His gaze snapped to hers as his voice, deep and low, rumbled as insistently as the bass.
She swallowed. Everything about this man felt just a little over the top. Danger seemed to flash around him in electrical arcs that might as well have been lit by neon. He wasn’t the ordinary guest who showed up to these parties. This man was…different. “Yeah. Why?”
He moved in closer and Julie felt heat rippling off of him in thick waves. Just watching him walk—long legs, slow, determined strides—was enough to make a woman go all hot and gooey. Not a man for a recently declared celibate to be around for very long. Her knees wobbled unsteadily even as her pulse kicked up into high gear.
It suddenly dawned on her that because of the noise level, if she had to yell for help, it wouldn’t do any good. No one would hear her.
“Have you noticed any strangers here?”
“Huh? You mean besides you?” Julie forced another laugh and took a bigger bite of ice cream, still wildly hoping the frozen treat would cool off the heat building inside. “You’re kidding, right?”
She waved her spoon at the closed swinging door separating the kitchen from the living room. “Everyone here is a stranger. Parties are free-for-alls in this town. One person tells someone, who tells someone else who tells someone and—” she paused for yet another bite of ice cream “—you get the picture.”
He scowled and his eyes narrowed. “That’s what I thought.”
Julie took another bite and momentarily savored the swirl of caramel as she studied him. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t need help. What she’d need was a cold shower. Every cell in her body was tingling. Those eyes of his were downright hypnotic. She could almost feel herself leaning in toward him and it took everything she had to lean back instead.
His gaze swept the kitchen again, as if looking for something he’d missed in his first perusal. Finally, though, those eyes came back to her and she swallowed hard.
Still, he hadn’t threatened her and she wasn’t about to let him know she was even the slightest bit worried. She waved her empty spoon at him, sweeping up and down. “You’re an actor, right?”
“No.”
“Really?” Was it hot in the kitchen? Or was it just her body lighting up like a bonfire? “Because you’ve got the whole mysterious man of the night thing going and—”
“You should leave, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Leave,” he repeated, reaching out to grab her upper arm. “Now.”
His hand touched her bare arm and heat sizzled into life between them.
One of them definitely had a fever. She just wasn’t sure which one.
He let her go almost instantly, and his eyes narrowed as he watched her. Like he was blaming her for that short burst of fire.
Stepping back from him, Julie said, “It’s one thing for you to throw Don Juan and the bimbo out, but this is my house.” At least one third of it. And right about now, she’d be really happy to see either Alicia or Kate come marching through that door. The kitchen seemed to be getting smaller. And hotter. “I’m not going anywhere. But I think you should.”
Kieran MacIntyre felt the fire still burning his fingertips and a part of him stood back and wondered at it. Through the countless centuries he’d been wandering this earth, he’d never experienced that jolt. He’d known others of his kind who had and in the beginning, he’d even been jealous of it.
But as time passed and the years piled up behind him like dirty beads on a piece of string, he’d learned that he was the lucky one. He had no distractions to keep him from the hunt. He had no other to worry about. He didn’t have to concern himself with agonizing over the loss of a Mate when he’d never found one.
Until now.
He’d first become aware of her three months ago when she’d called his home trying to set up an interview with him. Naturally her request was rejected, but he’d looked her up online and had been immediately intrigued. Her photo had haunted him since and he’d made it his business to keep a distant eye on her. Until tonight of course, when he’d been forced to confront her.
Stray curls of dark red hair escaped from the ridiculous ponytail she wore at the top of her head. Her green eyes were huge in a pale face sprinkled with just a few golden freckles. Instinct pushed at him to grab her. Hold her. Tip her head back, taste her neck, feel her pulse pound beneath his mouth. Fill his hands with her breasts and bury himself in her heat.
His body roared with life and a hunger he’d never known before. And he didn’t want it. Didn’t need it. He’d survived for this long without a Mate and he’d done a hell of a job of it, too. He’d never liked complications. Not in life and certainly not since his death. Easier by far to keep his distance from the mortal world, do his job and then fade from the memory of everyone whose life he’d touched.
Better to be alone.
Count on no one but himself and the other Guardians.
But she smelled sweet. Fresh.
Alive.
The floral shampoo she used clung to her seductively and he wondered if her skin would taste as good as she smelled. Her high, full breasts rose and fell quickly with her agitated breathing and her eyes seemed to get bigger, wider, as she watched him.
Did she sense the connection between them?
Could she have any idea at all about what was to come?
“Who are you?” she asked quietly, her whisper almost swallowed by the noise drifting to them from the adjacent room.
Who was he? An interesting question. Guardian? Warrior? Knight? Too many answers and not enough time.
He took a step closer, and she moved too, backing up until she bumped into the kitchen counter behind her. She jolted in surprise and dropped the carton of ice cream to the floor.
She couldn’t know. Couldn’t even imagine the world he moved through.
His gaze locked with hers, Kieran moved in even closer, dipping his head, letting her fill him with scents that drugged him, that poured through him like rich wine.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest.
He had no time for this. And yet, he knew he couldn’t leave her without one taste. Since he first saw her photo, he’d known this moment would come—now, he wouldn’t waste it. Cupping her cheeks between his palms, he took her mouth, intending only a brief, hard kiss that would assuage the sudden, all-encompassing need raging within. But one brush of her lips to his and he was lost.
She sighed into his mouth and her lips opened for him. His tongue swept into her depths and he felt himself drowning in the heat of her. Senses overloading, his body felt engulfed in flames. She sighed again and the soft sound spiraled through him like knives, tearing through a centuries old apathy as if it were fragile silk.
Her breasts pressed to his chest, he felt the thundering beat of her heart as if it were his own. It shuddered through him, pounding in his head, his blood.
She dropped the spoon and it clattered on the tile floor like a warning bell.
Kieran groaned, let her go and reluctantly stepped away, willing his body into quiet. The instinct to take her was strong, nearly overpowering. She trembled, eyes wide, and he wanted to lay her down on the floor and lose himself in the heat of her.
“Wow,” she said softly, “you’re really good at that.”
He rubbed one hand across his mouth and refused to admit he was shaking. He had no time for this. No time to be distracted by something he wasn’t going to claim anyway.
He wasn’t here for her.
Exactly.
Kieran had followed the scent of his prey to this house. All day, he’d hunted it, always a step or two behind. Tracking the elusive trace energy signature all demons left in their wake. Now, it seemed that Fate had taken a turn in the hunt. Why else would the beast he sought have come here?
To her house?
The power of the beast throbbed in the air, its hunger, its desire pulsing wildly and it amazed Kieran anew that the mortals couldn’t sense it. Somewhere in this house, the demon moved freely, already on the hunt, deciding who it would kill and when.
And he was the only man who could stop it.
Chapter 2
“You still haven’t answered me,” she said, voice tight, eyes wide. “Who are you?”
“Kieran MacIntyre.” His name, nothing else. She didn’t need to know more. Hell, she didn’t need to know his name. He wouldn’t be seeing her again if he could help it.
Her eyes went wide and flashed with excitement. “You’re MacIntyre?”
“Yes.”
“The man of mystery?” she continued and he could almost see her mind whirling behind her eyes. “The reclusive philanthropist, Kieran MacIntyre? Seriously?”
“And you’re Julie Carpenter. A reporter.”
Those amazing emerald eyes narrowed briefly. “How do you know that?”
“When you try to arrange interviews,” he countered, “do you actually believe you’re not being checked out in return?”
“Oh.” She nodded then said, “Okay then, that makes sense. And here you are. Isn’t this a happy coincidence? You, here, I mean. With me.” She practically scrubbed her palms together in eagerness.
“I’m not here for an interview.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t do one.”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “It does.”
There was no time to waste. Not with her. A distraction was something he couldn’t afford at the moment. Even one so tempting as she. Hunger raged and warred with the instinctive knowledge that he was wasting time. The hunt was all that mattered. A century and a half ago, he’d found the demon. And he’d done it without having a Mate by his side. Now, he would do it again.
He could hardly look at her, though, without wanting her. Her mouth was red and swollen from the kiss that he was trying to forget. He’d be damned forever if he let his desires make his decisions for him.
Hell, doing just that is what had gotten him killed in the first place.
Bending down, Kieran snatched up the ice cream and the spoon. As he straightened, the edge of his coat slipped back.
“Is that a sword?” Her voice yipped on that last word and he saw fear glint in her eyes.
“Bugger.” He shot her a quick look, tossed the ice cream and spoon onto the counter, then tugged his coat back into place. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
“Sure. Of course.” She nodded. “Gazillionaire swordsman. No big. Happens every day. In Bizarro World.”
He saw her thoughts wheeling through her brain and easily read the agitation in her eyes. Frustration coursed through him. He’d come to this house following a trail—and because he’d worried she might be in danger. Now, she was clearly imagining herself in danger from him.
Why the hell had she shown up in his life? This should have been a simple hunt. Locate his prey, incapacitate it, move on.
But nothing was as it should be.
“I don’t have time to explain,” he muttered and moved away from her. Easier to think if he couldn’t inhale her scent.
She practically leaped toward the phone hanging on the wall opposite the refrigerator. With the receiver in her hand and her finger on the number nine, she said, “Make time, sparky. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t dial 911.”
In one long stride, he was beside her, wrenching the phone from her hand and hanging it up. Damn telephones. Ever since their invention, things had been harder for Kieran and his kind. Too easy for witnesses to call the police—or worse, some tabloid.
