Possessed by an Immortal

Bree gave him a look packed with excitement, reluctance and another emotion he couldn’t name. “I didn’t put everything together before now. What you say makes more sense than I want to admit to.”

“Why?”

Her grave eyes held a glimmer of something he hadn’t seen before—trust. “Someone tried to sabotage the wedding before. I was there, firsthand.”

Mark tensed, his gut mirroring the conflicting emotions on her face. Knowing her story would connect them. Part of him wanted that. Another part wanted to run free, back to his island, untethered.

But that wasn’t an option. He had a duty as a Horseman. Even more than that, Bree’s vulnerable expression made him push on. “Before?”

“I used to work for a design firm. We got the commission to do the wedding clothes. Weird, eh? I was working on the outfits for my friend’s celebrity wedding. My ex-boyfriend, if you believe the tabloids.”

Mark nearly veered off the road. He knew this part of the story already. “There was a fire in the design studio. It destroyed the whole collection, except the wedding dress. That was found later.” Mark had been one of the Horsemen who’d returned the gown to Princess Amelie. Jack Anderson, the Horseman called Death, had died doing it. By all the fiery hells!

Bree closed her eyes, suddenly looking excruciatingly young. “Yes, all the clothes for the wedding were burned up. Except for the dress.” A tear leaked out from under her lashes.

“What is it?” Mark asked gently, although he felt a wave of anticipation surge through him. He was finally getting somewhere with her.

She opened her eyes, giving him a long, steady look. “You don’t need to get any more involved than you are.”

“The dress wasn’t the whole story, was it?”

She sighed, giving in. “No. There was something else, another reason they might be tailing me besides Jonathan. My boss, Jessica Lark, was murdered before the fire was set.”

So that was the murder she’d witnessed. Mark felt a chill go through him. “There were rumors that Lark had an assistant, but the name on the payroll records was a fake. There was no way to find out who you really were.”

“I was hiding from the press. Jessica kept my real identity off the books as a favor, especially when it turned out that we were the ones working on the wedding designs. I wanted my work to be taken seriously and not regarded as fluff because I was a rich girl playing with fashion.”

Mark felt a knot of suspicion forming in his gut. “You realize that doesn’t look good. Everyone thinks you’re the prince’s ex. The wedding was sabotaged. Lark was murdered. You would have been the prime suspect.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice growing hard. “I would be if you don’t know the whole story. But think about it. The police are good at their jobs. The whole thing with Jessica’s records slowed them down, sure, but the police should have been able to get past that.”

“So why didn’t they?”

She turned her face toward the window, speaking so softly he barely heard her, even with his excellent hearing. “The murderers don’t want me in police custody. For some reason, they want me and Jonathan for themselves. And to keep hunting all this time, I think they must have a lot of resources.”

Mark shifted his grip on the steering wheel. He had to get her to the safe house, and now it wasn’t just for her safety. Jessica Lark had been one of the Company’s agents. There would be questions. “Tell me the whole story.”

Bree’s mouth quavered and she bit her lip. “I was on the phone with Jessica when it happened. I heard the whole thing.”

Chapter 7

“What happened?” Mark demanded. Jessica Lark had been his friend long ago. Long before Bree would have joined Lark’s studio.

But Bree turned away, as if regretting her words. “Look, there’s the ferry. We must be in Gleeford already.”

“Tell me.” His voice was nearly a snarl.

Her eyes were shuttered. “I’ve said too much already.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. When he thought of Lark, it was as more than a coworker. Mark didn’t connect with people; he was too old, weary and wary both—but she had been different. “Jessica Lark loved animals, hated housework, didn’t trust banks and was allergic to any kind of jewelry that wasn’t pure gold or silver.”

Bree made a sound that might have been a laugh. “She loved pretty things.”

“She was a creative genius who everyone wanted to know but most found a little frightening. Anyone lucky enough to land in her bed quickly bored her but she was too soft-hearted to send them away. Does any of this sound familiar? Do you believe that I knew her and that she was important to me?”

Bree made a derisive noise. “All the men were in love with her. You, too, then.”

“Not in the way you mean. But yes, I loved her. We knew each other a long, long time.”

He caught her glance for a moment, and it was like seeing some small, frightened animal backing into its burrow. Bree was pulling away, giving in to her fear. Silence and running were the only survival tactics she knew.

Frustrated, Mark turned at the sign for the ferry. Ticket booths guarded a parking lot filled with cars waiting for the next boat to arrive. Puget Sound stretched before them, a broad silver swath of water rimmed in dark forest.

Mark pulled up to a ticket booth and lowered the window. “Two adults, one child.”

“The next sailing’s at ten twenty-five. You’ve got a forty-minute wait.” The man took Mark’s cash. He looked cold despite a Cowichan sweater under his coat. The wind off the water was brisk. “You may as well park and go for coffee.”

“Where’s a good place?”

“There’s a shop that does its own roasting right over there.” He pointed up at the road. “Good cinnamon rolls, too.”

Mark thanked him and pulled ahead. There were about a dozen cars ahead of them already.

“Breakfast,” Bree said, unbuckling her seat belt before the car had come to a full stop.

Mark caught her wrist. “I have questions.”

She shrugged him off. “I need to eat. So does Jonathan. We can talk after.”

Mark hesitated but gave in because she was right. Besides, he seemed to have her trust for the moment. Everything was going according to plan. There was no good reason to insist they stay with the car.

He waited for her to unbuckle Jonathan. The boy bounced out of the car like a joyous puppy, banging into Mark’s knees. He caught the child before he could zip in front of a moving SUV. Automatically, he hoisted Jonathan into the air, making him gurgle with laughter, the wind tossing the waves of his soft, fine hair.

Memories. He’d done the same thing long ago in Parma—picking up his own son in the stable yard, keeping him out from under the horses’ hooves. His son had laughed in just that way.

The image caught him off guard, a jab under the ribs that nearly made him stumble. He slammed into grief and anger he had long tried to forget. He set Jonathan back on his feet, but the boy clung to him as they walked toward the street, the feel of his tiny hand chaining him to the past. Mark wanted to pull his hand away, but stopped himself. The child was innocent. It was up to Mark to swallow down the pain.

Fear made another lap through his imagination, repeating what he already knew. The first Nicholas Ferrel had killed his wife and children over five hundred years ago. Now his descendant was prowling around, just when Mark had found this woman and child. Surely I’m smarter now. Surely I can stop him this time.

The threat could be anywhere. Mark tensed, opening his vampire senses to scan the quiet scene, tasting the wind for any hint of an enemy. A low growl thrummed deep in his chest. Jonathan gave him a curious look.

Fortunately, Bree didn’t hear him. “This is the cutest town ever. And there’s a quilt shop.”

“I thought you wanted breakfast.”

“Some women need pretty fabric the way others need air.” But she turned into the coffee shop.

It was a long, narrow space with a few wooden tables and chairs. Most of the space was taken up by the coffee bar and glass cases of buns and pastries. Jonathan pressed himself against the glass like a determined squid.

“Isn’t there anything with protein?” she muttered. “Too much sugar isn’t good.”

“There’s milk,” Mark suggested. “And I don’t think one pastry will hurt. Surely his grandparents have spoiled him once in a while?”

“No.” Her answer sounded cold and final.

No doting grandma and grandpa, then. Mark pondered that, and the frown that suddenly darkened her face. Bad memories?

Jonathan bounced on his toes and pointed to a tray of buns thick with nuts and frosting.

Bree huffed a sigh. “I shouldn’t be feeding him that stuff. At least at a drive-through I could get something with eggs.”

“Forgive yourself, and make the best choice from the available options.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“Does that mean I’m quotable?”

“Only when I’m feeding my child his own weight in sugar. Remember we’ll be trapped with him for miles and miles while he burns it off.”

Mark grunted in acknowledgment. “I’m sure I have duct tape in the trunk.”

“Hey,” said the young man who took their order. He was looking at Bree closely. “Are you somebody famous? I know you from somewhere.”

She laughed easily. “My kid thinks I’m a rock star, but that’s it, I’m afraid.”

Mark shouldered his way forward to pay, blocking the young man’s view of her. Bree picked up their tray and claimed a table for the three of them. As Mark waited for change, he watched Bree with fresh interest as she arranged food and drink and boy, every gesture quick and graceful. Jonathan sat down, grabbed a sticky bun as big as his head and tried to eat it all in one bite. Bree moved in for the rescue, napkin in hand.

Mark chose the chair closest to the shadows and sat down. He took a swallow of thick, strong coffee, feeling the caffeine hit his finely tuned vampire metabolism. Jonathan wasn’t going to be the only one climbing the walls, but Mark needed to be on full alert.

Bree heard Jessica Lark die. How many people knew? Was there more to her sudden appearance on his island than met the eye? “The man named Bob. Your boat driver.”

Bree looked up from cutting Jonathan’s bun into socially acceptable chunks. “What about him?”

Mark waited while a man in coveralls shuffled past their table, bag of pastries in hand, before he answered. “I wonder if he knew Larson.”

“He knew everyone. He knew every inch of every island.”

Which meant he probably knew Mark’s cabin. “I think he meant for me to find you.”

“I found you, remember?”

“Whatever. The fact that we met drew both of us into the open. A sweet package deal. I think the reason he dropped you where he did, and the reason I was motivated by a letter I received to leave the cabin—well, it made somebody’s work a lot easier. Now they get a two-for-one.”

Bree frowned. “What are you saying?”

“We might both be targets. I knew Jessica Lark. We worked together. Not on fashion, but on other things.”

Her eyes grew wider. “What kind of things?”

“Things that interest men with guns. We, uh, did a bit of freelance undercover work.” It wasn’t information he ever shared, but Bree’s life, and Jonathan’s, depended on getting out of this mess. The least he could do was sketch in a few details to help her. As a vampire, he could always erase her memory later.

“You mean you two were like spies?”

“Sort of.”

Before Mark had joined the Horsemen’s team, he and Lark had done a fair number of assignments together—a fey and a vampire posing as a beautiful couple, infiltrating the rich and famous. It had been easy for Mark, who had spent his youth as a courtier. Lark had been fun, vibrant, beautiful and very unpredictable. Not an ideal operative, but a fascinating female.

Bree leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “What else are you besides a doctor?”

“I have varied interests.” He leaned forward, as well. It put her face only inches away, the blue-green of her eyes so clear that he could see the subtle shading of the irises. She smelled of warmth and life.

“You could have killed me when I pulled a gun on you.”

“Yes.”

Her lids lowered, her lashes sweeping the dusting of freckles that crept over her cheeks. He’d meant to reassure her, but it wasn’t working. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth. She was so afraid.

“Bree.”

Those thick lashes lifted. Mark was aware of the chatter of other customers, the hiss of the coffeemaker, but that was all distant backdrop. He kept telling himself that he didn’t want to become tangled in her story, but here he was—tangled. She seemed to step right over the circle he drew around himself. “I can protect you.”

The hunger in Mark welled, reminding him that he wasn’t just a human, and he wasn’t just a healer. There was a flip side to him, a darkness that destroyed. That was his natural state, what lay beneath when the surface was scratched. He was appetite without end.

He never let that creature loose anymore. But now it battered against its iron cage, yearning to take the woman whose mouth was right there, so close he could already taste her. Her lips were wide and generous, giving her face an oddly vulnerable cast. Loneliness rose from her like a scent. Any predator could see she was cut off from the herd, alone and unprotected.

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