Deep IsThe Night: Haunted Souls Page 2

  She bristled. “I know my way around here, and a person can’t live their life running from fear all the time.”

  He shifted closer and she caught a whiff of leather, bergamot, and another spice she couldn’t identify. He smelled so delicious. Arousal heated her face with a blush.

  “Sure, and you may think common self-defense is enough, but it isn’t. Not against this killer. You cannot fight him.”

  How do I know it isn’t you?

  “How do you know it’s not me?” he asked.

  An eerie shiver ran through her as he echoed her thoughts. As powerful as this man appeared, she wouldn’t have much chance of escape. Clarissa wondered if she’d made the worst mistake of her life.

  Reality and rising dread slapped her in the face. Her heart fluttered with a peculiar combination of fear and renewed admiration. “You saved me from the pirate just to hurt me?”

  Ronan crossed his arms. “You heard me say this is my territory.”

  Think fast, Clarissa. “I’m expected for dinner at six. If I don’t show up they’re going to come looking for me.”

  He nodded. “Undoubtedly. But if you’re already dead, what good would it do if they found you?”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I might be.”

  Ire made her lash out. “Then get on with it. This witty repartee is starting to piss me off.”

  A laugh burst from his throat, deep, rumbling and tantalizing. She didn’t want to feel anything for this irritating man, but the resonance in his laugh made desire center low in her stomach once again.

  It was insane to feel yearning and trepidation at the same time. Absolutely, irrevocably nuts.

  When had she encountered a man this contrary, this frightening and amazing at one time? Never. The fact she couldn’t control it confused Clarissa down to the marrow.

  “Are you willing to risk all you have for a feckin’ photograph?” he asked. “And for what? A place of the dead? That’s bollocks.”

  Irritated, she whirled and headed toward the front gate, intent on putting as many miles between her and the Irishman as she could. This situation was too weird.

  Lightheadedness assaulted Clarissa and her eyelids fluttered. She swayed and reached out. Her hands landed on stone as she touched the side of a crypt and leaned against it. Panic trembled in her chest.

  Powerful arms reached around her waist and pulled her back against hard-as-rock muscles. She gasped and tried to writhe out of his grip. He clasped her wrists, effectively pinning her arms against her waist. God, he was so big. He could snap her like a twig.

  Something primitive, old, and perceptive motivated this man. She knew it down deep with certainty. She’d experienced these uncanny sensations before about people. Individuals who held secrets didn’t realize she could sometimes see those mysteries when she touched them.

  Just like she saw Ronan Kieran’s.

  Danger crackled and burned around him like untamable wild fire. Visions came alive as she excavated them from his mind.

  The first vision slammed into her.

  Ronan sat on a huge black warhorse, swinging a massive broadsword over his head in a gesture of defiance and strength. All around him mayhem raged. Other men rode horses toward a line of combatants holding axes, spears and swords. Archers drew back and fired longbows and the volley of arrows pierced the air.

  The visualization shifted like smoke on the breeze.

  Weak, she sagged in his arms. Blurred images scurried into her mind. She saw him crouched over a petite young blonde woman dressed in gray garments. The blonde lay on an overgrown path, her throat punctured and dried blood on her dress. He pulled the blonde into his arms, and when he looked up from her ravaged body, his eyes held an untamable anguish. He closed his eyes, threw his head back and cried out, the sound of a man in inconceivable torment.

  She jerked out of the revelation and struggled against his grip.

  Ronan tucked her tight against his body. “Shhh. Easy. I’ll not harm you.”

  “You killed her,” she rasped, her throat so tight it hurt.

  He stiffened. “Who?”

  “The little blonde.”

  “Damn it woman, who are you talking about?”

  Woman? Oh, now she was pissed. “On a path. Her throat was bitten—”

  “How did you know about her?” His voice went hard and rough. “How did you know?”

  “I saw it. A vision.” Her voice weakened as fear rushed her.

  If she expected to hear disbelief in his voice, she didn’t.

  “Don’t speak of her again. I didn’t kill her.” Fresh pain entered his words, the rawness and authenticity so cruel it spilled into her system like acid.

  Then clean sensations replaced her fear and ire. Pressed along his long, muscled body, everything focused to a fine point, an awareness of him as a man reaching deep into her sensibilities. Each breath she took sounded magnified, every brush of his body against hers created prickles across her skin.

  “There are forces at work here you don’t understand, Clarissa. Forces that would destroy you.”

  His words were potent, as effective as a sleeping draught for her senses. As his heat sheltered her against the cold night, she savored his strength as energy injected straight into her bloodstream. With one hand he tilted her head to the side. Warm breath puffed on her neck as he touched the side of her skull. A cross between a moan and a growl issued from his lips. Power seemed to radiate from him like the sun, a coiled strength she knew could protect or annihilate.

  “Your head hurts a little?” he asked, the words tender.

  Compelled to answer, she licked her dry lips. “Yes.”

  His fingers brushed over her jaw, so light she almost didn’t feel them, right over the spot where the pirate had smacked her. “There’s no damage. If he had hurt you severely he would be dead now.”

  In the primitive part of her mind, she liked his possessiveness and the assurance that he would kill to keep her safe.

  A gentle kiss touched the side of her head, a mere brush of hot lips over skin.

  “Please,” she said softly, not understanding what she wanted.

  A seductive groan drifted from his lips, like a man in the throws of the deepest erotic need. “I would like to please you.”

  Please me? Oh God.

  When had a man ever said this to her before?

  As his lips touched her cheek, he whispered words. “I could give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. Here. Now.”

  She shivered, not from fear but from new, dangerous feelings. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

  Feel your true needs. Feel the way we could be together. His husky voice poured into her, lulling her into an indolence she didn’t resist. Couldn’t resist. He didn’t speak, yet she heard him again in her mind. You would know ecstasy.

  Primitive needs intruded. Clarissa’s prickled with hypersensitivity and with every hot breath on her skin, wild vibrations shivered over her. Alarm couldn’t penetrate.

  Nor the will to escape.

  The dark stranger’s left palm flattened over her belly and heat and heaviness breached deep inside her. A burning craving built in her loins with staggering quickness. She gasped.

  With a flick of his wrist he opened all the buttons on her coat. Her sweater buffeted the cold, but when he pressed against her ribs in exploration, she felt his touch straight through. For one sane second she struggled against unbidden sensation. A tiny moan escaped. His lips brushed her cheek, and her nipples peaked against the thin confines of her bra.

  She couldn’t move, didn’t want to move.

  Her mind whirled, two parts separated from the whole. So what if this dangerous, handsome man took her right here? Brought her down to the snow-covered ground, ravished her among headstones and made her body feel things she’d never imagined. Forbidden needs roared up from some place primal. Instincts long restrained broke free.

  She wanted him.

  His
hands drifted up her ribcage until he cupped her breasts. Light, not hurtful, his touch made her squirm. Her nipples tightened at the hot, heavy feeling of his palms. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t caress, but kept her captive by mere touch.

  Then erotic visions filled her head.

  Lying naked on a soft bed draped in a canopy of pink and white tulle, she watched as Ronan stood near in his black clothes, his long leather jacket still on him. He looked down on her, a gentle smile touching his mouth. As he admired her, Clarissa’s skin felt hot. She knew he intended to torture her with nibbles and licks, and the exquisite suckling of his mouth.

  The image disappeared from her mind.

  A whimper broke from her. “What’s happening to me?”

  She should have been terrified, but Clarissa couldn’t form a coherent panic. Swallowing hard, she brought her hands up and clasped the big hands holding her breasts.

  “Breathe deeply.” His voice dropped, softer and reassuring. “Take me within you.”

  She couldn’t resist, and at his command she inhaled. Spicy, musk-filled, and heady with sensual promise, his scent wiped away the cold and their location. All she wanted or needed would be provided. Every rapture could become hers. How she knew this she couldn’t say.

  He allowed his touch to drift and her hands followed his movement. He cupped under her breast, the other hand drifted low until it rested above her pubic mound. An ache migrated from her belly to between her legs. Moist heat dampened her, and her nipples tightened into even harder points.

  His words rumbled in her ear. “Do you see now? Do you understand how defenseless you are? I can do what I want with you, where I want. You have no defense against me.”

  “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “No, sweet lady, I would not. But there are creatures you don’t understand wandering this place. They would not hesitate to harm you. Now, promise me. Leave this place and don’t return.”

  Anger managed to leak through. She groaned and fought against the hold Ronan had on her mind. “Let me go.”

  “All you need to do is ask.”

  Instantly he released her and she snapped into sharp focus. All fog left her mind and she whirled around to face him. She stepped back until she bumped into a headstone. Her camera case lay in the snow several feet away. When had she dropped it again?

  Using the hard surface as a prop, she stared at him with renewed apprehension holding her captive. His dark eyes again burned with that unholy fire. His nostrils flared, his breathing quick as his broad chest rose and fell. She gazed at the front of his jeans and only one thought penetrated. One exhilarating realization she savored despite the bizarre circumstances.

  The impossibly gorgeous man in front of her possessed a serious hard-on. Her mouth popped open in surprise. No doubt about it, he had the look of a man filled with desire. A man badly in need of her as his cock pressed against his jeans, full and long.

  What came out of her mouth denied the inconceivable sexual interlude. “What the hell just happened? What are you?”

  For this man wasn’t ordinary. The strange mental pictures told her that.

  But had she seen his previous incarnations? Did he know about them?

  He put his hands on his hips, and she remembered the sensation of his touch on her body. Ronan’s hands had been warm despite the winter in the air.

  When he didn’t answer her query, she managed to command her muscles in to action. Mixed feelings challenged her to discover more about him. At the same time, she knew he wouldn’t tell her anything. The man had secrets miles deep, and he wouldn’t give up answers without a fight.

  How she knew this she couldn’t say, but the certainty frightened her. But no more than wondering if everything she’d experienced really occurred. Had she lost her mind? Or did Pine Forest’s usual brand of supernatural insanity cause this hallucination?

  Without another word she retrieved her camera bag. She wrestled her car keys from a side pocket on the bag and walked toward her old red Acura, moving as fast as icy snow would allow. She didn’t look back, though she could feel his heavy stare boring into her with every step she made.

  * * * * *

  After Clarissa left his arms and the graveyard, Ronan tried to control the raging, wild temptations surging through his system. He gritted his teeth as deep shivers ran up and down his tortured body. He turned and leaned against a crypt, palms flat against the stone. As he drew in ragged breaths, his undead heart pounded out his need. He closed his eyes as pain darted through his groin.

  You almost had her, old man. Sure, and her blood would have tasted beyond sweet. Like the darkest honey, she would have flowed down your throat with sizzling fire and sexual ecstasy.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  But no. He’d given up tasting human blood that way a long time ago. His body wanted hers, wanted her spread out under him as he inserted his cock deep into her wet, welcoming body.

  His fingers clutched at the hard stone under his fingers. When he’d seen the pirate wannabe assaulting Clarissa, red-hot rage had made his gut burn. He could have killed the cretin with one well-placed twist of his fingers. But then he would have been no better than the creep who tried to mug her.

  He straightened, taking more deep breaths to control his bloodlust and heady craving.

  Anger and desire.

  A deadly combination.

  Bloody. Feckin’. Hell.

  Snow landed on his nose and he wiped it away with an irritable movement. Wind ruffled his hair as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud. Although the night grew bitterly cold, a fire continued in his belly.

  He’d come to the church to think and discovered a woman with incredible copper penny red hair tumbling in ringlets down her back to her waist. She was a tall beauty about five-seven with curves that fit against his body with agonizing perfection. Her full hips, rounded and soft under those jeans had felt so good. And sweet Mother Mary. Her breasts.

  Better not think about the ripe fullness he’d cupped. The weight of her breasts had driven him to within an inch of seducing her. He’d wanted to pluck those nipples, feel them under his fingers. He’d wanted to rip the shirt off her and suck her, lick the round orbs until she writhed and begged to be taken.

  His groin throbbed with unsatisfied passion he hadn’t suffered for decades.

  “Damn it.”

  Who was he kidding?

  A few moments of coaxing and she would have been his. Here in this forsaken graveyard he could have taken her right up against this crypt.

  So why had he stopped?

  He’d stopped because Clarissa Gaines didn’t deserve what he’d done to her any more than she’d deserved the pirate’s filthy attention. He’d vowed to keep his hands off mortal women a long time ago, and he’d refused to use his seductive powers to possess one.

  If a mortal woman came to him it would be because she wanted him, not because he’d convinced her by some vile means that she wanted him when she didn’t. Even seven hundred years ago, after he’d been turned into a vampire, he’d never taken a woman against her will. Rape sickened him and he abhorred all who used their power this way.

  Yet with one glance at two beautiful blue eyes, he’d lost complete control and tried to seduce her.

  Feck. He couldn’t afford distraction with the ancient one still haunting this town.

  When he turned and looked at the churchyard, he remembered what he’d told his friends only a day ago. What he’d vowed to Sorley, Lachlan, Erin, Gilda, Tom, Micky, and even Jared. He’d promised to find the woman.

  This so-called woman would be everyone’s salvation from the ancient one and the parade of darkness, according to the Irish seer and to Yusuf.

  A warm feeling entered his weary vampire soul, one with far-reaching consequences. Clarissa Gaines had heated to his influence, and a woman who didn’t find him attractive in the first place would have struggled more against his embrace.

  Ronan smiled. Besides that, he’d heard some of her tho
ughts. Reluctantly she’d admitted to herself she thought he was handsome.

  Ruggedly handsome. In a mortal, very ridiculous way her attraction gratified him. Something else kept his interest high; his weakness for wanting to solve mysteries. When he’d held her in his arms she’d murmured about things from his past, things he wanted to forget. A dart of mental pain lacerated him. Somehow Clarissa had known about sweet Fionnghuala or Fenella as her anglicized name would be known. Clarissa had seen the horrible memory of Fenella’s death as if the memory were her own and not extracted from the deepest, most agonizing part of his mind. How?

  His gaze fell on the abandoned fanny pack on the ground nearby. He smiled again. Maybe he had found the woman after all.

  Chapter Two

  As Clarissa walked into the town community center, memories flooded her. The old saying about not being able to come home again was true, yet the building smelled, looked, and felt the same as it had twelve years ago.

  Long and wide, the log cabin structure seemed a little gloomy this evening. Although the cutesy Halloween decorations should have looked fun and inviting, they managed to appear clownish in the more sinister sense of the word.

  She’d noticed as a child that the buildings in Pine Forest owned a special dimness. They lacked the verve and essential glow of happy areas. When she mentioned this oddity to her parents they’d indulged her with a “yes, dear” and then said no more. She’d chalked up her impressions as her imagination, since she seemed to have a tremendous quantity of it.

  Shadows lingered here as they did everywhere else in this odd town. Determined to map this community by word and photograph, she knew she’d get her book written and designed despite the bizarre circumstances plaguing Pine Forest. Photographing haunted places during this Halloween time when the veils between the worlds were thinnest might be advantageous. Who knew what she’d pick up on film?

  She stepped through the main foyer and saw the large meeting room to her left bustled with activity. People milled around the room greeting each other and settling into metal folding chairs. Tonight the topic of discussion would be whether to hold the annual Halloween party or to cancel. After all, a serial killer prowled the streets and no one appeared safe. The entire month of October had been rife with murders; Clarissa had lost count of how many had occurred.