Of A Darker Nature Read online

  “You think Trent works for her now? Surely there’s another explanation.” Evan’s face pinched. “Really Marcus, he’s been with Isabella longer than anyone.”

  “Perhaps he’s grown tired of her too.” Marcus struggled to contain the anger that boiled within his chest. Evan sounded a lot like Isabella. How could they both be so damned naive?

  “She won’t like this.”

  “Would you like me to wait until we have more allies? It might be too late by then.”

  The shifter community doesn’t want to get in the middle of it. Who’s left?”

  Marcus paced the room in agitation. “We're running out of enforcers. Either the witch brings them to her side or they end up dead. Not only do I have to worry about someone disposing of our kind, but the shifters may very well be under Starr's thumb too. Should I ignore the situation until something happens to Isabella? It may already be too late.”

  Evan’s hand flew to his collar and fingered the bright lace. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll find out what Trent’s doing. Isabella thinks it's just a taste of independence he's after. I’m afraid she’s only half right.”

  Evan bent to pull a pair of black biker boots from beneath the bed. “I can’t believe Pete was with him. How do we know who we can trust?”

  “I trust Jai Li and Corey. They’ll watch over Isabella should anything happen to me.”

  Evan’s expression twisted into a frown. “Corey won’t like that. He wants to be in the middle of the action, with you. The kid looks up to you.”

  Marcus offered a tight smile then turned to rummage the closet for an acceptable shirt. “Trent and his buddies aren't going to get away with what they've done.”

  Evan brushed a hand down the curve of Marcus’s bare back. His fingers touched the tattoo that covered the majority of it. “I’m just glad they didn’t beat you with silver. It would’ve been a shame to ruin such beauty.”

  Had it been anyone else’s hand, Marcus would have torn it off. But Evan was different. Marcus would never willingly hurt him. He hadn’t cared for a human in ages. It might be considered peculiar, he supposed. The one he cared about most was a close image of the person he loathed.

  “Marcus?" Evan's voice wavered slightly. "Could you talk to Isabella? She brought it up again.”

  Isabella wanted Evan to carry the bloodline. She wouldn't do the deed herself. She would have someone else perform the task. That way, if things went wrong, she'd have someone else to blame. “I don’t want to be turned. I like being alive. I love the sunshine.”

  Marcus made a sound of displeasure. He could not remember how glorious it was to feel the kiss of sunlight on his bare skin. It was a luxury he could not afford.

  Evan touched the hollow of his throat, and his smile was full of flirtation. “Of course, I might change my mind for you.”

  “It’s not as glamorous as it seems, Evan.” He revealed his fangs and moved toward him. Evan gasped and took a step backward.

  Marcus brushed past and headed for Isabella's private wing of the mansion. Isabella’s bedroom was posh and feminine, reflecting her tastes perfectly in dark reds and lush fabrics.

  As Marcus entered the room, Isabella motioned for him to come closer to the bed. “Come, Marcus. Join me.”

  Marcus chose a chair in the sitting area instead.

  Not once during his edited explanation of the night's events did the fair-haired beauty interrupt. Isabella stood and rearranged the flounce of her blue dress. She moved to the other side of his chair. Her dainty hands came to rest on his shoulders. She kneaded the muscles. When he didn’t react, she dropped the routine and burrowed deadly red nails into his flesh.

  “Tell me why I should believe Trent is behind this.” The fingers of her other hand wound in his thick hair. She jerked his head to the side, and her breath warmed his throat.

  “His scent was heavy on the men who burned down our home. It was only two days ago, have you already forgotten?”

  “It proves nothing. You were the only one who noticed this. It could be a lie." Her lips brushed the skin. "The two of you have never gotten along.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Marcus gritted his teeth, reluctant to let his anger surface. “He was amongst those who ambushed us tonight. I must have mistaken him and Pete as the men at the mortuary too. Really, Isabella, how ignorant can you be?”

  “You have brought me no proof.” Her eyes took on a wild appearance. “If you are wrong, he will never come back. What will I do without him?”

  “Trent always goes behind your back, especially when it benefits him.” He breathed a little easier as her fingers loosened in his hair. “You’ve blinded yourself to the truth. It’s become second nature. Do you want me to ignore it too?”

  Isabella's lips brushed against his. Crimson lipstick smeared across his mouth. Her voice fell lower, to a more dangerous level. “What is that supposed to mean? I have the best interests for my blood-clan, for my city. Are you going to tell me how to run my enterprise? Do you think you could do better?”

  Some sick part of him enjoyed the games she played. “You and I both know the answer to that.”

  Isabella swung a slender leg over the chair to straddle him. She had fed recently, the blood still fresh on her breath. Marcus's hunger stirred. Her lips brushed against his and fingers tickled across his chest. With her pressed so intimately against him, he could feel the heat from other, more clandestine areas. Once upon a time, the reek of her lust would have left him rigid and aching. He felt nothing but malevolence toward her now. Marcus stared at her in silence. He learned long ago that affection or any pale resemblance of it came with a tremendous price.

  Isabella was lovely, no one would deny that. At one time, he believed she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Now he viewed her with different eyes, no longer disillusioned by her shrewd lies or sensual ways. As years wore on, her mind succumbed to beliefs of grandeur, and he could no longer disregard it.

  Her pink tongue snaked out and traced the curve of his bottom lip. Teeth nipped at his mouth and begged for his attention. It was all he could do to keep from throwing her off him. He would not act upon those desires, not this time. She had no idea how much restraint he exercised. Or perhaps she did. It would explain why she did her damnedest to knock him off balance. She did this to him, he suspected because he no longer desired to be her bedmate. The truth was, he hadn’t for a long time, but all men had needs, and Isabella knew that better than most.

  She gripped handfuls of his hair, and her lip pulled up in a sneer.

  “Trent is under the witch’s control. He’s the one who told her where to find our place of rest. Trent helped her burn us out. In case you forgot, I lost five of my enforcers in the fire. We almost lost you.” Marcus’s voice was stiff with fury.

  “No. He would never lower himself to work with a meager human, witch or otherwise.” Isabella grew bored with trying to seduce him. She stood then brushed a hand down her skirt. With a dismissive wave, she walked to the door. “I do not believe it.”

  “You can’t be serious, not when your life is at risk.” He stood now, anger forced him forward. He wiped away the lipstick and saliva she'd left on his lips. “There are people out there who aim to kill you!”

  “That is what I have you for, my love. Your sole reason for living is to keep me happy and safe.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but chose not to argue the point. “I will find the witch and stop her from taking control of the city. And when I find Trent…”

  “If Trent is in contact with Starr Carter, it is on my behalf. He must be trying to stop her himself.”

  Marcus groaned. “It's a shock that you've survived this long.”

  “Until you get that fantasy about Trent out of your head, your time is better served at my side. I will keep an eye on you, Marcus.”

  “Don't put me on a leash, Isabella.”

  Laughter danced up her throat, silvery and light. She arched one
pale brow and offered an icy smile. “You have always been on a leash, dear one. Consider it shortened.”

  Ominous storm clouds hung in the late afternoon sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and electricity drifted on the humid breeze. Emily parked in front of the mortuary then lifted the hair off the back of her neck in hopes of cooling off.

  Wren, the cleaning lady, alternated between watering plants and dusting. She motioned Emily over when she entered the sprawling, black and white Victorian. A bulge in her short apron revealed she had her beloved tarot cards with her.

  The funeral home’s lobby typically exuded a warm, homey feel. It’s simple décor and furnishings had a Victorianesque feel.

  Goose pimples dotted Emily's skin. Although three days had passed, the attack was still fresh in her mind.

  “Scott in his office?”

  Wren tucked the duster away. “No, he's in the workroom with Beau.”

  Emily glanced at the clock. “Beau is here? I thought he didn't venture out until after dark.”

  Wren pulled fingers through her purple streaked hair and smiled at the prospect of juicy gossip. “I guess he didn't have a choice. He’s been in the chapel all day. His current girlfriend kicked him out right at dawn. I guess Mr. Creepy finally met someone who got tired of the game.”

  A giggle bubbled up Emily's throat. “Why do you call him that? I think Beau is very handsome.”

  Beau was tall and lanky with intelligent blue eyes and a Romanesque nose. He usually kept his dishwater blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. His clothes were always stylish and neat, usually in shades of black or gray. Sometimes, if he felt particularly cheeky, he added a splash of red. He was very popular with the ladies, at least those enamored by the vampire lifestyle he lived.

  “Even after what happened the other night?” Wren shook her head. “I dunno. Maybe it's because he wears glasses.”

  “So?”

  Wren seemed flustered all of a sudden. “Well, he doesn't need them. He says it makes him look studious and trustworthy, but you and I both know it's an act. I mean, he's supposedly a vampire, right?”

  “That's what he claims.”

  “So, if he is, wouldn't he be able to glamorize himself?”

  “I suppose.” Scott trusted Beau and, thus far, Emily had no reason not to.

  “Don't get me wrong.” Wren was quick to explain. “I like Beau. He's great, but you got to admit he can be weird at times. Do you ever think maybe he really is what he claims to be?”

  “A vampire?” Emily lifted a brow. “I don’t know. Do you think there might be more out there than we're aware of?”

  “What if folklore creatures are real?" Wren challenged. "What if that reality is hidden by what you and I were taught to believe?”

  Emily tried to keep the humor from her voice. “You’re saying there's a seedy underworld of neck biters out there?”

  “They're not the only ones who prowl the shadows.” Wren seemed undaunted by Emily's lack of conviction.

  “Werewolves and shape shifters?” Emily pursed her lips, thinking it over.

  Wren pulled the cards from her apron. She shuffled and set them out on the welcome desk. “Magic is real. I believe everyone has some amount of magic within them. The majority of people remain ignorant to their abilities. If they do catch a glimpse of it, it scares the shit out of them, and they write it off as a coincidence. Some label it as a freak occurrence. Society forces us to believe in the mundane, Emily. How do you explain the ability to perceive what the dead have seen? Do you think it’s a mere coincidence?”

  “I guess I never thought of it that way.” Emily watched Wren shuffle the cards again.

  She placed three on the desk. “That's weird.”

  Emily's attention was on Scott and Beau's voices in the backroom. She couldn't make out their heated words. “Didn’t get the card you wanted?”

  Wren swiped the cards into a neat pile. She shuffled and dealt again. “Don't poke fun, Emily. These are your cards. I'm pulling the same three, and they don't look good.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a fluke.” She leaned a hip against the desk and smiled. “Shuffle and give it another go.”

  “You shouldn't ignore this.” Wren pointed to the first card. It depicted a man with ten swords stuck in his back. “It means failure, loss…”

  “That’s old news. Everyone knows what happened to my parents.” Emily's voice came out harsher than she wanted.

  Wren's gaze lifted to study her face. “That doesn't mean it's your fault.”

  How many times had she told herself the same thing? No matter how many times she repeated it, it still felt like a lie. “Someone ought to clue in Liz. She’s pretty much abandoned me.”

  “No offense, but your sister is an idiot.”

  Maybe she should give Wren a chance. They'd never been all that friendly. Wren cleaned the mortuary and Scott's upstairs quarters three nights a week. Emily beautified the bodies and worked whenever Scott needed her, which lately was pretty often.

  “The second card drawn is representative of the present.” Wren laid another card on the desk. Five of pentacles. “This usually means change, sometimes through sacrifice.”

  Emily didn't need any explanation of the third card, which pictured a skeleton on a horse. Death written in dark, ominous letters, decorated the top. Certainly the card could have but one implication. She didn't usually put much stock into the tarot, but one had to admit the three cards were troubling.

  “It's open to interpretation.” Wren's voice took on a low timbre that reminded Emily of a fortune teller. “I see this as a warning. A dark soul may cross your path. It could create physical or emotional pain. Or you may lose something close to your heart.”

  “And I guess when it's all over, someone will end up dead? Sorry, but it sounds kind of iffy to me.” Emily arched a brow, unhappy at how quickly her good mood dissolved.

  Wren laid her hand over Emily's. Her fingers trembled. “Death doesn't always mean destruction. It also brings renewal.”

  “That’s a strange way of putting it.”

  Wren shuffled the cards once more. The same three lay on the desk. “Maybe you should let me whip up a good luck charm or spell for you.”

  Without another word, Emily moved toward the back of the building where Scott's office was. Wren followed behind, babbling about also making some protective talismans.

  “Hey,” Emily entered Scott’s office. He’d painted the walls in tasteful neutral shades. Framed art depicted trees in grayscale. Everything was elegant and serene to make clients feel more at ease in their decision-making.

  Scott moved to the end of his desk to inspect Emily's bruises and scrapes. “Have they found the guys who did this?”

  “I've met with Hahm twice to go through mug shots, but haven't found them yet.” She disengaged herself from him. “No luck with the cadaver either.”

  Everyone stared at her, probably to gauge whether she was serious or not.

  “The undead?” Wren questioned from the doorway. Beau scowled at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “You're lucky he didn't eat you.”

  “I didn't get the whole 'I vant to suck your blud' vibe from him.” She curved her fingers like claws and did the best Bella Lugosi impression she could muster.

  Wren offered a smug expression.

  “Okay, he looked at me a little weird at first, but he didn't do anything.” Emily flexed her fingers and remembered how cool his skin had been against hers. “We had a moment. It was like we connected for a split second.”

  “We're just happy you're okay.” Beau’s smile was wary.

  “I have to find out who he is. The least I can do is buy him a cup of coffee and thank him properly.” She suspected she sounded like some crazed stalker. Besides, how exactly did you thank someone who saved your life? Coffee just didn’t cut it.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t want the attention, Emily,” Scott said. “He didn’t even stick around to talk to the police. What k
ind of good Samaritan does that?” Scott’s gaze slid in Beau’s direction. Emily wished she could read Scott's mind. She suspected he hadn’t told her everything.

  An idea struck her. “Hey Wren, can you do a location spell or something?”

  Scott’s jaw dropped, and Beau cleared his throat.

  “What? It's not like I want to date him, marry him and pop out a couple of his kids.” The prospect was appealing though.

  The allure went deeper than just his faultless body. Once he had healed, and Emily saw how he truly was, she’d been captivated. He'd given her a wild look at first, but who wouldn't upon waking naked in a strange place? When he'd reached out to her, and their fingers touched, it was like he'd infused a part of himself inside her. She couldn't get him off her mind. She longed to know more about him, her hero, and sometimes dream lover. Until she did, she would continue to dream of him and wonder just who he might be.

  “Just let it go.” Scott sounded perturbed all of the sudden. He frowned, and his eyebrows dipped.

  “I feel like I owe him.” She stared at the carpet between the toes of her shoes and shuddered. “I witnessed his death. To come back from that and fight off three lunatics…”

  Beau cut her off. “That's not a good idea, Emily.”

  “Why? Is this where you tell me vampires are real, and he really will eat me?”

  Beau and Scott exchanged another strange look.

  “What? Why do you keep looking at each other like that?”

  A woman appeared in the doorway before either could get geared up with another argument. Wren ducked her head and darted out of sight. Maybe she suddenly remembered the toilet needed a good scrubbing.

  The dark skinned woman looked comfortable in a peasant shirt and white linen pants. Her fingers smoothed across the close-cropped platinum hair. A silver ring adorned each finger.

  Scott summoned a smile and extended his hand. “How can we help you?”

  She ignored him and her gaze homed in on Emily instead. A rubbery smile twisted her lips. “Are you Emily Cross?”