LITMIR.BIZ

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causing it. No, it was the heat pouring off of him to surround her, to invade her, to make her want…oh, boy.

      How was it possible that her normal, everyday life had taken such a completely weird turn in the span of about twenty minutes? And how could she be more interested in feeling him hold her again, kiss her again, than in figuring out what the hell was going on around there?

      “You won’t leave. I accept that.”

      “Gee, thanks.”

      “Stay in your room. Lock the door.”

      “Trust me,” she whispered. “First thing on my agenda.”

      “I’ll be back.”

      “Great,” she said, “movie quotes.”

      “I don’t know what to do about you,” he admitted, lifting one hand to trail his fingertips along her cheek, then slowly, softly, down the length of her throat.

      Julie sucked in air through gritted teeth and tried to ignore the feeling that her blood was bubbling in her veins. His fingertips strayed to the scoop-neck collar of her shirt and she held a shaky breath, waiting…hoping he wouldn’t stop. But he did and she wanted to grab at him.

      God.

      She’d never felt anything like this. Hadn’t known she could feel this. Sex with Evan hadn’t exactly been the stuff romance novels talked about and her one other lover, a guy in college, hadn’t been much better. But this guy made her think that maybe there was more to discover.

      And how crazy was she? Standing in a kitchen fantasizing about a mind-reading gazillionaire with a sword?

      He grabbed her when she would have slipped away, then keeping a tight grip on her arm, he lifted his head, closed his eyes and concentrated. Seconds ticked past, marching in time with Julie’s heartbeat. She stared up at his face, studying his sharply defined features, noting the strength in his profile.

      Finally he opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s gone.”

      “It?” She shook her head, more confused than ever. “What it?”

      “I have to leave.”

      “Right,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. Probably better all the way around if he left. Quickly. “Good idea. You go. I stay. But first tell me what this ‘it’ is.”

      “Doesn’t matter now. You may be safe, but there’s no way to be sure.” He stepped back and away from her as if desperate to put a little space between them. His gaze moved over her face with a touch as sure as his fingertips had been only a moment before. “I shouldn’t have met you tonight. There’s no room in my life for you.”

      Julie inhaled quickly. “I don’t have room for someone like you, either.”

      “Wanted or not, we are connected,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I don’t yet know what it means.”

      “Be sure to let me know when you find out,” she murmured, still shaken.

      He stalked to the back door, yanked it open and started outside. Then he paused, caught between the dark and the light and turned to spear her with a hard look. “Lock your door.”

      When he was gone, Julie slumped against the counter and blindly reached for the now melting carton of ice cream. She lifted it and drank down what she could, before grabbing a fresh spoon and heading for the back door. She turned the dead bolt, hooked the chain and swept the yellow curtain aside to look out into the darkness.

      Kieran was already gone.

      Swallowed by the shadows.

      And standing in the brightly lit kitchen, she felt a tremor of unease slip through her. Throat tight, heart pounding, she headed for the dark hall and her rooms beyond.

      With every step, she felt unseen eyes watching her. The fine hairs at the back of her neck lifted and a chill swept along her spine. Her steps quickened, her breath shortened. Fear walked with her when she stepped into her room and slammed the door closed. Leaning against it, she turned the cold, brass dead bolt, then the antique key in the doorknob and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.

      Kieran pulled a satellite phone from the inner pocket of his coat and flipped it open. Stabbing the speed dial, he waited while on the other end of the line, a phone rang and rang. Finally…

      “Santos.”

      “What took you so bloody long?”

      A laugh rippled across the line. “Kieran. Should have known I’d be hearing from you. I heard it escaped again.”

      Kieran scowled, glanced down the darkened street and crossed it hurriedly, moving toward the black Lexus he’d left just beyond the reach of streetlights. “There’s been a kill. This morning.”

      “Didn’t take it long.”

      No, it hadn’t. But then, the demon had been locked safely away for more than a hundred years. Of course it would want to revel in a fresh kill right away. The trick would be to keep it from doing any more damage.

      Kieran punched a button on his key ring and unlocked the car as he approached. He opened the driver’s side door, but before getting in, he paused, concentrating, focusing his energies toward the beast he must find.

      “You have its trail?” Santos asked.

      “Had it,” Kieran admitted, glancing back over his shoulder toward the house where he’d left Julie Carpenter. He’d allowed himself to become distracted by her. He’d filled his mind with her scent and forgotten about the other. About his mission. Hard to believe. “Gone again now.”

      “So you are calling for reinforcements?” The Spaniard’s voice was tinged with amusement.

      “No,” he said, confident in his hunting abilities. He’d never needed help before. He wouldn’t this time, either. At least not with the actual hunt. As a Guardian, he’d done his duty over the centuries, accomplished whatever task was set in front of him.

      This time, he swore, would be no different.

      Even though, it already was.

      “Look,” he said, taking off his sword and tossing it onto the passenger seat before sliding into the car and buckling his seat belt, “what do you know about Mates?”

      A deep chuckle rumbled into Kieran’s ear and he glowered even while he fired up the engine and threw the car into gear. “What the bloody hell is so damned funny?”

      “Ah, my friend,” Santos said, his Castilian accent flavoring every word, “it was only a matter of time before you would come to me with such questions.”

      The Spaniard’s sense of humor could strike at any moment, usually when it was least appreciated. But they’d been friends for five hundred years. Ever since that night in old Madrid when the two of them had held off a crowd trying to burn another Guardian, Adrienne Marcel, as a witch. Not that the Immortal would have died in the fire, but recovery from severe burns could have taken her years.

      Tonight Kieran was in no mood to play games. “Meaning…?”

      “Meaning, that an English knight will never be the lover a Spaniard is.” He laughed again. “I will be happy to give you any tips you require.”

      Kieran rolled his eyes, steered his car around a corner and headed down the hill toward Hollywood Boulevard. If nothing else, he’d go back to the scene of the first kill. Look around. Try to pick up the trail again.

      “I’m not English,” he growled, “as I’ve told you a thousand times and more. I’m a Scot and the day I need help screwing a woman is the day you can bury me.”

      “Ah,” Santos said with only a twinge of regret, “but burial is not for the likes of us, my friend. One only buries the dead, yes?”

      “We are dead, Santos. We just don’t

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