Her hand closed on the knife in her pocket. “That was not an invitation, and if you don’t back off, I’m going to scream.”
“You asked for help,” he reminded her with his mouth edging her damp hair.
“Not that kind of help.”
“I’m not sure there’s another kind at the moment. Can you walk?”
“Let me help you.”
Her reply took some time. “Not far.”
“Ten feet, to the curb? Should I actually carry you there, ignoring your protests?”
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “I’m not a child. I can...”
Kellan didn’t wait for her to finish the argument. It was obvious to both of them that her legs wouldn’t hold her up for much longer. It was far less obvious to anyone but him that if the werewolf came any closer with thoughts of pushing its luck, Kellan would be forced to deal with the beast for safety’s sake, no matter who might be looking.
To avoid all that, there was only one thing to do—push his influence over her a little bit more.
“You must let me help you. Trust me to do that.”
He waited until she blinked. Then he swung the blue-eyed enigma into his arms and headed for the bike instead of the garage. He set her gently on the Harley’s seat and climbed on in front of her.
“Put your arms around me,” he directed.
She did as she was told.
Although she shivered, her body heat penetrated his leather jacket, reaching his skin as easily as if no barrier stood in the way. Kellan closed his eyes to absorb the impact.
Women didn’t have a place in the oaths he’d taken. He’d known a few of them more than casually over the centuries, but had loved only once, long ago.
He was supposed to have turned out angelic. History painted him that way. Poets sang of his life. Some said he was a saint. He was one-seventh of a brotherhood designed to protect one of the world’s most treasured holy relics. The Grail. Christ’s chalice. But in truth, he had always been a rebel, and the gift of immortality hadn’t changed that.
He might have desired this woman if they’d met in any century. He liked the mixture of strength and vulnerability she showed. He admired her looks, and had been mesmerized by those large blue eyes that somehow seemed so familiar.
Kellan ignored the soft click of his fangs extending in honor of his passenger. The razor-sharp canines rarely presented themselves and were a throwback to drinking the blood of his Maker in order to execute their plans. The outlandish teeth weren’t for biting or hurting. He had never used them on anyone, for any reason, and never would, since he considered them an abomination.
Those fangs extending now were a complete surprise. They were also proof positive that though he was a monster hunter, by physical definition he was also one of those monsters.
Smiling sadly, Kellan kicked the bike to life. “Now,” he called over his shoulder, ignoring the sparks of protest shooting from one of his shoulder blades to the other. “Where am I taking you?”
Kellan maneuvered his way through the steady stream of traffic, drawing double takes from people in passing cars. He got more attention from pedestrians, who alternately viewed him as a threat or with envy while eyeing the shiny black bike.
He’d never been to Seattle. The streets had an uncomfortable look, as if the modern and older architectural styles were at war with each other. This, Kellan supposed, was another kind of metaphor for the dichotomy of the types of beings existing here. Humans versus their older, genetically modified nightmares. Werewolves. Vampires. And a whole host of other things.
Traffic, even at ten thirty, was thick. Horns sounded. Music reached him from the doorways of restaurants and clubs. Voices called to other voices, and a helmeted guy on a Suzuki gave him a thumbs-up.
Centered within all that chaos, Kellan’s feelings morphed into something much more raw and anxious. If the woman behind him was the shut-off valve to his overextended existence, and he chose to activate that valve, his soul could be set free. At long last, he would be able to close his eyes and rest.
He had wanted this for more years than he could count.
“Turn here,” his passenger directed.
Kellan did as she instructed, wanting to see where this beauty would take him. Having been a police officer, she’d know most streets by heart. She also would have recognized potential trouble when facing it, and when facing him, even before his understated commands had helped her to get on the bike. Maybe he didn’t come off as scary as he thought. Yet tugging an old soul free from someone unknowingly housing such a thing might change her mind about that. It wouldn’t be easy and could prove even tougher if he was up against someone trained to handle herself.
“Turn again,” she said.
Simply wrenching secrets from this woman would cost him less anxiety and get him to the end point quicker. The problem was that he already considered her special, and these days he reserved muscle work for dusting monsters.
She had a death grip on him. If she truly was ignorant of the soul she housed, this woman couldn’t possibly see the irony in that.
Fortunately, in this intricate game of hide-and-seek, he planned to come out the winner. That didn’t mean he didn’t like her arms around him and her heat. In fact, what he desired most right now was the time necessary for him to coax answers from her the old-fashioned way, by acting on an escalating physical attraction that would lead to sex. Nakedness and sex. Hard bodies on a soft bed that held lingering traces of this woman’s wonderful perfume.
Hell, he amended. Sex on any surface would do. One last time. Would she allow him that? Could he get her to trust a stranger enough to invite him into her bed without using his influence?
After coming all this way, was he going to wait for her to decide, or help her along?
* * *
“Almost there,” McKenna called out, and the handsome biker followed her directions without question.
It was all she could do to hold on to the stranger doing her a favor. He hadn’t headed to the garage where her car was parked, so she opted for plan B. There was no way she’d let him know where she lived. In her present state she’d be an easy target for any pervert on the prowl, and he’d already had his hands on her.
Didn’t matter that she’d liked it.
What did matter was why she had allowed such a thing.
“Fifth and G. Just a few more right turns and we’ll be there,” she said, not sure he’d hear that above the roar of the engine. But her gloriously muscled, incredibly handsome champion nodded his head.
He was a good-looking bastard for sure, from his cropped auburn mane to his boots. Everything in between seemed to have been molded to perfection by someone paying strict attention to detail. The fitted leather getup he wore
