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  While these and a hundred other thoughts raced through his mind, Julie continued packing. She folded shirts and jeans and slacks, laying them neatly into the opened bag. Then she moved into the bathroom and he heard drawers being flung open and slammed shut. When she stepped out of the small room, she carried two bags, a hairdryer and several brushes.

  “You should leave,” she said, sparing him a quick, furtive glance.

  “I’ll leave when you do.”

  “What I do, where I go, is none of your business,” she said, making an obvious effort to keep her voice steady and even.

  “Woman, you try my patience.”

  “And stop calling me woman,” she snapped, closing the suitcase and dragging the zipper around it with a sharp whiz of sound. “My name is Julie, you Neanderthal.”

  Kieran didn’t want to use her name. It would give her too much importance. And he didn’t want her to be important. If she was his Destined Mate, he wasn’t interested. Since the night of his death at the hands of his wife’s lover, Kieran had guarded his heart with the same staunch stoicism that he had guarded the portals between dimensions. Never again would he allow a woman to so bewitch him that she could destroy him.

  Never again would he allow his cock to do his thinking for him. Swallowing back the instinctive need to keep her at bay, he said, “If you will not come to my home where I can keep you safe, I will at least see you to a hotel where the security is adequate.”

  She yanked the suitcase off her bed and staggered a little as it slapped into her legs. “You’re not listening, sword man. I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. I don’t trust you.”

  That rankled. For centuries, he had stood guard over the mortal world. He’d earned the respect of his fellow Guardians. Had vanquished demons too numerous to count. Had delved into hells no man should have to think about in order to fulfill his duty.

  And this woman didn’t trust him?

  Biting back the bitter words filling his mouth, he reached out, grabbed her suitcase and lifted it easily. “I don’t need your trust. Just your obedience.”

  She snorted and folded her arms across her chest. Looking him up and down with a dismissive expression she said, “Look, just because you’re a good kisser doesn’t mean I’m looking to be your lapdog. Nobody tells me what to do, understand? I make my own decisions.”

  “Just as you decided on your own to lock your door last night?” he taunted her, moving close enough that she backpedaled a bit, trying for a safe distance. “Just as you decided to stay in this room?”

  She flushed. “Fine. I listened to you last night—” she lifted one hand and jabbed her index finger at him. “But only because I was scared of you.”

  Grabbing her suitcase from his grasp, she staggered again, set it down, and yanked up the pull handle. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not scared of you anymore.”

  “Yes, you are,” he whispered and watched as her gaze jumped to meet his.

  “I can feel the waves of fear sliding from you now, as easily as I tasted your surrender when we kissed.”

  “Surrender?” She glanced around the room, shifting her gaze nervously, to anywhere but him. “Oh, please.”

  “You gave yourself to me in that moment,” he said, moving in again and again until she was backed up against the wall and there was nowhere else for her to go. Kieran felt her fear and her desire, commingling into a near tangible aura that rippled from her and entangled him in its net. He strained against its allure even while tormenting her with its existence. Lifting one hand, he touched her cheek briefly, then let his hand drop away.

  “You can deny it if you must, but we both know it’s there. We both feel the draw of its strength.”

  She pulled in a long, shaky breath and steeled her expression before saying simply, “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “A stubborn woman.”

  “You might want to keep that in mind.”

  Kieran nodded thoughtfully and kept his silence as she grabbed the handle on her suitcase.

  “Now, I’m going to a hotel,” she said, walking to the door without once giving him a backward glance. “Which I will choose on my own.” She reached the door, put one hand on the doorknob and only then turned her head far enough to look at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, piercing her gaze with his own. “You do.”

  She swallowed hard. “Even if in some weird and twisted way, that’s true…

  I’m not going to. I plan to stay as far away from you as possible.”

  Kieran bit back the urge to battle that statement. Continuing to argue with the woman would be futile. Whatever she thought of it, he would be watching her. Not only because of the danger hovering too nearby, but because if she was his Destined Mate, he might need her in this hunt.

  By nightfall, Julie was locked into a hotel room, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat, wishing she weren’t alone. Wishing she weren’t so damn scared. Wishing…

  “Stupid to wish at all,” she muttered and moved to the windows, overlooking downtown L.A.

  Usually when she wanted to get away from the house for a while, and get some work done in peace and quiet, she chose a closer hotel. One of the smaller, exclusive spots around Hollywood, like Château Marmont or the Sunset Towers. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight she was looking for big, anonymous, safe.

  The Westin Bonaventure was a great hotel in anyone’s estimation. Its five cylindrical glass towers made the hotel practically a landmark in a town that was known for splashy exhibitionism. But where a smaller boutique hotel specialized in the personal touch, the Bonaventure was too big for that. Here, she was just another guest. One of the thousands who zipped up and down in the glass elevators overlooking the city lights. In the movie True Lies, Arnold Schwarzenegger and his “borrowed” police horse rode in those glass elevators to the roof in an attempt to catch a terrorist. But tonight, on the ride to her room, she hadn’t been thinking about that movie scene. Instead she’d stared at the sea of lights spread out below her and wondered where the killer was.

  And she was still wondering.

  Demon.

  Kieran had said that word so matter-of-factly that it still made Julie shake. Did he actually believe that? Was he as crazed as the killer that had splintered her world?

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Julie scrubbed her hands over her upper arms, trying to ward off the chill that had been with her for hours. It wasn’t working.

  “No one’s watching me,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the lightdrenched darkness. But she couldn’t shake the sensation of someone’s gaze fixed on her. Taking a deep breath, she blew it out in a rush and tried to ease the knots still sliding through the pit of her stomach. But the eerie sensation remained. The small hairs at the back of her neck lifted and she reached to smooth them down with her palm. Her heartbeat quickened into a gallop and she wondered if her life would ever again be the way it had been only yesterday?

  “Perfect, Julie,” she said, disgusted with herself. Alicia was dead, Kate was in ICU and she was feeling sorry for herself because she was scared. Spinning away from the window, she snapped her drapes shut—a linen barrier against the dangers crouched beyond the glass. Then she walked to the phone, sat on the edge of the bed and quickly dialed a number she knew by heart.

  The phone rang three times before a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”

  “Kenna?” Julie asked and heard the breathlessness in her own voice. Kate’s younger sister said, “Julie, honey, how you doin’?”

  “Not so great,” she admitted and twisted her index finger around the curly telephone cord. “Anything new on Kate?”

  Kenna and her entire family were stationed in the waiting room at the hospital. Julie would have been there, too, but she felt too…guilty for coming through the night unscathed while Kate lay quietly fighting for her life.

  “No,” Kenna admitted, her voice going to a whisper. “Hold on
, I’m headed outside. The nurse is giving me the evil eye for using a cell phone in here.”

  A long minute passed before Kenna started talking again. “She’s still unconscious, Julie. The docs are telling us that it’s her body’s way of healing itself. I don’t know if I buy it, but they did upgrade her condition from critical to guarded.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “Yeah, it is. But she looks terrible, Julie. Who knew us black women could look pale?”

  “God, Kenna.” Julie pulled her finger free of the cord, lifted her hand and shoved her hair back from her face.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m just…I don’t know. Trying to make jokes to keep from screaming or kicking a wall or something. I just feel so damn helpless. You know?”

  “Yeah,” Julie said, knowing exactly how Kate’s sister felt. “I do. Look, you should go back in to be with the family. But is it okay if I keep calling you to check on her?”

  “Anytime, Jules. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.” She sat on the bed, holding the damn phone long after Kenna hung up and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

  Julie Carpenter was safe. For the moment. Kieran felt her doubts, her fears and closed his eyes as he stared up at the hotel tower. Focusing, he tried to calm her, to ease the terrors that would no doubt keep her up all night. But he couldn’t reach her mind and after a moment or two, he gave it up.

  Scowling, he realized that their connection wasn’t strong enough yet for him to draw on the bond between them from a distance. Just as well, he thought. He didn’t want the damn connection with her anyway. At least she’d had the sense to leave her own neighborhood when she needed security. She was far enough away from the original kill site that hopefully the demon wouldn’t bother tracking her. Yet Kieran couldn’t count on that. With the freeways linking every small corner of the city to its smaller boroughs, no spot was out of reach. She should have been ensconced in his home. At least then he would have been sure of her safety.

  Hardheaded woman, he thought, eyes grim, mouth a tight slash of disapproval. She’d rather risk death than accept his help. But maybe that was for the best anyway. He surely didn’t want her around. She only confused issues that should remain crystal clear.

  Still, an annoying thought plagued him so that he couldn’t quite turn his back on her completely. According to old Guardian legend, once he had sex with his Destined Mate, he would be able to telepathically link with the demon he was tracking—making it that much easier to capture. Muttering a curse, he pushed one hand through his hair. This hunt was becoming more complicated all the time. For centuries, he’d stalked his prey, and he was always victorious. What’s more, he’d done it without a Mate at his side.

  Shifting his gaze from the glittering glass towers of the Bonaventure, he stared through the windshield and fired up the car’s engine. Julie would be safe enough where she was. The demon hadn’t followed her—that Kieran was sure of. There was no scent lingering here. No smear of evil in the night air. Wherever the demon was now, it was concentrated on its next kill—not the sole survivor of its last one.

  His phone rang in an obscenely chirpy tone and he yanked it out of his coat pocket and snapped it open. “Yes?”

  “Ah, my friend,” Santos said, his voice a low rumble of sound in the darkness, “you do not sound joyful. The demon still walks free?”

  Frowning, Kieran shoved the car into gear, released the emergency brake and stepped on the gas. Steering the Lexus away from the Bonaventure, he moved into the swirl of traffic. “For the moment.”

  “That will change.”

  “Damned right it will.”

  “I have some information for you.”

  Kieran swung into a right turn, and headed down Figueroa. “What?”

  “I called in a favor and got in touch with Rom.”

  Kieran blinked in surprise. Romulus Durant was one of the oldest of the Guardians. A Centurion in life, he had seen Millenia dawn and die—but he was notoriously private, avoiding other Guardians, keeping to himself in a fortresslike palace outside Tuscany.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “It was not easy, my friend,” Santos admitted with a sigh. “And now I owe a favor in return to Marguerite.”

  Kieran grinned, surprised that he could find a spark of humor in the disaster this day had become. “Not such a hardship, is it?”

  “True,” Santos admitted. “But she is a formidable warrior herself.”

  Marguerite LeClair, beautiful, deadly, had once been a spy—losing her life during World War I. Since then, she’d become one of the more fierce Guardians around.

  Still, none of this was telling him what he wanted to hear. “What did Rom say about the Mate legends?”

  “That they are all true. All of them.”

  Something in his chest tightened like a fist curling for a punch. He’d known it—almost from the instant of seeing Julie’s picture months ago, Kieran had known that somehow their souls were entwined. The question was, would he allow that connection to grow?

  Kieran frowned as he stopped for a red light and his grip on the phone tightened. All around him, neon signs made splashes of color in the darkness. His gaze locked on the pedestrians loping across the crosswalk and then shifted to take in the drivers on either side of him. Always watching. Always wary. The Guardian way.

  How could a Guardian ever maintain the stoic watchfulness required if a Mate were alongside him? Foolish.

  “Are you still there, my friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you willing now to tell me why the Mate legend is suddenly so important to you?”

  “No.” The light turned green and he stomped on the gas pedal, the car leaping ahead of the pack like a starving tiger moving in on a gazelle. Santos laughed. “No matter. You have already told me much.”

  “Go kill something, Santos,” Kieran muttered and hung up, stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket and taking a hard right again, heading up to the canyons overlooking the city.

  Minutes flew by as he concentrated on the road and the coming task. He zipped in and out of traffic, ignoring the upraised fingers of irate drivers as he focused on the mission at hand. Time was short. The demon was still acclimating itself to this time, this world. And so, Kieran would have the advantage for a few days. He must make the most of it. The night air rushed through the car and on that heavy wind, he caught a scent he’d been searching for. Hot and foul, it tasted sour, like bitter wine gone bad in the bottle. Kieran smiled to himself as he parked the car at the side of the road.

  Here, in the canyons, the terrain was rough and the houses were fewer and farther between. Here darkness pooled in great, wide, empty patches and the night sky shone with stars that couldn’t be seen under the city lights.

  Kieran got out of the car, pocketing his keys, clutching his sword as he lifted his head to the wind and prepared to hunt.

  He didn’t need a Mate to do his job.

  All he needed was the hate that kept him moving.

  6

  K ieran stepped off the road and into the brush. From not far off came the sound of music sighing from a stereo. Moonlight sifted over his surroundings, coating everything in a faint, silvery glow. Something scrabbled against the dirt but he didn’t flinch. A small animal darting away from the scent of him didn’t interest Kieran. He was after bigger game.

  Scenting the air again, he closed his eyes, concentrated and searched for the demon’s trail. When he picked it up, his eyes flashed open and narrowed as he crept up the hillside silent as a ghost. Cloaking himself as only a Guardian could, he moved unseen up the rocky hillside, stepping around brush and rocks, each stealthy step carrying him closer to his prey.

  The trace energy left by the demon was thicker here, as if it had lingered, pondering its next move. Kieran couldn’t give it the time it wanted, needed for whatever its plans were. He had to end this soon. He didn’t want to see another Whitechapel here, in Hollywood. As he moved, t
he crickets quieted and the creatures who moved in darkness stilled—as if even the night itself were holding its breath, waiting for the violence to erupt again. The wind shifted and the trace elements he followed swirled around him in constantly changing patterns. But Kieran had had centuries to hone his tracking skills. He wouldn’t be dissuaded now.

  His boots ground into the rock-strewn dirt, his long legs carrying him up the hillside quickly. His breath was steady, his heartbeat slow, despite the adrenaline already coursing inside him. The hunt was all. The hunt had carried him through centuries.

  This was what he knew.

  This—pitting himself against a demon. He had been born and bred for battle. When alive, he’d served his Queen. As an Immortal, he served humanity—whether they knew it or not—and his own sense of duty. Kieran’s gaze narrowed, inspecting every shadow, every dip on the hillside. He paused, held his breath and listened with concentration for the slightest sound that might lead him to his quarry. But there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, Kieran inhaled sharply, sensing that the trail was already going cold. He gripped his sword and let his gaze sweep the hills as he followed an increasingly fainter scent. The wisps of energy left by the demon were becoming slight, like an unraveling ribbon, losing their strength the higher he climbed.

  All around him, houses on stilts jutted out from the hillsides. Patios bristled with lights and pools shone like puddles of turquoise. A door slammed, a car engine growled into life, a dog barked. And Kieran fought a rising tide of bitterness as he neared the top of the hill. He wouldn’t find the demon here, he knew that now. The damned thing was already gone, disappearing into the crowded night. But there was…