With a neutral expression in place, he moved to the round table in the far corner of the room, a place where his back would be protected, a place where he could witness all who came and went.
The kitchen door swung open and a man hunkered into view, a tea kettle in hand. Bald head, leather vest, gold loops in his ears; he wasn’t exactly what Cristian had expected in a Victorian Inn. Then again, the red roses on his teapot did match the red leather flames sewed into his vest.
“What can I git ye?” he barked, his voice traveling easily across the room.
They all eagerly awaited Cristian’s answer, as if his response would decide his fate.
“Ale.”
The owner pulled the tab forward, filling a mug with frothy beer. “Ye visiting family?” he asked, and in his voice was the soft lilt of an accent; leprechaun was Cristian’s bet. He started across the room and slammed the mug onto the table; the beer sloshed over the edges and fizzed across the tabletop.
Cristian lifted the cup and took a drink of bitter ale. An old recipe, a familiar hint of the past. “Nope.”
“We don’t git many visitors. Ye passing through then?”
Cristian shrugged. “I’ll be here a week, two at the most.”
There was hesitancy in the owner’s gaze that spoke of questions and confusion. But instead of insisting Cristian tell him why he was really here, the owner turned and busied himself with cleaning. The room slowly returned to normal and a low rumble of conversation overtook the awkward silence.
Finally left alone, Cristian turned his senses inward. She was in town. He could feel her presence… a low buzz that hummed from the very core of his body. He didn’t need to drive by the pub to know that she’d finally arrived. The moment he’d entered the town, his body and soul had found and focused on her. Fated to be together, the heavens had brought her here. He lifted his ale and drank slowly, barely tasting the bitter alcohol. Even now he could sense her coming this way…closer…closer. And with each moment his heart pounded a little faster, as if in time with her steps. The closer she got, the closer he was to completing his mission and getting the hell out of here. But how much to divulge when she arrived? He’d wait and see how much she could handle.
The door opened and the entire pub seemed to shift; a wave of shimmering awareness swept through the room. Cristian stiffened, but kept his gaze downcast, unwilling to draw attention to himself at the moment. He could admit though, that his curiosity was overwhelming. He felt her hesitation, felt her anxiety churning within the pit of his own gut. She knew something was odd here in this town, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. She moved across the room with sure, unhurried footsteps that belied her unease. Cristian smiled; pleased when so little pleased him lately. A brave one, she was. He was expecting a woman bent and broken by life, not a lass who swept in like she owned the place.
As she moved past his line of vision, curiosity got the better of him and he lifted his head. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Long legs encased in tight jeans, a curvy backside, further to her chest, covered with a bulky pullover that did nothing for her figure, and he had a feeling she had an amazing figure.
Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. A few wavy strands had escaped, framing her face. And it was one hell of a face that held him captivated; a pale, oval face dominated by large, hazel eyes. She was prettier than he’d expected. Younger than he’d expected. If anything, she looked like a fairy, but she was something else entirely unique. Damn, he hadn’t been fully attracted to a woman in a long, long while. His last seer had been seventy before she’d finally succumbed to death.
Although her chin was tilted arrogantly, as if she had no fear, her purity and innocence mocked them all. So innocent. So damn human. He knew she hadn’t been trained and not even her arrogance would save her now. She’d be destroyed within minutes.
Shite. What the hell had her father been thinking to keep the woman in the dark?
Old witches with attitudes, Demons with bloodlust on their minds, even Fallen Angels with vendettas he could handle, but her? With a sigh he raked his hands through his hair and cursed under his breath. She was practically a child, for God’s sake. Then again, most humans seemed like children to him.
“You the new owner of the Pub?” A thin man settled on the barstool next to her.
The locals weren’t wasting any time in getting to know the newest resident. Startled, she paused as if she wasn’t sure how to respond. So, she wasn’t so innocent after all. An innocent would be giving him a welcoming smile by now. She wasn’t sure who she could trust. Good girl. Be leery of everyone, he wanted to warn.
Yet, the man’s wide-eyes and boyish face no doubt put her quickly at ease for only moments later she gave him a hesitant smile. If only she knew what her new friend was truly capable of she sure as hell wouldn’t be so welcoming. Cristian could smell blood on the vampire all the way across the room.
“Yep, I own the pub,” her voice was husky, almost sensual.
The vampire nodded earnestly. “Name’s Kipps. If you have any problems, you come to me.” He tapped his narrow chest for emphasis. “I’m just down the lane. The stone cottage on the right.”
Cristian rolled his eyes and took another drink, he needed the alcohol to numb the pain of this encounter. As if a vampire would be able to help. This town had no fucking idea what was coming their way. He’d known the moment he’d arrived they weren’t prepared in the least. Cristian settled back and frowned, attempting to weigh his options. She was stubborn, smart. She was a survivor. But she was also completely ignorant. She hadn’t a clue what she was getting into. Best to keep his mouth shut and his secrets close before divulging too much. He needed to know what she could handle.
“Tis supposed ta be haunted, ye know.” The pub owner leaned against the counter, those beady eyes pinned to her. He was testing the woman, seeing how she’d react to the statement.
Even as Cristian cursed the man for divulging too much too soon, he couldn’t help but listen with interest. After all, how much did he truly know about this woman? A woman who was supposed to be tied to him for the rest of her life. Still, if she didn’t work out, he’d do what he could alone. It wouldn’t be the first time.
She lifted her tea cup in a smooth movement and sipped. “Really?”
Cristian frowned. She didn’t sound interested nor frightened in the least. She had powers, he could see that in the golden aura surrounding her trim figure, yet she was pretending to be dunce. Obviously she didn’t want to announce her abilities to the world. Was she merely being cautious? He sighed in exasperation. Who knew what these mortals were thinking. He’d been here hundreds of years and still didn’t understand them.
Casually, he took a sip of his drink, his gaze pinned to her reflection in the mirror above the bar, attempting to read her face and know her mind. What did it mean that her eyes were slightly narrowed? That there was that tiny crease between her brows?
“Seen anything strange up there?” Kipps persisted.
Was her smile too tight?
She shook her head, that ponytail brushing back and forth between her shoulder blades. “Just got here, actually and I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Well hell, now she was just downright lying. Cristian frowned as he slowly spun his mug round and round, watching the foam slide up and down the inside of the glass. What was her game? He’d have to be careful with this one. Most children were trained to be a Seer once they were old enough to understand. But he knew Ashley hadn’t a clue what she truly was.
“Och.” The pub owner nodded slowly, continuing to swipe at the counter with his cloth. As the cloth was dirtier than the actual countertop, he didn’t see how it was helping, but whatever.
“Me son was up there one night, said ‘ee saw a white light,” a woman said, settling on the stool next to Ashley and slamming her huge, leather purse onto the countertop. “I’m Tabby Weathers.”
Cristian narrowed his eyes, attempting to re
ad the woman. Fairy or nymph? At this distance, he couldn’t tell. But like the rest of them, she was no threat.
The bartender stopped cleaning. “Jesus, an’ had he been in yer husband’s scotch?”
Tabby frowned. “Pissed or not, John, lad was scared out of ‘is wits. White as a sheet, ‘ee were.”
Another man rested against the bar next to Ashley, too close in Cristian’s opinion. Hadn’t he ever heard of personal space? “What, exactly, was he doing up there?” the man asked, in a soft, French accent that most women probably would have found appealing. He grinned and gave Ashley a wink as if she was in on the joke.
Cristian’s frown deepened. A werewolf; the man was a damn werewolf. The animals had little control over their powers; never followed the rules. Ashley certainly didn’t need to befriend the beast. Still, the dogs did know how to fight, Cristian would give them that.
“I’m sorry, excuse me.” Ashley slid off her stool and stepped back. Overwhelmed by their nosiness, but also their powers, she just didn’t realize why. She was going to bolt and he’d lose his chance. He needed to get close to her in whichever way he could.
Cristian surged from his chair. “Are ye Ashley Hunter?”
The room grew silent, watchful, but he kept his gaze on her, ignoring the rest.
She paused for one long heartbeat, as if sensing the importance of that simple question, then slowly turned. “Yes, I’m ….”
Their gazes clashed.
Cristian felt as if he was falling, falling into a soul so pure, it was almost blinding in its radiance. She shone with truth and innocence and damn if he didn’t hunger for her; thirst for the humanity she represented… a long ago feeling he vaguely remembered. He hadn’t experienced the sensation in centuries, but he remembered it well.
Holy shite, he was attracted to her. This wasn’t good, wasn’t good at all.
Her eyes grew wide and her words tapered off as she scanned his bodily form. It was a typical response from mortal females when coming into contact with him. Cristian resisted the urge to shift like a child being judged by a teacher.
People were often surprised, perhaps sensing his power or overwhelmed by his looks. And he knew he was handsome, but found no pride in the fact. After all, it had nothing to do with him, but with genes and God. He tried to present an underwhelming facade by wearing a slate gray, long sleeve mock turtleneck and typical jeans, his slightly long hair pulled back. But it never helped. Patiently he waited as her gaze traveled down his body to the tips of his black boots, then jumped up to his eyes, eyes that he knew matched the slate gray of his shirt.
He quirked a brow, amused by her stunned reaction, bemused by his own reaction to her. What the hell was it about this woman? He’d been on this earth for centuries. Surely he’d seen women more attractive, although he couldn’t seem to remember any at the moment.
“Well?” he demanded gruffly.
“Yes,” she finally replied. “I’m Ashley Hunter.”
“Right then, can we have a chat?” He pulled out a chair for her, a gentlemanly action, but he had a feeling she saw through his ruse.
She hesitated a moment. Then he saw it, the typical response. Curiosity overtaking common sense. With little argument, she settled on the chair. Of course her easy acceptance might have had something to do with his powers as well, but bloody hell, the woman needed to learn to be more leery.
He sat next to her, not across, but right beside her where they wouldn’t easily be overheard. Close enough that her heat called to him, and her scent… hell her scent could make a lesser man fall to his knees and beg. The softness of powder layered over her natural feminine scent, and topped with a warm vanilla that made him want to tear that overly large pullover from her chest and lick her skin.
“Yer the new owner of the Pub?” he asked.
“Hmm?” She blinked up at him, her gaze cloudy with confusion.
A soft green gaze, like moss, yet with the brown of the forest and just barely visible, a peek of blue sky. He needed to get a hold of himself, but it wasn’t easy knowing she was as attracted to him as he was her. He could see that in the way her cheeks flushed and her pupils dilated. It happened often with mortal women, but usually it didn’t bother him. Now, hell, his skin felt hot, uneasy, tight.
He cleared his throat, attempting to focus. “I asked if yer the new owner of The White Horse Pub.”
She nodded, the confusion clearing slightly. “Yes, yes I am.”
“I’m interested in buying.”
“Buying my house?” Her dark brows drew together, that small crease appearing between her eyes, and slowly she nodded. “Right.”
She didn’t seem convinced. Perhaps she needed a little help in making up her mind. He laid his hand atop of hers. The contact sent electricity up his arm, his heart skipping a beat. Startled, he almost drew back. He tried to ignore the feeling, tried to ignore the baby softness of her skin… that heat, her pulse thumping beneath his fingertips…
“Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” He pulled his hand away, but the tingling remained, as if she’d burnt him with her touch.
“Wait,” she demanded.
He paused and quirked a brow, turning the full force of his gaze on her.
She was confused again, he could see her mind working behind those hazel eyes, attempting to understand what had just happened between them. Well good luck, because he hadn’t a clue and it pissed him off royally.
“No, no, wait.” She focused on the tabletop as if trying to gather her muddled thoughts from the dented surface. “No, I don’t want to sell.” She stumbled to her feet, shaking her head for extra emphasis.
Annoyance swept through him, sharp and bitter. He wasn’t exactly sure what angered him more, his reaction to her, or her refusal to cooperate. Damn it all, if he could get her to agree, if she’d only return to the United States then he could concentrate on more important matters. “Ms. Hunter, I can offer ye quite a bit of money for the place.”
She shook her head again, scurrying around the table. Yet distance didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, the closer to the door she got, the worse he felt…off balance, odd, cold. She had to leave. He must find a new Seer. She wouldn’t do at all.
“It’s not for sale,” she muttered.
He reached out, latching onto her wrist before she escaped. She glanced over her shoulder with bewildered eyes. He felt her pulse there, on the sensitive part of her wrist, a quick, erratic beat that thrummed through his own body.
The sensation did odd things to him, made him hunger for her in a way he’d never experienced. Yes, the sooner Ashley Hunter left the better for everyone. “I want that house, Ms. Hunter.”
Her gaze narrowed, her anger almost palpable. She jerked away and stumbled back, confusion and annoyance working across her beautiful face. “Too bad.”
Without another word, she weaved her way around the small table and bolted toward the exit. At the door, curiosity got the better of her, as he knew it would. She paused, then glanced back.
But Cristian had already disappeared.
Chapter 3
Aunt Clare’s bed smelled like the sweetness of baby powder and muskiness of death. How ironic. Ashley rolled to her side, the springs in the mattress popping. On the small bedside table her travel alarm clock glared three a.m., producing an eerie red glow that did little to dispel the shadows lurking in her room. So much for getting a good night’s sleep.
Her mind felt too fuzzy to rest, like someone had left the radio on a station that produced only static. She closed her eyes and decided to count sheep. She pictured the fluffy, dingy animals she’d seen littering the hills on the drive to the house.
“One,” she whispered, watching as a sheep jumped a crumbling stone fence. “Two.” But the next lamb just stood there, chewing slowly and looking at her as if to say “you get off your ass and jump the damn wall.”
Wonderful, her imaginary sheep were on strike.
She couldn’t blame h
er mind for straying, not really. Who wanted to think about sheep when she could think about the man from the tea shop? Had he been a ghost? Or possibly some figment of her imagination? He seemed too gorgeous to be real. That, combined with the fact that he’d somehow disappeared so quickly and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was something otherworldly. Had she been sitting in the corner of the tea room talking to no one? But he’d felt so real, smelled so real. And those silver eyes… she shivered merely thinking about them.
Ashley rolled onto her stomach, not used to such silence, such isolation, so much time to think. Her tiny apartment pulsed with city life. It was comforting, that noise, those people and their constant movement.
But silence was too familiar, too painful. She felt a teenager once again stuck in that hospital, in that little room with nothing to stare at but white walls. She pushed the intrusive thoughts from her mind. Fuck her mother and fuck the mental hospital that had kept her prisoner for a good year.
The sound of giggling invaded her mind, bouncing around the walls of her skull like a jackhammer on cement. She groaned, and folded the pillow over her head. The mattress sagged.
Silence fell and she stiffened, holding her breath, waiting. No sound, no movement.
Had the child actually left? Please God, let her be gone!
Giggles erupted again.
“Fanfreakingtastic.” She tossed the pillow aside, giving up.
The child sat at the end of the bed with her legs tucked under her pink dress, a wide smile on her round face. “You shouldn’t say such wretched words.”
“And you should go to hell, or wherever it is spirits like you belong.”
She frowned and Ashley felt a twinge of remorse. She was just a child, after all. In a blink, the girl disappeared. She fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes. More guilt to add to the increasing lump.