His Dark Embrace

  Thorne took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with a familiar scent. So, Desmarais wasn’t dead after all.

  Sky looked up at him, her expression troubled. “I don’t know who could have done this. Or when,” she added, and then frowned. The “when” was obvious. It had to have been last night, while she was at the fair with Thorne. She knew a moment of relief that it had happened while she was away. Anyone desperate enough to break into the house might also be desperate enough to silence whoever got in their way.

  Thorne glanced around. Sky might not know who had done this, but he did. Eyes narrowed, he perused the room, only then noticing the edge of an old spiral notebook sticking out from underneath one of the overturned drawers.

  Moving quickly across the room, he pulled the notebook free. Someone had drawn the outline of a large red heart surrounded by a dozen little hearts on the cover. His name and Skylynn’s were written inside the large heart.

  Skylynn felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks when she saw her old high school notebook in his hand. What on earth was that doing in the lab?

  Thorne glanced at her over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Yours?”

  She nodded. “I was only sixteen,” she muttered, her embarrassment growing with every passing moment. “And you were ...” She cleared her throat. “You were older and mysterious and ...” She folded her arms. “I had a crush on you back then, that’s all.”

  He bit back a grin as he opened the notebook. More hearts, large and small, had been drawn on the inside cover, along with the words Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, Sky and Kaiden, and Mrs. Skylynn Thorne.

  “I must admit, I’m flattered,” he said, unable to hold back his grin any longer.

  Sky held up her hand. “Please, just forget it.”

  “Poetry, too?” he mused.

  “What? Oh, no! I’d forgotten about that.”

  The words were neatly written inside another heart.

  As the rising sun

  Chases the night from the sky

  So the memory of your smile

  Fills my heart

  Chasing the darkness

  From my soul

  “It was a long time ago,” Sky said, not meeting his gaze. “Is there anything else in there? Anything useful?”

  “Just a spiral notebook.” He thumbed through the pages. Paddy’s familiar scrawl covered line after line with notations on experiments apparently made on animals. Toward the back of the book, he could see where several pages had been torn out. Another page had been torn in half. Thorne’s name was scribbled across the bottom of the half that remained. “Dammit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think the ingredients and the instructions for mixing the formula might have been in here.”

  Sky looked up at him, her eyes wide. “And now the thief has it!”

  Thorne nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. Dammit! Of all the bad luck.

  “I need to call the police and report this,” Sky said, suddenly all business. “Maybe they can determine who the vandal is.”

  “You don’t need the police. I know who did it.”

  “You do?” Sky exclaimed. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Go after him, of course.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No, but find him I will,” Thorne said, his voice laced with determination.

  “I hope so.” She took another look around, her gaze settling on her grandfather’s favorite cup which lay near the cabinet, miraculously unbroken. Kneeling, she reached for the cup, let out a small cry as a tiny sliver of broken glass pierced her knee.

  Thorne sucked in a ragged breath as the scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils. He whirled around, his gaze zeroing in on the single drop of blood oozing from Sky’s knee.

  “You’re not squeamish, are you?” Sky asked, wiping the blood away with her fingertips.

  “No.” He swallowed hard. They had to get that formula, and it had to be soon. He could feel himself reverting. With every breath, he was growing increasingly aware of Skylynn, not as a woman, but as prey. The steady beat of her heart echoed like thunder in his ears; the rich, coppery scent of her blood made his fangs ache with need.

  He clenched his hands into tight fists. He dared not put it off any longer.

  He would have to drink the last of the potion, and soon.

  Thorne had offered to help Sky put Paddy’s lab back to rights, but she had refused his help, saying that she wanted to go through the rest of the house and make sure nothing else was missing before she called the police.

  He had taken his leave shortly thereafter. Being near Sky, listening to the beat of her heart, the whisper of the blood flowing through her veins, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist much longer. Better to put some distance between them than risk doing something he would have a hard time explaining to her.

  At home, he prowled through the house he had occupied, on and off, for the last 150 years. It was a grand place, more like a mansion than a home. Originally built as a summer retreat by an Italian count, the house boasted vaulted ceilings, paneled walls, and hardwood floors. The front parlor had a large stone fireplace, as did the back parlor, the spacious dining room, the servants’ quarters downstairs, and all five bedrooms upstairs.

  From time to time, he had done some remodeling. What had once been a water closet had been made over into the master bathroom, with the latest fixtures and plumbing. He had replaced all the original windows, added screens, and heavy-duty locks on all the doors and windows. Only three of the rooms were furnished—the front parlor, the master bedroom, and the kitchen.

  The kitchen was located in a separate part of the house, connected to the dining room by a narrow hallway. When he’d bought the house, the kitchen had contained no modern appliances. The stove had burned wood, there had been no running water, no electricity.

  Nine years ago, he’d had the kitchen remodeled. He had replaced the old floor, built new cabinets, and installed a black granite sink top. Although he didn’t do much cooking, he liked to eat, and so he had purchased a refrigerator, a stove, and a microwave.

  The servants’ quarters, located on the third floor, had been accessible from the kitchen and also by a separate outside entrance. He had plastered over the outside entrance.

  He paused at the front window and stared at the house across the street. The police had been there earlier. He doubted they would find anything helpful. Desmarais was a past master at obliterating any and all evidence of his presence.

  Thorne drummed his fingertips on the sill. What was Sky doing now? Was she curled up in a chair, reading? It had been a pastime she had loved as a child. Watching TV, perhaps? Working in Paddy’s garden? Preparing lunch?

  Frustration rose within him as a hunger he had not felt in years—a hunger aroused by a single drop of Sky’s blood—stirred deep within him. He slammed his palm against the wall. He had to find that damn formula!

  Turning away from the window, he began to pace the floor. Desmarais had been in Paddy’s office, so Thorne had to assume that Desmarais had stolen the formula for the potion, but why? What effect did the concoction have on humans, if any?

  At one time, Girard Desmarais had been a hunter without equal. Fearless, merciless, tenacious, he claimed to have taken more than two hundred heads before he had quit hunting and taken refuge in a monastery after the death of his wife.

  It was rumored that Desmarais was a descendent of Abraham Van Helsing, the most famous slayer of them all. Generations of Van Helsings considered vampire hunting a sacred calling, sacrificing home, family, and livelihood to rid the world of the Undead. The monastery where Desmarais had taken refuge was believed to be a sanctuary for slayers who had grown too old to hunt, or who had lost their nerve.

  Thorne had tangled with Desmarais in France some thirty-odd years ago and considered himself lucky to be alive today. He had not heard
anything of Desmarais in more than twenty years. Desmarais had been old when Thorne knew him. Like everyone else, he had assumed Desmarais had passed away years ago.

  One thing about Desmarais, old or young, the man knew how to carry a grudge. Desmarais held Thorne responsible for the death of his wife. It was true Thorne had killed Marie Desmarais, but hell, the woman hadn’t given him any other choice. She had been a hunter every bit as determined and ruthless as her husband. In the end, it had been her life or Thorne’s.

  “So, Desmarais, my old friend,” he muttered, “where the hell are you now?”

  He was still pondering that question later that night as he made his way down to the wine cellar.

  Unlocking the safe, he withdrew the blue bottle with its priceless contents. For a moment, he simply held it in his hands, reluctant to drink the last of the precious liquid. How long would this dose last? There was no telling. Even though he always drank the same amount, the results varied. Some doses lasted several months, some only a few weeks. Paddy had been at a loss to explain the variation in the doses and, try as he might, the old man hadn’t been able to stabilize the formula. It hadn’t been a problem as long as Paddy was alive, but now ...

  Swearing under his breath, Thorne lifted the bottle to his lips, grimacing as the foul-tasting liquid burned a path down his throat.

  And then, drowning in despair, he hurled the bottle against the far wall, watching in anguish as it shattered into a million sparkling blue pieces and with it, the life he had come to know.

  Chapter 5

  Skylynn stood at the sink, staring out the window as she rinsed off the plate and glass she had used at lunch. She had called the police soon after Kaiden left. Two uniformed officers had arrived within the hour, taken a report, dusted for fingerprints, and said they would keep in touch.

  She glanced at the clock, dismayed that it was barely four. Never had a day passed so slowly. She had tried all afternoon to come up with a good excuse to go across the street and see Kaiden, but every reason she came up with sounded more contrived than the one before.

  After putting the dishes in the dishwasher, she turned the machine on, then went into the front room. Sitting in Granda’s squeaky rocker, she drummed her fingertips on the arms. What was Kaiden doing? What if she made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and took a dozen or so across the street? That would be a nice, neighborly gesture.

  Lordy, she had it bad. Ever since coming home and seeing Kaiden again, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. At fourteen, she had known he was a handsome man, but, like all teenagers, she had viewed anyone over thirty as having one foot in the grave.

  At fifteen, she hadn’t fully realized how amazingly sexy he was, although just looking at him had made her feel warm all over. At the time, she had thought she was just embarrassed, but now she realized she had been unwittingly responding to his innate sexuality.

  She was still responding to that air of sensuality, but now she recognized it for what it was. Just being near him caused all her hormones to sing a happy song. Those dark eyes, that incredibly sexy smile, that deep, whiskey-smooth voice that could coax the birds out of the trees. She could hardly wait to see him again. Just the thought of being close to him, hearing his voice say her name, made her stomach curl with anticipation and brought a smile to her face.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Skylynn, stop it! You’re practically engaged to another man.”

  Ah, yes, Harry. She hadn’t thought about him more than once or twice since Kaiden arrived on the scene. She suddenly realized why she kept putting Harry off. Without consciously being aware of it, she had been comparing Harry to Kaiden. And there was just no contest, no way Harry could possibly win.

  She rocked back and forth for a few minutes, then frowned as a horrible thought occurred to her. Had her marriage failed because Nick hadn’t measured up to Kaiden Thorne? Of course, to be fair, what man could? There was something about Kaiden that was lacking in other men, though, try as she might, she couldn’t quite put her finger on just what it was. It was more than his stunning good looks. After all, there were a lot of handsome men running around. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze when he looked at her, as if she were the only woman on the planet. Maybe it was the husky, sexy quality in his voice when he spoke her name. Maybe it was the incredible attraction that sizzled between them whenever his gaze met hers. Whatever it was, she found him completely irresistible.

  What was he doing now?

  He seemed obsessed with finding the formula to Granda’s potion. Was it more than just a tonic? Some kind of medication, perhaps? What if Kaiden was sick and he needed Granda’s tonic to survive? That would explain why Kaiden was so desperate to find the missing ingredient.

  She frowned as she thought about the man in the gray cloak. Did he have the same illness as Kaiden? Was that why he had stolen the formula? If the formula didn’t include the missing ingredient, would the man in the gray cloak come looking for it again? Mercy, that was a scary thought!

  She needed to see Kaiden, needed to make sure he was all right. Once again, she searched her mind for some excuse to visit him and then smacked her forehead with her palm. She had the perfect excuse. He had offered to help her clean up the mess in Granda’s lab.

  Smiling, she went into the kitchen, whipped up a devil’s food cake, and put it in the oven. She brushed her hair and her teeth, slipped on a clean sweater and a pair of jeans, and hurried across the street.

  Thorne knew it was Skylynn even before she knocked on the door. He would have known she was nearby if he was deaf, dumb, and blind by the way his whole body yearned toward her.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Is your offer to help me clean up Granda’s lab still good?”

  “Sure. Just tell me when.”

  “I was thinking about tonight, if you’re not too busy.”

  His gaze met hers. “Never too busy for you.”

  Her stomach did a quick somersault as his voice caressed her. Was that throaty, sensual purr something he practiced, or did it just come naturally? It slid over her skin like velvet warmed by the sun.

  “Sky?”

  “What? I mean, that’s great! I made a cake.”

  “What kind?”

  “Devil’s food. I hope you like fudge frosting.”

  “Women and chocolate,” he muttered with a good-natured grin. “Is there a reason why you want to wait until tonight?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then let’s go. I’m not doing anything, and the sooner we get started, the sooner we can have that dessert.”

  “Works for me,” Sky said, grinning. “I might even throw in a scoop of ice cream.”

  “All the better.” After closing the door, he followed her across the street.

  A patrol car pulled up as they reached the opposite curb and a ruddy-faced cop leaned out the window. “Everything okay here, Miss McNamara?”

  “Yes, fine, Officer.”

  “We’ll be keeping an eye on your place for the next few days. Be sure to call if you see anyone suspicious in the area.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  With a nod, the cop put the car in gear and continued on down the street.

  “Did anything else come up missing?” Thorne asked as they climbed the porch stairs.

  “No. Apparently all the thief wanted was the formula, if that’s what he got. We really don’t have any way of knowing for sure what he took.”

  “True, but my gut tells me it was the formula.”

  In the kitchen, Skylynn filled a bucket with hot, soapy water. After pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, she grabbed a roll of paper towels, located a couple of old dishrags in a drawer, picked up the bucket, and headed for the basement.

  “Here, let me carry that,” Thorne said, reaching for the pail.

  “I’m not helpless.”

  He inclined his head in her direction. “I know that. You’re a liberated female, but I’m still a gentleman. In my day, we looked after
our women.”

  She looked up at him, head canted to one side. “Your day? You couldn’t have been more than a baby when the women’s lib movement started.”

  “Humor me,” he said with a wry grin.

  With a shrug, she relinquished the bucket, then opened the door to the basement.

  Thorne followed her down the stairs. Being a healthy male, he couldn’t help but admire the subtle sway of her hips, or the delightful curve of her derriere, nor could he ignore the flowery fragrance that clung to her skin. Or the way the front of his jeans suddenly felt very, very tight.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he reined in his lust. Drawing his gaze from her delectable backside, he focused his attention on Paddy’s lab. It looked as he had seen it last, except now every visible surface was covered with fingerprint powder.

  Thorne quickly put the furniture to rights while Skylynn attacked the fingerprint powder. His was by far the easier task.

  Sky muttered under her breath as she washed the black powder off the top of one of the filing cabinets. She had heard stories of how difficult the stuff was to remove, but it was even worse than she had expected. Fortunately, the dust was only in the lab and the floor was linoleum and not carpet. When the Cunninghams down the street had been robbed, the crime lab technicians hadn’t been too careful about dusting for prints. The sticky stuff had gotten into the Cunninghams’ carpet and ruined it. Mr. Cunningham, who was a lawyer, had filed a claim against the police department and the city had replaced the Cunninghams’ carpet.

  Sky was in the middle of washing down the doorjamb when Kaiden sniffed the air. “Something’s burning.”

  “What? Oh, no! My cake!” Sky exclaimed. Dropping the rag on the floor, she ran out of the lab and up the stairs. “Darn it!” Grabbing a hot pad, she opened the oven door and pulled the pan from the oven.