Blade Heart Page 4

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  The usual hubbub engulfs New York City. At the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, the throng looks like a living mass. Cars honk, yellow cabs pull over with a screeching of tyres, familiar neon signs cast the colours of the rainbow over Times Square and guitar riffs come out from the Hard Rock Café.

  Pedestrians elbow her as she stands on the corner of Forty-Second Street. Her arm muscles ache from a long day serving coffee to patrons. The job is tiring but pays the bills and the rent for her dump in Brooklyn. She has been searching the whole city for almost a year now without finding what she’s looking for, but change is upon her. Tonight, for the first time, she has felt the pull.

  Although she dreads what she’s about to do, she can’t stay here. Time is running out. The pull draws her towards the water. She walks briskly as the crowd thins out along the avenue, the thud of her sneakers on the sidewalk sounding like an omen. The closer she gets to her destination the stronger her stomach reacts. It starts churning when she goes past the bus terminal.

  Almost there. She swallows a knot of anxiety and heads straight on. Not many people or cars on the street now. Like an opaque shroud, the night bears down on her, heavy and foreboding. The pungent odour of the Hudson River cannot mask the acrid taste rising from her belly—the taste of fear.

  As she reaches the Circle Line Sightseeing Cruises, she feels like throwing up. Yet she lets the pull attract her. She turns right onto Twelfth Avenue, past Pier eighty-three, quiet at this time. She doesn’t have far to go now.

  She sees the building with its small metallic door at the same time a rush of blood makes her shiver. What she has been searching for for so long is behind the grey entrance. She takes the last steps, sweat sticking her armpits.

  Her fingers keep vibrating as she touches the cold surface. If she opens that door she’ll die. She knows it. She can feel it in her bones. The metallic door seems to dare her to enter. The monster is waiting inside. The monster will gobble her up. Yet enter she must. Pulse in tatters, she lowers the handle and…

  Cara woke up with a start, heart knocking against her ribs, a silent scream hurting her throat. Trembling from head to toe, she inhaled loud, raspy breaths. Although she had been able to stifle a violent shout when the nightmare released her, she uttered pitiful wails as images of the metallic door burned her mind, as panic grasped her guts and terror clutched her heart.

  Gripping the blanket like a buoy, she attempted to imagine herself being safe. She didn’t know what safety looked like, but she tried anyway. Tears running down her cheeks, lips aching from restraining harsh cries, she finally spotted the tall shape standing at the foot of the bed.

  He didn’t say a word. He lay down beside her and slid his arms around her shaking shoulders. The stranger held her tight while she rested her head on his bare chest. A peaceful sensation seeped through her as his body heat slowly drove away the vivid nightmare. She was in his arms. She was safe.

  Chapter Seven

  An owl hooted. Night stretched its dark limbs and Cara’s foul dream receded. The strong beat of his heart under her ear soothed her. The tight circle of his arms gave her a new sense of protection. But it didn’t last long.

  As her mind gradually let go of the nightmare, her flesh responded to the man’s bare body—so warm, so firm. Her nipples stiffened as fine hairs on his forearms tickled her back. His cock grew longer against her belly. She was away from the nightmare, but not safe from him. Would she die if she opened that door?

  This risk she’d take—because the elusive yet unique bond between them called out to her. And if her instincts were to be trusted, it also called out to him. She seized his erection.

  He gasped. His whole body seemed to harden and he clenched his hands. As she wound her fingers around the long dick, his respiration turned wild and the sound of his rough breaths triggered a deep longing in her. She wanted him so much she could barely stand her consuming lust.

  He moved his hands to circle her breasts, to pinch her nipples between two fingers. She moaned. Instantly reminded of their first night at the inn, she rubbed him up and down…once. He emitted a grating sigh. Muscles twitched, his heartbeat accelerated against her ear and his shaft thickened in her palm. With a sudden body twist he flipped her onto her back.

  His dark shadow over her, she let go of him. Her blood filled with an urgency she didn’t comprehend, her legs spread of their own accord. Pussy moist between expectant thighs, she lifted her hips to him.

  He buried his face in her hair. He gripped the tops of her arms and sank his fingers in her flesh. His rigid sex rubbing her belly, he appeared run through with the same forceful need that stabbed her.

  Overwhelmed with the intensity of this unbelievable sensation, she felt the imperative compulsion to say his name. To acknowledge the reality of the emotions they had unleashed, of the power uniting them—to bind him to her. While his face rested in the crook of her neck, she whispered.

  “Tell me your name.”

  The tight grasp of his hands almost hurt. As she murmured the demand, his harsh breathing in her hair made her tremble. She ached for the feel of him inside her. Ached for his pounding love. When he dug his fingernails into her shoulders, she raised her hips a fraction higher. He planted his tip against the wet folds. Raw desire struck her. An unchecked cry escaped her lips, a tremor twisted the inside of her thighs. He shivered.

  He pushed his cock into her. She raked her nails on the taut skin of his back, air whooshing out of her lungs. Breaths coming out in short rasps, fingers imbedded in the flesh of her arms, he drove himself in right down to her core. She cried out. He groaned like a wounded bear.

  The magical fervency they were sharing felt surreal, as if coming from another world. The sensation of his long dick buried deep staggered her. The unmistakable impact she had on him amazed her. She belonged in the tight circle of his arms. She had no past and her future lay with him. She belonged to the stranger. But as the realisation hit her, he extracted himself from her.

  Hands flat on each side of her head, he pushed himself up. Then he scrambled off the bed and backed away from her. In spite of the darkness she could discern the rapid rising of his chest as well as his splayed hand pressed on it—compressed on it as though he was clutching at his heart. And when he spoke the hurt and disbelief throbbing in his voice tore her heart.

  “What are you doing to me?”

  He opened the door and vanished into the main room. Cara heard a hurried shuffling of clothes followed by the slight creaking of the front door. A nonstop pacing on the porch ensued. Even if he had made no sound she wouldn’t have been able to sleep after that. The pacing ceased abruptly and his heels banged on the steps of the cabin—then nothing. He was gone.

  What had just happened? All she felt now was this void in her soul, this hole in her womb. The absence of him hurt her more than the brusque way he had torn himself out of her. Yet what could have caused it? She squeezed her eyes to remember the last seconds and a single image filled her mind, driving away all other considerations—the tension of his hand, the pressure of his fingers on his chest.

  Had he been in pain? Had he felt the first symptoms of a heart attack? It made no sense. She couldn’t believe this young, powerful man might be suffering from a weak heart. She wouldn’t even consider the eventuality. As if caught in a loop his question still resounded in her ears.

  ‘What are you doing to me?’

  Cara didn’t have a clue. Opening her eyes to dispel the hurtful image burning her brain, she focused on the window. A vague light touched the sky to the east, a gust of wind rustled the shadow of a tree branch.

  Drawing the blanket up to her chin, she wondered if dawn would bring her some measure of comfort. So far she had managed to tone down the frightening torment of losing her past enough to go along with this strange present as bravely as she could, but driving him away when he had become the tether holding her to sanity felt too much to bear. That she didn’t have the stren
gth to deal with.

  Cara curled up under the blanket, certain sleep would elude her. Yet when she woke, the beautiful sun shone through the window. She stretched her limbs while looking around to discover his bedroom with the light of day. Although unfamiliar, the place brought her a sense of closeness to the man she still had no name for.

  She jumped out of bed and put on the outfit Heather had given her. The protective leather clung to her curves like a second skin, turning her into a huntress. Yes, that was exactly what she looked like as she considered her legs, body and arms sheathed in the supple fabric. Boots laced, she walked to the door. Had he sneaked up before dawn to close it?

  Fingers on the handle, she faltered. Catching scraps of conversation through the thin wood, she put an ear against the cold panel. As though someone had cranked up the volume, the mumbling cleared up. They were talking about some writings. Heather didn’t want to let them out of the house, he thought it necessary.

  “What if you’re caught with the parchment or it gets destroyed? Can you imagine the consequences?”

  “I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

  “But it could happen, Dead, and you know as well as I do all will be lost then. Besides I’m almost sure Caius has made copies.”

  “What if he hasn’t?”

  “He must have. Think about it, you can’t carry the parchment across the whole territories. No, I will not allow it. Have you already forgotten bounty hunters almost got you yesterday? They believe the parchment and the conduit are in your possession, they won’t fail next time.”

  Although arguing, the care and respect they had for each other couldn’t be mistaken. Once more Cara wondered about the nature of his relationship to Heather. Mother? Relative? Close friend?

  As she glanced at her wrist while quietly shifting to get a better spying position, the sight of her sleeve elicited a new possibility. A guess she disliked instantly. Heather might be his mother-in-law because he had been married to her late daughter. Forcing herself to disregard her visceral reaction, Cara carried on listening.

  On the other side of the door, they had moved on to another topic. As he raised his voice to prove his point, his words rang clear. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the wood panel.

  “It’s her.”

  “How can you be so sure? You told me she isn’t at all what she should be.”

  “I know.”

  “And the quartz she’s wearing. You were certain you had found the conduit, but I can assure you it isn’t.”

  Then he said something Cara didn’t catch. She heard a rasp, the scraping of a chair on floorboards. She pricked her ear when Heather spoke again.

  “Don’t get me wrong. She’s the sweetest girl, but we can’t trust her until we know for sure who she is. She might be allied with them.”

  “She isn’t. I have a feeling about her.”

  “You, Dead? You have feelings?”

  The surprise in Heather’s tone sounded so genuine that Cara tingled all over. She’d been right about him. He had no emotions.

  “I didn’t say feelings. I said a feeling. Trust me, Heather, it’s her.”

  “In that case, tell me why she’s acting like a nobody and hiding the truth.”

  “She’s playing us.”

  Pressed against the bedroom door, Cara clasped the handle—hard. Irritation and resentment tugging at her heartstrings, she rebelled at such an unfair condemnation. All of a sudden she didn’t want to hear another word of their private conversation.

  The door banged open when she pulled it in. He stood by the table. His fists rested on the back of a chair and his face was directed at the old woman. A red cloth on her lap, Heather jumped at the sudden noise but remained seated. With the efficiency of well-oiled coil springs they swivelled their heads to her. Ignoring their startled looks, Cara stepped forward and fastened her gaze on the green eyes.

  “I’m not playing you. I don’t know who I am.”

  Chapter Eight

  He snorted. “Sure, just like you haven’t been eavesdropping.”

  He pushed the chair back under the table. Okay, he was still angry at her about their night encounter, but he’d have to get over it. For someone without emotions he did show a tendency to let himself go around her.

  Yet being insulted didn’t sit well with her and by the way, she didn’t owe him anything. Truth be told, he had saved her life twice. But hey, she could always thank him later. Right now, as if last night had never happened, he looked perfectly healthy. And damn attractive. And cross.

  A smile on her face, Heather gestured to the nearest chair. “Good morning, my dear. Don’t pay attention to our young stallion here and have some breakfast.”

  With a nod, Cara settled at the table. She spread butter on a slice of bread and helped herself to some kind of watery-looking tea.

  “Thanks, Heather, I’m very hungry this morning. It’s strange actually, given that I slept like a log.”

  “You’re welcome. This isn’t much but…”

  He banged his chair on the floor. As Heather raised her eyebrows, his intense gaze made Cara’s belly flutter.

  “Are we done with the niceties?”

  “Calm down, Dead. There’s no need to frighten our guest. Let her speak.”

  Cara didn’t feel frightened in the least. As it happened, his harsh tone and cold features sent tiny shivers of excitement all over her body. Even down her most private parts. How odd! Swallowing the chunk of bread she had been chewing, she then took a sip of the weak-tasting tea before turning to Heather.

  “My name is Cara. Two days ago, I woke up in a meadow in the middle of nowhere. And that’s all I remember.”

  The old woman drew in a long breath. Hands coming up to her face, she traced the lines of her eyebrows.

  “The way I see it, you might be suffering from total memory loss. I’ve witnessed such rare occurrences in my lifetime. But if this was the case, you shouldn’t be able to recall your name.”

  “Obviously!”

  His icy voice would have frozen a bar of chocolate sizzling on a barbecue. Undeterred by his blatant incredulity, Cara set her mug down.

  “I’m not lying, you have to believe me. If I can find New York, I’m sure I’ll understand what happened to me.”

  In spite of living like recluses with no sense of comfort or amenities, surely they must have heard of New York. But this time, his suspicious air shifted to something else. Coming from him, this curious expression set her heart a little off course. The stranger sat across from her, eyes shining.

  “You brought up the name before. Who is this man?”

  “New York isn’t a person, it’s a city in the United States of America. Actually it’s the place where I come from.”

  Did she see relief in his intense stare? Or was it a trick of the sun pouring into the room? Whatever, he continued.

  “What’s it like?”

  “Huge, noisy, beautiful.”

  “I thought you could only remember your name.”

  He had a point. But as he put his elbows on the table to rest his chin on fisted hands, he didn’t let her reflect on it.

  “You are lying.”

  The way he articulated the three little words triggered a wild emotion in her. She wanted to get back at him so badly that she cocked her head to strike him with her most disdainful smile.

  “Yet you’re sure I’m her.”

  To her right, Heather snickered. Across the table, he tightened his lips but kept on staring at Cara.

  “I don’t tolerate deceit.”

  No, he wouldn’t. She could see it in the straight set of his lips, in the blunt directness of his green eyes. Soft warmth kindled in the pit of her stomach and a delicious beat began to pulse between her thighs. What was this man doing to her? As she crossed her legs in an instinctive manner, Heather held a hand up.

  “Hold on, let me think.”

  But the mention of New York had set off a chain reaction
in Cara’s mind. More to herself than for their benefit, she listed familiar places.

  “Los Angeles, Hollywood, Washington, Miami, Paris, London, Rome, Moscow, Sydney, Tokyo. Do these names mean anything to you?”

  Of course they didn’t. Their blank expressions mirrored the heavy dread she had been carrying deep inside her for the past two days. It stirred at present, knotting her stomach, contracting her throat to the point where she couldn’t look at them. Cara lowered her face to stare at her thighs.

  She had deliberately turned a deaf ear to her intuition and buried her head in the sand—because it had been so much easier than looking at the frightening truth. Because being around him had made her feel alive. Now the painful realisation dried her mouth and brought tears to her eyes.

  “Oh my God, where am I?”

  “In the Blue Forest.”

  His snide comment went off the mark. As Cara raised her face, he clenched his jaw at the sight of her brimming eyes. Fumbling in the side pocket of her dress, Heather passed her a white handkerchief while scolding him.

  “Would you stop? Can’t you see she’s distressed?”

  He sprang to his feet and paced the room. In a matter of seconds, his going back and forth grated on Cara’s nerves, but eased her fears. If she put her mind to the task, she would find a way back home. She might have been wrong many times yet she felt almost positive about one thing—she had a return ticket.

  “Don’t you remember anything else?”

  Heather’s lilting undertone took her back to more pressing matters. Cara nodded as the stranger ceased pacing to approach the table.

  “I do. I had a dream last night, a bad dream where… Well, to cut a long story short I think I’m a waitress.”

  Heather frowned. “What’s a waitress?”

  “Someone who serves food and drinks to people. Anyway I live and work in New York, but in the dream I was looking for something.”