Eternally

“And you’re Julie Carpenter. A reporter.”

Those amazing emerald eyes narrowed briefly. “How do you know that?”

“When you try to arrange interviews,” he countered, “do you actually believe you’re not being checked out in return?”

“Oh.” She nodded then said, “Okay then, that makes sense. And here you are. Isn’t this a happy coincidence? You, here, I mean. With me.” She practically scrubbed her palms together in eagerness.

“I’m not here for an interview.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do one.”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “It does.”

There was no time to waste. Not with her. A distraction was something he couldn’t afford at the moment. Even one so tempting as she. Hunger raged and warred with the instinctive knowledge that he was wasting time. The hunt was all that mattered. A century and a half ago, he’d found the demon. And he’d done it without having a Mate by his side. Now, he would do it again.

He could hardly look at her, though, without wanting her. Her mouth was red and swollen from the kiss that he was trying to forget. He’d be damned forever if he let his desires make his decisions for him.

Hell, doing just that is what had gotten him killed in the first place.

Bending down, Kieran snatched up the ice cream and the spoon. As he straightened, the edge of his coat slipped back.

“Is that a sword?” Her voice yipped on that last word and he saw fear glint in her eyes.

“Bugger.” He shot her a quick look, tossed the ice cream and spoon onto the counter, then tugged his coat back into place. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“Sure. Of course.” She nodded. “Gazillionaire swordsman. No big. Happens every day. In Bizarro World.”

He saw her thoughts wheeling through her brain and easily read the agitation in her eyes. Frustration coursed through him. He’d come to this house following a trail—and because he’d worried she might be in danger. Now, she was clearly imagining herself in danger from him.

Why the hell had she shown up in his life? This should have been a simple hunt. Locate his prey, incapacitate it, move on.

But nothing was as it should be.

“I don’t have time to explain,” he muttered and moved away from her. Easier to think if he couldn’t inhale her scent.

She practically leaped toward the phone hanging on the wall opposite the refrigerator. With the receiver in her hand and her finger on the number nine, she said, “Make time, sparky. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t dial 911.”

In one long stride, he was beside her, wrenching the phone from her hand and hanging it up. Damn telephones. Ever since their invention, things had been harder for Kieran and his kind. Too easy for witnesses to call the police—or worse, some tabloid.

“Because,” he said, keeping one hand on the phone so she couldn’t grab it again, “the police will only confuse things further.”

She snorted. “Most criminals would say that.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Most criminals would say that, too.” She yanked at her hand, trying to get free, which only convinced him to hold her tighter. She winced and said, “So what’s your deal? Is the whole philanthropy thing a front? Or maybe you just like to dress up and scare people?”

“Damn it woman…” His fingers coiled tighter around her wrist.

“Let go of me, you psycho.”

Fragile bones beneath smooth, hot skin. His thumb moved over her flesh, distracting her momentarily from the fear still dancing in her eyes. Kieran met her gaze and held it, focusing his power on convincing her that she was safe. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Instead of being soothed as he’d expected, the woman glared at his hand, still holding her wrist. At last, he let her go and she rubbed the spot where his fingers had been. Savoring his touch? Or trying to erase it?

“You’re carrying a sword and you expect me to take your word for anything?” She slipped out from under the close press of his body and took a step or two to one side. “Who carries a sword, for God’s sake?”

“Don’t try to run,” he warned softly. “I’ll catch you.”

She sagged against the counter. “You probably would. Fine. I won’t run. Just…get out.”

He stared at her. “If you’re thinking of writing a story about this—you should know my lawyers will make that impossible.”

“You come into my house wearing a sword, breaking my wrist and you’re gonna sue me?”

“I didn’t break your wrist,” he said and heard the barely banked anger in his own voice.

“Came close.”

“Woman,” he muttered, wishing he were somewhere fighting a demon to the death. It would have been easier than dealing with her. “There is more going on here than you know.”

“I’m getting that,” she said, scowling at him.

He watched her, couldn’t stop watching her if truth be told. Despite her fear of him, she held her ground. She lifted her chin and looked directly into his eyes, with the strength of a warrior. And this Kieran understood. Respected.

For centuries, he’d wandered the earth. He’d seen the worst of humanity and the best. He’d battled demons and men with the same single-minded determination. He’d been with women who quailed at the sight of him yet yearned for the taste of danger to add spice to sex. But never had he met the one woman who could reach him. The one woman who might, if old tales could be believed, be his salvation.

Even the thought of the word choked him. There was no salvation for those like him. The most he could hope for was another battle to follow the last. To move on through the years, untouched by time, able to adjust the memories of those whose lives he brushed up against so that he remained unremembered.

This he knew. This he expected.

She was a surprise.

Her green eyes fixed on him, he could sense her thoughts, the wild clashing of instinct and desire. She trembled and the strength of her need was as powerful as the fear darting through her.

Before he could think better of it, he attempted something he suspected—hoped—had no chance of success.

You are safe from me, woman.

She jolted away from the counter and shot him a look that was both intrigued and horrified. “How did you do that? Talk to me in my head? How could I hear you? What’s going on?”

Kieran plowed one hand through his hair, scraping his short, neat nails across his scalp, hoping the minor irritation would distract him from the mess this was quickly becoming. She shouldn’t have been able to hear him. Shouldn’t have reacted at all. The fact that she had, shook him to the core. “I’m telepathic.”

“Ah…” She nodded jerkily and inched closer to the swinging door leading into the party, still barreling along at top volume. She slid one hand across the tiles as if to steady her movements. “Well, that explains everything. A telepathic swordsman. Fabulous. Lucky me.”

“Stop.”

She did. As if he’d fired a bullet at her feet.