Only one way to find out.
Justice slewed over the gravel roads, ignoring the Porsche’s complaints about chipped paint and dust. As she took the last turn, she saw a little house sitting back, snuggled inside a dense ring of trees.
She parked the Porsche next to a black van and got out, the sense of urgency growing with every passing second.
When she knocked on the door, no one answered. Ditto with the doorbell. The place was locked, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.
She circled around back and peered in through the sliders. No one.
With the butt of her gun, she smashed the window and let herself in. The place was dark, quiet. The scent of something spicy and sweet filled the air, like someone had been baking recently.
A quick search of the living areas and bedrooms told her no one was here. Only she was here for some reason—and that reason was becoming increasingly desperate.
Justice started opening doors, searching closets, looking behind shower curtains and under beds. Finally, she opened a door leading down into a basement. That sweet scent was stronger here, pulling her in.
With her gun in hand, she descended the wooden steps. When she was about halfway down, she saw a man bound from shoulders to ankles. He was slumped forward. Blood pooled under him. A trickle had worked its way over the concrete floor to a drain.
Panic hit her in the chest, and she stood there, gawking in shock for a moment. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything this powerful—good or bad. Maybe she never had felt anything like this. Emotions seemed to slide around her, mostly, never touching her in any meaningful way.
Until now.
She was afraid. Scared completely and utterly shitless.
Justice hurried down the steps to the bleeding man. Her fingers pressed against his throat, feeling for a pulse, but the chill of his skin told her she was too late.
He let out a quiet moan, and again, she was shocked. He was still alive. She wasn’t too late.
The question was, why was she here? What was she supposed to do?
She pulled out her knife and cut through the tape. Stopping his bleeding seemed to be the first order of business.
Her blade hit metal. He’d been chained, too. Whoever he was, someone had really wanted to make sure he stayed put.
Maybe he was a bad guy. Maybe she was here to finish the job and kill him.
Something about that didn’t ring true. If he was supposed to die, then all she would have had to do was stay away. Whatever powers compelled her wouldn’t have had to waste the effort to send her here.
By the time she’d cut the bloody man free, his breath was wheezing in and out of his scrawny chest. His clothes were too big, and he was so thin he felt brittle as she moved him, trying to locate the bleeding.
As far as she could tell, he had no cuts. Which changed things.
“Whose blood is this?” she demanded.
His head fell back against her arm, and she was struck by the way she cradled him, as if he were something precious. But that wasn’t true. No one was precious to her.
His pale blue eyes opened. Pain churned there, along with endless hunger and desperation. His lips moved and a faint whisper puffed out. “Blood. Need.”
The sound of his voice made hidden memories churn in her head. She reached for them, trying to grab even one, but they all fell away, abandoning her.
Frustration made her arms tighten around his body. She lowered her head closer, hoping to hear another word—something, anything to give her back what was taken. “What do you need?”
He licked his dry lips. Swallowed. His gaze focused on her throat. “Blood. Please.”
That power that drove her—God, fate, karma—whatever it was, spoke to her now, silently urging her to give him what he needed.
With a shaking hand, she pulled her curly black hair away from her neck and lifted him higher. His lips brushed her skin in what she thought a kiss would feel like. A tingling sense of familiarity spilled down her spine. She knew what he was going to do, but she wasn’t afraid.
Then again, she hadn’t been afraid of a speeding freight train, either.
A sharp pain broke her skin, and his mouth began to move against her, suckling. Pleasure unlike anything she could have imagined stroked over her, lighting up parts of herself she’d assumed were dead or missing. Other people felt joy and sadness. Other people laughed and cried. For Justice, that had all been fake—an act designed to fit in. And now those things were hers, streaking through her like lightning.
The man in her arms grew heavy. She was no longer holding him up. His body swelled and shifted, gripping her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.
She grew weaker. The chill from the concrete floor sank into her, stealing her warmth. Her heart sped, and a sense of fear rose up.
He was killing her. And even more startling: she didn’t want to die.
Justice tried to pull away, but he was too strong. The knife lay on the floor nearby, discarded and forgotten. But her gun was tucked in her waistband.
She fumbled to reach it. Her hands didn’t quite work right. She wasn’t holding it right and couldn’t figure out which way to move it so she could fire. So instead, she lifted the heavy metal and slammed it down into the man’s head.
He went limp. Blood flowed down her neck. She covered the wound and scrambled away, leaving him sprawled on the floor. By the time she stood, he was already moving.
She didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. She just ran. Up the stairs, out the front door and into her Porsche. While she was struggling to find the right key, she saw him inside the house, holding back, just out of the light.
Whatever he was, she was out of here. That nagging sense that drove her to do the things she did was gone now. Apparently, saving his life was why she’d come, and now that her job was done, she was getting the hell away.
* * *
Ronan cursed the sun as he watched the woman flee. Power sang in his veins, and for the first time in memory, he was no longer hungry. She had done that for him, and now she was gone. But no matter how much power he possessed, he couldn’t go after her. Not in the sunlight. He was trapped here until nightfall, by which time, she’d be long gone.