Possessed by an Immortal. Sharon Ashwood
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that mean I’m quotable?”
“Only when I’m feeding my child his own weight in sugar. Remember we’ll be trapped with him for miles and miles while he burns it off.”
Mark grunted in acknowledgment. “I’m sure I have duct tape in the trunk.”
“Hey,” said the young man who took their order. He was looking at Bree closely. “Are you somebody famous? I know you from somewhere.”
She laughed easily. “My kid thinks I’m a rock star, but that’s it, I’m afraid.”
Mark shouldered his way forward to pay, blocking the young man’s view of her. Bree picked up their tray and claimed a table for the three of them. As Mark waited for change, he watched Bree with fresh interest as she arranged food and drink and boy, every gesture quick and graceful. Jonathan sat down, grabbed a sticky bun as big as his head and tried to eat it all in one bite. Bree moved in for the rescue, napkin in hand.
Mark chose the chair closest to the shadows and sat down. He took a swallow of thick, strong coffee, feeling the caffeine hit his finely tuned vampire metabolism. Jonathan wasn’t going to be the only one climbing the walls, but Mark needed to be on full alert.
Bree heard Jessica Lark die. How many people knew? Was there more to her sudden appearance on his island than met the eye? “The man named Bob. Your boat driver.”
Bree looked up from cutting Jonathan’s bun into socially acceptable chunks. “What about him?”
Mark waited while a man in coveralls shuffled past their table, bag of pastries in hand, before he answered. “I wonder if he knew Larson.”
“He knew everyone. He knew every inch of every island.”
Which meant he probably knew Mark’s cabin. “I think he meant for me to find you.”
“I found you, remember?”
“Whatever. The fact that we met drew both of us into the open. A sweet package deal. I think the reason he dropped you where he did, and the reason I was motivated by a letter I received to leave the cabin—well, it made somebody’s work a lot easier. Now they get a two-for-one.”
Bree frowned. “What are you saying?”
“We might both be targets. I knew Jessica Lark. We worked together. Not on fashion, but on other things.”
Her eyes grew wider. “What kind of things?”
“Things that interest men with guns. We, uh, did a bit of freelance undercover work.” It wasn’t information he ever shared, but Bree’s life, and Jonathan’s, depended on getting out of this mess. The least he could do was sketch in a few details to help her. As a vampire, he could always erase her memory later.
“You mean you two were like spies?”
“Sort of.”
Before Mark had joined the Horsemen’s team, he and Lark had done a fair number of assignments together—a fey and a vampire posing as a beautiful couple, infiltrating the rich and famous. It had been easy for Mark, who had spent his youth as a courtier. Lark had been fun, vibrant, beautiful and very unpredictable. Not an ideal operative, but a fascinating female.
Bree leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “What else are you besides a doctor?”
“I have varied interests.” He leaned forward, as well. It put her face only inches away, the blue-green of her eyes so clear that he could see the subtle shading of the irises. She smelled of warmth and life.
“You could have killed me when I pulled a gun on you.”
“Yes.”
Her lids lowered, her lashes sweeping the dusting of freckles that crept over her cheeks. He’d meant to reassure her, but it wasn’t working. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth. She was so afraid.
“Bree.”
Those thick lashes lifted. Mark was aware of the chatter of other customers, the hiss of the coffeemaker, but that was all distant backdrop. He kept telling himself that he didn’t want to become tangled in her story, but here he was—tangled. She seemed to step right over the circle he drew around himself. “I can protect you.”
The hunger in Mark welled, reminding him that he wasn’t just a human, and he wasn’t just a healer. There was a flip side to him, a darkness that destroyed. That was his natural state, what lay beneath when the surface was scratched. He was appetite without end.
He never let that creature loose anymore. But now it battered against its iron cage, yearning to take the woman whose mouth was right there, so close he could already taste her. Her lips were wide and generous, giving her face an oddly vulnerable cast. Loneliness rose from her like a scent. Any predator could see she was cut off from the herd, alone and unprotected.
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