Possessed by an Immortal. Sharon Ashwood
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drop on top of the woman as she passed beneath his tree. Then shock rippled through him as he saw she was leading a small child by the hand. In his surprise, his foot nearly slipped. Who took a kid through the woods on a night like this?
A cougar stole through the brush a dozen yards behind. Adrenaline tightened his muscles. No! One rush and a spring, and the cat would have the child.
Mark dropped between the woman and the cat. His boots landed with a hollow thud on the needle-strewn path. The woman stumbled, letting out a yell of surprise. Mark rose, turning to see both her and the cougar. The cat padded backward a few steps, ears flattening.
A need to protect his domain flashed through Mark. He gave a warning growl, hoping the cat would turn and run. Compact and muscular, this male was nine feet from nose to tail-tip and as heavy as a grown man. Mark suspected it was also every bit as smart.
Except tonight. Instead of running, the cougar bared its fangs in a rattling hiss.
It was too much for the woman. She bolted, dragging the child with her, tripping and crashing as she went. The cat lunged forward, but Mark was there in an instant, crouched in its path. The cougar swiped a huge paw. Mark caught it before the massive claws touched his flesh. The cat strained against his grip, rearing up. Mark grabbed both front legs, struggling against the steel of its muscles and tendons. If he had been human, the cougar would have flayed him in a heartbeat.
With a roar, Mark thrust the cat away, the force of it making the creature slide and skitter into the brush.
“Not tonight,” he said evenly, using a touch of vampire compulsion. “This prey is mine.”
The cougar gave a long, slow blink, ears flat against its head. Mark waited. The moment stretched, the cat lashing the ground with its tail, its emerald eyes sizing Mark up, choosing whether or not to obey. Mark raised the knife, letting the cougar see it. The cougar hissed again, a nightmare of long, ivory fangs.
Go. I don’t want to kill you. The moment stretched, Mark still and silent, every muscle poised to strike.
At last the tension broke. With a disgusted swish of its tail, the cougar wheeled and stalked away, shoulders hunched with displeasure. Mark watched it go, relieved to avoid the fight. Good hunting, brother.
He retreated a step, then two, making sure the cat did not change its mind. At last, Mark turned and sprinted after the woman, dodging roots and low branches. She hadn’t gone far. Mark caught another wafting cloud of warm, human blood-scent, now spiced with extra fear.
She ran, too much like a doe fleeing through the woods. Mark’s instincts to chase and devour sparked and flared, roused by her slender, panicked form.
Chapter 2
Mark grabbed the woman’s shoulder. She gasped, making the sound of someone too scared to scream. He spun her around, her feet slipping on the wet ground. His grip tightened as she started to fall, but she sprang back with another noise of pure terror, pushing the child behind her.
“Stop!” he commanded, putting a snap into the word.
She obeyed, hunched against the rain, face hidden by the hood except for a pale, pointed chin. Her feet were planted wide, as if to launch herself at him if he so much as twitched in the direction of her child. The cougar had nothing on a mother protecting her young.
“Please,” she demanded, voice shaking. She didn’t say what she pleaded for. There was no need. They both knew he could be a threat—he knew exactly how much.
Mark didn’t answer at once, but took the time to study her. She was wearing a tan trench coat with half the forest stuck to its sodden hem. Her boots were sturdy tan leather, scuffed and splotched with mud. The only other feature he could make out was her hands, long fingers ending in short, unpainted nails. Capable hands. They were half curled, ready to lash out.
“Where’s the cat?” Her voice was nearly lost beneath the sound of the rain.
“I scared it off. What are you doing here?” he asked in turn, his voice deceptively soft. She smelled so good, his stomach tightened with desire and hunger.
“What does it matter to you?” she snapped back. “I mean, do you live here? Where’s the road to the nearest town?”
She was trying to sound brave, but he could hear her pulse racing with terror. To a predator, fear meant food. He barely resisted the urge to lick his lips. “You’re trespassing.”
“My bad. It’s kind of dark out.”
“A person doesn’t just take a wrong turn out here. The next house is miles away.”
“We walked up from the beach.”
That puzzled him. “You came by boat?”
“Yes.”
He hadn’t heard a motor, but the pounding rain might have drowned it out. Still, something was very off. She was extremely wet, the skirts of her coat soaked through and stinking of saltwater, as if she’d waded to shore.
The child peered around her legs, his small, white face pinched with cold. Mark felt a stab of anger. “You took your boy for a sail on a night like this?”
The woman’s chin lifted to a stubborn angle. “I made a mistake.”
“I’d say so.”
Mark was growing impatient, rain trickling down his collar. He’d been expecting assassins. He’d never met a professional killer with a child in tow, but such things weren’t impossible. Some would do anything to make a target drop his guard. All that fear he smelled didn’t make her innocent.
He lunged forward and yanked her hood back, wanting to see the woman’s face.
“Hey!” She blinked against the rain, her mouth opening in a startled gasp. It was a nice mouth, wide and soft and giving her features a vulnerable, unconventional beauty. Her face was more long than oval, framed by squiggling tendrils of rain-soaked hair.
“Who are you?” he demanded. She was lovely. Desire rose in a sudden heat, but this time it held more lust than appetite.
“Back off!” She crouched, wrapping her arms around the boy and scooping him onto her hip. The fiercely protective gesture put her body between Mark and the youngster. The swift, selfless courage pulled at his instincts. Whoever this woman was, she was magnificent.
But the child made no more sound than a ghost, and that silence dragged Mark’s attention away from the female. The boy has to be sick or exhausted. He’s cold and wet and it’s dark and his mother is frightened. Most kids would be crying by now. This one hasn’t made a peep.
“I apologize.” Mark frowned, his tone making the statement a lie. “Who are you?”
She backed away. “Bree. Who are you?”
“Mark. Is that your son?”
“Yes.” She shifted uncomfortably, rain trickling down her face. The moment dragged. “Is that your cabin?” she finally asked, her tone torn between need and reluctance. “It’s cold out here.”
Mark bristled, edgy. No one came to his property by accident—it was too far from civilization. Then again, his unexpected guests weren’t going to survive the night without shelter. Kill or protect. Food or willing flesh. Be the vampire, or be the healer. For centuries, the debate had worn on Mark, eventually driving him to his island retreat. He wasn’t a monster when there was no one to kill. He liked it that way. This woman was interrupting his peace.
Still, a good hunter never harmed a mother with fragile young. “Come inside. Your boy needs to get out of the rain.”
“Thank you.” The woman bowed her head, her expression a mix of relief and new worries. She didn’t trust him. Smart woman.
Mark took her elbow, steering her down the path rather than letting her walk behind him. He might be taking pity on the woman, but he