Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) Read online

  Aidan growled as he jumped off the hood, shaking tempered glass from his leather coat with amused disgust. He couldn’t find it in him to get pissed, not with the sun on his face. Instead, he fairly purred as he lifted his chin, feeling the sunbeams warming his skin and smiling all the wider. Damme, if he wasn’t going to be walking around with an eejit grin all day.

  All day.

  “Fuck me, now there is a phrase I have nae gotten to use properly in awhile.” He laughed and turned toward the vehicle that had struck him. A Jag. Well, there now.

  “If ye are going to get nailed by a car, at least ye did it in style, O’Neill.” He chuckled again and decided to get a better look at the chit that had hit him. For a second there…of course, there was no way in hell that he had seen who he thought he'd seen.

  Aidan bent down to peer through the window and cursed as a warm gush of blood ran down his abdomen accompanied by a splintering sound. A rib was poking through his black T-shirt, the white bone glinting up at him almost jauntily.

  “Damnú air!” Aidan pushed the bone back under his flesh with a long, gloved finger, wincing as it slid home with a squelch. He felt his tendons grab the broken rib and knew it would be right as rain in a minute or so. He swayed as a wave of dizziness hit him hard. Aidan clutched the driver’s side door with a gasp.

  He wasn’t going to be right as rain, though. Not unless he got a drink and right soon. He wondered if that would dilute the potion’s effects and cursed.

  Piss on it. There was an easy meal right here, no sense in wasting the opportunity.

  He turned to the woman who was slumped against the driver’s window, a mass of dark hair obscuring her face. He opened the door, and eased her out onto the pavement. She was breathing, he could feel the warmth of her slow, steady exhalations against his face as he leaned closer. There was something tauntingly familiar about her smell.

  There was also a nasty bruise forming on her right temple, but other than that she looked unharmed. He went to push her hair back from her face with one gloved hand. She stirred, whimpering and trying to push his hand away, but Aidan only smiled. Compassion wasn’t something he came by easily in the best of times. She’d had to come along and ruin his little outing, so she deserved what she was going to get.

  He watched as she winced and tried to lift her head. “Ye had the bad luck to hit a vampire, love. A head injury is the least of yer worries.”

  She blinked, gazing at him fuzzily. Aidan swore at the sight of those deep violet eyes. Gorgeous, black lashed, incredibly famous violet eyes. Heather Kantos. World-renowned model and aspiring actress. Aidan might not have recognized her from that alone. Their scorching ‘tête-à-tête’ in Istanbul about a week ago, however…

  That he remembered. Shit. Too much heat, too close to the others. Too many questions would arise if Heather goddamn Kantos was found on the side of the road with a mysterious blood loss that couldn’t be explained by a minor accident. But Aidan had to drink and now.

  Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!

  Dizziness blasted him again as her eyes cleared and narrowed in confusion and pain. “Aidan? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “My question exactly, love.” He loosed his hunger ever so carefully, its' claws bore down on his flesh as it scrabbled for the woman, sensing prey. Weak, blooded prey. His eyes burned and he knew they were glowing.

  Heather lurched back in fear, then inexplicably relaxed as he leaned closer, pushing his power at her, into her. Her body went limp. Aidan slid his hand under her hair and lifted her head.

  “Just a sip or two and we will be on our way. No hard feelings, eh?” He’d fed from Heather before. She had no memory of that part of their previous encounter. She wouldn’t remember this time either. He breathed in the smell of her skin, his body hardened immediately at her scent. Oranges and hibiscus, spice and honey….

  Mmm, she’d been delicious. So delicious in every way. His fangs pierced her skin and Aidan groaned as her blood spilled over his tongue. Gods, had he actually forgotten how amazing she tasted?

  He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to feel her breathing cease, her skin cool— wanted to get the last burst of her heart’s blood down his throat. The monster inside of him growled for all that and more, as it always did.

  Aidan might not have been able to stop, but the sound of sirens came at the same instant he started to get a warning tingle in his veins. The potion was fading and the garda were coming.

  Well, this day was going arseways in a bloody hurry.

  When Heather came to, she was face down on a heavenly soft and utterly unfamiliar bed. Her head was aching, but only in a mild five-six drink hangover kind of way. For a minute she thought she was back in Istanbul, the morning after….

  Her breath caught.

  Him.

  Had she really hit Aidan O’Neill with her goddamn rental car?

  Her eyes snapped open. She was in a hotel room, but this was definitely not Istanbul.

  Cool green walls greeted her eyes, white cotton curtains dancing in a breeze that smelled of leafy trees instead of desert. Sunset shadows were lengthening in a room that looked very much like an upscale bed and breakfast.

  No, he wasn’t here. That was fucking impossible. It was just her head messing with her. That damn Irish accent of his, then having to go to freakin’ Ireland to find Lacey’s butt and haul her home. It had put the bastard in her head, that was all.

  She refused to admit he'd never left it.

  Lacey.

  Wait—sunset?! Had she lost a whole day?

  Heather jerked upright, noticing for the first time she had been stripped to her underwear; ruffled peach boy shorts and a matching bra. What in the hell had happened after the accident? She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, her toes brushing a polished hardwood floor. A rush of vertigo had her putting her head between her legs, staring at that same floor, studying the whorls of walnut brown as she tried to get her bearings.

  She had been staring this morning, too—staring at the sunrise. Then she had turned back to the road and there had been a man there. A very tall man in a long, black leather coat. And she had hit him with the car. Her stomach roiled. Had she really killed someone? Please, god, no….

  No, she hadn’t. She had been pulled out of the car, by that same man. He had smiled at her. Wait, first he had smiled at her, when he was on the hood. But that couldn’t be right, could it? That was the image that flashed in her brain though. Over and over again. Those eyes. Aidan’s eyes.

  Her brain had to be malfunctioning. But she remembered his voice, too, damnit. That silky Irish voice….

  The one that had made her do such bad, bad things and enjoy every second of them. Unbidden, carnal images of an entirely different hotel room flashed through her head. Memories that brought a flush to her face and a warm ache low down in her belly. Heather took a steadying breath, forcing the images away.

  She flopped back on the bed, her head in her hands, staring up at the plaster ceiling, whispering to herself. “It wasn’t him, he is not here! Just because you are in godforsaken Ireland, doesn’t mean that SOB is, too.”

  There was a laugh that drew her head round to a white doorway set mid-way in the green wall, a doorway that clearly led to an adjoining room. He was standing there, arms folded over his chest.

  A tall figure dressed entirely in black. Tight, black T-shirt molded to a sharply-defined muscular form, black jeans encasing long legs and finishing in no-nonsense black motorcycle boots. Unshaven, his angular jaw shadowed, his dark blond curls mussed as if he’d just woken up as well.

  Aidan O’Neill looked exactly as she remembered him—rough, sexy and dangerous. A fallen angel with no hope of redemption, or want of it. His eyes, those light blue, almost crystalline eyes, were amused as he took in her horrified expression.

  “Assuming I am the SOB in question, ye’d be quite wrong, love. Despite yer efforts to the contrary, I am most definitely here.”

  Heather sat on the ed
ge of the bed, staring at him. She had never expected to see him again after Istanbul—hadn’t wanted to see him again.

  Liar, a sultry voice in her head whispered.

  Shut up, she growled back.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Aidan?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I could ask ye the same thing. This is my native country, after all, not yers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not here, as in Ireland, idiot. Here as in a hotel room, with me—” Heather almost said again, but caught herself in time.

  She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d been in a hotel room with this man. Aidan smiled in a way that told her he was remembering enough for both of them. His eyes slid over her half-naked form with an almost physical touch. She resisted the urge to grab the covers and jerk them over herself.

  Damn if she’d give him the satisfaction.

  “Well, someone needed to save ye from getting taken to the hospital, dinna they? Or did ye really want tha' in the papers?”

  She winced. He had an idea of how much she loathed publicity—at least the kind she couldn’t control.

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Only the absolute truth, darling.” He made his voice an exaggerated purr. “Two lovers on holiday, distracted by each other when ye had the misfortune to hit…a deer.”

  She pursed her lips, studying him. Aidan was an enigma to her in many ways. They’d only spent a few days together, after all. But Heather was aware he was a dangerous man—certainly the most dangerous man she’d ever met. She didn’t know what he was playing at here, but her instincts screamed at her to tread lightly. Carefully.

  She ducked her chin, looking up at him through her lashes.

  “I didn’t hit a deer, I hit you.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

  He tilted his head, considering her. “Yes, ye did. Lucky for me I have a strong constitution.”

  She snorted in disgust at the obvious evasion before she could stop herself and he laughed out loud.

  “Tha’s better.” He said, moving to her in two long strides and grabbing her chin in one gloved hand. “Donna try tha' coy act on me, love. I donna care for it. Ask me straight what ye want to know.”

  Heather blinked up at him, her heart racing. His grip on her wasn’t painful, only unrelenting. The memory of the last time those hands were on her, though, brought back an onslaught of desire so fierce it was hard to concentrate on anything else. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay then, I hit you. With a car. Hard, Aidan. Really hard. I know damn well I was barely able to hit the brakes before I slammed into you. I saw blood on the goddamn windshield.” Her insides quivered as she remembered the sickening thud of his body striking the glass.

  He held her chin for another long second without speaking, his gaze intent but unreadable. She had the feeling he was looking for something in her expression. She didn’t know if he found what he wanted, but he dropped his hand.

  “I was bleeding.” He stretched upright, and showed her a long rip in his T-shirt, over his left ribs. It looked wicked and the edges were crusted with blood, but he turned away before she could get more than a glimpse. “But as ye can see, I am fine. The paramedics checked me out on scene as well as ye, ye know.”

  “No,” she said, her frustration leaking into every word. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember much of anything. Why didn’t they make me go to the hospital? If I was unconscious that whole damn time, wouldn’t they want to hold me for observation? That is what they do for concussions.” She stared up at him, her foot bouncing up and down as it did when she was nervous. The thing that made Heather most nervous was lack of control. It always had been, always would be.

  She was a control freak, pure and simple. Having big, blank spots in her mind was unacceptable.

  “Ye donna have a concussion, Heather.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “You expect me to believe they took your word for that?”

  Aidan rocked back on his heels. “I expect ye to take my word tha' they checked ye out and tha' ye are fine. Just a little bruised and bumped. Did ye want them to take ye in, Heather? Ye developed a sudden craving for the paparazzi now?”

  She frowned. “You know better than that.”

  “Well, then stop being an eejit. Ye might recall I can be very persuasive when I am of a mind to be.”

  That was true enough. Despite herself Heather shivered. She had never meet a man more persuasive than this one.

  At the look in her eyes, Aidan’s lips curved. “Now tha' tha' is sorted...”

  “No,” Heather cut him off, standing to face him. Even though her lack of adequate clothing made her feel vulnerable, she wasn’t going to let him get away with glossing over what had happened. “It isn’t nearly sorted. I hit you with a goddamn Jaguar, Aidan. How come you look perfectly fine?”

  He smiled, looking her up and down. “Thanks for tha', love. Back at ye.”

  “Oh, always the smart-mouthed jackass! Seriously, Aidan, what the hell?!”

  His eyes narrowed as he realized she wasn’t going to let this go. He took a step closer to her, close enough that the rough edges of his leather coat brushed over the thin material of her bra. Her nipples tightened traitorously. Heather felt her face flush, but refused to look away from that mocking crystal gaze. Aidan let out a slow sigh as he looked at her.

  “Maybe I was nae quite myself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I might have had a little boost on the recovery end of things.” He raised a dark gold eyebrow.

  She frowned in confusion.

  Aidan rolled his eyes. “Shite, love. I know ye are no’ tha' slow. Chemical help, do ye get me?”

  Heather blinked, her mind mulling it over. Drugs? Not that that was exactly shocking, considering who she was talking to.

  “You were high?”

  “As a motherfucking kite.”

  That might explain the strange smile she remembered. And there were definitely a plethora of drugs that would have made him less likely to sustain serious injury. The way drunks could be in terrible accidents that killed everyone else, but left them unscathed because their bodies were relaxed and pliable. Adrenaline or the drugs could have also increased his endurance for pain. Though she already knew Aidan didn’t have a problem with pain. A shiver ran down her spine again.

  “What were you on?”

  “Ye really want to know tha', do ye?”

  No. Hell, no.

  “You aren’t holding, are you?”

  “Nae anything that could get me—or ye—arrested. Fair enough?”

  She sighed. Her lifestyle made her pretty blasé about illegals. Quite a few of the people she worked with were regularly half-lit on something or other. She had skated that line herself for awhile. As long as he wasn’t carrying now, she didn’t want to know. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Heather moved toward a door that looked like it might have a bathroom behind it and the possibility of some lovely hot water. She needed to clear her head and think this through. Not to mention putting some distance between her and Aidan would be damn welcome.

  His hand caught her wrist before she moved more than a couple of steps. “Why are ye here, Heather?” That voice wasn’t silky now, it held a definite edge.

  She looked back at him, trying to pull out of his grip. Unsuccessfully.

  “Let me go.”

  “Nae. Answer me, Heather.” His dark angel’s face was intent as he pulled her closer, her bare heels sliding on the wood floor as she resisted. She didn't want to admit how much being close to him affected her. It was making her relive Istanbul in her head along with the feel of his hands pinning her in a very different sort of way. Not gloved then, just his hands; strong and unyielding, pinning her to the wall, to the bed, the couch. The railing—

  That smooth stone railing on her balcony overlooking the gold and scarlet city at night, the soft desert air lifting her hair, the smell of linden trees like
jasmine and honey as he moved inside of her, slow and thick and hot…

  “None of your business!” Her voice came out in a hiss of anger and frustration as the heat that had been unfurling in her belly since she had seen him in this room bloomed into full-on lust.

  No.

  “Were ye looking for me?”

  “Get over your damn self, Aidan!” She sneered, hoping he wouldn’t notice how her voice shook. “Look, just because we had some fun before, doesn’t mean shit now. I don’t want you anymore. Back off.”

  He smiled, in a way that told her she hadn't fooled him at all.

  “One more time, with feeling, love. Let’s see if those acting lessons are paying off. Then maybe I will believe ye. Or no'.” He leaned down and breathed the last into her ear.

  Sliding one of those gloved hands around to curve over her bare hip, Aidan brought her flush against his hard body, his own arousal pressing into her belly. His voice went low and husky. “I know ye’re wet, Heather.”

  God help her, Heather wasn’t able to control the shudder that went through her this time. Her knees went weak.

  She raised her hand and slapped him anyway. The loud crack and the sting of his skin against her palm was so satisfying. Until he whipped them both around and slammed her hard enough into the wall to knock the breath from her lungs.

  “Oh, little pissed off about how I left, is that the way of it? Well, ye know what happens when ye play rough with me.”

  Both of her hands were trapped against his chest, the solid ridges of muscle under that thin, black cotton unrelenting as Heather tried to push him away. Her heart was racing as she looked up at him.

  That in itself irritated her. She was 5’11, for God’s sake. There were so few men that towered over her, but Aidan O’Neill most certainly did. He made her feel small and weak and that royally pissed her off!

  Almost as much as it turned her on.

  He laughed when she tried to twist her hips and knee him. Moving faster than she could have believed possible, Aidan blocked her move with an iron-hard thigh and yanked her hands above her head with both of his, pinning her to the wall. “I think ye need a wee reminder of what fighting me gets ye.”