The Ghost Hunter, a Paranormal Romance (The Hunter Series) Page 4

  She glanced at the house. Margaret was still standing there, watching them. She’d be rid of the ghosts. She’d be rid of the worry. But she wouldn’t have any answers. She closed her eyes briefly, knowing what she had to do.

  “It’s not for sale.” She forced the words out and immediately regretted them.

  He knelt beside her, so close she could see the flecks of blue in his silver eyes. “One million, but that’s as high as I’ll go.”

  His breath was a warm temptation across her lips. She started trembling, although oddly wasn’t sure if it was because of his close proximity or the offer. How desperately she wanted to say yes…but something, other than her need for answers, held her back. Swimming through the muddled mess that had become her thoughts, she studied his face. His features were passive, as if he wasn’t in the least bit interested in her answer. So why then, was he offering so much money? It didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing about her life made sense.

  “Not,” she said and swallowed the lump of regret clogging her throat, “for sale.”

  He didn’t react, merely continued to gaze into her eyes. She tried to hold his stare, but feared she would fail.

  Finally, he held out a card between two fingers. “When ye change yer mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  He took hold of her hand. Ashley stiffened. His thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist, sending hot shivers over her sensitive skin. He pushed the card into her hand and stood, leaving the tempting scent of masculinity and spice behind. “Ye will, Ms. Hunter. Ye will.”

  She stumbled to her feet, her anger flaring. The arrogant jerk! He walked away and she resisted the urge to throw her trowel at the back of his gorgeous head. “Wear a helmet!” she snapped, a lame comeback yet the only thing she could think to offer.

  He turned, walking backwards a few steps. “Why Ms. Hunter, I’m honored ye care about my welfare.”

  “I…I don’t…” she sputtered.

  He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes, then straddled that silver motorcycle. God, he looked hot. The bike roared to life, with a quick u-turn, he went speeding down the drive, disappearing.

  The garden fell into silence once more and she found herself feeling oddly lonely.

  Who was he? This man who appeared and disappeared so quickly, he seemed almost inhuman. Releasing a long breath, she glanced at his card.

  Cristian Lucius.

  There was nothing else on the small, white rectangle. No job description. No address. Just his name and a phone number.

  “Cristian Lucius,” she whispered, admitting to herself that she liked the feel of the ancient name.

  Ye will, Ms. Hunter. Ye will, his words echoed in her head.

  She released a harsh laugh, unsure if she should be amused or annoyed, and tossed his card into the pile of weeds and trash she’d picked up earlier.

  “Well, Cristian Lucius, perhaps you will get my house, but not until I say so. Not until I find out if dear old dad is still here.”

  Chapter 5

  “Whisky,” Cristian said as he settled on a chair. Using the mirror behind the bar, he casually studied the B&B. The tea shop was less crowded today, but it was well after lunch and too early for dinner. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing around the room. One seated in the back to his left. One by the windows to his right. Both harmless enough, a fairy and a shapeshifter, both deep in their cups, both had gazes locked to the table. They didn’t want to be bothered, like most of the town.

  John snorted, eyeing him suspiciously. “Perhaps if ye tell me why yer here.”

  Annoyed, Cristian’s gaze snapped to the owner. “Just passing through, as I mentioned before.”

  As if the man didn’t bloody well know why he was here. Perhaps Cristian hadn’t come out and told them the truth, but they knew, even if they wanted to play dumb. Hell, he could feel the vibrations of the underworld ten miles from town. When he’d drawn near to the pub, the energy had been like a punch to his gut. He’d barely been able to stand there yesterday and do nothing while Ashley dreamt about throwing that trowel at his head.

  He’d feigned ease, but he sure as hell hadn’t felt it. Not that close to a place thrumming with activity and certainly not that close to her. He’d want to barge into that pub and take care of the beast once and for all. At the same time, he’d wanted to scoop Ashley up and take her as far away from this hell as possible. But he wasn’t here to get emotionally attached to her, and he sure as hell wasn’t here to sleep with her. He knew better than to fall for a human. No, he was here to do a job, and at the moment that job was to either train her, or run her out of town so he could procure a Seer worth his time.

  John pulled down a glass and filled it with ale, then slid it toward Cristian. He nodded a thanks to the man. He needed the fortitude. How could he train her when he felt such attraction to the stubborn woman? Hell, he knew he’d feel something when he came into contact with Ashley. After all, history and fate said they were meant to be together.

  But he hadn’t expected to be attracted to her and with such a fevered desire. It was unheard of, certainly not acceptable. But he’d had over three-hundred years to practice controlling his human form and all the cravings that came with. He would be professional and test her substance. If she could handle her fate, then he’d train her. If she couldn’t, he’d send her back on the first plane to the U.S. Morose, Cristian swirled the liquid around the glass, staring into the rich liquid for answers.

  “Ye here fer the hame, aren’t ye?”

  With a sigh, he settled the mug on the countertop and looked up at John. In all honesty, he was surprised someone had the balls to bring up the truth. “Of course I am.”

  John swiped at the countertop in a slow, thoughtful manner. “Rumblings are getting more pronounced.” He said the words softly, as if he didn’t want the other patrons to overhear, but in the mirror Cristian saw the two lift their heads.

  Casually, Cristian took another drink. “Everyone feels it?”

  “Most, although no one really talks about it.”

  Interesting indeed. He released a soft, bitter chuckle. “Sounds like an excellent plan. Ignore it and hope it goes away.”

  John frowned, but didn’t respond. Cristian’s ire grew. They’d sip their tea, have their family meals in their cottages, send their offspring to school. Yes, they’d pretend to belong, but they would never fit in. There would always be something off about them, and the humans would always sense it and be leery. At least he had the courage to accept who he was.

  John tucked his dirty rag into the strap of his apron. “Och, what would ye have us do?”

  “Anything is better than nothing.” Cristian leaned forward. “Do you have any fucking idea what’s coming?”

  John averted his gaze, a telling action. They didn’t want to know. Ironically it was what most humans did when they witnessed the supernatural. But they weren’t humans, least they forget.

  “Settling in your homes, pretending to be normal.” He scoffed at the absurdity of it all. “You will never be human.” He should know, he’d tried it often enough.

  John slammed his beefy fists upon the counter, but Cristian was barely aware of his anger. No, his senses had turned inward to the soft thrumming of his body, to the veins that seemed to flare wider, his pulse that seemed to beat faster. She was coming and with her nearness his soul came to life…anxiously awaiting her arrival.

  “Perhaps we’re tired of being shunned. Perhaps we’re tired of fightin. What’s wrong with being human?” John said.

  “Humans are weak. Easily killed, easily disposed.”

  The bell above the door tinkled merrily. Cristian lifted his gaze to that mirror, his heart hammering madly in his chest. She stepped into the tea room, bringing with her the scent of fresh air, but also something more…the scent of warm vanilla, the scent of innocence.

  “And yer gurl there,” John said, leaning closer and smirking. “She might have powers, but she’s still as
mortal as a human.”

  Cristian clenched his jaw, annoyed with the fact that John was mocking him, or maybe annoyed that he was right. “Perhaps, but that’s why she has me.” And why it was his duty to see her leave.

  Ashley’s gaze found his.

  “Damn,” he heard her whisper. She turned immediately and went back outside.

  Grinning, Cristian stood. How he loved the chase. “Until we meet again, my friend.”

  John glared at him.

  Cristian pushed the door wide and stepped out into the crisp evening air. She was wearing jeans again, jeans that hugged her tight arse, gripped her bottom in a way he envied. His long legs easily caught up with her. “Beautiful evening.”

  She glanced at him, a look of pure horror upon her face. “What do you want?”

  He almost laughed at her expression. He was so used to dealing with secrecy that the honestly written clearly across her face was a welcome relief. “Nothing at all.”

  She quickened her steps, barely looking for cars before she darted across the street. “What, you’re stalking me now?”

  He easily kept her pace. “Of course not. Merely taking a stroll on this fine evening.”

  She sighed long and loud. “Listen, I’m not going to sell. Okay? So back off.” She started up the hill that led to the pub. Practically running, she was breathing hard in moments.

  “Fine.” He was thrilled to see the bulky pullover gone and in its place a fitted green t-shirt that brought out the moss color of her eyes. And shite, he’d been correct. The woman had one hell of a body.

  She glanced back, her gaze narrowed. “Fine? That’s all you’ve got to say?” Her footsteps slowed, just as he was hoping. She might be suspicious at first, but she trusted too quickly. She had so much to learn.

  He nodded. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  She sighed again, pausing underneath the shade of the trees that lined the drive. Away from town, he could finally focus completely on her and not the locals spying from their windows.

  She leaned against an elm and raked her hands through her hair, the strands clinging to her long fingers. Obviously she was flustered. But was she flustered because of his close proximity or because of his response?

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand, I don’t know if I’ll ever sell.”

  He rested his hands on the tree, his fingers next to her head, itching to touch the silky strands of hair, to feel those cool locks brushing over his skin. “Ye will.” As soon as she realized what lurked within the building’s walls. At least he hoped she’d sell.

  She stared up at him, her gaze piercing, direct, as if trying to read his very soul. For a moment he feared she could. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. For one long moment, nothing mattered but her.

  “My God, you’re arrogant.” She brushed passed him and started forward again, but her steps were less hurried this time.

  Cristian pushed away from the tree and followed. This wasn’t good, wasn’t good at all. He frowned, surprised by the way he could so easily forget his mission when she was near. It hadn’t been this way with his last Seer. They’d had a perfectly professional relationship until the day she’d died. Yet another reason why Ashley needed to leave and the less she knew, the better. “Why in such a hurry?”

  “Because I…I need to clean. I’ve decided to rent rooms.” She was nervous. He could see that in the way her gaze shifted away from his, but why? Damn, but humans were bloody hard to understand. So primitive in their feelings and emotions, allowing anything to enter their minds and take root.

  His gaze went toward the pub, looming like some bloody nightmare at the end of the drive. “Ye think anyone will stay there?”

  She narrowed her eyes, apparently not liking the mocking tone of his voice. “Yes, I do.” She didn’t pause as she made it to what had once been a front garden but now was a pile of weeds and rubble. “In fact, I’ve already gotten a call. Someone wants to rent a room for a month or two.”

  She started up the front steps and so she didn’t see his smirk. If she wasn’t going to leave the house to him, he’d find a way in.

  Cristian made his way up the shallow steps. “Man must be daft, or vera brave.”

  She paused, turning to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing raspy. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask. Besides, what the hell do you know? You’re not even from here.”

  He lifted a brow and rested his palm on the door beside her head. “Ye know where I’m from? Ye’ve been asking about me then?” He stepped close, their bodies only an inch away. Heat branched between the two of them, taunting, tempting. Surely she felt it.

  She glared up at him. “Just wanting to know if the man stalking me is dangerous.”

  His gaze slid to her lips. What would she taste like? Sweet like strawberries or refreshing like mint? “I am vera vera dangerous.”

  She released a harsh laugh. “Oh, please.” She turned, her back brushing his chest as she struggled with the handle. The door gave way under her nimble fingers and she stepped into the safety of her foyer.

  “Good evening, Mr. Lucius.”

  She shut the door in his face, but he wasn’t done with her yet. Far from it.

  Chapter 6

  Ashley rolled onto her side and sighed wearily, unable to sleep for a variety of reasons. Since Maggie had run off that morning she hadn’t seen or heard from any of the ghostly dwellers, and she was on her last nerve waiting for one to appear. Even worse was waiting for Cristian to make his presence known. Having no clue when Cristian would appear was way more nerve-wracking than the ghosts.

  With a groan of frustration, she tossed her sheet aside and stood. The house was silent…too silent. No city noise, not even chatter from ghostly dwellers. Who would have thought she’d actually miss the opaque devils. Slowly, she made her way across the room, the floor boards squeaking underfoot.

  A cool breeze swept temptingly through the open windows, smelling of dew, roses and lavender. It billowed the white curtains like cartoon ghosts. Of course dear old auntie didn’t have air conditioning, but then you usually didn’t need air in England, or so she’d been told. This summer seemed to be the exception. Hot. Cold. Odd weather. Odd place.

  She pulled her tank top from her sticky skin, allowing the breeze to cool her body. In the distance, she could see the lake glowing like melted silver between rolling hills. Beautiful, really, and as a child she probably would have thought the water magical.

  Now, well…once you’d been through what she’d been through—the doctors, the tests, the medication all done in order to prove there was nothing supernatural about this world—it made it hard to believe in magic. Still, she couldn’t help but admire the picture and if she’d had her paints, she would have been setting up an easel by now.

  But she’d left her paints at home with the rest of her life—her family and her fiancé. She’d wanted to start totally over. Mostly, she’d wanted to go somewhere where she could be herself, where she didn’t have to pretend. She was so tired of living a life that wasn’t hers.

  Yet, here she was, pretending once again. Pretending she couldn’t see the spirits that haunted this house, pretending they didn’t exist. Pretending to be in charge of her life. She released a wry laugh. Was anyone really in charge? Doubtful. But the night was too dark for depressing thoughts that would keep her up tossing and turning. She had a busy morning of cleaning and snooping ahead of her and she needed to sleep. She was determined to find information about her father and she knew this house held the secret to his disappearance.

  She started to turn when movement near the trees caught her attention. Sucking in a sharp breath, she whipped her head toward the window, studying the far woods. Only darkness met her gaze. No movement. No sound. Nothing.

  Anger mingled with curiosity.

  Cristian. For some reason the man’s name whispered through her mind.

  She leaned against the window ledge and waited. Had she imagined the shadow? Surely Crist
ian wasn’t so crazed that he’d be lurking on her property, sulking in the shadows. She wouldn’t be attracted to a creep. Then again she wasn’t the best judge of character. Of course Mom wouldn’t be surprised to find out her daughter was attracted to a stalking psycho.

  Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground, followed by a brilliant flash of lighting that branched across the sky and illuminated the grass below.

  Nothing.

  She stepped back, her body trembling with exhaustion, her mind spinning with confusion. It was a tree, swayed by the wind. Nothing more. She started to turn, preparing to return to bed when a rumble shook the house, making her stumble off balance. For a brief moment she thought it was thunder. Yet, it seemed different somehow.

  The rumble stopped.

  It had to be thunder. Didn’t it? But the rumble seemed to come from the very house. She shook off her unease and moved to the door. The house rumbled again, the floor shifting under her feet and throwing her off. She stumbled, falling hard against the wardrobe and whacking her head against the corner. Pain shot down her skull; stars danced before her eyes.

  “Damn.” She pushed away and rubbed her injured head, waiting for the stars to stop spinning and her eyes to readjust. That rumble had definitely come from the house. But how? Would thunder cause a building to shake on its very foundation? Perhaps the boiler was acting up. Not that she really knew what a boiler was.

  She started down the hall, determined to get answers. Why did she have the feeling the trembling had nothing to do with the house and everything to do with her missing ghostly friends?

  At the top of the steps, she faltered for a moment. Below, the house was quiet and watchful as if waiting for her. She tugged nervously on the hem of her shirt, feeling oddly naked in boy shorts and a tank top. Slowly, she made her way down the staircase, hesitating on that last step. Dark shadows loomed in the entryway, threatening shadows that did little to ease her nerves. Through the windows lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the saucy lady carved into the railing.