5 - Together To Join by Jackie Ivie Page A

silhouetted by a glow from some unknown source. If he narrowed his eyes, he could barely discern a shape. Small. Unprotected. Quivering. The itch went massive and deep, forcing him to ignore it as he realized the extent of her injury. Her pain. Her vulnerability. The smell of blood permeated the air about her, putting a reddish hue into the mist. He unfastened the inner pocket of his vest, slipping the elasticized band from about the button; pulled the polished wooden stake out and palmed it, his hand dry and steady; reached behind him for the battle ax tucked into his waistband where the handle always caressed his spine; brought it forward slowly; took another step, and another, lifting incrementally from his crouch as he approached; all of it without one hint of sound. Damn, but he hoped she was an old vampire, or at least a strong one. Worthy of this kill, and the record he was matching.
    She was neither.
    She looked almost childlike and innocent. And flawed with a gruesome wound that scored what looked to be a perfect shoulder. Garrick hovered above her for a few seconds, evaluating. She was probably the most beautiful, winsome-faced, well-formed woman he’d ever seen. And that was with a face tightened in agony. He knew better than to look, but that didn’t stop him. Vampires had an allure few could countermand. Especially the females. They’d been known to capture a human simply with a non-blinking gaze into their eyes. Knowing that still didn’t stop him.
    Garrick told himself it was the thrill. The elation. The absolute power of this particular kill. It was what athletes felt when tying a record. Her perfection only sweetened it. He knelt then, ignoring how his hands gave the slightest tremble. She looked like a little fairy from an artist’s imagination; a sprite springing from the lines of a poem; an angel from a Botticelli. She had light hair of an indecipherable shade, thick lashes that feathered onto perfect skin, and she’d not only torn some of her gown when she’d pushed through the brambles, but raised some welts. She was also panting, and with each exhalation came a pitiful moan. He couldn’t help it. Despite every bit of his training, he reached a hand to her chin to tilt it upward.
    The moment he touched her, the world all around him not only rocked off kilter, but something sent an electric shock all the way through him.
    Her eyes were open as Garrick jerked back, feeling the quake finish as well as the listening to the hum of near-electrocution in his ears. That wasn’t the worst of it. She had a liquid heat in her gaze. It enveloped and protected, and surrounded. Garrick shook his head. The hum didn’t abate much, nor did the sensation she caused him. The itch was changing, as well. It was turning into a rash-like burn.
    “Who…are you?”
    She had perfect lips for kissing, too. She demonstrated that with the words, ending in a pout that not only tempted, but damn near reached out and grabbed at him. Garrick swallowed and ground out the reply, and this time he lifted the stake and ax so she wouldn’t mistake him.
    “Your executioner.”
    “Oh.”
    Oh?
    He was still reeling from that when she turned her gaze from him to focus on something beyond his seeing. It caused a slight smile to toy about that mouth made for relishing and sucking and kissing. Garrick’s eyes narrowed at the instant thought before he could squelch it. If he were the groaning type, he’d have done so.
    “I thought…you were someone else.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yes.”
    Moisture glimmered on the surface of her eyes, making them deeper pools of mystery and darker realms of fantasy. Garrick turned his attention to something real. Something tangible. Something he could control. Like this hellish itch-sensation that was making his clothing feel like it was fashioned from burrs. Garrick lifted the stake in his right hand and moved over her slightly to position it perfectly. He took a deep breath, lowered his right hand,