Blood Guilt by Marie Treanor

Knew she’d take on any monster of the darkness without fear and yet couldn’t face an instant of gratitude. Not when it was linked with the power of such wicked, intense attraction.
    But she’d forgotten to check the detector. And now she didn’t need it. She could feel him. She jerked her gaze up in panic, and there he stood, just on her side of the open medieval door. Her heart leapt into her mouth, and with it came stupid words.
    “You remembered me.”
    “It’s rare to find someone who looks more threatened by having her life saved than by the prospect of it being taken. I remembered that. And your beauty.” His eyes flickered. “I couldn’t get it right, though. I wanted to sculpt you, but the position was wrong, and I couldn’t make it work.”
    She followed his gaze to the unfinished statue on the table and felt her eyes widen. “That is me ?”
    “No. I wanted it to be.” He began to walk toward her, and at last, she remembered the real reason she was here.
    “Robbie,” she gasped, thrusting her free hand in her pocket to grasp the second stake. The first he’d have seen already, and she needed something to surprise him with if she was to win this fight. “Have you got Robbie?”
    He shook his head. “Robbie’s with Gavril and the others. In Europe.”
    “Where?” she demanded.
    “Robbie doesn’t know.”
    Her breath caught. “You’re communicating with him?”
    Maximilian nodded and came to a halt a foot away from her.
    “Is he afraid?” It came out as a whisper, because she couldn’t bear the idea.
    “Not really. He doesn’t want to be there, but he’s interested. And they don’t hurt him.”
    She swallowed. “Why did you come back here?”
    “To collect what I need to find them.”
    She searched his pale, reflective eyes. “I don’t trust you, Maximilian,” she whispered. Her lips felt cold and oddly rigid.
    “I know.” His gaze dropped to the region of her mouth, causing her stomach to surge with memory; then, almost immediately, he lifted his eyes to the drawing on the table. He frowned, as if irritated by mistakes she couldn’t even see.
    “What do you really want with Robbie?” she asked desperately.
    “I want to know what Gavril wants from him.”
    “Did you set us up? In St. Andrews? Did you bring them?”
    “I wanted to see if they’d come, if they could reach Robbie through my masking. They shouldn’t have been able to, and yet they could.”
    “You should have warned me!”
    “I came back,” he said, as if that made up for everything. She shied away from that; it was her stupid action which had let Gavril escape with Robbie.
    “Why me?” she managed. “Why did you bring him to me?”
    He lifted his gaze once more to hers. Something burned behind the lightness of his eyes, like smoldering ashes. “Because you’d protect him.” His lips quirked slightly. It might have been a smile. “And because I like to look at you.”
    “Why?” It was a stupid question, and through the burning of her cheeks, she wished she could snatch it back.
    He didn’t answer at first. He stepped closer. His hand came up, and when she flinched instinctively, it paused. He waited, holding her stare, and then continued the journey of his hand until it touched her cheek, trailing his fingertips down the line of her jaw bone to her lips. Oh Jesus Christ…
    “Perhaps to get the drawing right,” he murmured. “And the sculpture. Perhaps to know.”
    “Know what?” she asked huskily. She felt the movement of her lips against his finger, right down her spine to her toes. But pride wouldn’t let her back away, and somehow she couldn’t bring herself to throw him off.
    He frowned, his eyes intent. “Life,” he said, bending closer, inhaling her like perfume. At least it broke the terrible eye contact for a moment. But as his hair brushed against her cheek, her neck, she shivered. She was aware of his lithe, strong body, not quite touching hers, and had to fight the insane