inside.
Kellan snorted. “Fine, huh? You know, that’s one F word that I get damn tired of.”
“Yeah, well, here’s another one,” he sighed. “ Forget about it. If it gets to the point that I can’t handle it, I’ll figure something out. Until then, I don’t want to talk about it. Understood?”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Kellan drawled, and with a mocking salute, the Watchman turned and headed back the way he’d come.
Riley watched Kellan’s retreating back until he was out of sight, then lifted the shovel and dug up another patch of ground. He supposed he should be thankful thatthe area Saige had marked for them to search was deep in the forest, where they weren’t drawing the attention of townspeople. And while he was certain the Casus knew he was there, he figured the bastards would just keep watching them for now.
Waiting for him to find the Marker.
To feed.
To awaken.
Riley could hear the hands of the clock ticking down in his mind, slowly working their way toward destruction, and the Marker was the only thing that could stop it.
He had to find the cross. For his family’s sake. For the safety of the town.
But most of all, for Hope.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday evening
L EANING HIS SHOULDER against the rough bark of a gnarled, majestic maple, Riley stared through the thickening lavender shades of twilight, watching through the bay window as Hope sat in her living room. He supposed most would call him a Peeping Tom, or worse. What he was doing could probably even be classified as stalking, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to be there, standing guard, assuring himself that she was okay.
She’d been sitting and reading for the past half hour, drinking from a mug that sat on the gleaming surface of an end table, the hazy wash of light from the lamp casting a golden glow over her luminous skin. She looked ethereal, surreal. Lush and womanly and warm. A sensual Madonna. The image struck a chord deep inside him, and for a moment Riley could only marvel at the fact that she’d never had any children. But then that probably had more to do with her bastard ex. He was positive Hope would have wanted a baby, and awrenching image of what could have been—of her swollen and round with his child—flashed through his mind, bringing a searing pain to his chest. Hissing through his teeth, he pressed one hand against the bizarre ache and breathed through the piercing sensation, wondering what in God’s name was wrong with him.
Get a grip, Buchanan. You’re slipping off the deep end.
True, but no matter how wrong it was, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it. He felt dirty watching her, as if she could be tainted by his mere presence. And yet he couldn’t just walk away. He could sit and make useless, lame-ass excuses until the end of time, claiming that he needed to stand there and watch over her…guard her, but the hardcore truth was that he couldn’t stay away from her.
Despite how badly it hurt, he was stuck there, subjecting himself to this internal hell. Watching her like this was perverse. Insane. Like jabbing a needle under his fingernail again and again. Pouring acid into a raw wound. Self-inflicted torture that he couldn’t protect against, simply because this was Hope. She was his ultimate weakness. Forbidden temptation that would drive him beyond reason in his final days of life, before it all came to a crashing, resounding end.
And the end was coming closer. His hunger was rising…mounting. If he didn’t find the Marker soon, he would have to figure something out. And despite what he’d told Kellan that morning, he still didn’t have any idea of what he would do. Of how he would handle it.
Her telephone rang, his already heightened sense of hearing allowing him to pick up the shrill sound, and he watched as she set the book aside and reached for the handset that rested in a cradle beside the lamp. She lifted the receiver to her ear, her head turned to the
Kellan snorted. “Fine, huh? You know, that’s one F word that I get damn tired of.”
“Yeah, well, here’s another one,” he sighed. “ Forget about it. If it gets to the point that I can’t handle it, I’ll figure something out. Until then, I don’t want to talk about it. Understood?”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Kellan drawled, and with a mocking salute, the Watchman turned and headed back the way he’d come.
Riley watched Kellan’s retreating back until he was out of sight, then lifted the shovel and dug up another patch of ground. He supposed he should be thankful thatthe area Saige had marked for them to search was deep in the forest, where they weren’t drawing the attention of townspeople. And while he was certain the Casus knew he was there, he figured the bastards would just keep watching them for now.
Waiting for him to find the Marker.
To feed.
To awaken.
Riley could hear the hands of the clock ticking down in his mind, slowly working their way toward destruction, and the Marker was the only thing that could stop it.
He had to find the cross. For his family’s sake. For the safety of the town.
But most of all, for Hope.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday evening
L EANING HIS SHOULDER against the rough bark of a gnarled, majestic maple, Riley stared through the thickening lavender shades of twilight, watching through the bay window as Hope sat in her living room. He supposed most would call him a Peeping Tom, or worse. What he was doing could probably even be classified as stalking, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to be there, standing guard, assuring himself that she was okay.
She’d been sitting and reading for the past half hour, drinking from a mug that sat on the gleaming surface of an end table, the hazy wash of light from the lamp casting a golden glow over her luminous skin. She looked ethereal, surreal. Lush and womanly and warm. A sensual Madonna. The image struck a chord deep inside him, and for a moment Riley could only marvel at the fact that she’d never had any children. But then that probably had more to do with her bastard ex. He was positive Hope would have wanted a baby, and awrenching image of what could have been—of her swollen and round with his child—flashed through his mind, bringing a searing pain to his chest. Hissing through his teeth, he pressed one hand against the bizarre ache and breathed through the piercing sensation, wondering what in God’s name was wrong with him.
Get a grip, Buchanan. You’re slipping off the deep end.
True, but no matter how wrong it was, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it. He felt dirty watching her, as if she could be tainted by his mere presence. And yet he couldn’t just walk away. He could sit and make useless, lame-ass excuses until the end of time, claiming that he needed to stand there and watch over her…guard her, but the hardcore truth was that he couldn’t stay away from her.
Despite how badly it hurt, he was stuck there, subjecting himself to this internal hell. Watching her like this was perverse. Insane. Like jabbing a needle under his fingernail again and again. Pouring acid into a raw wound. Self-inflicted torture that he couldn’t protect against, simply because this was Hope. She was his ultimate weakness. Forbidden temptation that would drive him beyond reason in his final days of life, before it all came to a crashing, resounding end.
And the end was coming closer. His hunger was rising…mounting. If he didn’t find the Marker soon, he would have to figure something out. And despite what he’d told Kellan that morning, he still didn’t have any idea of what he would do. Of how he would handle it.
Her telephone rang, his already heightened sense of hearing allowing him to pick up the shrill sound, and he watched as she set the book aside and reached for the handset that rested in a cradle beside the lamp. She lifted the receiver to her ear, her head turned to the
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