Sharon Ashwood: Possessed by an Immortal

Not the Christmas-card type, but the angels from his day, with swords and arrows and smiles that woke the sun and broke armies of war-proud kings. That kind of sweetness remade worlds.

And destroyed vampires like him. Innocents invited tragedy because, well, beasts would be beasts and angels would ultimately suffer. Mark tried to freeze his heart as he strode forward, but the bitter lesson of his memories melted like cobwebs in the wind. Hunger rose in his blood.

The corners of Bree's mouth quirked up in a hesitant greeting. He was struck with yearning to kiss those wide, generous lips. He could tell they were warm, just like every part of her he'd already touched.

SHARON ASHWOODis a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk.

Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITA ®Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

Possessed by

An Immortal

Sharon Ashwood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Prologue If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I. —Michel de Montaigne, French philosopher, 1533–1592

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Extract

If you press me to say why I loved him,

I can say no more than because he was he,

and I was I.

—Michel de Montaigne,

French philosopher, 1533–1592

Chapter 1

Seawater soaked Bree up to the waist. When the rocky shore slammed into her knees, she wasn’t sure if she’d fallen or if the choppy waves had thrown her. Her arms automatically folded around the child sheltered against her chest. Jonathan whimpered, his voice achingly small in the darkness. She scrabbled forward, hauling him with her in a one-armed crawl until she reached a scruff of grass and ferns. It was hard going, half stumbling, half climbing as the shore rose sharply from the beach.

Bree tried to look behind her but from where she knelt, she couldn’t see the man below. For a fat, old, whiskery fishing guide, Bob was strong. And a coward. And cruel.

Curse him! She clung there for a long moment, palms smarting from clambering over the sharp rocks. Vertigo seized her, the tug of the surf still haunting her blood and bones. It’s okay. We made it, at least for now. She cradled Jonathan, trying to give the four-year-old a comfort she didn’t feel.

They’d left the ocean below, but not water. Rain pounded against her back and shoulders, dripping through her hair and down her face to mix with tears and sweat. The only light came from the boat below, where Bob was turning the craft around. She was still panting, still needed to rest, but she couldn’t let the moment pass. Bree stood and wheeled around, instinctively pulling her coat closer around Jonathan.

“You promised to take me to town!” she screamed toward the bright light of the boat. It was a useless protest, but Brianna Meadows had never been the demure, silent type.

“Count yourself lucky!” Bob bellowed back. “I saw you to dry land.”

“They’ll kill us!”

“Better you than me. I’m sorry for your boy, but you’re nothing but trouble.”

“But—”

He said something else, but the words shredded in the rain and wind. The motor roared as the boat picked up speed. It was a small, agile craft a shade too light for the brewing storm. She’d paid him well to get her to the mainland, where she could have found a bus going south. Instead, he’d dumped her ashore at the first hint of danger. Bob was used to tourists in pursuit of salmon. He wasn’t cut out for dodging villains with live ammunition.

Maybe she should have warned him. Maybe she should have gone to the police back at the beginning. But then again, some of them were on the wrong side, weren’t they?

You’re nothing but trouble. The old fishing guide wasn’t the first to say it.

Bree watched the light from the boat shrink to a blurry splotch on the rainy sea. Wind shushed through the massive cedar trees overhead, making her feel tiny. All of her efforts had been spent keeping Jonathan out of the freezing waves. She’d been hot with exertion when she’d crawled ashore, but now the knife-edged wind on her wet clothes made her shudder with cold.

At least Bob had waited for shallow water before he’d forced them out of the boat, but then he’d done it so fast she had no time to fight back. The thought triggered Bree’s fury all over again. How could you leave me here? How could you do this to my baby? She was literally at the end of the earth. The west end, with the Pacific Ocean gnawing at the rocks below.

She licked her lips, tasting salt and rain. She was a city girl. Her survival skills involved flashing a gold card at a five-star hotel. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

Jonathan looked up at her from the shelter of her coat, his eyes dark shadows framed by curls of damp hair. He didn’t speak. He’d stopped talking months ago. It had been a call to a clinic that had given her away and started the chase all over again. Seeking help had clearly been a mistake, but what else could she have done?

Scraping wet hair from her cheeks, she tried to blink the scene into better focus. Bree took Jonathan’s hand and moved under the shelter of the trees, their thick, astringent scent enfolding her. The ground was soft with rotting needles, her feet silent. All she could hear was the drumming of the rain, weirdly amplified by an utter absence of light. Scalp prickling with nerves, Bree made a slow turn, barely able to see her hand in front of her face. She snuggled Jonathan closer, afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep him warm enough. Oh, please, I need a miracle!

No doubt she’d used up her stock of those long ago. Like when she’d escaped her pursuers in the Chicago airport. Or that incident in the Twin Cities. She was probably in miracle overdraft by now.

Except...as her eyes grew used to the gloom, she caught a faint glimmer of yellow light if she shifted a smidgen to her left.

Someone lived in this forsaken wilderness! But her enemies were clever, and she’d been fooled before into thinking she’d found safety. A walk through the woods could save her life, or lead her straight into the monster’s cave. As if sensing her indecision, Jonathan squirmed against her, letting out a weak whimper.