Free Killer Temptation by Marianne Willis Page A

calm the livid thunderclouds rowdy within him. He once considered himself a sympathetic man, now he wasn’t so sure. He changed, withered into a bitter, cruel being.
    His health strengthened in the last few weeks, but to regain full power, he needed to consume blood. Brianna's blood. He felt strong enough to find her and that he would accomplish. His brothers worked hard already, tracking her down. Now he’d wait, garner his strength and confront her. Although physically he held hope for a full recovery; mentally he suspected the worst.
    Someone knocked on the door.
    "Come in." He sat up against the red silk pillows. The thick wood to his chamber swung open. Mikel, his older brother, stormed in, breathless. He wore the same charcoal knife-hem shirt and black Jodhpur trousers from last night. His dark, wavy hair in disarray. "Did you run a marathon all night?" Tristan asked in a dry, humourless tone.
    "We found her."
    His arms bunched with tension, matching the strain in his face. Throwing back the silk sheet, he stood from the four-poster bed and fought against the sudden dizzy spell. "Let me change." Apprehension heated his voice. Adrenaline fizzed through his veins like expensive champagne, giving him the strength to stand straight.
    "Are you certain this is the woman you want, the woman you need?"
    His brows puckered and he spun toward Mikel. “Of course I want her. She's my moitié ." Why ask such a stupid question ? From the moment he drank her blood he recognised she belonged to him. Her very essence flourished his insides, made his body pulse with vitality. And yet, one kiss did the opposite; draining him almost to death.
    Mikel’s nostrils flared. "But she tried to kill you. It doesn’t make sense that the two of you are meant to be," he grated out. From the hard set of his jaw, clenched fists by his sides, and the ruthlessness in those dark eyes, his brother could pass as the Grim Reaper. The fact Brianna was his mate didn't seem to matter. Mikel loathed her for what she had done. After all, his brother shouted the order for her to be killed that night, but Tristan demanded she be left alone before falling into unconsciousness, unable to bear the acid burning pain any longer. Dieu , the pain… as if liquid heat melted his organs, killing him with slow agony. He still struggled to believe a kiss started the torment.
    Yes, he guessed it was her kiss. An Impure from the council surveyed him, sampled his blood to prove he had been poisoned. Did the witches force her into murdering him? Or did she do this out of loyalty to her family and their race? Either way, his recent brush with death was related to witchcraft. Her clan no doubt put a spell on her, or perhaps laced the cherry lipstick she applied moments before they shared the lethal kiss.
    The useless hex didn’t work because there was only one way for a moitié to kill another moitié …and it wasn’t a witch’s enchantment. Brianna failed. The pain he endured because of the spell, however, affected him with great degree. "Maybe you'll understand one day, when you find your own mate."
    Mikel shot him an incredulous look, one brow high as he snickered. What? Didn’t his brother believe in such things? What a complete imbécile . Tristan assumed the same once, yet a single taste of Brianna proved him wrong.
    “Think what you will, frère .” Tristan passed the black baroque lacquer mirror on the wall—a gift he received in 1852 from his devoted friend and ally Napoleon the Third—and drew back the wooden doors of the large armoire. He grabbed his boots, threw clean clothes over his arm, then bypassed Mikel and headed for the en-suite. “Do me a favour and note down on the stationary where you saw her, and then you may leave,” he called over his shoulder. “Tonight I will at last have her.”
    The bathroom door slammed shut from the force of his hand. Three pillar candles sat on the vanity, shedding small, round orbs of light against the wall. He