Entering her house, she turned on the kitchen light and reset the alarm. Then she tossed her keys on the counter and put the Glock in the waistband of her jeans, safety on. The light on her answering machine was lit, and with a sigh, already suspecting it would be him, she punched the button to listen.
“Emily, how dare you?” It was his voice. “I saw you, you bitch, you unfaithful whore. I saw you with another man. I am the only one for you, and you know it. I will punish you for this, Emily.”
The message ended. As usual, she would turn the message over to the detective in the vague hope he would someday be caught and sent to rot in prison. But even prisons have phones and mail service.
With the Glock in her hand, Emily checked every room in the house, every closet, every nook and cranny. The house wasn’t big, and it took less than ten minutes to make certain he hadn’t broken in. It was a routine she refused to drop.
Just as she thought to return the gun to her bedroom, Emily heard a man’s shout from outside her house. She froze, listening hard, and heard cries of pain and fear. What the hell?
Emily headed for the door, the Glock in her hand.
Chapter Two
No matter what, I owe her.
Drake watched the woman drive away, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He barely kept it reined in, and he felt his control slip now and then. But he couldn’t just let her vanish to never be seen again. Looking around for any potential witnesses, though he didn’t truly care if there were any, he leaped skyward. The darkness would hide him, but he had to move fast to keep her in sight.
There she is. He flew high enough to keep from being seen and to avoid power lines, but low enough so he could keep her in sight. Soaring easily on the early evening breeze, he pondered both his exile and the woman. She is so beautiful. Picturing her in his mind held some of his rage at bay. Her large hazel eyes staring into his with defiance and courage, and the trace of fear behind them.
What does she have to be afraid of? She has a weapon and certainly knows how to use it. He followed her as she turned down corners, stopping to let other vehicles have the right of way, thinking about her long hair, her slender figure. She intrigued him, and once his curiosity had been aroused, he couldn’t rest until it was satisfied.
At last, she drove the vehicle into a house, and the door closed. Drake circled in and landed gently on the single-story house’s roof, furling his wings. He could hear her inside, opening and closing doors. Then something else caught his attention. Below, on the ground, bushes rustled as something large tried to push through them.
Drake craned his head over the edge of the roof and saw a man trying to peer in through the woman’s windows. He moved with stealth and had garbed himself in all black. To a human’s pitiful night vision, he’d have been almost invisible. Though Drake did not know a great deal about humans and their customs, he did know that the man’s activities were wrong.
Changing forms, Drake readied himself, gazing down to the spot where the man was. Then he jumped.
The male yelled out as Drake landed in the bushes with him, the stiff branches raking his skin. Letting his fury loose, he grabbed the man by his shoulders and threw him over the hedge and onto the grassy lawn.
“What are you doing here?” he roared, emerging from the bushes to pounce.
“Nothing,” he cried, scuttling away as Drake loomed over him.
A light suddenly came on, brightening the yard with almost full illumination. Drake half-turned, seeing the woman standing in the open doorway, her weapon in her hand. Taking advantage of his distraction, the man scrambled to his feet. Drake sought to grab him, but the fellow was faster than he anticipated.
The man bolted, running across the yard to the street, then vanished into the night. Only the sounds of his feet on the pavement came back, then they, too, were gone. Uncertain if he should chase the fellow down or just let him go, Drake glanced at the woman who had saved him from the ruffians.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, the gun pointed at him. “How did you get here?”
“I followed you,” Drake answered, taking a few steps toward her. “I saw him trying to look in your windows.”
She lowered the gun. Glancing from him to the street and back again, she seemed undecided about something. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Not his face,” Drake replied. “At least, I only got a fast glimpse, but then you came out.”
“I see.”
Again, she seemed to be thinking, perhaps trying to decide what to do about him. “How’d you follow me? Did you steal a car?”
Oh, shit. I can’t tell her the truth. But I don’t want to lie, either. Thus, he said nothing at all and let her draw her own conclusions. Which she seemed to have done when she said, “I don’t care much for thieves.”
“I needed to see you again.”
“About that business that you owe me your life?” She set her hand not holding the gun on her hip.
“Yes.”
“You are a determined son of a gun,” she said, her tone exasperated. She gazed down the street where the window peeper had vanished, then back at him. “What’s your name?”
“Drake.”
“Like the rapper?”
Drake had no idea what she meant but thought it best to agree. “I expect so.”
“I’m Emily Winslow. You may as well come on in.”
Following her into the house, Drake glanced around at the tidy furnishings, the comfortable-looking furniture. “Thank you.”
Emily closed the door, locked it, then put the gun in her jeans, all the while watching him carefully. “Have a seat, Drake,” she said, her tone not friendly nor welcoming, yet not hostile, either. “Want some wine?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a man of few words,” she commented dryly. “I sort of like that.”
Sitting on the couch, Drake watched her head into the kitchen and listened to the clink of glasses. “Did you know that man in the bushes?” he asked.
“That’s a hard question to answer.”
She emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of a red liquid and handed him one. He liked how she moved with a natural grace, still intrigued by the directness in the way she met his eyes. Drake accepted the glass, watching her sit in an armchair near him.
“You didn’t seem to be surprised by a man lurking in your bushes.”
“I wasn’t,” she answered, sipping from her wine and never taking her eyes from him. Her wary eyes. “Unless I picked up another fan, he’s been stalking me for months.”
While he understood what stalking meant, somehow Drake thought she meant it in a different way. “What do you mean?”
“I can never get close enough to see his face,” Emily continued. “But he’s always watching me, knows what I’m doing and when. He makes threatening phone calls and sends me pictures of dead things.”
Drake blinked. “Dead things?”
“Like roadkill, or tortured pets from the Internet.” Now her voice was filled with disgust, and lying under that emotion, fear.
“What does he want?” Drake asked, understanding a little better.
“Outside of me, I have no idea. The police say he’s a deranged individual fixated on me, obsessed.” Emily smiled, but there was no warmth or humor in it. “He saw me with you today and went over the edge.”
Drake sipped his wine, liking the flavor, and thought carefully about what she said. “But he never shows you his face.”
“No. Without a means, such as what he looks like, the cops can’t identify him. I see the cars he drives when he cruises past the house or follows me, but he always wears a hood over his head. They are trying to find him through the makes and models of the cars I see him in, but they haven’t come up with anything so far.”
“And you believe he will harm you?”
Emily tapped the gun. “What do you think?”
“And the authorities will not protect you?”
She
barked a short laugh. “Sure. They send cruisers past my house. But either he knows their routine, or he has a sixth sense as to when they’re coming, and he’s gone.”
“You need someone to protect you.” Drake drank more wine, absently wondering if this was how he might repay his debt.
“Like you, for instance?”
Not speaking, Drake merely took another drink and looked at her.
“Look, man,” Emily said, talking fast. “I know you think you owe me something, but I can’t have you sitting around my house, or going everywhere with me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know you from Adam,” she snapped, standing up. “For all I know, you’re a serial killer working your way into my confidence while you wait for the chance to cut my naked body to pieces and put me down the garbage disposal.”
Drake never had much of a sense of humor, and even his friends, now in exile just as he was, often failed to bring a smile to him, or a laugh. But Emily’s near-hysterical statement struck him as hilarious. He laughed good and hard, snorting and chuckling, while Emily stood over him with a scowl.
“How is that funny?” she demanded.
His ribs on fire where his assailant’s knife caught him, Drake slowly got himself under control. Hiccupping and coughing, tears stinging his eyes, he replied, his voice hoarse, “I pictured myself cutting you up and stuffing you into the…garbage disposal, and well, it was funny.”
“I still don’t see the humor.”
Drake gazed up at her, smiling. “Emily, sit back down.”
She did, reluctantly, and then he went on. “If I wanted to kill you, I have far easier and less labor-intensive ways of doing so. I have no intention, or desire, to harm you.”
Emily sniffed. “That’s what a killer would say.”
“Are all you hum…people so suspicious?”
“Some are. And I have a right to be.” She gestured toward the door. “I have a lunatic out there wanting God knows what, and for all I know, you plan to emulate him.”
Finishing the last of his wine, Drake watched her glare at him. She’s tough, she’s scared but willing to fight. I shouldn’t sit here and let her insult me, yet I like her.
“Where I come from,” he said slowly, “we seldom fight, we don’t steal another male’s mate, and we only stalk when we hunt for food. I have no way of proving my good intentions toward you.”
Emily drank a mouthful of her wine and said, “I probably wouldn’t believe you anyway if you could.”
Yet she leaned back in her chair, relaxed for the first time since he’d met her. She stared into his eyes as though trying to read his mind, and Drake let her try. “Does your wound pain you?” she asked at last.
“A bit.”
“May I see it?”
Perplexed, Drake took off his leather coat and laid it on the couch beside him. Lifting his shirt, he, too, gazed down at the blood encrusting his chest, the long slice in the groove between his ribs. It hadn’t bothered him much while he was flying, but it certainly burned now.
Emily grimaced. “That’s deep. You should have a doctor look at it.”
“No.”
Drake felt her indecision across the distance between them. She turned her face to the side, as though unwilling to look at the dried blood that had run down his chest and side, at the gaping wound. Then she heaved a deep sigh, as though preparing herself to pick up a heavy load. “Come to the bathroom. I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
Obediently, Drake followed her down a hallway to a bathroom on the right. What appeared to be bedrooms stood side by side at the end, and another door stood opposite the bathroom. The space was roomy and held a long counter with twin sinks. A toilet stood at the end, and a bathtub and shower lay opposite.
“Sit.”
Emily pointed to the edge of the tub, then opened cabinets. She added bottles and tubes, rolled bandages, and small jars to the array of other items already there. Drake sat gingerly and pulled his shirt off over his head. Emily turned and stopped, her eyes widening. He couldn’t read her expression but didn’t think she hesitated out of fear.
“Quite a set of muscles you got there,” she commented, then ran water into the sink. “Impressive.”
“Are they?”
Drake glanced down at his bare chest and arms, unsure of what was so impressive about them. Emily wet a cloth, then turned back to him.
“Do you work out?”
“No,” he replied, even though he had no idea what she was talking about.
“You have to be doing something right to keep those babies pumped.”
Now really confused, he said nothing as Emily sat beside him and started to clean his wound of the caked blood. She glanced into his eyes. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“A bit.”
She snorted softly. “Like Rambo, are you? Trained to ignore hunger, thirst—pain.”
Everything she says confuses me. How am I to live among these humans? “No.”
Afraid she’d say something else that he didn’t understand, Drake felt grateful when she said nothing. Then she rose and picked up a bottle from the counter.
“This will hurt like hell,” she told him. “If you need to scream, do it quietly.”
“I won’t scream.”
Nor did he, but it was close. He grit his teeth and stiffened as Emily poured what felt like liquid fire over the wound. What trickled past it felt cold on his skin. “What is that?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Rubbing alcohol. It’ll kill any bugs you got in there.”
That done, she picked up a tube and squeezed a long line of a gooey substance over the length of the knife cut. “Antibacterial ointment,” she said, and gently rubbed it in. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the rubbing alcohol.
“What does that do?”
“Also kills bugs,” she replied. “Can’t have you getting an infection.”
“I don’t get infections.”
“Aren’t you lucky. However, I’m not taking any chances.”
After the ointment, Emily placed a pad over his wound, then wrapped cloth around his chest to hold it on. “When you take a shower next, you can clean the rest of the nasty shit off and then rebandage that cut.”
She stood up and put the rest of the stuff away. Turning around, Emily leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest, staring at him. “I don’t know that I can trust you.”
Suspecting any effort on his part to convince her would have the opposite effect, Drake said nothing. Moving carefully, he pulled his shirt back on, waiting for her to continue. When she did, it was not what he expected.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing. I have to find work.”
Again, she seemed to be weighing his answer in her mind, judging, evaluating, perhaps trying to read his thoughts. While Drake never had much of a sense of humor, he was patient. So, he sat on the edge of the tub, his burning pain slowly ebbing, and waited.
“I’d like to offer you a deal.”
Chapter Three
Nervous and trying to hide it, Emily studied Drake’s face. He sat without any visible emotion, looking at her, waiting, not saying anything. Scared to death that she was judging him wrong, she also desperately needed his help. She remembered how he fought the gang with the fluid movements of a professional, without fear or excess emotion.
He was as coolly focused then as he was now.
Emily had studied the eyes of psychopathic killers since her stalker showed up. Every one of them had less humanity in them than a shark did. Behind the brilliant blue, Drake’s eyes were warm, soft, and above all, kind. No psycho eyes, please Lord, not psycho eyes.
Praying she wasn’t wrong, she blurted, “If you need a job, I’ll hire you as my bodyguard.”
Drake blinked as though she spoke a foreign language. “I have money. There’s no need to pay me. And I owe you.”
“That wouldn’t be right,” she said, calmer now, his manner reassuri
ng. “You may be risking your life if you accept my offer. I don’t know if that lunatic will kill, but we have to assume he will.”
Drake slowly stood up, and Emily realized, perhaps for the first time, how truly big he was. She had seen fewer muscles on a breeding bull and recalled yet again his lithe speed in fighting the bangers. She expected him to touch her, but he kept his hands at his sides.
“I’ll protect you, Emily,” he said in that fascinating yet strange accent. “After I feel I’ve repaid my debt, we can discuss money. Will that be fair?”
Taking a deep breath and slowly let it out, Emily smiled and discovered it returned. If the tiny upward curving of his lips could be called a smile. “That’s sounds like a deal.”
She held out her hand and Drake gently shook it as though fearing his grip might break her hand. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“So am I.” Emily led the way into the kitchen, feeling better about her situation than she had in months. “I’m a halfway decent cook. I can make us some hamburgers and fries.”
Quickly getting used to the fact that he never spoke unless necessary, Emily pointed him to a kitchen chair and poured them both more wine. She lifted her glass. “To our new partnership.”
Drake lifted his own and drank after she clinked her glass against his. “It’s best if you stay here in the house. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in,” she said as she began making dinner. “If you don’t have luggage, what will you do for clothes? Other than what you have on.”
“I’ll have to buy some.”
“Okay, I know of a decent shop we can go to tomorrow.”
Emily heated oil for the fries, then packed hamburger into the frying pan. Though it still felt weird to her to have a strange man in her house, it also felt wonderful. She felt protected. And safe.
“I was already thinking of hiring a security guard, maybe one with a Rottweiler trained to attack on command,” she commented, glancing over her shoulder at him, “but I think you’ll work out better.”
“Why?”
“I need a guard in the house,” she replied, “and the Rottie may decide to attack me.”
Dragon Fever: Limited Edition Holiday Romance Boxset Page 40