Defender Hellhound (Protection, Inc: Defenders Book 3)

by Zoe Chant

  Honestly, he said, “It wasn’t as hard to talk about as I thought it would be.”

  Because you didn’t tell her the crucial parts, growled his hellhound. You didn’t tell her the truth about you. But she’ll find out. And then she’ll be so horrified that she’ll run off to die alone instead of spending one more second with you.

  That sandpaper growl scraped across his mind, setting off his migraine again. He flinched, his hand pulling out of her grasp.

  Natalie, who had started to lean in close, jerked back. “Sorry. Sorry. You need to rest. Lie down.”

  He lay back down, once again dizzy and sick with pain.

  Lowering her voice to a near-whisper, she said, “Does it hurt to hear me talk? Would you rather it was quiet?”

  Sound did hurt, normally. But her voice didn’t jangle inside his head. It was like a clear cool stream, soothing his pain. “No. And no. Tell me more about your bucket list. What did you do before the BAND LUMP?”

  She pulled a face at him, then said, “Well, growing up in a traveling crime circus full of shifters, I’d already been to a bunch of places and done a bunch of things that normal people might put on a bucket list. I grew up swimming with seals, for instance. Shifters, but still. But I’d never swum with dolphins—shifters or real ones—so that was number one.”

  Natalie told him all about her trip to swim with dolphins in phosphorescent waters, painting a vivid picture of the playful dolphins, the beauty of the sea and the night, and the ease and freedom and pleasure of swimming beneath the moon. He felt transported, as if he was swimming by her side.

  By the time she was finished, the room had grown dark. He could see the glimmer of her hair, but not its colors. His eyelids were heavy, and his whole body ached with exhaustion. If he didn’t get up now, he never would. He wasn’t sure he could stand, but he said, “You should take the bed.”

  He felt more than saw it when she lay down beside him. The breath that formed her words touched his cheek as she said, “I can sleep here with you, or I can take the floor. That’s it. Those are your options.”

  Ransom wanted to tell her he’d take the floor himself. But with her actually lying next to him, he couldn’t bring himself to object. The bed was so narrow, it forced them to lie close together. She had fitted herself into the space his body didn’t occupy, like water flowing into a cup. Her silky hair touched his face and throat, and her bare skin brushed against his, feather-light and burning hot. He swallowed, and knew she felt the movement.

  “No one’s taking the floor,” he said.

  “I knew you’d come round.” There was a tremble of laughter in her voice, like the shimmer of sun on water.

  She stretched, shifting her weight, and almost fell out of bed. He flung his arm around her, catching her, then pulled her in closer. She didn’t resist. His breath stopped. Natalie was in his arms, warm and alive, her scent filling the air. He could feel every breath she took. He could feel her heart beating.

  She touched his head. “Does it still hurt?”

  “A bit.”

  She rubbed his temples, very gently. “Does this help?”

  He nodded. It did, but he wouldn’t have told her to stop even if it had made the pain worse. His entire body came alive to her touch, prickling and tingling, as if it had been asleep for years and was only now waking up. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been, how much he’d longed for someone to touch him, until she was there with him, so close that you couldn’t have slipped a sheet of paper between them.

  There was nothing he wanted more than to keep quiet and let it continue. But he had to know. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “You told me we’d have separate rooms,” he said. “I mean…”

  “We will. In the motels. This is only for tonight.”

  Of course. He was in pain, and she felt sorry for him, and she was a kind person. That was all. Ransom was at once disappointed and relieved. He couldn’t help wanting more, but “more” wasn’t for someone like him. If she had meant this as anything beyond than kindness, he’d have to tell her…

  Everything, growled his hellhound. You’d have to tell her what you’ve done. You’d have to tell her who you are. You’d have to tell her about me.

  “Ransom?” Natalie asked, her fingers stopping their gentle circular motion. “Are you all right?”

  He prepared himself to fight his hellhound, if it tried to show him her worst moment, but the beast sank back down.

  “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  She resumed, but he was no longer relaxed. Instead, a wild, desperate, impossible hope flared up within him. He wasn’t worthy of a woman like Natalie. And if she knew who and what he was, she’d never accept him. But what if he could become worthy of her?

  He knew the method of destroying one’s inner animal, but he hadn’t yet gotten up the nerve to try it. If he killed his hellhound, he’d lose the inner voice that wouldn’t stop tearing him down, and he’d lose the “worst moment” power that was nothing more than a curse. He’d also lose the ability to shift, but he wouldn’t miss it—not when the only form he could become was that of the beast he hated.

  There’s a reason you haven’t tried it, his hellhound snarled. You can’t kill me without killing yourself.

  Chapter 9

  Natalie awoke with a sense of contentment that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Normally she woke wide awake and sprang out of bed, rushing to greet the day. But this morning she was in no hurry. She had things to do, sure, but maybe the first one was to enjoy being held in strong and loving arms…

  With that, she came wide awake, remembering where she was and who she was with. She and Ransom were crammed into the Natalie-sized bed with their arms wrapped around each other. Her head was nestled into his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against her hair. Even their legs were entangled. Heidi and Wally were sound asleep, flopped on top of Natalie’s ankles and Ransom’s knees.

  Ransom’s feet dangled over the edge of the bed. He was breathing deeply, still asleep, but his arms tightened their grip around her, as if he’d sensed some shift in her and wanted to keep her close.

  Her bucket list did not include “Cuddle with the man who collapsed in a motel parking lot with a psychic vision-induced migraine that he deliberately gave himself saving you from rampaging wizard-scientists.” But she had to confess to herself that she was enjoying it more than some of the supposed peak experiences she’d tried. It had been so long since anyone had touched her, beyond a brush of fingers as money or motel keys were exchanged.

  When she thought back to the last time she’d been embraced by a man, she first had to run through a bunch of pleasant but extremely platonic hugs and trapeze catches to even get to the last time she’d dated anyone. He’d been a bartender in Japan she’d met when the Fabulous Flying Chameleons had played in Tokyo. Hayao… or had it been Hayato… had been been a nice guy and they’d had fun exploring the city for the month the circus had stayed there.

  Before that, when the circus had played in Paris, she’d met a guy who set off fireworks at parties. He’d asked her if she’d like to be French kissed in France, and she’d laughed and agreed. His name was… had it been Pascal? Pierre? Patrice?

  Philippe or whatever his name was had been very romantic. So had Hatsuo (if that was his name). They’d given her champagne and red roses (Paul-Louis), and sake and red tulips (Haruki), and taken her to to exclusive underground clubs (Harutaka) and strolls along the Seine (Paul-Michel). She could remember all the places they’d gone and the fun they’d had. But she couldn’t recall what their arms had felt like around hers, or the texture of their hair, or whether she’d been sad when they’d said good-bye.

  When Natalie had stroked Ransom’s hair, it had been damp with sweat, and the moisture had made it curl more than it normally did. Locks had curled around her fingers, wrapping around them and then snapping back into place when she pushed her hand through. When his hair was dry, t
he sun struck glints of copper and bronze against a darker background. Wet, it was nearly black. She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting its smooth resilience, or the way he’d turned his head into her touch.

  Natalie lifted her head, ever so slightly, so she could get a glimpse what his hair looked like now. The movement woke him. His copper eyelashes fluttered, and his dark eyes looked directly into hers.

  For the first time, she saw him smile. It was a bright, warm, sweet smile, touched with a natural sensuality that made her hot all over. It transformed him.

  This is how he’s supposed to be, she thought. Now I’m really seeing him.

  All her resolve to keep things light and professional, all her carefully thought-out reasons to not get involved, and every shred of her self-control went right out the window. The only reason she didn’t lean over and kiss him that instant was that she wanted to look at that smile for a moment longer.

  Ransom touched her hair, very lightly, but even that sent a jolt of electricity from her head and along her spine and all the way down to her toes. “Good morning. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  His voice was different, too. There was an ease to it that hadn’t been there before, and a slight morning huskiness that made the sexual electricity already circulating along her nerves take some extra stops in some very sensitive places.

  Natalie gulped. Her thoughts had scattered like leaves in the wind. She lay still, waiting for him to kiss her.

  In a single easy movement, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He scooped up his discarded shirt, padded barefoot and steady to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the shower running.

  What? Natalie thought.

  Heidi stretched, barked, and vanished. Wally wriggled his way up the bed and licked Natalie’s face.

  At least I got a kiss from someone, she thought.

  Had she hallucinated all that sexual chemistry and intimacy and how good it had felt to touch each other?

  Then she remembered what she’d said last night: that it was only for one night and they’d have separate rooms from then on. She’d blurted it out as her last-ditch attempt to stick with the light-and-professional thing, but obviously Ransom had taken it to heart.

  She wished she’d never said anything about the two rooms. All her reasons for not wanting to get involved were still true, but her resolve had gone right out the window the moment she’d woken up with his arms around her. She’d felt so comfortable and steady and protected, as if she had all the time in the world to lie with him and be happy. As if she had a future.

  Which she didn’t, of course, no matter what he believed.

  Just as she started wondering if she needed to take Wally outside, he disappeared. A few minutes later, both he and Heidi reappeared. They seemed perfectly content rather than whining at the door, so Natalie decided they must have taken themselves outside.

  “Very convenient,” she informed them. “It makes up for all the ways that teleporting puppies are very inconvenient.”

  Of course, it wasn’t convenient for whoever stepped in it, since no one had been there to pick up after them. Natalie resolved to watch the sidewalk when she left the apartment.

  She went into the kitchen and fed the pups, then started another pot of coffee. The bathroom door opened with a creak. Glancing back, she saw Ransom rinsing his shirt in the sink, wet-haired and clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. His lean musculature looked like something you’d see in a museum, if you got really turned on by marble statues.

  Light and professional, she thought. What the hell was I thinking?

  “I’d ask you how you’re feeling, but I can tell the answer’s ‘better,’” she said.

  “The answer’s ‘a lot better.’ Fine, even. And this time I mean it.” He wrung out the shirt, then began to dry it with a blow-dryer he produced from under the sink.

  “So you know that old traveler’s trick.”

  “I didn’t know it was a trick. The washer-dryer’s been broken ever since I moved in.” He unplugged the hair dryer and took it out of the bathroom, then plugged it in beside the coffee maker. “Shower’s all yours.”

  She hesitated, imagining herself saying, “About last night…” But he had his back turned and clearly wasn’t expecting either an intense discussion or a declaration of... what, exactly? “I think you’re incredibly hot, let’s have sex?” “I like you a lot and I want to know you better?” All that seemed so casual, and that was the opposite of the way she felt. But when she only had a year, she couldn’t possibly do anything other than casual.

  Putting off the decision, she grabbed some clothes from her suitcase and fled to the bathroom.

  Once she was in the shower, everything felt so much more complicated than it had been when she’d woken up. Was he holding back because he thought she’d already said no, or because he’d taken a clear-eyed look at their non-existent future and decided to steer clear? Did he even have the same sorts of feelings she did?

  She let the shower run and run, but by the time it ran cold, she still had no idea what she wanted to say.

  I’ll play it by ear, she decided, and immediately felt less stressed. She’d go with her instincts and do what she wanted to do in the moment, just like she always did.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Ransom had gotten dressed, apparently in enough of a hurry that he hadn’t completely dried off; his shirt was slightly damp and clinging to his muscles. He looked a lot more dangerous and less professorial that way. Natalie would have loved to have seen him in a regular tight T-shirt. Or a trapeze artist’s skin-tight leotard. Or naked. She’d felt for herself that he had an impressive pair of legs hiding beneath those loose-fitting pants.

  She splashed cold water over her face until she felt confident that those thoughts weren’t hovering in a visible cloud over her head, then joined him in the kitchen. He’d poured out coffee for her—from the color, he’d doctored it with a Crime Puff—and set out the last of the pastries on paper plates.

  He gestured to the only chair. “Take it.”

  She made a little hop, and sat herself down on the counter, legs dangling. “You take it. I prefer to perch.”

  “Like a parakeet. No, like a rainbow lorikeet.”

  Natalie had never been to Australia, but she’d seen the colorful birds in a zoo. “I’m flattered. Have you been to Australia?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve only seen photos. You’ve got even more colors, though.”

  They finished off the pastries as they chatted about Australia and lorikeets and chairs vs. counters. She’d expected the “about last night” to hang over them, but it didn’t. Instead, she felt strangely relaxed. Ransom seemed relaxed, too.

  The night before hadn’t dispelled the sexual tension—if anything, it had intensified it—but it wasn’t tense. Not so much sexual tension as sexual intensity. She was very aware of his body, his movements, of when he looked at her and when he looked away, but it didn’t give her that jittery “will we/won’t we” feeling. Which was odd, too, considering that she had no idea whether they would or wouldn’t.

  She couldn’t help hoping for “would.”

  When they finished their breakfast, she packed her little roller suitcase. It took her less than a minute, as all she had to do was put in her toothbrush and dirty clothes.

  Ransom experimentally lifted it. “It’s so light.”

  “Not much room in a circus train. You don’t get a chance to accumulate stuff. Half my outfits were costumes anyway, so I left them. My books are on an e-reader.”

  “Mine too.”

  Natalie felt obscurely disappointed. “Oh… The bookcase belongs to the dancer?”

  “I should’ve said, most of my library is on an e-reader,” he said. “The bookcase is the part that isn’t.”

  She headed over to inspect his books. She was instantly enchanted by their sheer variety, from horror paperbacks like The Face That Must Die to serious nonfict
ion like The How and Why of Military Failure to elegant antiques like The Conference of the Birds to handbooks like Shrubs and Trees of the Southwest Uplands to textbooks with incomprehensible titles like Stereochemistry of Organic Compounds.

  “I haven’t even heard of most of these,” Natalie said. “And I read a lot. Kudos.”

  “These books all only exist on paper. So they’re pretty obscure.”

  She spotted the word ‘circus’ on a faded spine, and crouched down to get a closer look. It was British Circus Life by Lady Eleanor Smith. Next to Satan’s Circus, also by Lady Eleanor Smith. Delighted, she asked, “Mind if I browse?”

  “Not at all,” Ransom said. “I have to pack a bag anyway. It’ll just take a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  He went into the bedroom and closed the door. Natalie, paging through Satan’s Circus, wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she hadn’t happened to hear the sound that followed, which was the soft click of a lock.

  Satan’s Circus forgotten in her hands, she stared at the closed door. Why would he lock the door on her? It couldn’t be habit, because he lived alone. And she’d already spent the night in his bedroom.

  She remembered that he hadn’t gotten dressed until she was busy showering. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time—obviously they weren’t at the “get naked together” stage—but now that seemed even odder. He could have told her he was getting dressed, and she wouldn’t have come in.

  What was he hiding?

  Chapter 10

  Ransom had no idea if Natalie would recognize tincture of shiftsilver, but even if she didn’t, he had no intention of risking her seeing it. The vial of shimmering silver liquid was bound to provoke questions, and he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t lie to her.

  When he opened the drawer, he could see it glimmering. He’d shoved a pair of pants over it when he’d gotten dressed that morning, but they hadn’t covered it completely. He thanked his lucky stars he’d remembered to wait till she was in the shower before opening the drawer.