Sara would never stop surprising him.
He dug around in the bag next to her and found her keys. Before trying to lift her, he unlocked the diner door and propped it open. Then, he lifted her into his arms. She melted into him, seeming to trust even in unconsciousness.
The thought stole his breath for a moment. He really could have lost his chance to really get to know her. And, in spite of what he’d said for weeks, he really did want to know her.
But later. She needed an ambulance to make sure that punch she’d taken to the head hadn’t done serious damage. He laid her on the floor and then ran out to grab his jacket from the saddlebags on his bike. Back inside, he dug his phone from the pocket and then tucked the leather under her head, wishing he had something, anything, softer.
With her settled, he sat down in a nearby booth and picked up his phone. He’d just opened the screen when he heard her gasp.
When Sara opened her eyes, something stabbed deep into her brain and wouldn’t stop. She gasped and tried to sit up, but her gaze locked on the familiar ceiling of the diner.
“Hey, you’re awake. That was quick.”
Her eyes cut over to find Ridley sitting in a booth just inches away. He leaned over her, worry etching his face. How wrong she’d been to think Sealgair could be more beautiful. With his blond hair loose from its usual bindings, Ridley glowed like an angel in the florescent lights of the restaurant.
“I was just about to call an ambulance to come get you. I can’t drag you to the hospital on the back of my bike.”
“Mmm,” she mumbled and kicked viciously when the words she sought didn’t come out as she wanted.
“You’re a hellcat, you know that?” Ridley’s concern turned to amusement as his eyes swept over her. “He had a hard time getting that one punch in.”
Sara closed her eyes at the memory, the sheer terror, and forced her voice to work. “No hospital. I’m fine.”
“The hell you say. You could have a concussion. He hit you pretty hard.”
He reached down and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, sending new and much more welcome shockwaves through her body. The other hand held a cell phone already dialing emergency services.
By the time he finished explaining where they were and hung up the phone, Sara was able to sit up. She felt the chill of the floor through her jeans and struggled to stand so she could sit across from Ridley in the booth. Agony shot through her limbs she moved, and she bit down on her lip to keep from showing her discomfort.
When she was settled, Ridley reached down and retrieved something from the floor. He unfolded his leather jacket, and she realized he’d used it as a pillow for her. Excitement and gratitude warred with pain, and tears prickled at her eyes.
“How did you…” Sara tried to find words to ask how he’d found her, how he’d known she needed him, but nothing felt right.
“Did he fight you?” she finally asked.
Ridley sat back and shrugged. “Nah. You were winning before I showed up.”
“Right.” Sara pointed at the side of her head where she could feel a lump forming.
Warm fingers covered her chilled ones on the tabletop, sending heat up her arm to spread through her chest. She stared at that connection, his voluntary touch, and wondered if he even knew what he’d done.
“I was scared for you,” he admitted, his voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerators.
“I don’t even know what happened. There was this incredible roar—oh, that must have been you, your motorcycle. That’s the last thing I knew. He really just ran away when you showed up? Wow. Your reputation as a badass reaches pretty far.”
Ridley smirked and squeezed her hand. “I don’t think it was me so much as it was the gun.”
Sara drew her arm back as if she’d been burned and hissed when her ravaged muscles protested the movement. “You carry a gun?”
“Bet you’re happy I do.” He dipped his head and looked up through his lashes with a mischievous grin.
He stared over her head for a moment, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Before Sara could ask what had made him angry, his expression cleared. Instead, she returned to the subject of the gun.
“Can I see it?”
Ridley leaned forward and pulled up the leg of his jeans. With a tug, he pulled the pistol from the ankle holster and waggled it back and forth. “What, this?”
“Yeah.” She exhaled slowly, fighting the nausea that welled at the sight of the weapon. With trembling fingers, she reached across the table and touched the cold metal.
The rest of the room faded to a dull blur as she gripped the handle and felt the weight and power in her hand. Ridley pushed the barrel away before letting go.
“You look more scared of the gun than you were of that guy.”
“I am,” she admitted. “I’ve never touched one before. Just seeing them makes me wanna throw up.”
He wrapped gentle fingers around her wrist and retrieved his weapon before placing it back in a holster around his ankle. “You might consider getting one if you think you could keep from puking. I don’t think that guy will be back, but you should still be able to protect yourself.”
Sara snorted and then clutched her head when pain shot from her left temple to the right. “Oh, he’ll be back. He has to kill me.”
Ridley’s eyebrows shot up, but the siren from an approaching ambulance drowned his shocked response. He jumped up to help Sara to the door while his mouth formed words he never spoke. His questions were further thwarted when the police arrived to question Sara.
When she’d given her report and the paramedics announced she was well enough to go home, he led her to her car and helped her into the driver’s seat. Just before he closed the door, his blue eyes pierced her with a determined stare.
“I haven’t forgotten what you said. We’ll talk soon, and you’ll tell me what you meant.”
One callused finger brushed over the apple of her cheek, and then he was gone, leaving her to close the door on her own.
Ridley stared up at the second-story window and cursed. He’d watched Sara’s parents drive away and leave the girl on her own while some bastard dressed in black was still out there somewhere. The silly girl hadn’t told her parents what had happened, or at least not the real horror of it, because the Donovans never would have left their precious girl home alone otherwise. They’d know soon enough. Cedar City always knew everyone’s business. She’d be lucky if it wasn’t in the paper.
A scream ripped through the still morning air, and Ridley stumbled off his bike to race up the front path. Before he could reach the door, it swung open and Sara skittered onto the porch holding her cell phone. She snatched up the newspaper and turned around without seeing Ridley at the bottom of the stairs.
“Stupid girl’s gonna get herself killed,” Ridley mumbled.
He couldn’t believe how unobservant she’d been after almost getting abducted the night before. With a muttered curse, he mounted the steps and stomped to the door. Sara must have heard the footsteps, because she opened the door slowly before he had a chance to knock.
Her eyes were wide with shock, but Ridley couldn’t focus on them for long. Sara Donovan in satin pajamas was a sight to behold. The deep blue shorts showed her legs to tanned perfection, save for several ugly bruises from her struggle the night before, and the sleeveless top was cut too low to be decent. When added to her mussed hair and tired eyes, Sara’s sleep attire was downright lethal.
“Ridley?” A smirk slowly pulled one corner of her lips as she hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye. “Who’s the stalker now?”
The implication snapped him from his lust-filled haze, and he pushed her back inside. Sara tripped over her slippers and grabbed at the front of his shirt to right herself.
“What are you thinking, running outside dressed like this?” Ridley pushed her hand away and steadied her by gripping her shoulders. “You didn’t even see me there. I could have be
en anyone.”
The color drained from Sara’s face, and she sat down hard on the floor. Ridley stepped back, concern flooding him, and crouched down in front of her. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her black and blue arms around her legs to hide the tremors that wracked her body, but he saw every shiver.
“Hey, it’s okay. Nothing happened then, and it won’t happen now. Just, you know, be careful. Pay attention.”
“I know,” she moaned. “Audrey called and said we’re in the paper this morning, and that’s all I could think about.”
Ridley sat down at that and stretched his legs out on either side of Sara. His huge boots made her appear even smaller and more delicate.
She reached behind her and produced the newspaper, which he eagerly took. There, on the front page—because nothing ever really happened in Cedar City, North Carolina—was the story about how the police were called to Donovan’s Diner after the owner’s daughter had been attacked in the parking lot. Ridley was named the savior of the evening, with details of how he’d single-handedly fought off the perpetrator before seeing Sara safely inside the diner and calling the authorities. In the span of thirty seconds, he’d transformed from town bad boy to town hero.
“Well, shit.” His first thought was how his father would take the news, but he decided it didn’t matter.
“How are you going to live up to that reputation?” Sara asked with a grin.
Ridley scrubbed his face with his hands and drew his knees up so that his feet were on either side of Sara’s hips. “I have no idea. That’s not important, though. You need to worry about this guy finding you again. You said he won’t stop until he kills you?”
Sara stood and stepped over his legs to walk to the couch. He grudgingly followed, wishing she’d just talk instead of denying him answers. Sara had been all too keen on prophesying his death just days before, but he couldn’t get a word out of her since she’d been the one almost killed.
“Now you believe me?” She pointed at a chair next to her, and Ridley stood to claim it. “I couldn’t think with you so close. Sorry.”
Her cheeks flamed with her admission, but Ridley chose to ignore it and sat.
“Does the same person want us dead?” Ridley pushed her to answer.
“Not exactly. It all sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud, so I never really tried to explain. You still won’t believe me, but what the hell. That guy wants me dead so that you won’t die. Saving me last night was probably pretty stupid.”
Ridley’s stomach twisted, and he gripped the edge of the chair. “Don’t say that. I’m glad I stayed at the work site longer than usual, or I wouldn’t have been there. I’ll never be sorry about that.”
Sara hugged her knees to her chest and smiled, but her eyes were still wary. “So, he’s this hunter from an ancient Irish clan. I don’t know his name. My gran calls him Sealgair. But I do know he’s supposed to kill me and four other…well, you really won’t believe me.”
Irish clans. Ancient. Four others. The words spun, but nothing made sense.
“What does any of that have to do with you? You’re not from Ireland or part of any clan, are you?”
“I am, and so are you. That’s why you’re going to die, and I’ll be there when you do.”
Ridley stared for several seconds, trying to reconcile the words. Nothing fell into place, as much as he wanted to believe her. Sara, with her soft brown hair and big blue eyes, sounded two steps shy of an asylum.
“You know this is all gibberish, Sara.” Ridley ran a hand over his face. “I know you think you’re telling the truth, but none of it makes any sense.”
She stood and nodded her head toward the steps. Thoughts of her bedroom flooded his mind—rumpled, still-warm sheets, lacy things in plain sight, and scents…
“Is that a good idea?”
“What, my bedroom?” She stared back with innocent eyes, but the red crept up her cheeks when she noticed him eyeing her sleepwear. “Oh. I can change, if you want.”
“I should want,” Ridley muttered. “I really should, but I don’t.”
“What? Should I change?” Sara mounted the steps uncertainly.
“Yes, please. Please change. And hide anything I shouldn’t see in your bedroom.” He sat back down to wait, determined to behave himself.
“I keep things very neat, thank you very much.” With that, Sara flounced up the steps.
Ridley stared after her with a sinking feeling in his chest. Sara was the same girl she’d always been. The mayor’s virginal daughter, the town’s favorite, the high school prom queen. Why did he have this irrational need to dirty her up?
“I’m unsexy,” Sara called from the second floor.
“I doubt that,” Ridley mumbled.
He mounted the steps with a sinking feeling. At the top, Sara beckoned from a large, airy bedroom. It was everything he had feared and nothing he’d expected. Instead of youthful pastels, the bed was covered in snowy white. The duvet looked warm and soft, a huge departure from the ragged quilt he’d been using at Rick’s house. He imagined Sara rising every morning to the sound of birds like some ridiculous fairy tale.
“It’s just a bed.” Sara’s voice ripped through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts.
She’d changed into shorts and a hooded sweatshirt but still looked just as beautiful as before. Ridley was in serious trouble. Sara turned and pinned something to a cork board on the wall, and he took the opportunity to examine her backside in worn denim. The gentle flare of hips gave way to long, lithe legs, no less enticing than they were in the satin. The shirt rose slightly to give a glimpse of soft, tanned skin at her waist, and his fingers twitched with the desire to touch it.
“This is the story,” she said, turning and catching his ogling. A smirk tugged her lips, but she pressed them together into a serious frown. “I’d have brought it down to you, but you can see it’s pretty big.”
Ridley glanced at the board and then had to look again. Sara had fashioned a timeline of sorts, starting two months before. He stepped closer to see what she’d pinned on that date.
“This is the first time it happened.” She pointed to the scribbled note. “I didn’t remember much when I woke, but I wrote down what I could.”
“Dreams?”
“I wish. No, I started sleepwalking…kind of. I woke up in the middle of the woods five miles from here, screamed my head off outside some guy’s house, and then found out the next day he’d died.”
The next entry on the timeline was an obituary, and Ridley recognized it. The school librarian’s husband. As he looked further, he saw a longer account of Sara’s nightly wandering, including a blow-by-blow of the shriek that had left her coughing blood the next day.
“This guy—” Sara indicated the next name on the schedule “—came into the diner the day before he died. He was just a guy traveling through, not even from here. He had O’Neill blood, maybe even from generations ago, and that was enough to kill him.”
She pulled a stack of papers from the top drawer of her desk and handed it to him. Ridley ran his fingers over the pages before meeting her gaze. She nodded, silently telling him to read.
Words sprawled across the page connected by webs of lines. Sara didn’t seem to expect him to get much out of them because she started speaking again before he could get very far.
“After this second one, my dad found me as I was…um…flying home. He sent me to my grandmother. She was one, too. One of what I am.”
He noticed she again avoided giving a name to the problem. Instead of talking further, she sat down next to him on the end of the bed and took the stack from him. With the flip of a few pages, she found what she was looking for and settled the papers back in his hands.
“There. This is your family line. I downloaded the whole tree from the ancestry site.”
At the top of the page, Ó Néill was printed in large letters. Spidery lines traced from one name to the next, dates written and scratched through as
whoever researched Ridley’s ancestry second- and third-guessed their findings.
“Niall of the Nine Hostages?” The name, located somewhere near the top of the page, leapt from his mouth and left him feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. “What kind of psychos were they?”
Sara peered a little closer and shrugged. “I have the whole family map, but I haven’t had a chance to trace it back very far. I was kind of tracking mine to see if I could, you know, figure out how I became a banshee.”
Ridley still stared at the word “hostages” and shook his head slowly. “This just explains so much. We’re all obviously murderous bastards. My dad just couldn’t help himself, I guess.”
The touch of Sara’s fingers on the back of his hand sent a shiver of electricity through him. When she should have been backing away, fear in her eyes and a scream on her lips, instead she tried to comfort him.
“Hey, seriously. I’m the one who screams outside people’s houses while they die. So far, you’re winning the sanity contest.”
Ridley tried not to snort or laugh out loud. She had a point. Why had he thought her too young? Too silly and childish?
Her eyes hadn’t left the tangle of names on her wall, but she was aware of him. He could tell by the slight quirk to the corner of her lips, the quickening of her breath. Fingers tightened, his over hers, and he pulled her closer. For what, he didn’t know.
“Huh. Well, he was probably a homicidal maniac, like you said, because the kings of that time only came to power by killing off the people who stood in their way.”
He blinked. Of course he was. Who else could he be descended from but a pack of murderers and…
“Wait, king?”
She turned with a grin, eyebrow arched over an eye so blue. “Just caught that? Yeah, this Niall guy was some kind of Irish king—one of the high kings, maybe. He and most of the generations that followed were rulers of either the whole of Ireland or various provinces. So maybe you’re descended from a crazy bastard, but you’re also royalty. Your Highness.”
Shriek: Legend of the Bean Sídhe Page 10