As I pressed myself into the hollow behind the bedroom door, I turned my head to stare at the wall. Using Owen’s emotions and those of the man outside, I formed a rough idea of what was happening. Owen went into the bathroom, then slid outside. The sound of rain hitting the outside of the house stayed louder as he disappeared, making it clear he’d left the window open. He moved along the side of the house, paused, moved again, paused.
Then, as he came upon the other man, I felt shock, anger, another surge of pained outrage, and then just Owen.
##
It was a while before my date made another appearance.
I had been huddling on the floor behind the bedroom door, thinking about the last few minutes of my life, trying to decide how to feel.
“Gwen?” Owen was looking down at me. I realized I’d been staring blindly upward when he’d pulled the door away from me. When I only continued to stare silently, he dropped down into a crouch, putting a hand out to wave it in front of my face.
“I can see you,” I said. He cocked his head.
“Are you okay?”
“Are…they?” I asked, my eyes drifting toward the kitchen, even though I couldn’t see it from my spot in the bedroom.
“They’re not dead,” he assured me. “Just unconscious.” He dropped his hand down onto my knee. It was warm and dry, despite his tussle in the rain. I glanced down at his long fingers and thought about them tangling in my hair earlier that evening. Then I thought about how he’d handled the knife in the kitchen. When I stayed silent, he leaned in, catching my eye again.
“Remember, they started it, knocking you out and all.”
I frowned his way and laid my fingers over his. He upturned his palm, grasped my hand and stood, pulling me up with him. I let him tug me close to his chest and wrap his other arm around my back. Staring into his face, I tried to find some bit of remorse or worry in him.
Nothing came except…pride?
“You’re not bothered by how the evening has turned out?”
“Not particularly. I mean, there are better ways to end up alone in the dark with an attractive woman, but what’s done is done.”
“Wow,” I said, feeling myself tense. He smiled, trying to keep it soft and comforting. He couldn’t quite manage the latter.
“You keep using that word.”
“Well, you’re not exactly…like anyone else I’ve met.”
When the memory of Chloe garroting a vampire sprang to mind, I tamped it down, refusing to think of my candy-hiding best friend as a violent killer. Things were bad enough in the moment; my stupid brain didn’t need to make them any worse.
In lieu of responding, he shifted his arm to pull me to his side and walk me out of the bedroom. We moved out into the living room and he led me to the couch. Stepping back, staying purposefully slow and non-threatening, he gestured for me to sit. I did so, and he dropped onto the coffee table, his knees flanking mine.
“Are you bothered by how I handled things? Your safety was my first priority. I wasn’t going to leave you slumped over the table and run off shooting wildly in the air.” He sniffed as if the idea offended him. “I’m a professional.”
“But…” I trailed off. He had a point. He hadn’t gone after these men for fun. He’d hauled my chubby, unconscious ass into the bathroom, tucked me into the tub to make sure I was safe. He’d only gone after the other men after I’d pointed him in their direction.
I let out a low whimper, considering that it might have been my fault that three men were spread out unconscious. Would things have gone differently if I hadn’t been around? Would Owen have fixed them some tea and suggested they all use their words instead of fists and guns? I squinted at that idea, knowing logically that it was ridiculous, but unable to convince my greasy guilt that I hadn’t done something wrong
Worry for my state of mind poked through Owen’s calm, and instead of embedding itself into my psyche like so many emotions usually did, it relaxed me somewhat. He was only human, after all. Maybe the situation wasn’t as nuts as my panic insisted. Those unconscious assholes had shown up, drugged me, and broken into the house on their own, after all. Owen had taken care of it and he’d managed to do so without shooting the place up. He wasn’t lying when he’d said my safety was his first priority.
“Okay.” I said, feeling myself relax somewhat. “But why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“It’s a nice neighborhood, but they wouldn’t have been here in time. Plus, these guys are well-trained, and it could’ve put them in danger.”
“Well-trained for what? And, what could have put the cops in danger? They’re the police!” I protested, tension singing through me again. Owen frowned like he pitied my naiveté.
“Empaths, you can tell when people lie, right?”
“Yes,” I agreed without thinking. He nodded, sat up tall as if trying to appear as straight a shooter as possible.
“I have no intention of hurting you or anyone you care about. I did what I felt was best for all involved. I like you. I was enjoying myself, and I would like to continue to enjoy myself.” He leaned in, and I felt an almost intangible curl of lust from him once again. “If you’re still up for it.” His hands slid up my knees, outside the cloth of my skirt. Despite my misgivings, my hormones appreciated the action, seeping through my mind before I could stop them. I could feel a delightful tingling start where his hands touched, and it drove away the little worms of fear trying to root into my brain.
Despite the fact that I wanted to remain resolute in my suspicion, I just couldn’t manage it. Everything he was saying was the truth. I was out of danger, and Owen had made that happen. He slid forward, making sure my gaze was locked on his.
“Was I lying?”
I shook my head, appreciating the closeness, the warmth of his hands.
“No,” I said. “I’m just being silly.”
“Not at all,” he said with a shake of his head. “I would be a little bit suspicious if none of this bothered you at all. It wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful woman tried to seduce me in exchange for information or my pretty head.”
I laughed at the idea of my being some femme fatale sent by his enemies to lure him into a false sense of security. Glad the tension was breaking, he pressed on.
“This isn’t my first time subduing intruders, but I’m guessing therapists don’t have to choke out strangers on a regular basis.”
I shook my head, but the laugh I let out this time wasn’t completely genuine. It always looked so cool in the movies when the hero locks rippling biceps around his nemesis and squeezes until other guy passes out. Picturing Owen doing the same—and after I’d pointed him straight at his victim, no less—seemed way less cool, considering the circumstances.
“What now?” I asked. He raised a brow and glanced past my shoulder. I heard a shuffling coming from somewhere behind me in one of the bedrooms. It worried me so much I felt myself jerking forward—only a little spastically, I swear—as if I could get away.
“You’re fine,” Owen assured me, squeezing my arms gently before I could get up. “He’s probably conscious. I didn’t give him very much.”
“Who is?” I asked, without thinking. “Very much of what?”
Ignoring my questions, Owen tipped his head, that curiosity of his groping once again. When he smiled, I squinted at him suspiciously.
“Do you think I could use your gift for a second?” he asked.
“My empathy?”
“Yes. You’re much sexier than your average polygraph test.” Pausing, he got to his feet, pulling me up with him. “Come on.”
I caught sight of the man passed out at the bottom of the stairs, and it made me jolt. Owen ignored when I crashed into him in my moment of panic, and put his finger to his lips when I started to speak. I swallowed the racket I wanted to make and spoke quietly.
“What if the others wake up?”
“I made sure they’re not going anywhere, don’t worry. Now,” he said as we
stepped into the hall. “I don’t want him to know you’re around. Don’t touch anything or make any sounds. As far as everyone’s concerned, you’re still out cold in the bathtub.”
“Should I still be?”
“I don’t know about ‘should’ but I’m glad you’re not. Just stand back, but stay where I can see you. I’ll ask him questions, and you just nod or shake your head to let me know if he’s telling the truth.” Owen’s voice came through a smile; he liked that he could use me like this. I wasn’t sure if I felt helpful or exploited.
I decided to reserve my right to choose until I knew what information we’d be getting out of the man.
Owen pushed the door open and I caught sight of a bulky white man on the floor, half his body hidden by the foot of the pale blue bed. His hair was sandy brown and he had a tight swath of black cloth over his eyes, likely replacing the expensive goggles I noticed on the bed.
When he heard the door open, he stopped struggling and turned his head. I felt his distress but, bigger than that, his anger. He was so pissed that he’d been caught.
Owen walked quickly but softly around the foot of the bed, staying far enough away from the man that he couldn’t be grabbed. I felt anger surge and I jolted forward, aiming to warn Owen. He saw something in the man that matched his violent feelings though, and he hopped back to avoid the two-legged kick.
“You missed,” Owen said conversationally. The man grunted, and I felt his outrage again. His legs, which I noticed were bound together, kicked in Owen’s direction again, but his aim was off by quite a bit.
“Ease up, Princess,” Owen said. “I just have some questions for you.”
The man spit this time and Owen glanced at the gooey mess that hit the carpet; his face stayed pleasant, but I could feel his disgust.
“You’re being very rude. Breaking into my home with your friends—both dead, by the way,” Owen lied easily. “Am I to assume you were here to kill me?”
The man stayed silent and Owen crouched down, reaching a hand out to lightly slap his face. Outrage again, amusement from Owen. I swallowed and leaned back against the doorjamb, thoroughly uncomfortable with the situation. Owen glanced up, gave me a casual smile, and then moved his hand down to grab the man’s neck. With one arm, he hauled him into a sitting position and shoved him against the footboard of the bed hard enough that I heard his head thump there. The action was aggressive, but it wasn’t backed up by any sort of violent intent. I’d seen men fight before, felt aggression swing out of them like fat, bloody fists toward my face. I knew what it felt like to rage at another human being and want to hurt them in whatever way you could.
Owen felt nothing of the sort; only disgust over the loogie on the carpet lingered ever so slightly.
“Shit,” the man said, more out of frustration than pain.
“Who hired you?”
“Fuck off.” The insult was casual, as if this were just a misunderstanding between friends.
Owen slammed him against the footboard again and the man kicked out, his anger suddenly boiling over.
“Jim. Jim, Jim.” Owen said, his voice playful. The man tensed and shock exploded out from him. My brows shot up and I felt my entire body snap to attention as I got caught up in his panicked confusion.
“No,” the man said, as if arguing. His voice was louder this time, failing to maintain his carefree façade.
“I’m not as stupid as you, Caruthers.” Another panic bomb went off in the man’s brain. “I have connections around here you couldn’t even guess at. Before I take a job, I do my research. Are you here on Madeline’s orders?”
“Shit,” I breathed before I could stop myself. The tension singing through me clenched my muscles even harder, and I felt my stomach twist into knots. Madeline?
Madeline?
My conversation with Holly that evening came rushing back, specifically the part where she said Madeline had been planning something for tonight. Had Owen been what she meant to take care of that would free her up to come back to work? Was my date at odds with my favorite succubus?
Caruthers remained silent, but Owen pulled him back and smacked him into the bed again.
“Tell me the truth and your cute kids stay blissfully unaware of what their father does for a living.”
“Dammit,” Jim growled, struggling once again with his whole body. His fight was leaving him, though. He was no longer filled with angry bravado, but worry and fear. I was watching Owen’s face and he realized it too, his earlier pride surfacing again.
“Stay the fuck away from my kids,” Jim said after a few moments, his tone edging on a question.
“Done—assuming you tell me if Madeline hired you.”
“Yes.”
Owen’s eyes met mine and I nodded.
“Good. Was it because I’m here to talk to her?” I caught a sharpened sliver of malice arcing through a puff of dishonesty as Owen spoke. Like the shock when we’d first met, it jammed sharply into my chest, and I winced.
“I don’t—” Jim started. I was already shaking my head and Owen knocked Jim’s head back again. “Dammit. Yes. It is.”
“Good. Now. Is she expecting you to kill me?”
Jim hesitated, before sighing. “No. She wanted us to bring you back to her.”
“Was it the wine you got to?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jim said. His tone claimed honesty, but I could feel the lie.
“I will hit you again,” Owen said, not bothering to even glance my way for confirmation.
“Yes,” Jim said, frustration making his voice gravelly. “Jesus. Your security is lousy. We were in and out while you were out picking up the skirt.”
“Am I to assume I should dump every bottle?”
“Assume whatever, asshole,” Jim said.
The doorbell rang and I jerked around, adrenaline flooding my veins. The sound startled Jim, too, and his surprise fluttered up against the edges of my shock, making me think of the bird I’d detected earlier.
“There’s your ride, Jimmy. Sit tight.”
“Goddammit,” Caruthers bitched, struggling once more for good measure. Owen was up and approaching me before Jim’s next attempted attack could be properly aimed; he only managed to knock himself over.
“Come on.” His voice soft, Owen pressed his hand to the small of my back, leading me away from the door as he shut it.
“Who’s here?”
“Clean-up crew.”
“What are they cleaning up?”
“Well, they’re not here to check for rings in the tub.” Owen met my eyes, smiling to let me know he felt my question was adorably stupid. Insult made me bratty.
“Why didn’t you pass out?” I asked, not really sure what I expected to gain by asking as if I suspected him of something. The conversation about the wine stuck in my craw, though, since I’d poured him a glass too. Had he gone Dread Pirate Roberts on me and just built up some crazy immunity to drugs?
“I don’t drink.”
“But,” I started, turning to look up at him. I felt somehow helpless. “It was your wine.”
“It wasn’t, actually,” Owen corrected. His casual tone made me feel even more powerless than I already was. When I felt the werewolf from more than halfway across the living room, the sudden electricity of his emotions nearly knocked me over. It chased out the irritation, the nervousness. For a second I was lost in a jumble of mental images that I couldn’t quite clear up or understand. I didn’t want to run and hide anymore, but my brain wasn’t ready to just let go of the way the evening had gone wrong. The werewolf’s desire had muscled in on the fear, tried to seduce it into surrendering its control over me.
“Whoa,” I mumbled, leaning into Owen for support. Wine forgotten, I took an unsteady breath. Owen tried to keep a tight hold on me, but I veered away from him as we passed the couch. Making sure I was steady, he let me go and I dropped into the cushion’s embrace. Closing my eyes, I walled myself up, shoving my shields into place as well a
s I could.
“Harvard,” Owen said, his voice a greeting before it went serious. “One by the bottom of the stairs, one in the kitchen. Third’s singing in the back room.”
“Sway, Jolt.” The tone sounded like an order, though I couldn’t yet see to whom. “I’ve got the birdy.” The werewolf’s voice was painfully deep, giving me an impression of an imposingly broad barrel chest. Fighting through the crackle of lust and violence, I opened my eyes, turned to peer behind me. Just as I thought, there was a very large, stunning man looking down at Owen, nodding at the instructions he was being given. My head went fuzzy and I had trouble distinguishing words and voices. Squinting, I looked him over, trying to force my brain to work again.
He was dressed plainly enough in a bicep-baring forest green t-shirt and jeans. They were nice biceps, and I certainly understood the shirt, despite the weather outside. A blond woman and a short, heavily muscled man split off from him. Silently, they moved toward the bodies Owen had mentioned. Doing my best to keep the werewolf’s base emotions from invading my skull and taking over, I pushed to my feet.
I tottered at first, my body torn between collapsing as an escape and rushing them both. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hurt them or have my way with them, but that’s what can happen when an empath stands too close to a werewolf. And really, as far as I’m concerned, being within a city block of a werewolf is too close.
Moving around the couch, I looked him over. He was at least a full head taller than Owen, and as soon as he noticed me his mouth split into a wide grin. It somehow made the crackling of his emotions worse; I felt like someone was slapping me with a bouquet of extra thorny roses.
“Hey sugar,” he drawled. I gave him a small smile, having decided to take the flirty assault head-on, to make it clear he was getting nowhere. It didn’t work with Mel, but you never get anything if you don’t at least ask for it, right?
“How goes it, big boy?” I asked. He shifted his stance and I watched his arms flex, his spine straighten. Despite the lust hammering at me, I knew better than to assume he was hitting on me because of my cleavage or my pretty face. I could have been a sloppy, toothless, balding wretch and he would have tried to get in my pants the second it was clear I was a woman.
Business With Pleasure (Empathy in the Preternatural PNW Book 2) Page 9