After they finally crossed, she asked, “Did you buy that Range Rover new?”
“Yes. Get in.”
She scoured him with condescension before she said, “Must be nice.”
He’d nearly strangled her.
She lived with a rich person. She hung around her roommate’s rich friends. She occasionally went to rich-people parties. She was jonesing after a rich person. To all of that, Andy said she was sweet, smiley, and extremely blasé. Nothing bothered this girl when it came to money.
Except for Devon, apparently, even though he’d earned it all. Growing up, his mother hadn’t even told him about his shifter genes. Then, when they’d materialized, she’d given him an ultimatum: ignore the summons or be cut off. She’d wrongly assumed the threat would scare him into staying with his family. It hadn’t. He didn’t respond to bullying, even from his own mother. He’d made his money by working hard and rising in the ranks, not to mention investing well. He’d gotten into that school on his own, too.
Which he’d screamed at Charity after losing his temper yet again.
Her response?
Snorting and looking out the window. As if she didn’t believe him. As if he wasn’t living up to her expectations.
For some reason, he alone ticked her off. Now he had to live with her, work with her—thank God he had different classes, or he’d quit his job altogether.
Part of him wanted to scream at her. Or wrap his fingers around her neck and shake. But as the hideaway key turned in the lock, those thoughts fled.
He snatched her back from the door and thrust her behind him.
“Wait,” he seethed. “Anything could be in there.”
“I thought you said they couldn’t go out in daylight?”
He felt her palm press to the center of his back, keeping tabs on his body movement. She wanted to feel his intentions so she’d know which way to dive. Smart.
“They sleep during the day, but it doesn’t mean they won’t go active if their territory is invaded. This is Samantha’s residence. She’ll define it as her territory, and if she’s inside, as soon as it’s breached, she’ll rise to defend it. And any other vamp with her.”
Charity sucked in a breath. In a shaky voice, she asked, “How do you kill them?”
He took in the smells—the stale whiff of vampire, a pungent, musty scent that clashed with the sweetness of Charity—and lowered the gun as a car drove past. “With a gun, you shoot them in the heart. You can also rip off their heads or expose them to sunlight. The problem is, these bloodsuckers are beyond fast. If there are more than one or two in here, we need to get out. No fighting, no trying to defend yourself—get out.”
“I know.”
Yes, she did. Probably better than he.
He nodded and put his shoulder to the door. It was the first time he might have to confront one of these creatures without fur.
“Keep your wits,” he whispered. “We need to stick together. We need to have each other’s backs.”
“Like a pack.”
Dillon was right—give her the rules, and get out of the way. This all might be new to her, but she had street smarts in spades. “Exactly. Like a pack.”
He took a deep, steadying breath. He needed to trust her like he would his pack mates, but it was hard, given everything she didn’t know about her own magic.
“If anyone’s here, I’m banking on it just being Samantha,” he said, grabbing the handle. “New vamps are solitary beings. They’re hunters. Only when their appetite is sated will they fall back into their previous lives as humans. They’ll remember schedules and clutch on to their failing humanity. For a while, anyway. Until that erodes away.”
“I know what you and the others think, but Samantha isn’t one of these creatures,” Charity murmured, defiance in her voice. “She made it out. She did. She would’ve seen through it—she’s smarter than people give her credit for.”
Devon stayed silent, letting her keep that fantasy for a while longer.
He peered into the gloom without crossing the threshold. The vampire stench thickened. He could only pick out one signature, though, and it lacked the subtle aroma of lingering decay, something common with the older ones.
A young vamp had blown through. It had probably come here to escape the mayhem at the party. It hadn’t known to seek refuge in the Realm, so it had gone home. But it was starving. It would have had to leave to find food.
Unless…
Had the vamp come for solace, or dinner?
He turned slowly to glance down at Charity’s fearful yet determined features. She knew the truth—he could see it in those velvet-brown eyes—she just didn’t want to believe it. Samantha probably pissed on her constantly, but Charity thought of her as a friend. She was preparing herself to see a friend die.
Devon’s stomach twisted in sympathy.
“I don’t think anything’s in here,” he said softly.
Charity met his eyes, a plea not far from the surface.
“I’ll still go in with you, just in case,” he continued after a pause.
“A vampire has been in here, hasn’t it?” Charity asked. Her chin raised a fraction, but the action didn’t hide the worry in her eyes.
He nodded slowly, staying connected with her gaze. Trying to keep her rooted.
“And a different one wouldn’t have come here unless it was looking for me,” she said.
“Correct. But only an older one would be looking for you. An older one hasn’t come through here.”
Her face fell. She lowered her chin.
He turned back to the door and glanced at the threshold. He was about to find out if he was wrong.
He stepped through the door.
All that awaited him was silence and the stale air of a closed-up house. He reached back for Charity and felt her palm connect with his. It was extremely unlikely that a demon would creep up behind them and rip Charity away, but weirder things had happened. He wanted to make sure she stayed with him.
Pop.
A thrill ran through his body. He looked to the right, waiting. Four smaller pops followed before silence regained its dominance.
“The house makes sounds all the time,” Charity whispered, pushing her side up against his backside. She must’ve been watching their six. She might’ve been a novice to magic, but thank God she wasn’t a novice to danger. “It’s old. Solid, but it shifts, I guess. Settles.”
Devon took another step into the stuffy space. Charity stepped with him, their movements perfectly in sync.
“Done some burglary?” he asked despite himself, his lips lifting in a grin. Only those up to mischief could move like this. He should know.
“Where I grew up, there was nothing to steal except drugs, and that would get someone dead real quick.” She paused as they stepped again. “The bedrooms are at the back.”
They walked with unneeded stealth through an entryway that opened up into a modest living room with brand-new furniture. A side hallway led back to a kitchen.
“This place seems small for someone like Samantha,” Devon said quietly, not wanting to disturb the static of the house. “You still watching our six?”
“Yeah. We’re clear. Her parents were trying to teach her humility.”
Devon snorted as they reached the kitchen and kept edging down the hallway. Two rooms branched off, one large, a master suite, and a smallish bedroom. As expected, Charity walked past him into the smaller room. Once inside, she snatched a duffel bag from the back of her closet and dropped it in front of a particle-board dresser.
Devon stepped into Samantha’s room. A whirlwind of clothes and jewelry littered the various surfaces, representing thousands of dollars’ worth of fashion. A whiff of vamp lingered in the stagnant air. In contrast, the moment he stepped into Charity’s sparse, orderly room, he received a punch of vamp smell.
It had definitely come back for Charity. When it couldn’t find its easy prey, it had left for other attractions.
No
t good.
“Why not leave her in the dorm?” Devon asked, picking up their conversation.
“Apparently some things cannot be tolerated.”
Devon thought he heard a little snark in that statement. Was she judging Samantha?
He leaned forward to get a glimpse of Charity’s face. Passive as always.
Why the hell was she giving him such a hard time when she’d let Samantha off so easily? He nearly asked, but a part of him feared the answer. For some reason, he didn’t want this woman to stand in judgment of him.
Any more than she already had, that was.
But he couldn’t let it go. “Why’d you move with her? Why didn’t you stay in the dorms?”
Charity looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you kidding? Why did I leave the dorms…for a house?” She laughed softly and opened her top dresser drawer. “Samantha’s okay. When she isn’t trying to live up to other people’s expectations for snobbery, she’s mostly down-to-earth. I pay the same rent for a lot more space. I’d be a freaking dummy not to tag along.”
Devon had to agree. He’d hated the dorms.
He crossed the room and peeked through the curtain. “Your luck, you’d probably get another yup-yup anyway.”
“Exactly. One without any redeeming qualities. Like you.” Charity laughed, a carefree sound that bespoke of green fields and blooming flowers.
Devon shook his head, but he felt himself thawing. He wiped the pad of his finger across the desk and then rubbed it against his thumb. No dust. He shook the desk, and then stopped when it wobbled fiercely. She’d probably found it on the street. No frame held her full-sized bed, and besides a random marble and a few crystals, her one decorative item was a porcelain statue of a ballerina. The pink paint on the tutu was worn and faded. Cracks lined the legs and arms.
“Where’d you get the ballerina?” He touched it gently, feeling the cool surface, before glancing at the deserted hallway, just in case.
Charity shrugged. “It was my mom’s when she was a kid. She left it to me.”
Devon didn’t miss the tightness around her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. She was trying to hide some sort of vulnerability, he’d bet his life on it. Her mother hadn’t given it to her at all. That old statue was something her mother had left behind, much like Charity. Whereas Devon would’ve thrown the thing against the wall, followed by anything else within grabbing distance, Charity had clutched it to her heart in remembrance. She savored the memory of the woman who’d walked away.
Devon’s fists clenched and he ground his teeth. He turned toward the door. “Hurry up. The sun’s starting to set.”
“Jesus, don’t flip moods all that quickly, do you? Pretty even-keeled, then?”
Devon ignored her as she crossed to the closet, taking out three sweaters that looked old, faded, and moth-eaten. The way she delicately removed them, she might’ve been handling evening dresses. She folded them with care and tucked them into her duffel bag over the top of worn jeans and faded T-shirts. After that, the only thing left in the room was an ancient laptop.
It was then he realized what Andy had meant about being poor. Dirt poor. Those sweaters were her nice clothes. When she went out somewhere respectable, she wore faded jeans and one of those tatty sweaters.
Devon ran his hand through his hair, blindsided by sympathy.
She’d been left by her mother, then her first love, and still she trudged on. With nothing but her intelligence and determination.
It was commendable, which was probably why Roger had given her that weird smile.
Devon blew out an aggressive sigh and nearly punched the wall. He didn’t like when crap like this pushed past his barricades. It messed with his focus, which might get him thrown out of Roger’s pack. Why the hell had he been saddled with this detail? He was a greenie sub-alpha in a pack of college kids. He didn’t know the first thing about protecting someone, and he wasn’t great at keeping women happy, either. This sort of thing wasn’t in his wheelhouse, and even if it had been, someone as important as Charity apparently was needed a heavy hitter. Someone who had been in the trenches for a while. Someone who could throw down if Vlad came calling.
“You have a whole language made up of scoffs and grunts,” Charity said as she checked under her bed. “I can’t decide if it’s good or bad that I don’t speak it.”
“How much longer?” he asked.
The only thing left in sight was a picture in a cheap, fake silver frame. A haggard and worn woman looked out from a round, sun-damaged face. Her thin eyebrows hung low over her dark brown eyes. Pronounced crow’s-feet etched her skin and stress lines marred her forehead. For all that, her smile was large and radiant, with a sparkle in her eyes for the picture taker.
“I took that a year before she left,” Charity said, noticing his gaze. She sighed. “We snuck into the county fair and spent the day looking and watching.”
“Looking and watching?”
“Yeah. At cows, pigs, crafts, people, kids—we went from place to place within the fair and looked at everything. I found a few tickets and rode a ride. It twirled me, spun me, flipped me upside down—oh man, it was awesome!”
Charity’s eyes sparkled in pleasure, and her smile lit up her face, radiating a beauty that pumped up from somewhere hidden. All too soon, her bearing tensed and she sobered, her gaze finding the picture again. Pain flashed across her dainty features before she turned back to her duffel.
“My dad got worse after that,” she went on in a soft voice. She carefully picked up the frame. “More violent. She had never smiled much, and after that day, I don’t remember her smiling at all. But that one day, we both laughed like children. It was the best day I can remember.”
Charity hurriedly swiped a tear off her face. “She was forty-five in that picture.”
Devon tore his eyes away from Charity’s face in surprise. The woman looked at least ten years older. Life had unabashedly ripped away her vitality. It was too bad.
“Anyway.” The picture was placed on top of the clothes. The duffel had room to spare. “I’m ready.”
“You won’t be back here for a while; it’s too dangerous. Take everything.”
“I got it,” Charity said, glancing down at her bag.
“What about shoes?” She’d only grabbed one holey pair. He looked in her completely bare closet.
Charity’s face closed down, a hint of embarrassment showing in a flush. She squared her body to him, and her magic slammed into his, almost knocking the breath out of him.
Ah. Right. She didn’t have anything else. He let it go.
He jerked his head toward her dinosaur laptop. “You gonna leave that?”
She scowled. “I was going to grab it on the way out.”
“All right, then let’s go.” Devon scooped up her laptop, let her grab the ballerina, and motioned her out of the room.
“Yes, I know it’s old,” Charity said with a stiff back as she led the way, “but it works.”
Devon didn’t look down at the computer. “At least you have one.”
He barely heard her sigh. “Exactly.”
As they passed the kitchen, Charity dipped in toward the cabinets.
“What are you doing?” he asked, peering out the windows.
When he glanced back, she was ripping food out of one of the cupboards, piling it into a brown paper bag.
“Are you kidding me? The vamps will be waking up shortly, and the newbies will be starving. They need a crapload of blood in the first few weeks. Sam might be coming back here. This is not the time for a snack.”
He jogged toward her and reached for her arm. She ducked out of the way and grabbed out some more cans.
“I just want to grab a couple things.”
“Charity, I have food at the house. Let’s go!”
She grabbed a box of what looked like granola bars and dashed to the fridge.
“You aren’t serious. You aren’t.” He was losing patience. “Come on!”
>
“Yup.” She dropped the last few items into the paper bag, then zipped down the hall and out of the house, emerging into the new night. Alone.
Swallowing back a curse, he launched after her. She was already at the car door by the time he exited the house, too fast for her own good. Shaking his head, blood rushing in his ears, he did a quick glance around before he clicked the fob, unlocking only the driver’s-side door. Ducking into the car, he checked it with his nose. Only the regular smells. No trespassers. No vamps.
“Are you dumb, or something?” he yelled across the hood, completely out of control.
She didn’t react to his temper like his pack did—she simply frowned. “Why?”
He opened his mouth then closed it. He was completely at a loss for words.
Movements jerky with anger, he unlocked her door. Once she was safely in the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat, waited for her attention, and then made a show of looking in the back seat.
“Did you see what I did there?” he asked as he pushed the ignition button. “I checked the back.”
“I saw that, yes. And you are implying I didn’t and should have?”
“Wow, you are astute, Miss Taylor. I can see how you’ve made it so far.”
“Did you think that maybe you could’ve just told me that, instead of being a dick about it?”
“I shouldn’t have to teach you logic.”
“I have a different frame of logic than you do, obviously, since the car was locked until you stepped out of the house with your clicker thingy.”
Devon gripped the steering wheel so he didn’t grip her neck. Her magic poked and prodded him, and her smell threatened to melt him through, making this confrontation a hundred times worse.
Willing himself to be calm, he said, “Okay, fine. Look, you need to let me lead you out of places. You need to always assume things have been left unlocked, because many creatures with magic aren’t impeded by human electronics. Or deadbolts. Magic is the only key they need. You have to defer to me—”
She huffed.
“—until you know what you are doing. Okay?”
She barely nodded, but she did. Devon took a large breath and shook his head.
Warrior Fae Trapped: A DDVN Book Page 11