Switch of Fate 3

by Lisa Ladew

  Chapter 9 - A Laugh Riot

  Riot had left Gemma at Resperanza, stuck hoofing it back to the hospital, because no one was around who would give him a ride. In the forest, in the dark, he’d removed his clothes, stashed them, shifted, and run it. He hit another cache, dressed, and stalked the last half-mile to the hospital where Gemma had been. He walked the parking lot for a full half-hour, scenting and spying into the shadows, before he felt sure there were no vampires around.

  Finally, he took the key Gemma had salvaged from the vampire’s pocket and make a circuit, pressing the unlock button and waiting for lights to flash.

  Halfway around the lot, a black convertible Chrysler with a sleek profile chirped and flashed, and Riot moved toward the car as if he owned it. He climbed inside, put the key in the ignition, and drove five minutes to a deserted road where he sometimes parked his bike to start a climb. Gonna have to cross this spot off the list from now on.

  Following Gemma’s lead, he took a few minutes to dig through the glove box, center console, even the trunk. The vehicle was as clean as a rental car. Riot ripped a bit of cloth off his t-shirt and wiped down all the surfaces he’d touched, then he walked away.

  He texted Jameson, figuring someone else should know what he’d done. J’s reply came back quickly: You back in? Meeting. 0800. Barracks.

  Riot growled to himself. Was he back in? Riot had no love for the Cause, but he had promised Gemma he’d be back. He could hang around a little longer, be a familiar face in a strange place, at least until she got settled.

  He texted Jameson back: I’ll be there.

  It was past midnight and the night was dark and quiet and cold. Riot hiked back up the mountain and through the dark forest to the twin boulders where he’d hidden his stash. He grabbed the sack of bud and made his way to the cliffside above where his motorcycle waited. Was I seriously bitching about this a few hours ago? I’d take making this climb in the pitch black ten times over the shit I went through tonight.

  Except for that kiss.

  Nothing in his life to date had rocked Riot like that kiss had. At least not in a good way. He swore he could taste Gemma every time he licked his lips, and her scent seemed to swirl around him with every step. So you shower and brush your teeth, dumbass. Simple as that. But he could still feel the heat of her thighs in his palms, Riot realized, as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

  Shaking his head to clear it of the memories, Riot stripped down to nothing and stuffed his clothes into the already-bulging pack he carried, tied his bootlaces and slung them around the straps. A quick shift and he grabbed the pack with his strong jaws, his sensitive nose tickling at the sprucey-sweetness of the cannabis so close to it. In case you needed a reminder of just one of the reasons why you can’t let anything happen with Gemma.

  Riot growled into the darkness as he leapt from ledge to razor-thin ledge down the cliffside, his paws landing with absolute assurance, his long tail helping to balance the extra weight he carried in his jaws. Shit like this? A proverbial cakewalk. But trying to balance between who he wanted to be and who he needed to be? Riot growled again and heard a small animal skitter away from him, into the underbrush.

  Less than thirty minutes later he was down the cliffside, dressed, and heading back to Resperanza to fulfill his promise, only allowing the thought of sleep to occupy his mind. He had the basics in his saddlebags and would get the rest of his stuff from the twins’ place later. Sleep first.

  Riot parked his bike in front of the slash marks on the wall in the garage, dropped his shit in his room, and suddenly didn't feel even a little bit tired. All Riot could think about was that Gemma was in this house, would be sleeping under the same roof as him. Gemma. Here. He still couldn’t get over the crazy serendipity of it.

  He wondered what her reaction had been when she stepped inside Resperanza. Did it sink into her bones like home, the way it had for Riot, even though he’d deny it if anyone asked? Had she found a room, built special for her, and everything she needed to be a switch of Breath Coven? Had they answered her questions? Had they told her about shifters? Riot’s stomach twisted. He’d know once they did. Just by her eyes. The thought made his guts lurch.

  So he wandered, trying to settle his nerves. Into the big rec room downstairs at first, thinking he’d grab a beer from the little fridge behind the bar and watch some giant TV until his eyes got heavy. But the second he opened the fridge his stomach growled almost as loud as his cat could, and Riot aimed upstairs instead, towards the kitchen that had never yet failed to be fully stocked with his favorites.

  But as he hit the top step Riot heard the sweetest, softest sigh behind him. He stopped in his tracks. Turned. Gazed deep into the gargantuan room before him, past the television and cozy ivory couches, into the rounded walls of the library beyond.

  She looked impossibly small, curled in the oversized chair, a colorful blanket wrapped around her delicate frame. Sleeping. Like a tiny pixie curled in a bird’s nest. Riot walked closer.

  I have to wake her, but… Riot swallowed. If they told her, then I’ve already seen her smile for the last time. The thought was almost enough to stop him, make him turn around and go downstairs and wait until morning to face the pain. Won’t hurt any less then. Suck it up.

  Riot’s jaw ached, he had it clenched so tight. He said her name quietly, so as not to scare her. “Gemma.” She didn’t budge.

  He said it again. Nothing. Probably crashed out as soon as she sat down. No wonder, after a day like today, all the ass-kicking she did. Shit, I’m sore. But if she stays curled up like that she’s going to be even worse off tomorrow. Riot said her name again, determined to wake her so she could find a more comfortable spot to sleep. “Gemma.”

  Still nothing.

  Ah, hell, was he going to have to touch her? Because that was going to make Riot think again about things he shouldn’t, like how candy-sweet her lips had tasted, or how good her slender legs had felt wrapped around him. Well, once she was done trying to crush my internal organs. Riot tried one more time to wake her with her name alone, saying it softly, almost hoping it wouldn’t work, cursing himself for his weakness. “Gemma.”

  Zilch. Riot took a deep breath as he crouched down and reached out to give Gemma’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Hey, Gemma, wake up.”

  She came to at once, her amber eyes flying wide for a second before they focused in on his. The change that came over them was immediate, going all soft with trust. Riot couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. His mother didn’t count.

  They didn’t tell her. Thank the Great Cat, they didn’t tell her. Riot felt the tension drain from his shoulders.

  It didn’t last.

  Seeing those eyes looking at him with such faith and compassion just drove home how unworthy Riot was of either virtue. And there’s no point in wishing things were different.

  * * *

  Gemma was dreaming. She was back in the forest again, the vampire in his designer clothes lying dead at her feet. She clutched her knife close and felt it grip her right back.

  A swish of leaves behind her and she whirled to face the sound, but saw nothing. Only flashing green eyes in the shadows of an ancient tree whose limbs spread wide and seemed to reach for her. “Who’s there?” she called, bringing her knife up in front of her chest.

  Movement in the shadows, and then she could see him. Stalking towards her with a heat in his eyes that reminded her of the Science Scouts camp where they’d thrown borax on the fire to turn it green. Those eyes felt like burning. Gemma stood straighter. No fear. Ready for him.

  He glanced at her hand, the one gripping her weapon, and moved closer still. Gently took her wrist in his fingers to hold it steady, placing the tip of her blade against his bare chest as he met her eye. “You know me.”

  Gemma blinked, confused. Did she? Know him? But at once an answering calm suffused her, relaxing the muscles of her face into a contented smile. Riot. She let the knife and her hand
fall to her side. “Do you know me?”

  Riot leaned in, the curve of his smiling cheek so close she could feel it practically touching hers. “You’re Gemma.” He kissed the skin just in front of her ear and said it again. “Gemma.” Moved to her temple and pressed his lips there. “Gemma.” Her forehead. “Gemma.” And then he aimed for her lips… but stopped to grab her shoulder and shake it. “Hey, Gemma, wake up.”

  She came to with a start, then jumped again when she focused on Riot’s face only inches away. His real face, with tired eyes and a day's worth of stubble on his strong jaw. And decidedly not kissing her. I was better off sleeping.

  Except Gemma didn’t believe that. Not at all. Riot Cofield in the flesh was better than anything her mind could ever conjure. His green eyes looked down into hers, so much more open than they’d ever been before, reminding her of the fire they’d held in her dream. Gemma felt her heart lift in response. He came back. Just like he said he would.

  Then he blinked, and the light in Riot’s eyes was shuttered, as if someone had blown out a candle deep in his soul. Gemma almost sat forward to ask what was wrong, but held herself back when he spoke up, lifted his chin in the direction of the book in her lap. “What are you doing in here, Gemma? It’s the middle of the night.”

  Gemma knew how to take a hint, even one she didn’t like. Got it. No late-night shenanigans, just business. She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and yawned, stretching her arms above her head, then picked up the book that she’d fallen into like a canyon and offered it to Riot. “I got distracted.”

  Riot took it to a podium at the end of the room, just in front of the wall of books, a small smile on his face. “Your first puzzle here. I’m not surprised. Didn’t you solve all of Mr. Mesic’s eco-challenges in one semester?” Gemma’s jaw dropped in surprise, but Riot just shook his head as he set the book down and turned back to face her. “You know those were supposed to take us the whole year, right?”

  Gemma blushed. She had not known that. But more importantly: Riot had noticed all that? Gemma tried not to read anything into it, given the distance he seemed to want to keep between them now.

  Riot spoke softly, like he couldn’t help himself, staring at her. “It’s nice to have a familiar face around.”

  Gemma swallowed against the shimmer of pleasure that wanted to suffuse her entire body just from knowing Riot truly remembered her. The memory of Gemma’s dream washed over her, of Riot smiling into her heart and saying her name, and she almost made the mistake of telling him about it.

  “I’ll head to the hotel,” she said, instead.

  Riot inhaled, his jaw tight. “There’s plenty of room for you here.”

  Gemma smiled at that, trying to maintain her outward chill, but inside she was tween-girling out. Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, I’m sleeping over at Riot’s house! “Are you sure? That would make my job a lot easier.” Her story stretched out in her mind. TSK, Jinelle. Vampires. Undiscovered languages. She never wanted to leave.

  Riot stiffened and nodded. “Let’s find your room.” He aimed for the kitchen at the back of the house but made a sharp left before he reached it, and another past the stairs to the basement, to walk down a wide hallway towards the front door. Gemma ran to follow.

  She glanced into open doors as they passed them; a powder room, and a small, simple bedroom. “Why not this one?”

  He turned back to see where she was looking, and shook his head without meeting her eye. “That one’s spoken for. Old friend of Jameson’s.”

  How many people live in this house? Goldie and Flint, Cora and her fiancé Jameson, Goldie’s sister, Flint’s brother, Riot, and now this friend? That was eight, right there, and Riot said there was plenty of room? The house must be massive.

  As they passed the front door and continued down the hallway Gemma started to feel apprehensive, like maybe she should turn and make a run for the real world before it was too late. Not that she felt she was in danger here. Just the opposite, especially with Riot around. In fact what unnerved Gemma so badly was that she couldn’t explain why everything felt so right.

  She was used to making choices quickly, gathering the evidence around her as rapidly as she could and reacting thoughtfully to it, like her childhood hero Nancy Drew. She’d trained her instincts so well over the years, honing them to a point after high school, that at this stage of her life Gemma rarely questioned them.

  But the problem, dammit, was that none of the evidence she was basing her choices on tonight made any kind of sense! A parking spot with her name on it, and the people who lived here thought the house painted it? A man she lusted after and trusted a dozen years ago suddenly showing up in her life again, at just the right time, with a knife that felt like it had been hers forever and in some strangely intimate way? If the shit going on around her didn’t make sense, how could Gemma hope to do any better?

  She was just about to bring up the idea of leaving, calling her hotel to see if they had a room after all, when Gemma spied what was coming up ahead. Another spacious circular room, the second of the twin turrets she'd noticed as they drove up, marking the front corners of the sprawling hacienda with an undeniable grandeur. But whereas the first turret was filled with books, this one was packed with fruit plants.

  Gemma looked around with wide eyes. “This house is a story all in itself.”

  There were raspberries and blackberries ripening on one clump of bushes in terra cotta planters, and she was pretty sure that was lettuce gathered around the bases of a handful of citrus trees that sported tiny fruit dangling from their limbs. Her gaze rose to the glass ceiling and she marveled at the ingenuity of the designer, creating an indoor garden beneath a flawless view of the stars above.

  Around the perimeter of the room a staircase with a wrought-iron railing rose, dripping with fuzzy brown fruit. Kiwi?

  Gemma’s eyes closed in a slow blink. Whatever. Fruit salad tomorrow. Right now I just want a bed. She started toward the staircase with confidence, calling back to Riot, “This way, right?”

  She’d gone five steps up before she realized Riot wasn’t following her. Gemma turned around and looked down at him. “I thought we were going to find me a room.”

  Sea green eyes bored into Gemma’s with an intensity she didn't understand. “It’s better if you find it on your own.” Then he turned and walked back down the hall through which they’d come, a murmured “Goodnight” drifting back to her.

  Chapter 10 - Feels Just Riot

  Gemma turned to make her way up the stairs, confused again. He brings me here, then he goes off on his own. He says there’s room for me, then leaves me to find it. Why the push-me, pull-you dance?

  Maybe Riot was just trying to make her feel welcome in this crazy-fantastic place without overstepping any boundaries, blurring any lines. He was totally the type of guy women would get hung up on if they were desperate and he was too friendly.

  I should give him some space, let him know I’m not the type to cling. That’ll probably help. In Gemma’s observation as part of the boys’ club of journalism, a man who was attracted to a woman but not showing it only did that if he’d been burned before, if he thought there was too big a chance that sex would lead to her going batshit crazy and making his life a living hell.

  But Gemma wasn’t like that. She could keep sex and feelings separate. Or at least, she always had before. And even if she fucked it up this time, it wasn’t like she was the type to boil Riot’s bunny, and if he could remember her problem-solving skills then he should know that. So why the reluctance? Best she could figure, he just wasn’t attracted, forest-floor kiss or not. And that sucked, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she could argue her way past.

  Gemma sighed as she reached the top of the stairs and an arched opening that led to a hallway came into view. She stepped under the arch and her gaze was drawn to the door at the far end. Of all the doors, it was the only one that was open.

  Gemma stopped short. Walking down a hallway i
n a strange house in the middle of the night toward an open door? Instead of an unpleasant wariness, she felt the same excitement she had before, when she’d been looking at the Keeper’s Book for the first time. A buzz in her belly told Gemma she was on the cusp of a great discovery, and she better get to it.

  She continued down the hall, marveling at the deep calm she felt under the excitement. No nervous jitters, no temptation to look over her shoulder or ready herself for a surprise attack. Something wonderful was behind that door. Gemma used one hand to push it slowly open.

  It was not a bedroom, like she’d been expecting. It was a home office. A cool one, though. She stepped inside, plans to find a bed momentarily forgotten, and smiled around at the cozy space.

  The centerpiece of the room was a sofa, a big, comfy one like Gemma had always wanted to have, where she could flop with her laptop to read or take a power nap before getting back to a story. One stretch of wall was covered in panels of dry erase and cork boards so big and spacious, Gemma itched to outline an article on them. And a large but minimalist bureau with its doors folded back revealed a self-contained workspace, with a laptop resting on a small desk and a printer on a shelf above it. A multitude of cubbies in the doors held office supplies.

  No bed, though. Gemma was about to turn back to the hallway and resume the hunt when something caught her eye in the space under the desk, where someone’s feet would rest as they worked. Her bag.

  Gemma headed in and grabbed at it. A closer look at the laptop on the desk showed that it was hers, too.

  A door on the wall opposite the desk caught her attention and Gemma walked over, wrenching it open. A bathroom. But not just any bathroom, she silently marveled. The most luxurious, glamorous, restful bathroom she’d ever seen. With a jacuzzi tub big enough to swim in, and a separate shower that - Gemma could see around the walk-in walls - sported not one, not two, but three fully-adjustable shower heads. Plus a spacious vanity with lighting that made her skin look rich and flawless? She couldn’t help but speak her thoughts aloud. “Resperanza, are you for real?” Nice bathrooms were one of Gemma’s weaknesses, and this one was the best she’d seen.