Dark Daze

by Ava Delany

  Would she be as sexy as her voice? And what could he expect from her? He wanted to find out, because he’d never had a woman both ask him out and offer to pay. Paul leaned around him, eyebrows lifted.

  “How can I say no to such an enticing offer?” He frowned and ignored his friend’s enormous grin. “But I insist on paying.”

  “Deal. How about tomorrow noon?”

  “That’s not dinner, that’s lunch.”

  “So it is. How about this…we can go to a restaurant and have the waiter draw the shades so we can pretend we’re eating dinner.”

  Ian smiled. “I’ll do you one better. How about tonight? Then it will be dinner.”

  Paul gave him a thumbs-up and Ian rolled his eyes, pursing his lips to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Tonight?”

  “If you’re not too busy.”

  “No, it sounds great. I was just surprised.” She laughed—an unexpectedly sexy sound. “I don’t have any plans.”

  “You know where Amanderos is?”

  “In Apple Valley, right?”

  “Yup.” He paid no attention to Paul who pumped the air. “Six?”

  “Great, see you there.”

  She ordered the disconnect without waiting for a reply. What an unusual woman. He liked her already, which only made it harder. Why hadn’t he said he couldn’t? Made an excuse? He really didn’t want to break her heart or his own, and those were the only two options for this date.

  Paul stepped toward him, arm extended.

  “Don’t even say it.” Ian held up a hand. “For your sake, I just hope this woman is more interesting than the last. If not, you’ll hear about it, my friend.”

  “Take it up with the boss if you’re unhappy about a selection,” Paul said, his eyes shining with laughter.

  Ian grasped the dog food. Deep inside, he hoped she wouldn’t like him. Or perhaps she would be cruel or a simpleton. Anything to make this easier on both of them.

  <><><>

  Brie grabbed her dress off the end of the rumpled bed. She slipped it on as the itch began in the back of her mind—the part where the psychic twinge lived. Closing her eyes for an instant, she prayed she wouldn’t flip.

  Heading into the living room, she glanced past the overstuffed furniture and bookshelves and eyed the wall clock. Four ten. She would leave in an hour or so. She took the time to brush out her hair and apply the finishing touches to her lips, trying to suppress the twinge, which continued to needle the spot in her head. She never should have agreed to this date. What if she flipped right across the table from him? Another relationship would begin based on lies.

  Or end abruptly.

  Besides, she couldn’t flip again. She’d never done it twice in one day, or even one week. No, she was imagining it after the strange experience she’d had. It rivaled the afternoon her brother died. The aptly named Dark Day she never spoke of with others.

  Pain shot through her head, like a lightning bolt heading right for the spot on the base of her skull. Her head slammed back so hard she barely managed to keep her feet. The living room flipped, folded, and slid away.

  After a short shopping trip to resupply, Andrea already craved the quiet of her home. And the next chapter of Cold Terror. As she got in her car, she surveyed the line of vehicles leading up the hill to the local ski resort. A girl in the passenger seat of a Honda was reading the novel. She could see some of the picture and part of the title…LD…ROR.

  That girl’s copy would never be better than hers. The call, telling her she’d won an advanced reader copy and would be expected to write the first review, had been a surprise. She couldn’t even remember entering a contest. Guilt nagged at the back of her mind for not having turned in the review, which she should have turned in yesterday. Her release day review would be late. Due to problems with the post office, she hadn’t received her book until yesterday. She looked at the clock. Five twelve. Time to read her chapters.

  Pain slammed through Brie’s head, but not in the spot where her psychic twinge formed, the world went gray and fuzzy. Then Andrea faded into a cloud of blackness.

  Brie found herself standing before the door to a small diner. A chicken, sitting on an egg near the door, clucked at her in a semi-human voice, “Can I take your order, or are you leaving?”

  “It’s not safe here.” Brie wanted to move the chicken, but the neon signs offering daily specials distracted her. She pushed open the door and stepped up to the counter. A woman stood behind it, looking pale and haunted. Brie’s intuition told her the waitress held some importance. Passing a book to Brie over the counter, the woman met her gaze and nodded. A starkness filled her eyes, a quiet sadness and horror, which crept through her expression.

  “Thank you.” Brie reached out to grab the proffered book, but it was gone. “Oh dear, a twice fallen tree.”

  Brie glanced down at the bare floor, and when she looked up, the woman was gone. In her place…shadow. No, more than shadow. Something loomed, dark spiral eyes sucking light from the room, drawing her in with it.

  She whirled and ran. When she reached the door, she shoved it open and raced onto the sidewalk. The chicken squawked but she couldn’t see it on the unnaturally dark street beyond the diner. An abandoned car waited for an owner who would never return.

  Heart pounding out of control, Brie rushed past the hunk of metal and down the road. She could feel the thing closing in on her, its hot breath on her neck. Teeth and claws were ready to catch…to tear. A shriek welled in her throat but wouldn’t come. Her chest constricted, and her lungs burned from the cold air. A loud squeal behind her and something solid slammed her to the ground.

  Pillow-like softness met her when she landed. She rolled on the mattress, looking up at the man who held her. Not the demon with the empty black hole sockets, but a man with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Deep green, flecked with every color known to man. He smiled, and she calmed in an instant. He would protect her…Keep her safe. Things would be okay if he stayed with her.

  Terror flowed from her in a rush of laughter and relief flooded in to replace it. His masculine scent, mixed with pine and some fabulous spice, made her breathe deep. She pressed her nose to his strong neck and closed her eyes. Her body warmed at his closeness and wet in preparation for him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her hands to his hair. His mouth met hers, and she slid her legs up and down his thighs, enjoying the amazing sensation of his hard muscles beneath her soft skin.

  Their clothes were gone, and he devoured her like a starving man. His mouth left hers to slip over her jaw and find the sensitive spot on her throat. The menace faded into a memory long forgotten as she ran her hands over him, playing across the muscles. Arching her back, she offered herself to him.

  Brie opened her eyes, her breathing ragged. She pushed up from the floor, probing the painful bump on her head. The abrupt change in her flip and her current sprawled position told her she must not have managed to keep her feet after all. Instead, she’d been dreaming about something wonderful. A smile, a beautiful warm smile, promising nothing but happiness and peace. She’d never had a prophetic dream before, but she couldn’t help feeling it belonged to someone real.

  No. That would be too crazy.

  <><><>

  Ian tossed the last of the empty moving boxes on the pile in front of his new three-bedroom house. He’d found his secluded home while working in the hills outside Apple Valley and snatched it up quick. Most of the time, it was just Buster and him, so the remote location worked out great. Less people to worry about, if he should have a relapse. Plus, he loved the view. Past the bay window and out toward the “high desert” lights twinkled from the houses below like Christmas lights in late December. It epitomized what he wanted in life—peace, quiet, and normalcy. All the things he could never have. Not after what he’d become.

  “Come on, Buster.” Ian shook dog food into the bowl. A blur of excitement skidded around the corner at ligh
t speed and wolfed the food down in what seemed to be just three bites. Ian patted Buster on the head and moved to the reclining chair. He sat down and turned the television on, finding a local sports station.

  He’d never even liked playing sports, but for some reason he didn’t want to change the channel, so he sat through the recap of the football game. His chest swelled when the television sports anchor announced the Raiders had won.

  “Oh Yeah. Did you hear, Buster? The Raiders won!” He pumped the air twice, then glanced at Buster, who yawned and rested his chin on his paw. “Wait? The Raiders? I know they play football, but why should I care when I never cared before?”

  Buster blinked at him.

  “Do they play for this state? Or is it by city?” Ian put a knuckle to his chin, but couldn’t come up with the answer. “Oh well, they won, and the win is all that matters.”

  He got up and went to the fridge, taking out the fixings for a turkey sandwich and slathered mayonnaise onto the bread. A sudden craving for a beer struck him. He grabbed a bottle, popped the top on the edge of the counter, and took a swig. The bitter taste made him wince, and his stomach rebelled.

  “Where did this come from?” Ian stared at the bottle. Odd. He’d never even drunk more than a sip of beer before. He looked at the sandwich. “And I have dinner plans, so why am I stuffing my face?”

  Buster remained curled up in the corner, unimpressed by the magic beer.

  Ian’s uncle had been a big beer-drinking football fan, but it never rubbed off. Women, during pregnancy, can crave things they would otherwise never consider eating. Ian had read it somewhere. He placed the sandwich into a baggie. Maybe something could cause this to happen in a man.

  “Well Buster,” Ian said, washing the crumbs off his hands, “I think I might be pregnant, boy, and I don’t even know who the mother is. Shame on me.”

  Buster seemed to roll his eyes before looking away, as if his master’s sense of humor wasn’t to his taste.

  “Everyone’s a critic.” Ian stepped back toward the chair, but before he reached it, a loud crash came from outside.

  Buster rushed to the door, barking his “big dog” bark, the one that told him danger—at least in Buster’s eyes—was near.

  “Probably a raccoon.” But the sound was cacophonous. Far more noise than a raccoon could make.

  Could he have been discovered? Were they coming to run him off?

  No. It had been more than six months since his last episode, which hadn’t been in front of anyone.

  Ian tried to still his jittering nerves. He held a finger up. “Silent.” Buster quieted at the command and moved to Ian’s left side, where he would remain until Ian gave the command to relax. He moved to the utilitarian coat closet near the front door and grabbed his Smith and Wesson .45 from the gun safe on the shelf, leaving the safety on. Well-trained as he had been, he could remove it and fire at the same time if he needed to.

  Just in case. He racked the slide and chambered a round.

  He opened the front door and moved along the small porch in a crouch. Both he and Buster remained silent, watchful. Ian searched for the source of the crash. Something had toppled the bulky metal garbage cans. The lids—meant to keep critters out—lay next to the overturned cans, but whatever had done it must have been scared off.

  “Release.” Ian commanded, but Buster remained by his side, whining. “It’s okay. Just those stupid raccoons after all.”

  He turned and stepped back into the house. Buster paced him.

  “I’m going to write a letter to the company responsible for making those trash cans.” He replaced the gun in its hiding spot. “Raccoons are the reason I bought them. If they can’t keep them out what good are they?”

  He walked back to where the cans lay, Buster at his side alternately whining and growling.

  “Buster, release.”

  He bent to pick up the bags and stuff them back into the cans. Long jagged puncture marks covered the trashcan lids. He paused in the midst of hefting a sealed black bag. He understood now why Buster was acting so strange. A bear must be on the property.

  Ian moved back from the cans. Bears could be territorial about food and he didn’t want to piss this one off over a little garbage. A bullet wasn’t as effective against a bear as it was against a human. He glanced around, hoping it wouldn’t be close. The shadows seemed to close in around him. Buster’s whining became more insistent. Ian swallowed hard to dislodge the lump forming in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He’d seen bears many times in his life. They didn’t scare him, nor did they scare Buster, who was friendly to all beasts. So why were they reacting like a couple of puppies who needed to be weaned?

  He caught a glint to his right. When he turned his head, his pulse thundered in his throat. A hulking, dark figure perhaps twelve feet tall lurked in the shadows—seemed to be made of the shadows. Two glowing eyes focused on him—well, not eyes exactly—more like dark holes, sucking all light into their void.

  Ian’s heart tried to break out of his chest. He froze to the spot. Even Buster ceased his loud whining and stood unmoving at his side, growling now. Ian stared, transfixed, an eternity within a moment, unable to breathe. A long sniffing came from the direction of the shadow.

  Taking a step back, Ian lifted a hand toward the menace. His skin tingled. Blue arcs snapped along his fingertips, and he curled his hands into balls to repress the current.

  “Shit.” Ian turned, like a six-year-old boy afraid of the boogeyman, and raced to the house with Buster at his side. He stumbled over the steps. His knees crashed into the edge of the stair, sending sparks of pain through his kneecaps. He scrambled to his feet and through the door. Once inside, he leaned against the solid wood, sweat covering his forehead and palms, and took deep, gulping breaths.

  When Ian’s breathing had slowed, he shook his head to clear it. Had he actually been fleeing from the boogeyman…the shadows and his own imagination? It had been a long time since he’d behaved that way, and he was a little ashamed of himself for his weakness.

  He’d crackled.

  Two long strides took him to the window. Please God, don’t let anyone be standing there with wide eyes and an open mouth. He peered out, and the road was empty as far as the eye could see.

  Ian’s muscles twitched one last time then relaxed. He went into the bathroom to take a shower and clean the lingering sweat and fear from his skin. Otherwise, his date would take one look—or sniff—and go running. As he shut the door to the small bathroom, Buster sat in the entryway, keeping vigil against the shadows beyond.

  Chapter Three

  The wooden face of Amanderos nestled among the trees near Apple Valley. Brie hadn’t been inside before, but the idea of a Mexican/Italian bar and grill that booked metal bands on Saturday nights had always intrigued her. Her date choosing this place, of all places, intrigued her even more. A traditional guy with a wild streak, what an entertaining concept.

  She moved through the lantern-lit room and sat at the bar. The drawn shades gave the illusion of evening as she searched the faces. They hadn’t exchanged descriptions, and Mandy’s sole account had been of his great butt. Fat lot of help that would be. She glanced at her watch: a minute after six. Several men sat alone in the crowded restaurant. The blond at the bar held his i-com and smiled intimately at the table. He wasn’t looking for someone. The person he spoke with was his love.

  A short, red-haired man in a business suit waved to the bartender and told him he wanted the special. Nope. A sandy-haired man sat in a nearby booth, watching her. She smiled when she caught his eye. He nodded to her. She flipped her long hair back from her shoulder, smoothed her skirt, and stopped, halfway off the chair.

  A man walked into the room, and the air fled in his presence replaced by crackles of electricity. His broad chest and muscular arms didn’t scream realtor, but something drew her to him like gravity to the earth, though she wasn’t intentionally using her intuition. He had a masculine power in the swing of his a
rms and shoulders. It struck her as extremely erotic. Her lungs quaked, and she drew the first breath in far too long.

  For a second time, she smoothed her skirt over her round thighs, desperately hoping he would like her new dress. Strange that she should wish he liked her before she even knew who this man was.

  Besides, it wasn’t like he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. His nose was a touch too narrow, and his eyes a bit too large, but Mandy was right. He had something special, something luminous about him. It buried her so she couldn’t move, even after her i-com began to ring in her purse, called by the one he lifted to his ear.

  When he walked over to her and smiled, she almost dropped back into the chair. The smile. The one from her dreams. She didn’t have premonitions, so it couldn’t be, but it seemed like it was there, in the flesh. She grinned her brightest and gestured toward a nearby stool.

  Oh God. She would have to lie to him. They would have a relationship, and she would have to lie, and it would end horribly. But this would be worse than all the others, because she knew him already. Her heart, or perhaps her soul, shouted it. Tingles of electric heat flowed along her arms as he moved closer. Her body was certainly acting as if it belonged to him.

  She cleared her throat, praying her face didn’t show her thoughts. “I assume you’re Ian. I’m Brie.”

  He stared and his mouth worked, but nothing came out. Yes, he liked the dress, which hugged her assets even better than she’d expected. She glanced away at a nearby plant to give him a moment to collect himself. He cleared his throat. “Uh…yes. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Brie hadn’t seen him in so long. The excitement whirring in her chest. Wait. She’d never seen him, nevertheless she wanted nothing more than to sit and reminisce with him like old friends. But they weren’t old friends, and they might not have a future.