Gathering Storm

by Danann, Victoria

  The only light in the room was coming from the garden lights and filtered through the windowed walls. Glen closed that door behind him and turned to face her. His eyes ran up and down her body slowly in a conspicuous way. It made Rosie feel self-conscious enough to have to resist curling up into a protective ball. The fact that she felt like he did it deliberately to unsettle her also sparked her anger.

  “So you’ve changed?”

  What she was dying to know was, do you like what you see? What she said was, “You can always be counted on for sharp insight, Glen.”

  He smirked. “Sarcasm is a different look for you, too, sweet Rosie. So, you’re wanting me to set you up to go out. What did you have in mind? Dinner? Movie? Fanny fucking?”

  Surprise flitted across her features, but she quickly regained her composure and lifted her chin defiantly. “I hadn’t thought about the details. What do you recommend?”

  ”This is such bullshit!” His expression hardened as he loosened the hold on his feelings. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone said he wanted to throttle her as did his body language when he took a step toward her. “You want to tell me why you froze me out?”

  Rosie didn’t know exactly what to expect from the reunion, but she wasn’t prepared to deal with the force of angry energy that was emanating from Glen.

  She didn’t back away, but shrugged prettily and looked at her nails like she was bored and would prefer to be elsewhere. Everything about that reaction stoked the fury Glen was trying to tamp down. She glanced up and noticed his nostrils flared in reaction. He was fuming.

  “You hurt my feelings.”

  “I hurt your feelings.” He restated that with the exact same inflection. “You froze me out and refused to talk to me for over a week because I hurt your feelings.”

  She stopped avoiding looking at him. She met his gaze with her eyes and matched his intensity with her own. “Bad!”

  He gritted his teeth. “Bad?” He shook his head and knitted his brow like he had no idea what to do with that word.

  “You hurt my feelings badly.”

  “What are you talking about, Rosie? How could it hurt your feelings badly that I cut a chess game short?”

  “Ugh! Not because you wanted to pause the game. Because you were going out on a date! Gods!”

  Glen stared at her like she was alien while trying to process that. He took in the resolute set of her mouth and the flush of the truth-telling embarrassment that colored her cheeks. And he waited for those eyes that had sparked a lightning flash of anger, when she thought he was being dense, to lift up and meet his again.

  While he looked at the girl who stood in front of him, who was so strange and so familiar all at the same time, he ran through a range of possibilities. At the end of that mental exercise he decided to go with one of the ideas expressed in Newtonian physics. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one, even if it seems farfetched.

  “You were jealous.” His face softened as he lowered his chin and said it evenly with a little hint of wonder, while a little bit of mad was seeping away.

  She gave him a look like she thought he was slow. A look that said, Just now coming to the party?

  “Yeah.” She confessed it with exquisite simplicity, no artifice, no feminine ritual of subterfuge or manipulation. “I was so jealous that I contemplated putting a hex on the skank even though doing that would bring shame to the witch side of my family for generations.”

  The corners of his lips twitched. “How do you know she was a skank?”

  Her eyes flashed when she looked up again, letting him know she didn’t share his amusement.

  “This whole conversation is causing me to think that rumors of your genius are greatly exaggerated. You know that?”

  His grin turned into a satisfied smile. “I didn’t go.” He ducked just a little to force her to look at him eye to eye.

  “You didn’t go.” Understanding dawned. “You didn’t go on that date?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the whole thing had upset you, which resulted in me being upset, too. I tried to call you and say I was sorry.”

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  As the shape of forming that word lingered on her beautiful lips, Glen was finding it hard to think about the conversation instead of the burn in his chest and the twitching in his cock.

  “Why didn’t you return my calls?” She looked down at the floor. “There’s no stopping now. If you’re laying it out there, let’s lay it all out there.”

  “You may not like it.”

  “I may not. Let’s hear it. Then I’ll let you know.”

  She studied his face for a minute like she was trying to decide whether to press forward or retreat.

  “At first my feelings were really hurt.”

  He took another small step into her space that brought him close enough to feel the heat of her aura and catch her scent, which was hard to place. It was almost like it was wafting on currents, not lingering quite long enough to be conclusively identified. It seemed to be alternating between rainstorm and the pungent, erotic smell of Dragon’s Blood resin set on fire.

  “And then?” he asked softly.

  “Then?”

  “After your feelings were hurt.”

  “Then I was hurt and mad.”

  His lips twitched. “Why were you mad, Rosie?” He couldn’t help noticing that she closed her eyes when he said her name. “Tell me,” he breathed, leaning into her.

  “I couldn’t stand the idea of another woman being with you.”

  “Another woman?” She glanced up to see him grinning at her.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  He wasn’t making fun of her. Exactly. But he wiped the grin away because there was no point in being deliberately antagonistic. Though he wouldn’t mind experiencing the sight of her spitfire again and the rush of being in the presence of its power, he knew that wasn’t the right time to bring it out.

  “Why don’t you want me to be with another woman, Rosie?”

  “Because you’re mine.” Matter of fact. Death and taxes. The sun comes up in the east, goes down in the west. So far as she was concerned, he was a foregone conclusion. Like destiny.

  “I’m yours?” His mouth curved into a genuine smile. “So how did you see this going? Your plan was to cut me off and ignore me for nearly two weeks, get me so frustrated that I was ready to strangle you, then show up here all voluptuous curves and pouty lips, asking me to set you up with some nice boys.”

  ‘Nice boys’ was dripping with sarcasm and ridicule. Rosie couldn’t decide if the offense he’d clearly taken at that notion was because he didn’t know any or because he thought the idea of nice boys was pansy.

  He pressed on without waiting to see if she took his meaning. “Did you think the idea of you with somebody else might make me jealous?”

  She pulled back, looked away again, and muttered, “I guess. Maybe. Something like that.”

  “Hmm. Well. As plans go, I guess it was okay.” Her eyes met his. The uncertainty seemed to have been replaced with a hint of hopefulness. “Who came up with it?”

  “My mother.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Litha did?” Rosie nodded. “Scary. And Elora got in on it, too. Fuck. A guy doesn’t stand a chance around this place.”

  Even in profile, he could see that brought her brows closer together. He could see that she was too inexperienced to understand that his declaration meant he was waving a white flag of surrender.

  He put his fingers under her jaw and turned her face toward him. What he saw there was uncertainty and the fear of loss. By all the gods, she was double jeopardy. Hot. And cute.

  “Rosie.” He said her name quietly, just the way she always dreamed he would. “I’m a nice boy. Can I be your first kiss?”

  He didn’t wait for a response, but leaned in and gently brushed his lips over hers. Her lips were luscious, begging to be swollen from
lovemaking, and they tasted every bit as delectable as they looked. But still, the kiss was beyond awkward.

  Glen repositioned himself in front of her and took her face in both his hands. As he continued giving her light kisses, one right after another, she began to respond to pressure and suction, mirroring what he was doing. As soon as she started to get the hang of it, he deepened the kiss and, when he did, she immediately moved closer – pressing the softness of her young body into his. The resulting sensations made a clean cut through his connection to rational thought. Intimate contact with Rosie was so arousing it defied description. Something about her ratcheted every nerve ending into overdrive.

  Elora was talking as the door opened before her eyes found them in the semi-darkness. “Hey, you two. We need to give Crisp our dinner order. Oh.” They looked up at Elora just before she hurriedly backed away. “Sorry.” She closed the door and was gone.

  Glen had broken the kiss as soon as his brain registered the interruption. After Elora had come and gone, he looked back at Rosie whose eyes had a glaze of haziness. And he was sure it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Glen. I wish…”

  “What?” She didn’t answer. “Tell me. What do you wish?”

  “I wish I was your first kiss.”

  His jaw went slack and he felt what little bit of resistance he had melt away with that dreamy look in her eyes. All the gods.

  “Sweet… Rosie, it might as well have been my first kiss. Believe me. You’re not like anything else in the world.”

  Litha looked at Elora with a question on her face, as the auntie slid back into her chair. “Well, mom, our little girl is sprouting womanly wings as I speak.”

  Litha didn’t know whether to cry or clink glasses with Elora. “I’m not old enough for a kid who’s wing-sprouting. I wish Storm was here.”

  Elora reached over and took Litha’s hand. “Me, too. I can’t stand to think about the fact that he wasn’t here to…” Elora decided to try and lighten the mood before it turned into a tissue contest. “I wish he was back in this dimension where he’s supposed to be, but I can’t go along with wishing he was here. If he saw what I just saw, I suspect he’d have a few choice words, and maybe a beat down, for our Glen.”

  Litha stared at Elora for a few seconds and then laughed. “Which one of us do you think should be the one to give Glen the badass speech on Storm’s behalf?”

  “You decide. I could threaten to give him the beat down Storm would lobby for. You could threaten to scorch his ass. He’s kind of grown comfortable ignoring threats coming from me. So he might pay more attention if it comes from you.”

  “Seriously, should I be worried? She’s innocent. Physically at least. And Glen is…”

  “…a teenage player. Yeah. I know. He’s too smart to not know that Rosie isn’t a date night throw away. First, he’s a good kid.”

  “We could do worse, huh?”

  “Don’t get me started. He’s the best. Second, he knows Storm’s coming home. If that’s not an incentive to make good choices, then Glen isn’t as smart as we’re all giving him credit for.

  “And, don’t forget that we did start this.

  “What if Glen had set her up? Of all the scenarios for Rosie being introduced to male-female interactions, this is practically a controlled environment, an ideal outcome.”

  Litha nodded and held up her glass. “To Glen.”

  “To Glen,” Elora agreed and they clinked glasses.

  CHAPTER 18

  It took some doing for Shade to set up a worthwhile game on a Monday night. When the details were finalized, he gave Storm two days’ notice. On Monday night, the car arrived to pick him up and drive him to the game location in the Tenderloin, not the best address in San Francisco. Shade was waiting in the backseat. Apparently he thought Storm needed an escort.

  They rode in silence. When the car pulled over, Storm turned toward Shade and held out his hand expecting cash. Instead, the creature said, “I’ll be accompanying both you and my investment. Spectators don’t make you nervous. Right?”

  One of Storm’s shoulders lifted in a half-hearted ambiguous shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  “After you.”

  Storm exited the car, looked around, and waited on the sidewalk for directions as to where they were headed. A block behind them a black Hemmy stopped and parked.

  When Storm had mentioned the upcoming game to the knights, they’d exchanged glances and decided later, amongst themselves, that on Monday night they would be happening to patrol the area around wherever the event was to be held. After all, one place was as likely to turn up a biter as another. So they might as well.

  They watched Storm, the loan beast, and his goons enter a hotel that should have been imploded decades earlier. As soon as they were out of sight, the knights followed. They’d done enough research on Richard Shade to anticipate that Storm might need some capable backup at some point in the evening. When they asked around, they learned that Shade was infamous for striking bargains and then changing the terms at a whim on authority of the muscle that accompanied him everywhere he went.

  Yes. The hunters had believed Storm’s story for three very good reasons. First, the organization they worked for was all about the strange, bizarre, and the hard to accept or reconcile with reality. Second, there was eye witness evidence. All four saw him take out a vamp with a practiced ease and efficiency that had veteran Black Swan knight written all over it. And, third, he knew too much about The Order to be anything other than what he claimed to be.

  Storm hadn’t asked for back up, but he wasn’t the sort who would. In the minds of the knights, that served as further proof that he was one of them, even if he was an alien.

  So looking as inconspicuous as possible, they eased down the street separately toward the door where Storm and his escorts had entered the dilapidated building.

  It was just after nine o’clock when the game began in a room behind the hotel lobby. It had no door, but was still considered private because that hotel didn’t get uninvited visitors.

  One of the team of slayers slipped in and confirmed that the game was underway, making a quick visual assessment of the number of players and spectators. Shade and friends were sitting out of the way, along the wall, but close enough that Storm would be mindful of their presence.

  Six hours later, when Storm was up seventy-eight thousand dollars, he left the game. Shade said nothing. He and the two lackeys followed Storm out of the building.

  Once on the sidewalk, Storm handed over seventy-five thousand.

  “There you go. Paid in full, a debt I never owed, but taking your word that somebody did.”

  Shade’s voice was low and gravelly. “Get in the car, Storm. I don’t conduct business on sidewalks.”

  “There’s no business to conduct. I just paid you off. We’re done. I’m no longer obligated to ride in a vehicle with you, trying not to choke on whatever that smell is. I’ll find my own way back. Then… don’t want to see you again. Hope we’re clear.”

  Shade’s smile turned menacing. “We’re done when I say we’re done. The original debt was seventy-five. Interest has accrued since then. I’m going to need another fifty to clear.”

  Storm smiled, looked at the ground for a split second, and shook his head at the deserted surrounding neighborhood.

  “Gave you a chance to do this the easy way. You’re money ahead. It’s all good. If I were you, I’d count my blessings with my dollars and be on my way. I don’t care how you sort it out in your own mind. But. We. Are. Done. If you push for another outcome, you won’t like the results and you have my word on that.”

  Storm turned to leave. Shade nodded at the goons who started to reach inside coats for handheld firearms. The guns never cleared lapels before they were in the possession of Black Swan hunters whose presence had not been detected by any of them other than Storm.

  “We’ll just take these.”

  When Sir Randeskin got close to Shade, h
e turned to Storm. “What exactly is that?”

  Storm shrugged. “Dogged if I know, brother.”

  Randeskin never took his eyes from Shade, while Sir Blitheness patted him down. Blitheness removed a dagger in a jeweled scabbard. It was beautiful. Looked like a ceremonial weapon that belonged in a museum. He passed it over to Randeskin who whistled as he admired it and withdrew the blade. He took his time examining the artistic intricacy of the etchings on both sides before laying the razor-sharp edge against Shade’s throat.

  “What is that smell? Ugh. All the gods.” Randeskin coughed in Shade’s face. “Look. We may not know what you are, but we know who you are, where you live, where you do business, and with whom. This man…” his head moved in Storm’s direction, “…is connected in ways you can’t begin to fathom.”

  “What do you want?” Shade gritted between his teeth.

  A little more pressure was applied to the knife, driving the point home, so to speak.

  “What we want is for this to be as easy as getting your acknowledgement that the thing is settled and your promise that Storm won’t be hearing from you again. But, since we know we can’t count on you to stand by your agreements, we’re forced to put our faith in your sense of self-preservation.

  “So it’s like this. If you ever see this man again, run the other way. Because if he ever sees you again, you and this very fine knife are going to get much closer than ever before. And it’s so pretty, I’d hate to see it get rusty because of being buried in something wet. Likewise, if anything happens to him – anything – get your affairs in order fast because you can count your remaining hours on your fingers.”

  When Randeskin released Shade, he shoved him toward the waiting car at the same time. He stumbled back, but was caught by one of the thugs before he went down to the pavement.

  “We’ll hold onto the weapons for now.”