by Elisa Adams
“Yeah.” Now he wanted to know who sent them.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Not tonight.”
“Sam—”
The door burst open, slammed against the wall with a crack of splitting wood. A huge man lumbered inside. Faith screeched. Sam cursed under his breath. Exactly what he’d thought. Not a man, not in the human sense. A demon slave. An empty shell of a creature with barely any intelligence or free will. A thing that would do anything to obey its master. The master, in this case, wanted Faith dead. As far as Sam was concerned, no one would get close enough to accomplish the task.
The demon slave sneered, a sinister chuckle rumbling in his chest as his gaze landed on Sam. “Move aside.”
“Not likely.” Sam stood his ground, his shoulders squared, his knees bent to pounce. “Leave or I’ll have to kill you.”
The slave snapped his beady-eyed gaze to where Faith hid behind the bed. “Come out.”
Sam turned his gaze away long enough to make sure she was safe. He glanced back at the thing just in time to see him rush forward with his arm outstretched, a short serrated-blade knife in his huge hand.
Sam tried to dodge the blow, but his sex-fogged mind couldn’t get his body moving fast enough. The knife hit with a searing pain, slicing the skin of his abdomen. He hissed out a breath and grabbed the hilt of the knife as the slave let it go. Fighting not to double over from the throbbing, he yanked the knife out of his side and glanced at the blade. Though menacing, it was just an ordinary knife. The poison it had been tipped in, however, was anything but ordinary. It snaked its way through his bloodstream, churning his stomach and making every muscle in his body scream in agony. A wave of blackness threatened to wash over him, but he refused to let it take him. If he passed out, Faith would be dead within seconds.
He leapt at the slave, knocking him into the wall face first. His nose shattered with a sickening crunch. He twisted the slave around to face him and plunged the knife deep into the man’s chest, gave the knife a twist, dragging a strangled scream from the man’s throat. Sam shoved him up against the wall and gave the knife one more turn. The screams faded into silence, the only sounds in the room Faith’s and his own heavy breathing. He dropped the body and turned to her. “Turn around.”
She sucked in a breath. “Is he…is he dead?”
“Not yet.” He urged her to move with his eyes, tried to force his way into her mind. Go. Turn around. You don’t want to see this. “Faith, turn around. Now.”
The second she turned her back, he took the slave’s head in his hands and twisted, snapping his neck. He put his hands to the slave’s forehead, his palms heating with red and blue flame. The slave burst into a ball of fire and smoke before it exploded and disappeared into the air.
And then Faith whimpered.
He glanced up to see her gaping at him, her eyes wide and wild.
Shit. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. Yes. I’m not sure. What the hell just happened?”
A spasm clenched his gut. A wave of nausea swept over him and he sat back against the wall. “I couldn’t even begin to explain it to you.”
She let out an almost hysterical laugh and ran a hand through her tousled hair. “Well, by all means, try. I just watched you kill him…and he just…just…exploded.”
“Yeah, they tend to do that.” Another sharp, twisting pain sliced through him. The poison. Sweat broke out on his brow.
The knife hadn’t been meant for him. Whoever had sent the slave—and Sam had a few suspects already on his list—had known the poison would not kill a Panthicenos. But it would kill a human within seconds.
“Good, you’ve got your clothes on. We have to get out of here.”
He tried to stand, but made it only as far as a crouch before another wave of nausea, this one stronger than the last, washed over him. It took all his willpower not to succumb to the waiting blackness.
“Sam? What’s wrong with you?”
He glanced up and found her standing over him. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
His vision started to fade in and out, the edges yellowing as he tried to bring her face into focus. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt this kind of blinding agony. By sheer force of will, he stood and took her arm. “Let’s go. Now. We need to get to the car.”
He pushed her behind him and stepped through the bedroom door into the darkened hallway. They crept into the silent, still living room. Empty. He shook his head.
Faith tugged on his arm. “What’s the matter?”
He leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “I thought I heard more than one, but I don’t sense anything. Maybe the other one ran. We might be safe for now, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
He gave a brief nod and pulled her toward the door. Before he swung the door open, he grabbed her purse off the floor and thrust it into her hands. “You might need this later.”
“Thanks. I know I will.”
They rushed outside, Sam leading the way through the maze of trees and rocks that littered the grounds surrounding the cabin. By the time they reached his car, his head buzzed and his limbs had started going numb. He sucked in a couple of deep breaths. “Can you drive?”
“I made it here in one piece, didn’t I?”
He shook his head, regretting it when a bolt of pain zinged through his skull. “Don’t give me attitude right now. I need to know if you’re okay to drive right now, because I’m not.”
She froze, her eyes huge. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing. Just a little cut.”
She pushed his hands aside and gasped. He followed her gaze down to his faded black shirt, and the dark, wet stain growing bigger by the second.
“He got you. I thought he had, but everything happened so quickly…” Her voice faded into a nervous hiccup. “God, Sam, we need to get you to a hospital.”
Not in this lifetime. “I’m fine. The cut is no big deal. No need for a hospital. Once we get somewhere safe, I’ll put a bandage on it.” He stumbled around the car to the passenger door, trying not to sway too much on his feet. He slumped against the door. “Get in and start the car, Faith.”
“Why do you look like you’re going to pass out, if the wound is no big deal?”
“The wound isn’t. The poison that was on the knife is a different story. Get behind the wheel.” He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Faith shot him a worried glance as she got into the car. “Poison, Sam? What the hell are you talking about?”
He held up a hand. “Drive, Faith. Now, before more of them show up.”
“I need your keys.” Her voice shook, and her hand trembled as she reached out, palm up.
He opened the glove compartment and took out the spare set of keys, placing the ring on her palm. “Drive.”
She didn’t say another word until she had his car on the road, headed for the edge of town. “You keep your keys in the car?”
“A spare set. Just in case.” With a strong spell on them to keep intruders from finding them. “I live in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t usually anyone around to steal anything. Just drive. We’ll talk later.”
When his stomach didn’t threaten to heave and his head didn’t pound like a freight train was ready to burst from his skull.
“Where are we going?” Her fingers shook, but she didn’t seem anywhere near ready to go into shock. That made one of them.
“I don’t know yet. Sometimes it’s better not to think about it. For now, keep going in this direction.”
She glanced at him. “There’s a hospital a few miles from here.”
“No hospital.” The pain would fade as the poison worked its way through his system, and the wound would heal. Though it would take hours longer in human form than it would in his true form, he wouldn’t risk scaring her and having her run them off the road. “Don’t even think about taking me
there. That would make me angry. You don’t want to see me angry.”
She gulped. “Point taken. But you know, I don’t really want to see you dead, either. I’ll drive, but you’re going to have to give me directions.”
“I will.” Directing her would force him to stay awake. He’d deal with the pain. He’d have to. He couldn’t protect her from threats against her life if he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.
* * * * *
“Pull the car into that motel parking lot up there on the left.”
Faith glanced at Sam, her stomach clenching at his pallor. His voice sounded thready and he’d barely moved or spoken in the three hours they’d been driving, save giving her the occasional direction. “Sure. Okay. I still think you need to go to the hospital. You look like crap.”
“No. Hospital.” He muttered a curse. “What part of ‘no’ do you not seem to get? The hospital would be a very bad idea. Very, very bad.”
“Okay. Fine. I get it. The big, tough guy doesn’t want to admit he’s afraid of doctors.” She turned into the lot. Tears of worry and fear stung her eyes, but she ignored them. He’d told her repeatedly during their journey that, if he could just get to a bed, he’d be fine. But he’d been poisoned. You’d better make it, Sam. I can’t survive out here in the middle of nowhere on my own.
She stopped his car in front of the small white building marked “office” and shifted into park.
Sam opened the passenger door and started to get out. She stopped him with her hand on his arm. His face ashen and his hand clutching his stomach, he glared at her with glazed eyes. “What now?”
“If you go in there looking like you do, people will get suspicious.”
His eyes darkened. “Damn it. Pop the trunk. The button’s on the key ring.”
He heaved a sigh and pushed himself out of the car, shutting the door behind him. A minute later he knocked on the driver’s side window. His black leather jacket covered the bloodstains on his t-shirt, but it did little to hide his ravaged expression.
She rolled the window down. “You know, that’s not really much better.”
“I don’t give a shit whether it’s better or not. Just sit here until I get back. I’ll be two minutes.”
Panic snapped inside her at his words. “I don’t really want to be alone.”
“Tough. Stay put.” He turned and walked toward the motel office.
“Idiot.”
She glanced around the small lot. Nothing sinister popped out from behind trees or parked cars, but even the daylight couldn’t chase away the monsters in her head. When had her life become this mess? First Paul’s death, and now the men trying to kill her, and Sam… Sam had killed a man right in front of her eyes. She’d watched him break the other man’s neck—and then she’d seen something too unbelievable to be true.
Sam had put his hands on the man’s head, and his palms had glowed with what looked like—but couldn’t in a million years be—flame. And the man exploded. How was that even possible? Hands didn’t glow, and people didn’t really explode into clouds of smoke and dust. There had to be some sort of semi-reasonable explanation, but so far she’d been afraid to ask. Afraid of Sam’s reaction, and even more afraid of his answer.
All her life she’d believed that the supernatural didn’t exist. But if what had happened earlier hadn’t been supernatural, she didn’t know what was. No ordinary human could have done what Sam did. She hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, hadn’t imagined it, but no other explanations came to her no matter how hard she tried. Sam had to be something…something not quite human.
That thought terrified her. What kind of creature had she trusted her life to? Had he brought her all this way to torture and kill her?
Panic clenched her stomach in knots and stopped her breath in her throat. The motel sat alone on a small road, surrounded on three sides by woods. She gulped. Instinct told her to get away, and to do it fast. But she didn’t get the chance. A moment later Sam hobbled out of the motel office. He made his way back to the car and climbed in.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his face a little less pale than before. “No bogeymen jumped out at you, did they?”
She bit back a curse, tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. “Excuse me for being a little nervous. I’ve nearly been attacked twice in one night. That doesn’t exactly inspire comforting thoughts, you big asshole.”
He laughed. “You’re safe for now. I’d know it if we weren’t. Drive the car around the back of the motel. We’re in room 112.”
“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” She backed the car out of the spot and headed around the side of the building. Away from everything. Her stomach churned. Only thoughts of the men who’d tried to kill her kept her from throwing the car into park and running away.
“It’s not ego, sweetheart.” He fixed her with a serious gaze that shook her to the tips of her toes. “It’s fact. Hurry up, will you? I really need to lie down for a while.”
When she parked the car in front of room 112, Sam took the keys from her and got out. She followed him around to the trunk. He pulled out a huge black duffel bag, hefted the strap over his shoulder and slammed the trunk. She followed a few steps behind him to the room door, weighing her options. If she ran, he’d catch her. If she stayed, he might kill her.
Her mind flashed back to the night they’d just spent in his bed. He’d been caring, compassionate. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her. She stood a better chance of staying alive by staying with him. She touched the rough canvas fabric of the bag.
“What’s in there?” Weapons? Body parts?
“Clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving kit.” He shrugged. “The usual.” He opened the room and stepped aside. “After you.”
What a time to be gallant. She hesitated long enough for him to shoot her an exasperated look before she stepped over the threshold into the cool, dark room. “You’re prepared. That’s one big bag for clothes and a shaving kit.”
Sam flipped on the light and walked in after her. The click of the door closing sent a shudder through her. She spun to find him watching her, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable. Her original assessment of him flashed through her mind. Dark. Dangerous. And now, too powerful for her to feel very comfortable alone in a room with him.
A half-smile curled one corner of his mouth, and she got the unsettling impression that he’d read her mind. In the world she’d known the day before, she would have thought that impossible. But now, she doubted everything.
“It’s about a week’s worth of stuff. I have to be prepared. It’s all part of the job. I never know when I’m going to have to leave for a few days on just about no notice.”
“Don’t your clients give you time to prepare when they hire you?”
He let out a rough laugh, but didn’t respond to her question. A cold lump formed in her throat. Bodyguard? Ha! Why had she ever believed that story? He was probably some kind of hired assassin.
She turned away, her pulse racing and her mouth dry. What if he was? What if he killed people for a living?
What had she gotten herself into?
“What did your dear husband say about me?” Sam asked, his voice low, seductive despite the threads of pain.
“The only thing he ever said about you was that, if something happened to him, I needed to find you.”
When the right time came, and she knew she could trust him, she’d have to confide in him the rest of the story. For now, she’d let it be. She’d taken enough chances with her life for one day.
“Why would he say something like that?”
Because he trusted you, even if I don’t. She shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just telling you what he told me.” At least most of it. “It’s not my problem if you don’t like it.”
Sam tossed his bag on the end of the double bed closest to the door. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it on top of the bag, revealing the dark bloodstain that now covered a good portion of his t
-shirt. She sucked in a breath. How could he be standing, let alone holding a conversation, when he had to have lost a huge amount of blood?
“Let me look at that cut. You need stitches, Sam. It looks like it bled for a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was still bleeding.”
He pulled a clean shirt out of the bag. “That’s highly unlikely.”
Stubborn jerk. “Please. You aren’t so big and tough that your wounds heal instantly.” She strode over to him and tugged at the hem of his shirt. If he wouldn’t show her on his own, she’d take a look for herself. He yanked her wrists away, his fingers biting into her skin. She winced. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m tired. That poison is still in my system, and it’s put me a little on edge.”
A little? Any further on edge and he’d topple over the cliff into complete insanity. She pulled her hands out of his grasp. “Come on, Sam. I’m not injured. I can help you.”
“There’s nothing to help. Everything is fine.”
“Knock it off. Give your ego a break.”
“This isn’t about my ego.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, no? Would you care to explain what your problem is?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no problem. There is no wound. It was just a scratch.”
Yeah, right. And the sky didn’t turn dark at night. She shoved his hands out of the way and pushed his shirt out of the way. “See? Look at that. It’s…”
Dried blood streaked his six-pack stomach, but the skin remained unbroken. Her heart lodged in her chest. Had she lost her mind? Because she sure felt like she needed to be committed. First the disappearing body and now this? A peal of nervous laughter bubbled from her. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Kincaid, but you’d better start explaining what’s going on.”
“Maybe I wasn’t injured as badly as you thought.”
From the look of his skin, he hadn’t been injured at all. If that was the case, where had all the blood on his shirt come from? And he’d been in so much pain. So drawn and pale. He had to have been cut by that knife. But now he looked less pale by the minute, and there was no wound to be found.