Dragan laid back down after that, legs crossed at the ankle, hands clasped over his abdomen, eyes closed.
“Should I turn out the light?” she asked.
He responded without opening his eyes. “I have no need for it, but if you do, it won’t disturb me.”
Reaching up, she pushed the rocker switch on the lamp. The room was darker, but not dark. There was too much illumination from the parking lot, though she’d adjusted the blackout drapes to minimize the intruding light, while still letting some fresh air in through the open window. She lay unmoving after that, waiting for Dragan to fall asleep. She’d meant what she said about not being afraid of him, but she’d been raised on Sunday school and strict sermons, including all the usual taboos about nudity and (whispered, but never said) sex. Which she’d never experienced, much to her chagrin. Between the very prestigious, but all-female university she’d attended, and her tendency to remain on the sidelines, she’d dated, but never had what she would have considered a relationship. It was one of the reasons she’d been so devastated by the cheating boyfriend that last year. He’d cheated on her to fuck someone else, which had struck at the very heart of her confidence as a woman.
Unfortunately, hiding in Sotiris’s lake house hadn’t done much to reclaim that confidence. And now she found herself sharing a hotel room with a big, beautiful hunk of a warrior whom she found wildly appealing, even though he obviously thought of her in much the way she’d thought of the family cat back home—as a comforting presence when she needed a shoulder to cry on.
She sighed and decided she should just go to sleep and hope things were simpler in the morning.
Giving Dragan a final glance and seeing he hadn’t moved, she quickly sat up and stripped off the suffocating hoodie, then turned on her side and began silently singing to herself. She’d been using this technique as long as she could remember. It helped turn her thoughts off, so she could sleep. Although usually she sang out loud, doing it silently worked as well, and she was asleep before she hit the chorus.
DRAGAN LAY unmoving, breathing slowly and evenly until he was sure Maeve was asleep. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into her bed and hold her. He wasn’t looking for anything sexual tonight. It was just . . . he’d been alone for so long inside that stone prison. He hungered for human touch, for the warmth of another body next to his.
He hadn’t always been this needy. He’d bedded his share of women when he’d fought beside his brothers in Nico’s army, and there’d been the women of his village. But having been born to a solitary existence, forever destined to walk alone, it had never mattered how many women slid into his bed. Because he never mattered to any of them.
Until Maeve. She seemed truly interested in who and what he was. Where he’d come from and how she could help him in this world. She was also attracted to him. He wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t see that. But she didn’t flirt or play coy to get his attention, didn’t pretend to be anything other than what she was—smart, clever, and compassionate. She also happened to be sexy as hell, but seemed utterly unaware of that. He’d never met a woman like her, but he definitely wanted to know more.
Which was why he wasn’t going to slide out of his bed and into hers, as he would have with any other woman. Thinking this new sensitive side of himself was a pain in his ass—or more accurately, his cock—he closed his eyes and eventually slept.
Chapter Eight
Manhattan, New York City, NY
SOTIRIS SAT ONCE more in his penthouse, with his scotch and his view, contemplating his choices. While his investigator might still be able to track down the two fugitives before it was too late, he couldn’t wait on possibilities. He’d already invested a great deal of his own power and time in the creation of the device, and he had no intention of wasting it.
He wanted the device’s test model charged and deployed before Dragan and the girl managed to find Nicodemus and return the hexagon. Because once that happened, Nicodemus would pose far too great a risk to Sotiris’s plans. And maybe to him personally.
His only hope was that the girl didn’t realize what she had. That she wouldn’t think to give the hexagon to Katsaros. But if she did . . .
He sat and sipped his scotch, and thought about possible sources for the considerable amount of magical power he’d require for the device. Apart from his own, naturally. He had no intention of draining himself dry when he could drain someone else instead. Vampires would certainly work, if he could get a strong enough vampire. There were definite drawbacks to that plan, however. The truly strong vampires, the vampire lords who ruled the continent and who had magic equal to or greater than his own, were too dangerous to mess with. For one thing, some of them possessed magic that was so dark, so linked with death, that it might not work. His device, at its heart, was about creation. Unnatural creation, in that it was the artificial replication of magic, but creation, nonetheless.
There was also the unusual closeness among the vampire lords as a result of their new alliance. If he attacked one, the others might come to their defense, and it was very possible that a coalition of vampire lords would prove strong enough to destroy him. No amount of profit was worth risking his own death.
So . . . he refilled his scotch once more. What he needed was a widely dispersed population of vampires, large enough to include several strong individuals, but too many for their ruling vampire lord to notice quickly if a few went missing. He considered that aspect specifically. Widely dispersed, yes, but superstitious would also be helpful. Such people were much more likely to explain away disappearances, especially if it was vampires doing the disappearing.
He smiled in sudden inspiration. Mexico. A country with a newly vested vampire lord—Vincent—who was very powerful, but also preoccupied with the need to consolidate his power. Many of the old lord’s people were resisting Vincent’s takeover, too accustomed to ruling their own little fiefdoms with little interference. And many of those opposing him were likely to be master vampires. Weak or strong, it didn’t matter. They’d have enough power to be useful. Most would die in the end, after he’d drained them dry and tossed them aside. But that didn’t matter. Hell, he’d be doing Vincent a favor. And by the time he needed to charge a second device, he’d either have recaptured Dragan, or worked out another power source. And if not, well hell, there were always more vampires in the world.
That made him chuckle as he drained his glass and turned away from the window. He had plans to make. Mexico was calling.
On the highway, somewhere in West Virginia
“WE’RE GOING TO have to stop for gas, I think.”
Dragan glanced over at Maeve. “You think? According to the manual, there’s something called a gas gauge right there on the—” He leaned over to point it out, but she slapped his hand away.
“Smartass. I’m aware of the stupid gauge.”
“Then I don’t understand,” he said, brows arched. “Why does that make me a ‘smartass,” he added, emphasizing the word, which he knew wasn’t a compliment.
She turned to stare at him in the dim light under the trees. “You’re serious.”
“Of course.”
“Well, darn. You look so . . . normal in those new jeans and stuff, that I keep forgetting. I apologize.”
“Please explain.”
She gave him another searching look, which he returned with mild curiosity. “Okay. I should have topped off the tank . . . um, bought more gas earlier, but we got a late start and I didn’t want to take the time and I figured we could find a small town with a reasonable motel for the night and just gas up there.” She sighed. “I was wrong. So when I said, ‘I think,’ it was just me trying to avoid admitting my mistake. Happy now?”
He chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when she turned to stare at him.
“You knew what I meant,” she accused.
“I did. Perhaps not exactly, but I could hear the frustration in your voice. I may not know contemporary idioms, as you say, but I’m very good at detecting underlying emotion. I overheard conversations in many different languages during my long imprisonment.”
“So you are a smartass.”
“I’ve not heard that particular word before, but I can intuit the meaning from the ones I do know. Forgive me. My brothers and I—”
“Forget it. If I were in your situation, I’d be sitting in a corner freaking out. You’re joking around. People in your time must have been made of sterner stuff.”
He shrugged. “It was a time of nearly constant war,” he said absently, as he turned to study a reflective road sign gleaming in the wash of their headlights. “Quiet Springs,” he read.
“And a gas station,” she added happily. “Good deal. I need a restroom, anyway.”
Dragan didn’t comment. He would be happy for the stop, though he didn’t understand why it was called a restroom. From what he’d seen, they were hardly restful places—rather, the opposite. He scanned the area as Maeve pulled off the road and stopped beneath a weather-beaten metal awning, where a pair of gasoline pumps sat in the glare of yellowed overhead lights. The adjacent building was small, the only light coming from inside, where a lone male sat reading and barely glancing up at their arrival.
When she turned off the engine, she grabbed her wallet from the console and said, “It looks like I have to pay inside. I’ll get the restroom key if there is one. You need anything from the store?”
Dragan had already opened his door and was stepping out, raising his arms above his head in a stretch. He glanced at her when she gave him a questioning look over the roof of the SUV. “More coke and sweets?” he asked. “Or is it salt this time?”
She made a face. “You’re right. I’ll wait for dinner.”
He smiled at her back as she walked inside, then stepped out from under the awning to get a better view of the night sky. It had been so long since he’d seen stars, even if these were unfamiliar to him. He’d known the stars of his own world so well that he could have drawn a map, from season to season. The ones above him shone brightly, although Maeve had cautioned that wouldn’t be the case in the larger cities. Her warning only made him more determined not to live there. He couldn’t imagine it, anyway. He’d been appalled at the crowded cities they’d driven through to get this far—tall buildings huddled so closely together that they blocked the sun from each other, while vehicles clogged the streets, expelling a foul stench that filled the air people breathed. He couldn’t imagine ever living that way. Especially not after being trapped in stone for so long. He wanted, he needed, to be free for whatever life he had left. However long that turned out to be.
Noticing a dirt path leading toward the surrounding trees, he headed in that direction, wanting to get away from the lights and smells of the gas station. He was halfway there, fully concealed in shadows, though he was no more than twenty yards from the SUV, when senses he hadn’t used since his imprisonment suddenly came to life. It wasn’t a stark warning. It was a trickle of something that shouldn’t be there, not quite evil, but not human, either. He took a few more steps. The closer he got to the trees, the stronger the sense of wrongness invaded his awareness.
A bell jangled on the shop door. He heard Maeve’s voice and strode back to the SUV, arriving just as she hurried out of the store, her slender body and smooth stride set off by her tight jeans and t-shirt, her mane of red hair a tangled braid down her back. When she saw him step off the unlit path and into the light, she smiled in open welcome, as if happy to be with him on this journey. He didn’t think he was fooling himself about her feelings. He hoped not.
She held up a piece of wood with something dangling from it. “Restroom key,” she said, holding it out to him. “It’s around the side where you just were. Just the one, boys and girls share.”
He took the key, aware, by now, of the custom to lock restrooms. “I’ll stay here until you’ve finished fueling the SUV,” he said. That formless uneasiness had faded somewhat as he’d moved away from the forest, but it was still there in the back of his mind. A warning that this place wasn’t as harmless as it seemed.
Maeve gave him a puzzled look as she slid the dispensing nozzle into the SUV. “I think it’s safe enough here. The owner seemed nice. He recommended a place we can stay for tonight, too. About sixty miles ahead.” She looked around. “It’s rather peaceful, isn’t it?” she said, echoing his own observations before he’d approached the woods.
“You’ll remain with the SUV, until I return.” He tried to make it a question, rather than a command, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.
“Yes, sir, commander, sir.”
Obviously, he’d failed. “It’s in my nature to be protective,” he explained, by way of apology. “It’s all I know.”
She smiled. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He went, but remained on alert, his senses high. He lingered outside the locked restroom door, studying the darkness within the dense forest, but whatever he’d sensed earlier was gone. He waited several minutes more without catching any sign of a threat, before he went into the restroom.
Maeve’s scent lingered in his nostrils from having spent so many hours next to her, and it lightened his heart in ways he’d never have predicted. It was more than gratitude, more than the fact that she’d been the one to free him. He’d spent every hour with her since they’d fled, both waking and sleeping. In a way, he’d known her for years, since she’d visited him in his stone prison nearly every day. But he realized now that what he’d known had been only a part of what made her Maeve. Yes, she was clever and compassionate, but she was so much more. Cleverness was only the smallest part of what was a striking intellect. An ability to take on a problem, break it down to its basics, and find the solution. It was a trait highly prized among warriors in his time, and one he’d never expected to find living in the body and mind of this slender female. As for compassion . . . the fact he was here, hundreds of miles away from Sotiris’s lake house, possibly no more than days away from reuniting with Nicodemus. . . . That was all due to Maeve. She hadn’t hesitated—
His thoughts shattered and reformed in an instant when Maeve screamed.
MAEVE HAD WATCHED Dragan walk around the side of the weather-worn gas station office, his stride as determined as if he were marching off to do battle. But then, wasn’t everything a battle for him lately? How would she have coped if she’d found herself in a new world and time, with everything from the glassware to public transportation an utterly new experience? She didn’t think she’d have done half as well as he was doing, and she admired that. But that didn’t mean she was blind to how difficult it was for him. His eyes sometimes betrayed such sadness that she wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it would be okay, that he’d soon be reunited with Nicodemus and the friends he’d fought beside. She longed to reassure him almost as much as she didn’t want to give him false hope. The Nick Katsaros she’d found was as likely to be a distant relative as the real Nicodemus of Dragan’s world. If she was honest, she’d have said it was actually more likely.
The dull clunk of the gas nozzle reaching its limit made her turn to lift it out of the tank and back onto its cradle on the pump. She was screwing the gas cap back on, when the scuff of a foot made her turn. She smiled, expecting Dragan, but a trio of grinning men appeared out of the dark, one of them suddenly right in front of her, coming far too close, far too fast. Maeve took an instinctive step back, maintaining the space between them as she finished twisting the cap and closed the latch door without looking away.
“Hello darlin’,” the first man said, giving her a broad, white-toothed smile. He was neatly dressed, and good-looking enough, but there was something about the intensity of his stare, something more than a simple come-on, that made her uncomfortable. He lifted his head
in that moment, and his eyes flared an unnatural red in the dim yellow glare of the lights.
Maeve’s breath caught as she reached out blindly to grip the SUV’s back door handle, wanting to get away, to get inside the vehicle. Finding the door locked, she had the fleeting idea that she should have given in when Dragan insisted on staying. But instead, she gave the stranger a bare nod, and didn’t say anything.
“Don’t be afraid, sweet thing,” said one of the others. “We’re just being friendly.”
She wanted to check the side of the building, hoping to see Dragan’s handsome face, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the threat. If Dragan had seen the three men, he’d be at her side already. And he would be soon. She held on to that certainty, as she studied the three strangers.
The one closest to her snapped his hand out in a lightning move, grabbing her, and tugging her hard against his chest. Maeve screamed, but it was anger as much as fear. She jammed her knee into his groin, just as she’d been taught in self-defense class, and shoved him away when he bent over with a grunted, “Bitch.”
She belatedly remembered the alarm on her key fob, which would draw Dragan’s attention, but it was sitting in the damn cup holder. Cursing her own carelessness, she reached for the front door handle this time . . . but never made it. The groaning man’s friends shoved past him. One gripped her shoulder with a hard hand, his too-long nails digging through her clothes and into her skin, as blood . . .
Suddenly, there was a furious roar, and her attacker was gone.
DRAGAN SLAMMED the restroom door open, leaving it warped and twisting in his urgency. His body strained to respond to the adrenaline flooding his system, his wings tearing through the muscle and skin of his back with agonizing slowness, because he hadn’t absorbed enough magic to make them manifest more quickly. But he was more than his wings, more than even his magic. Cursing the decision to leave his sword in the SUV, he ripped up a thick sapling by its roots and raced around the building.
The Stone Warriors: Dragan Page 10