by Nancy Gideon
"No. Not the way you are now. No."
"We need to talk."
"Then talk."
"It's the only way. Then you'll be mine, you and Evie. You'll be my princess." His hands moved restlessly up and down the door panel, claws grooving the wood. "I'll take you home with me where you'll both be safe. No one can reach you there."
"I don't want to go. I don't belong there."
"You belong with me." His tone roughened. "Amber, open the door."
"No."
"I won't hurt you."
"Yes, you will. You will."
"I won't." His fist pounded against the portal for emphasis, splintering the panel. Her raw sob of fear confused him. She didn’t understand! He loved her! He'd never, ever harm her!
"Frederick, please don't do this."
The small, shaky voice sounded more like Evangeline’s than his brave Amber. That shocked him back to awareness of what he'd released within himself and what she feared. He took a step back, trying to force the knotting tension from his muscles, to calm his ragged breaths and cool the urgent need to conquer and claim.
"Mama?"
Evie stood still and stunned in the hall, eyes wide and round. In their rush, they hadn’t locked the door. He couldn't imagine how she perceived him. As something wild and fearsome, a monstrous big, bad wolf from a child's nightmare. But she didn't move or make a sound, even when Amber screamed, "Run, Evie! Run!"
Run? From him? What had he done?
Rico grabbed up his clothes and pushed past the frozen girl, tugging on his jeans and his jacket, stumbling into his boots by the door, not looking back even when she called to him, "Rico? What's wrong? Don’t go!" in a worried little voice. What the hell could he say to her?
I've just become your Mom's worst terror. She'll never trust me again.
* * * * *
It took the bite of cold wind on his face to finally clear the savagery from his mood. By then he'd sent his bike like a guided missile toward Cheveux du Chien. Where else could he go?
He’d scared her, the one person he'd sworn on his life to cherish. And he'd upset Evie. If they were still there when he returned, they probably wouldn't let him in. Chances are, they'd run, far and fast and forever out of his reach. He'd put them back at risk. All because he couldn't keep his base desires on a leash. Because he'd pushed, thinking only of his own wants, not hers.
“I don’t want to go with you.”
What could be plainer than that?
He went straight to the bar.
“Hi, Rico. A little cold for so much skin, don’t you think?”
Fran’s remark made him realize his open jacket exposed a bare chest. She didn’t seem to mind, her study avid and appreciative. He ordered bourbon, prepared to drown alone. He was almost to his goal when a familiar voice spoke at his side.
“A fella drinking that heavy by himself needs a friend.”
Rico didn’t argue, motioning for Fran to bring an extra glass.
“Only one thing I know of that can drop a man so low and that’s female troubles.”
“Shut up and drink,” Rico growled.
“Anything you say, Hoss.”
As Rico tossed the liquor back, a brief sting at his throat surprised him. Before he could say anything, his knees went to water. A firm hand caught his elbow.
“Whoa! Looks like you’ve had enough. I’d better get you home, or we’ll have no one to push us around in the morning.”
He was aware of taking steps, of the room whirling about in blurred streaks of sound and color. Alarm registered but was muffled by whatever coursed through his system. Rico tried to pull away but the grip on him firmed. Cold air brushed his face. Then a long fall into nothing.
* * * * *
Amber woke to the comforting scent of baby-fine hair. The fuzzy state of her thoughts puzzled her until she remembered the wine she and Rico had been drinking. She was such a lightweight when it came to alcohol, and Rico was so intoxicating without the added scrambling.
So, after wine and kisses, why was she waking up in her daughter’s bed wearing Rico’s shirt? Had Evie had a nightmare?
No . . . The nightmare had been hers.
As she slowly sat up so as not to awake her child, all the events of the previous night flooded back like a bad dream she couldn’t wake from.
Rico!
Amber slipped out into the hall. Please be here. Please be here!
Their room was empty, covers half on the floor, light still on in the bathroom. She crossed the room as if some threat lingered, turning out the light then held by the sight of the door. Furrowed by claws, splintered by a raging temper. She took a shaky step back, breaths trembling. Rico . . . so angry, so determined to hurt her. That same sick panic brought fear bubbling up to burn like acid in her throat.
No . . .
No!
Rico would never harm her. Never. That hadn’t been his intention. He loved her . . . wanted to bond with her, to seal their relationship in the way of their kind. Until the necessary violence of that act had sent her running scared as fast as she could go. Because at that moment, he hadn’t been the beast at her back. It had been the memory of another.
“Mama? Are you okay?”
Wiping at her eyes, Amber turned with a pathetic smile. “I’m fine.”
“Is Rico okay? Did you have a fight?” Her gaze swept from the tangled covers to the battered door, eyes growing wide and huge-centered.
Rico . . . was he okay?
“No, baby. We didn’t fight. We had a misunderstanding and things . . . got confused. I got confused.”
“Like I am when I have those dreams?”
“Yes.” She grabbed gratefully at that comparison. “I got scared of something from the past, and Rico left because it was the only thing he could do to help me. Does that make any sense?”
A slight nod. How had her child gotten so wise so young?
“When is he coming back?” Her quiet question echoed her own fears.
“He probably just went in to work to give us time to straighten things out and see them clearly.”
“But he’s coming back?”
“I’m sure he is.”
But she wasn’t sure. The things she’d said to him, the way she’d reacted, like a mad woman, not to him, but to the terrors of her past that had turned fierce passion into a remembered act of cruelty and domination. She hadn’t told him everything that had happened in that upstairs room, giving him the abridged version, not the one that had gone on and on, scarring her soul forever.
Now, she’d hurt him, not the other way around.
As she made the bed, taking comfort from his presence held within the fabric as if he was still there, she paused at the sight of blood. Just tiny droplets. From his nose. She’d struck him! Fought him wildly. Run from him and hidden, throwing all her fears into his face when he tried to apologize and calm her.
He’d wanted to take her and Evie to safety. To make her his princess! The strength left her knees, crumpling her on the edge of the bed.
Please, Rico. Please come back. Let me explain. Let me make it right.
It couldn’t wait. She found her phone and cued his number. Straight to voice mail.
“Are you okay?” She struggled to firm her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. We’ll talk when you get home.” She disconnected.
Home . . . Please, Rico, please come back to me.
While Evie started her classwork, Amber set about putting their bedroom back in order. Nothing she could do about the door except wince at the proof of his determination.
To mate.
She’d learned about sex when younger than Evie from all the crude talk tossed about at Maisy J’s. Though her father and mother traded in it, she’d had no idea what it really entailed until initiated into both sides, the pain and the pleasure. One in that upstairs room, and the other by Evie’s father.
She hadn’t thought about him for a long, long time, and then only when she’d see him
looking back at her through Evie’s eyes. Her daughter had stopped asking about her dad long ago, satisfied with Amber’s answer that it had been a momentary thing with a stranger, a fling she instantly regretted with a man who immediately deserted her. Not true, but necessary to silence Evie’s questions. He’d been a good man, probably the first she’d ever known, who’d wanted to help her, to show her a way out of the miserable life she was trapped in.
He’d been so young, just starting on the NOPD force and still flushed with the need to do good deeds. He’d sat with her in the ER and through later interviews after the false name she gave appeared in none of their databases. Like most of her mother’s kind, she’d didn’t officially exist in the human world and knew they’d never be able to trace her. She invented a history of an eighteen-year-old runaway pulled into prostitution, and as the empathetic officer urged her to give the name of her attacker and promised to protect her, he also vowed he’d see her safely returned home. Not realizing the place she’d been assaulted was her home.
After her release, he found her a safe place to stay. Afraid to return to her real family, she’d looked forward to his visits and his increasingly personal attention. He was everything her ugly life was not, and she’d clung to his gentle courtship over the next few months the way she’d linger over the pages of a fairytale, desperate to believe a happily-ever-after could exist, even to the point of encouraging intimacy so the sweetness of his touch could blot out other vile memories. She thought she might love him, but at fifteen, had no idea what that meant, until her apologetic and fearful father found her and stripped the fantasy away with his promise to protect her, and later, her secret.
All she’d loved had betrayed her. So, she hadn’t trusted in the young officer’s promises, and instead had gone back to the nightmare she knew rather than take a risk on the dream she feared was a lie. She and Evie had paid dearly for her lack of faith.
Would they again, here with Rico?
What if he didn’t come back?
What would she do if he did?
By mid-morning, she’d worked herself into a fiercely contained panic, wishing she had Evie’s faith that had never been shaken since she’d clung to him as a savoir from all the evils in her young world. A faith Amber herself had never been able to sustain even when Rico asked for her trust. She hadn’t given it, not completely. Part of her—that scarred, scared part of her—clung to the distancing belief that she could only depend on her own resources. Every life lesson had cruelly reinforced that certainty. Until last night, when her protective instincts may have driven the best thing in her and Evie’s life away.
If she had another chance, would she be strong enough not to make the same mistake again?
She clutched that shirt she’d slept in the same way she’d cling to him when he walked through that door again.
Her phone rang, and she lunged for it. “Rico?”
A pause then a voice she hadn’t expected to hear. “Ammy, I don’t want to upset you, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Auguste? He sounded shaken and somber. “What is it?”
“Terriot. There was an accident in training this morning.”
Rico! Her blood pressure dropped. Her head went light as she whispered, “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know. He was asking for you. They’re taking him to the clinic. I’ll take you to him.” A hesitation. “If you’d let me do that much for you.”
She had no reservations, not when panic clutched about her heart. “I’ll be waiting outside Evie’s school. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah. Give me a few minutes to get there. Maybe I can get an update.” He disconnected and for a moment Amber just stood there feeling the same way.
“Mom? Was that Rico?”
She drew a shaky breath. “No, baby. Your uncle. He’s picking me up. Rico’s been hurt.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
Amber turned to her, calm finally setting in. “No. You wait here. There’s no need to worry about him yet.”
“I’m worried about you. I’m going.”
How could she argue with that simple, strong fact? How could she not have noticed that her little girl had grown up into the fierce embodiment of her?
“Dress warm.”
Augie met them at the curb in an unfamiliar car. At her puzzled look when she climbed into the front seat, he said, “I borrowed it from one of the guys. I didn’t want you worrying while I was waiting for a cab.”
Her fragile emotions buckled. “Thank you. Hurry.” Over the seat, she called, “Buckle up, Evie.”
Amber gave herself over to her brother’s care, so grateful to him that the question of how he’d gotten her new phone number almost failed to surface. When it did, the answer was painfully obvious. He’d gotten it off Rico’s phone.
Her Terriot prince had to be all right. She had to have time to tell him what she’d learned in that brief, terrified moment when she considered she might lose him.
There was no one in this harsh world she needed or trusted her future to as much as Frederick Terriot.
* * * * *
At first, he thought the roaring in his head was from a mammoth hangover threatening to explode his brain. Wine with Amber followed by whiskey at the club. Then nothing. No recall of how he'd gotten . . . wherever he'd ended up. Standing up?
Rico forced his achy eyes open. Blinking the blurriness away from sight and thoughts took some time, but clarity brought more confusion.
Where the hell was he?
The sound was from a raging storm rattling the corrugated metal walls surrounding him. Some sort of hobby or workshop he guessed from the long benches, tools and storage bins. He puzzled over a nearby homemade stand, almost like an engine puller, as tall as a man with arms extending . . .
Like whatever he was lashed to. Alarmed, he tried to move but couldn't manage even a turn of his head.
"My grand pawpaw created that design. He was known for the elaborate Krewe costumes he made for his tribe. He'd attach his mannequins to those stands to keep them upright when the weight of all the beadwork got too heavy, and to keep the head and sleeve feathers from being damaged. The things he made were a glory to see. I used to sit and watch for hours."
Lamar Poe circled into Rico's field of vision, which was limited due to the way his neck was strapped to the pole behind him.
"Don't bother fighting. If a headdress can't break lose, neither can you."
"What the hell's going on, Poe? What are you doing?" Rico demanded, testing the limits of his mobility to find it practically nil. His arms were bound to boards extending straight out at shoulder height. He couldn't even move his fingers. Bare torso and waist, hips, thighs and ankles were similarly trussed to the backboard behind him. His feet were bare and cold.
"I'm doing whatever I need to do," Poe drawled in his lazy, accented voice. "And for the last year or so I've been a dock worker, a pal to your brother Cale when he was Mick Terry, making a hard living and keeping eyes and ears open."
"A spy. For who?"
"Now that's the question, ain't it? But I'll be the one doing the asking, not you. Not today."
Rico continued as if he hadn't heard. "So, where's Donny? You and him on the same payroll?"
The young Shifter's easy and eager manner had suckered Rico but good, right down to letting Donny lead the way into this current mess.
"He's out tending to another complicated loose end."
Rico's pulse staggered. Amber. Alone and unprotected. But she was smart and wolf-wary. She wouldn't be easily taken or fooled. They were safe in the apartment.
Poe lifted a ballpeen hammer from the bench behind him, weighing it thoughtfully beneath cold overhead fluorescents.
"Why are you here in New Orleans?" Without waiting for an answer, Poe brought the hammer down on the first knuckle of Rico’s little finger.
A surprised cry escaped before Rico could catch it. Letting his breath out in a hiss between clenched teeth, he r
eplied, "My brother's working toward a truce with the clans." He supposed that was no secret anymore. Pain throbbed up his arm.
"With whom?"
"A Guedry and one of Savoie's people. I don't know. I didn't ask for details. My brothers don't consider me particularly trustworthy."
"Really? Now that comes as some surprise. I take you for a right determined fella. How many of you are here?"
"Just me and Colin."
"Pretty thin odds, even for Terriots, so I'm guessing that's not true." The hammer fell again, smashing the nail of his ring finger. Prepared this time, Rico didn't wince though his breathing deepened. His voice remained flat and low.
"Figured we didn't need more than that, since Savoie kicked that Northern bitch all the way home and our king sent her lapdog back in a plastic bag after his brains blew up all over his party guests," he hissed through his teeth.
"Guess he figured wrong, didn't he? So did Savoie's little puppy, Poteet."
"Is what he told you worth killing a friend?"
"Oh, he didn't tell me nothing, the fool. What is it with your kind? Who do you think you protect by keeping your mouths shut? It's just information we'd find out anyway.” Poe tipped his head curiously. “Why are you so loyal? Is it to the man or the idea?"
"My answer wouldn't mean much to you since you sell your friends out so easily. You know who I am. If money’s all that matters to you, let me go. Hell, these diamonds I'm wearing are probably worth more than you make in months."
"A year," Poe mused. "I can take 'em once you're dead."
Rico chuckled. "You want that kind of trouble, a dead Terriot on your hands. A Terriot prince. No. Didn't think so. So why don't we stop playing this game. You tell me what you really want, and I can come up with a stack of reasons to let me go."
"Let you go?" A laugh. "I don't know about that, considering what I'm about to do to you." With quick moves, he pulped the joints of Rico’s middle finger.
Unbelievable pain. Clenching his teeth until his jaw spasmed and locked, Rico let no sound escape. Even as the same was done to his other finger and thumb.
"You are one tough bastard, Terriot. No doubt," Poe mused. "How 'bout we talk about something else. How 'bout you tell us where to find your feisty little gal."