Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13

by Michele Bardsley

  “Trent’s working with her, but she’s traumatized. She doesn’t understand why she survived. And her memory is patchy.” She stood up, rounded the desk, and sat in her husband’s lap. She smoothed his brow. “We need to tell her.”

  “Let’s give Trent a little longer. If we try to force Sophie’s memories, it could do more harm than good.” Gabriel wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her.

  “We may not have a choice,” said Patsy.

  “I know,” said Gabriel. “Let’s hope for the best…”

  “…and plan for the worst.”

  Chapter Five

  THE BARN, LOCATED on an abandoned farm on the outskirts of Broken Heart, had been transformed into a disco palace. The pounding music reverberated loudly and Sophie’s werewolf ears throbbed. The curse of having superior senses, she supposed. She studied the floor-to-ceiling brass poles, decorated with glitter, of course. Rumor had it the place had once been a strip joint called Barley and Boobs. That was before Broken Heart had become a parakind community protected from the outside world. The only humans who lived here now remained connected to the paranormal, such as vampire donors or mates.

  Sophie and Brianna squeezed through the crowd to the makeshift bar and ordered champagne. Oh, look. Edible glitter.

  “Drink up, darling.” Brianna grinned, tipped her glass and drank. Sophie did the same.

  “Let’s boogie!” Brianna dragged her to the dance floor.

  Holding their glasses high, they gyrated to the music. After a while, the tension slid from Sophie’s body. She hadn’t been out like this in a long, long time, and it felt good. Damn good.

  “You have a secret,” said Brianna.

  Brianna’s words froze her. How could she possibly know what Sophie hid? She’d told no one. Not even Kelsey. Besides, those sessions were completely confidential.

  Brianna hit Sophie with a radiant smile. “What’s his name?”

  Oh. That secret.

  Sophie nonchalantly sipped her drink, swayed to the music, and played dumb. “Who?”

  “The guy who has your tail twisted in a knot. Is it true love, darling?” Brianna looked at her, her smile gentle. “It’s better to know love and suffer its arrows than never to know it at all.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I have no idea. I heard a human say it once.”

  The barn door slid open, and a jumble of people entered, laughing and talking. Sophie glanced at them and nearly swallowed her tongue. Trent. He’d arrived with Gabriel and Patsy.

  Brianna craned her neck around. “What? Did you see a movie star? A ghost? An ex-lover?” She wiggled her brows. “A new lover?”

  Sophie gulped hard, nearly choking on her drink. Trent was dressed in Converse sneakers, tight faded jeans, and a Polo shirt. The werewolves took a table near the dance floor. She saw Trent searching the crowd, and when his eyes connected with hers, he smiled.

  Sophie’s heart ached for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, darling! Who is it?”

  “None of your business,” she snapped.

  Brianna danced around in a circle until she faced the same direction as Sophie. “Found him! Blue polo, jeans, and devastating smile. His naughty gaze is totally undressing you.” Brianna whirled again, shimmying her hips and Sophie followed, realizing too late that her friend had danced them practically next to Trent’s table. His appreciative gaze took in her appearance. His eyes went dark, desire widening his irises.

  Brianna giggled. Then grabbed Sophie’s arm and dragged her back into the dancers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making him chase you,” she said gleefully. “Men of all species love the chase.”

  “I’m not the prize in a hunting contest.”

  “But you could be,” Brianna said.

  Sophie put her fists on her hips. “But I’m not.”

  “Werewolves! You take everything so seriously.” Brianna led Sophie to a darkened corner of the barn and kept them in the shadows. “Let’s see how much he wants you.”

  * * *

  TRENT CUT THROUGH the dancers, unable to see Sophie or the fae. He fought to control the emotions twisting inside him. The outfit she’d worn, a pale green dress that accented every curve of her sensual body, he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. And when their eyes connected for the split second, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he wanted Sophie. Badly. Every cell in his being called out for her. Her touch. Her kiss. Her words.

  With a groan of frustration, he stopped searching and returned to the table. Gabriel looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” He drank his beer and shared a look with his wife.

  Patsy leaned over, placing a hand on his arm. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”

  “I think it’s worse than that,” he said.

  “Things are complicated with Sophie?”

  “More so than expected.”

  Patsy squeezed his arm. “You’re not giving up on her, are you?”

  “Hell, no.” The vehement force in which he said the words not only surprised Patsy, it surprised Trent as well. He meant them. He would not give up on Sophie Lennox. Ever. He was beginning to suspect he needed her as much as she needed him...even if she didn’t know it yet.

  “Then why are you sitting here?” Patsy asked. “Go, already.”

  Trent kissed Patsy’s cheek, waved good-bye to his friends, and once again, weaved through the crowd of enthusiastic dancers. He thought he saw the pale green of Sophie’s dress in the back of the barn. He followed that spot of green to a shadowy corner where Sophie and Brianna sat at a lone table sipping bubbly drinks.

  Brianna’s curious gaze swept him from head to feet, her smile curling as she reached some conclusion.

  “May I?” Trent gestured to the empty chair.

  “I insist,” said Brianna. She held out her hand. “I’m Brianna. Best friend, confidante, and all-around-wonderful fae.”

  “Trent Clayton. Handyman, werewolf, and all-around-good guy,” Trent clasped Brianna’s offered hand. He sat down. “You throw a helluva party.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” She laughed. She pointed a bejeweled finger at him. “Oo-la-la. You have certainly put a spell on our Sophie.”

  “I have?” He looked at Sophie. His heart thundered in his chest, and his palms turned clammy. Shit. “Hi, Sophie.”

  “Hi, Trent.” Her gaze was on his. He could sense her desire in her expression, her body language, and in the raging pheromones that matched his own. Sophie wanted him as badly as he wanted her—at least that’s what he hoped.

  Brianna popped to her feet and announced, “I need more bubbly.” She waved at Sophie and Trent, and then, disappeared into the crowd.

  “Is she coming back?” asked Trent.

  “Probably not. She has the attention span of a spastic puppy.”

  “Ah.” Trent took Brianna’s seat so he could be closer to Sophie. A flowery scent infiltrated his senses, and underneath, the subtle scent of Sophie. His mouth dried, and he swallowed the nervous knot in his throat. She was beautiful. He curbed his desire to kiss the daylights out of her. Instead, he plucked a blonde curl from her shoulder. “You look beautiful. The dress is terrific.”

  “Thank you.” Self-consciously, she pulled up on the fabric near her ample cleavage. “Brianna’s work.”

  Trent heard the quick intake of breath as he used the curl to trace her collarbone. She wet her lips. Her lush mouth begged for a kiss, and her brown eyes telegraphed a potent desire.

  Trent played with the silky tendril of hair, wrapping it around his finger, then dropped it. He stood, his gaze never leaving Sophie’s face, and caressed her neck until his fingers reached the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Her breath hitched, her lips parted, and no longer able to resist; Trent leaned close.

  “I can’t resist you.” He
cupped the back of her neck and gave her a fraction of a second to reject his advances before capturing her lips. She tasted of mints and alcohol. He traced her closed lips with his tongue, and she instantly opened under his tender onslaught.

  Trent drank her earthy sweetness, tasting the corners, nibbling her lower lip. She swallowed her breathless moan, and only then did he slide his tongue inside, drawing her into an intimate dance, deepening his possession.

  Fire raced through his veins as Sophie responded, mating her mouth to his, stroking and suckling, with an animalistic fierceness that matched his own.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Trent murmured.

  Sophie pulled away, her eyes swirling with need and desire. Doubt seeped into her gaze, and he ached to wipe that look from her eyes. She still didn’t trust him, and he wanted Sophie’s trust. Right now, though, he’d settle for whatever she gave him. He lowered his head and took Sophie’s mouth again, pouring the heat of his blood, the thunder of his heart, the cry of his soul into their kiss.

  When they pulled apart, Sophie whispered, “Let’s go.”

  Slipping out of the barn, Trent clasped Sophie’s hand as they walked through the high grass. The moon shone, and the stars twinkled. Wind rattled through the trees, harmonizing with the cricket night songs. Trent inhaled the faint scents of roses and honeysuckle. When he glanced at Sophie, she was staring at him.

  “Sophie.” He let go of her hand and drew her into his embrace. “I want to touch you. Kiss you. Make love to you.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a startled breath. “We hardly know each other, Trent.” Her brows dipped into a frown. “I know you said you’re trying to help me. And you did manage to take away my panic. But there’s more going on, isn’t there? You’re keeping secrets from me.”

  “So are you,” he said softly. “More happened to you in Oregon. There are details you haven’t shared.” He cupped her cheek. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

  The shrill ring of her cell phone startled her. Saved by the bell. She opened her clutch and pulled out the smart phone. The display said, “Nana.”

  “Did you win at Ultimate Bingo?”

  “No time, Sophie. This is my only call.” Nana’s sigh would’ve filled up a hot air balloon. “I’m in the joint. The clink. The slammer. The big J!”

  Sophie stilled, comprehension slowly dawning. “What did you do?”

  “I decked Elvis.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s a long story. Short version: I’m in jail. I need you to bail me out.”

  “Oh, my God. Which jail?”

  “The one in Las Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas, Nevada?”

  “No, Las Vegas, France,” snarked Nana. “I suggest hopping on the nearest vampire. It’s faster than booking a flight.” Nana hung up, but Sophie listened to the dial tone for a full ten seconds, hoping the voice that sounded so much like Nana’s had not really been her dear, 80-year-old grandmother announcing she was an Elvis-decking criminal behind bars in downtown Las Vegas. The entire phone call had been a delusion. A dream. A catastrophe. What the hell had happened to Ultimate Bingo?

  She looked up and met Trent’s worried gaze.

  “Sophie, what’s wrong?”

  Chapter Six

  TRANSPO BY VAMPIRE had been ditched in favor of Patsy and Gabriel’s Cessna Citation X+, a personal luxury jet that happened to be the fastest in the world. Trent insisted on coming with her, and she insisted that no one else go. As werewolves, she and Trent could blend in fairly well with the humans. But even in Vegas vampires and fae would stick out.

  As for the plane, Sophie didn’t care that much about the leather seats, flat-screen television, touch screen controls, or ambient lighting. However, she was immensely grateful for the fully stocked bar. By the third vodka, she had loosened her grip on the armrests of her seat and was beginning to believe Nana had played a big joke.

  “Elvis is dead,” she announced. “Nana couldn’t have punched him. I mean, him being buried in a grave at Graceland and all.” She blinked. “Wait. Is Elvis dead? Or is he some vampire?”

  “I don’t think he’s a vampire.” Trent sat across from her. “Virginia probably smacked an impersonator.” He leaned over and pried the drink out of her hand.

  Sophie took it back and glared at him. She took a big swallow and tried to snort her disgust at the situation. Unfortunately, the vodka hadn’t finished its journey down her throat and abruptly changed directions—going up instead. The burning liquid exited her nose in a generous spray—much like a sprinkler watering a lawn—and she attempted to hack up both lungs. And her pancreas, too.

  Silence filled the cabin. After all, what did a person say after a moment like this? Oh sorry. Did I get any snot on you?

  Heat scorched Sophie’s cheeks. She released her grip on the glass and let Trent take it, humbly accepting his offer of a few tissues. She couldn’t look at him; her nose felt like she’d inhaled a jalepeno. She wished the plane would crack right under her plush seat so that she could plummet to her death. God, she’d been acting like an incoherent idiot. Sophie nodded and concentrated on the wadded-up tissues.

  Trent squeezed her knee. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  * * *

  NINETY MINUTES LATER, the plane landed at McCarran Airport, taxiing to the executive terminal used by several tour companies. Sophie felt nauseous and anxious as Trent helped her off the jet.

  “I hope I don’t throw-up,” said Sophie. “That would just suck.”

  “You’ll be fine,” soothed Trent. He led her through the small building. As they stepped out the glass front doors, a limousine pulled up.

  “Patsy is the bestest queen ever,” said Sophie, as a headache formed. Vodka plus stress plus errant grandmothers made for a doozy of a brain melt.

  Trent ushered her into the limo. She sank into the leather seats and sighed. Trent handed her a cold bottled water.

  She drank from it. “Thank you.”

  She’d been whisked to Vegas so she could rescue her grandmother from jail. How different it would be if she and Trent had gone off for the weekend, arriving by private plane, then taken by limo to a luxurious hotel. She lost herself in the little fantasy, then immediately felt guilty and selfish for wishing she’d been on a lover’s trip with Trent instead of spending her time worrying about her grandmother.

  She sipped on her water and stared out the window. Themed-hotels lined Las Vegas Boulevard—from the huge emerald-green MGM to the pink big top of Circus Circus.

  Sophie felt like she’d been dropped onto a movie set for giants.

  It was nearly midnight when they reached the police station. After several inquiries and wrong turns, they found an information desk.

  The matronly woman behind the counter stared at a computer, punching the keyboard with her long, purple nails. “Mr. Howard King dropped the charges,” she finally said. The clerk grinned. “Oh, I remember these two. Fighting and fussing and poor old Elvis in the middle holding his toupee.”

  “We need to pay her bail,” said Trent.

  “No bail. They were let go. Both got tickets for disorderly conduct, but no jail time. Hey, are you daughter of the bride?”

  Sophie blinked. “Bride?”

  “Yeah, honey. All that fuss was over a wedding.”

  “Who? Where? When?”

  “This isn’t the registrar’s office. You’ll have to go courthouse to get that kind of information.”

  * * *

  BACK IN THE limo, Sophie sat in a daze, not even registering the glittering lights of the Strip. “How did I get ‘I’m in jail because I punched Elvis’ confused with ‘I’m getting married to Elvis’? Those phrases don’t sound remotely alike.”

  “Try her cell. See if she answers.”

  Sophie dialed her grandmother, who picked up on the second ring.

  “Hi, Sophie. Sorry for all the fuss. Turns out I didn’t need bail money after all.”

 
“I heard.”

  “Oh. You… uh, went to the jail first, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you can bunk with me. I’m at the MGM Grand.” Nana gave her the room number, and Sophie told Trent where to go.

  * * *

  WHEN THEY GOT to the hotel room, it was nearing two a.m. Nana answered the door. Her nice, gray hair stuck up in several places, and her clothes looked slept in. Sophie gaped at her.

  “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies. I know I look like hell.” Nana smoothed down her permed nest of hair and straightened her clothes. “Hangover. Just a little one, though. Tequila was much stronger in the old days. Worms were tastier, too.”

  Sophie’s are-you-freaking-insane lecture was silenced by the vision of Nana swilling tequila like a vaquero might in the days when the West was still being won. “Where’s Betty Lee?” she managed to ask.

  “With Howard.”

  “And Howard is...?” asked Sophie.

  “Elvis,” responded Nana in a gravelly get-a-clue tone. “And her new husband.”

  Relief washed over Sophie. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become after finding out her grandmother might be married. “So, Betty Lee married Elvis, er, Howard?”

  “Yes,” Nana said, waving her hand in a get-up-to-speed gesture. “She’s moved into his place. She works fast. I think she glamoured him with her laser eyes.” She put her forefingers up and wiggled them. “I hope he doesn’t have a heart attack when he finds out she’s a vampire. I tried to talk her out of it. You know how that hundred-year-old bonding thing goes. If he croaks, she’ll be carrying around his ashes for a century.”

  Sophie shared a horrified glance with Trent, who held onto her elbow and steered her into the room and to the nearest chair. Trent grabbed the opened bottle of rum sitting on the television. He ripped the paper covers off two glasses and poured the liquid into them. Sophie took the proffered glass and sucked down the contents.

  He was not only hot and kind and compassionate, but he was also smart. The rum did its job, warming her from the inside out.