She thought she remembered his soft whisper: “Sleep well, Caitlyn. You’re safe now.”
Safe. She rolled the word around in her head. Jared wanted to keep her “safe.” But his idea of safe was a childlike existence with him telling her what to do and what to think and what her visions meant.
With him making every decision for the both of them.
What did keeping her safe mean to Sloan, she wondered?
Her suitcases had appeared in her room at some point during the night, so she dug out a pair of sweatpants and checked the rest of the trailer. Sloan was nowhere to be seen.
Her stomach rumbled. Having thrown up all that amazing food she’d eaten last night, she was starving. But first she needed a shower in the worst way, not to mention about a gallon of water and some serious mouthwash action. Then she could find Sloan and ask him if there was food.
She couldn’t believe she’d started out her job with the Bad Blood Crew—and her relationship with Sloan—tossing her cookies outside a seedy motel after having to be rescued from being dragged off by a robber.
Sheesh. Her mere presence here probably reduced the badass quotient of the entire crew by like, a third. She was the anti-badass.
She took a quick shower and put on clean clothes, and then left Sloan’s trailer in search of food and a sexy leopard.
What she found was pandemonium.
A shiny, jacked-up pickup, its gleaming paint a purple so dark it was almost black, had just rumbled into the clearing and parked. People were streaming out of the main cabin, and as Caitlyn watched, a tall, thin man with long, platinum blond hair opened one of the back doors and climbed out.
Tank reached him first. “Tristan!” He lifted the blond man off the ground in an enormous bear hug, and Tristan pounded his back, grinning.
The others crowded around him, clasping hands, hugging, or just reaching out to touch him. Unlike owls, animal shifters thrived on touch—needed it, even, especially among their family and crew mates.
Watching the enthusiastic greetings made tears unexpectedly sting Caitlyn’s eyes. It must be nice to be as well-loved as this Tristan person obviously was.
Three more people were climbing out of the truck, though they didn’t get the chaotic greetings that Tristan did. The first was a huge man almost the size of Flynn, but his wild dreads were a deep bronze color instead of black like Flynn’s.
Another lion?
Then she caught sight of the other two. One was a pretty redhead: glamorous, dressed in upscale country/western clothes that screamed high-profile money, right down to her turquoise cowboy boots. She only incongruous note was an elaborate filigree necklace around her neck, like a gold collar. Her eyes were an arresting cobalt blue.
She was helped out of the truck by a tall man with wary eyes, ripped and gorgeous as only a predator shifter could be. He turned to close the truck door, and when he lifted his right hand, she saw a gold disc embedded in his palm, with a dark green gemstone right in the center.
Caitlyn shook her head, staring, but she was seeing it right. A metal disc fused to his freaking palm. Only powerful sorcerers did that shit—the kind that did ever-so-illegal magic. And unless she’d learned nothing in spook school, the woman’s collar was magical too.
Dragon artifacts.
Caitlyn shrank into the shadow of the trees, a sick feeling washing over her. Was Jared’s report right after all? Was Sloan involved with artifact smuggling?
She turned to go back to the cabin, but she wasn’t quick enough. Sloan caught sight of her and jogged over.
“Hey,” he said as he came up to her. “You’re up. Good. An old friend just dropped by from Idaho, and I want you to meet—”
He broke off. “Whoa. You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
She shook her head, still feeling sick with shock and hunger. “I thought I was,” she said. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Worry furrowed Sloan’s brow. “I hope you didn’t get a concussion last night, head-butting that fucker in the parking lot.” He gently touched the knot on her forehead, and she flinched back instinctively.
He’s not a smuggler. Or a murderer. Please, no.
There’s an explanation. There must be.
“Come on,” Sloan said. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
She let him put his arm around her waist and help her back to the trailer. He felt warm and solid, and the nausea and dizziness seemed to fade the further she got away from the clearing—and the longer Sloan held on to her.
But she still felt cold inside.
She refused to go back to bed, so he settled her on the living room couch, propped up with pillows and with a blanket over her. Then he insisted on checking her vitals and her pupils, prodding the tender place on her forehead with gentle fingers. “If it’s a concussion, it’s not much of a one,” he said. “Maybe you’re just hungry. You rest here, and I’ll make you some tea and toast.”
Caitlyn closed her eyes as Sloan moved around the kitchen, the small sounds homey and soothing. He was being so sweet to her. How could he be the kind of person who hoarded dangerous magic, or sold it to the highest bidder and let them hurt people with it?
“Who were those people?” she asked.
“Old friends,” Sloan said. “Tristan, the blond guy, is an unofficial Bad Blood.” The teakettle whistled, and she heard him pouring tea. As he buttered the toast, he added, “The others are Ashley Silver, the country singer, her mate and her manager.”
Ashley Silver. The Silver Star. Holy hell. What was she doing wielding dragon artifacts?
Sloan carried the mug over to Caitlyn and set it on the coffee table, along with a slice of buttered toast. “Here. Try to eat something. Do you want milk in your tea? There’s some in the fridge that might still be good. And there’s sugar. Somewhere.”
She smiled weakly at him. “This is fine. This is great. I like it black.” It was more than fine. She couldn’t imagine Jared making her tea and toast with his own hands. Especially if they’d just met, and she’d ended their first sort-of date by throwing up in his general direction.
But Jared probably wasn’t a heinous smuggler of dangerous illegal magic, either.
She started to move so Sloan could sit down, but he just lifted her feet, settled onto the couch, and then repositioned her feet on his lap, under the blanket.
It felt good. Too good.
“What are they all doing here?” she asked.
Sloan shrugged. “No fucking clue,” he said. “They’re having some alpha-type meeting with Flynn. But damn, it’s good to see Tristan. I hope he’s going to stay for a while.”
Caitlyn sipped her tea and watched Sloan. He seemed relaxed and happy, glad to see his friend again. Not like someone whose evil overlords had come to call.
She had to think, and she couldn’t do that with Sloan here next to her, absently stroking her calf with one hand.
The tingles going up her leg made it hard to figure things out. In fact, they made it so all she could think about was how kissable his lips were.
“You don’t have to stay in here with me all afternoon,” she said. “I’m probably just going to go back to sleep after I finish eating.”
Sloan looked troubled and… was that guilt she saw on his face?
“You sure?” he asked. “Because there’s some stuff I really should do. I just hate to leave you if you’re not okay.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t have a concussion, so you don’t have to watch me in case I croak in my sleep. Go. Do your stuff.”
Just please don’t make it be evil bad guy stuff. Don’t prove Jared right, and me wrong.
Chapter 11
Sloan jogged down the steps of his trailer. He hated to leave Caitlyn when she still looked so pale and sick, but she clearly didn’t want him hovering over her.
Even though his cat thought they should stay and watch her sleep. Because that wasn’t creepy at all. Protect her, his leopard said. She’s unhappy.
&nb
sp; Yeah. And you think we’re going to make her happy?
His cat was silent.
Sloan stopped and listened, trying to figure out where Xander was. There. An unmistakable noise came from the far side of Xander’s trailer—the sound of throwing knives hitting a wooden target.
Before he did anything else, he had to fix things with Xander. He sighed. If he couldn’t stop himself from making his best friend unhappy, how the hell was he ever going to do anything for a woman like Caitlyn?
But he wanted to, he admitted to himself. He loved having her in his trailer. He loved taking care of her. He wanted to spend more time with her, make her smile, learn everything about her.
He went around the back of Xander’s trailer to where he had his knife target set up. Actually, practically anything in the whole compound made of wood was fair game as a target, as far as Xander was concerned. But this was the official target he used when he was so pissed off or upset that he didn’t even care about annoying the rest of the crew.
Xander was throwing with lethal force and accuracy, a deep frown on his face.
“Hey,” Sloan said, leaning against a tree, not too close so Xander’s panther wouldn’t feel threatened. He also braced himself in case Xander decided to hurl one of those deadly weapons at him.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Xander barely grunted in reply. He lined up another throw, hitting the center of the target with a decisive thunk that sent wood chips flying.
Sloan decided to get right to the point. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about Caitlyn before last night. The date, I mean.”
Thunk. Xander didn’t look at him.
“I tried to tell myself it wasn’t a big deal,” Sloan went on. “But, deep down I kind of knew it was. To me, and to you.”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Xander was out of knives. He walked over to his target and yanked out the ones stuck in there.
“She your mate?” he asked Sloan abruptly.
Sloan was taken aback. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well, yeah, he had, but he ditched those thoughts as soon as they appeared.
“No,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want her to be. If she somehow was my fated mate, that would completely suck because I can’t take care of a mate. I can barely hold my shit together on any given day. But she can’t be. I mean, wouldn’t I know it right away?”
“Would you?” Xander said. “You and your cat don’t exactly communicate that well. You know he hides his feelings from you.”
Sloan was stunned into silence. Deep down, he did know that, but no one had ever said it out loud before. Shame swept through him. Dishonoring your animal—shoving its feelings and needs aside—was one of the worst things a shifter could do.
Even if his cat had let him down when he needed it most.
“I—” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit, Xander, I don’t know what my cat feels. I don’t know what the fuck I feel. Except that whatever shit I do feel, it usually feels better when she’s with me.”
Xander nodded, as if Sloan had confirmed something for him. A cold feeling yawned in the middle of Sloan’s gut, remembering their conversation the morning after Xander’s last episode.
He walked forward, cautiously, and touched Xander’s shoulder. “Xander, don’t leave the crew. Please. Not because of me, and not because of Caitlyn.” He heard the pleading in his voice. “I need you here, man.”
Xander rolled his shoulders in a catlike shrug, as if he were uncomfortable with Sloan’s touch, but he didn’t move away. “My cat—the more potential mates that come into the crew, the more he’s freaking out. He keeps telling me some shit about I had a mate, and I lost her. He wants her back.”
Sloan dropped his hand. “Shit. Please tell me he’s not talking about Cindi.”
Cindi was Xander’s former girlfriend—the one who had Turned him, putting a panther inside him without his knowledge or consent. His cat had been out of control from day one, crazed with Xander’s anger and resentment. Alexander Grant’s torture had made it worse, but if any one person was responsible for Xander’s fucked-up state of mind, it was Cindi.
If she ever showed up here, the Bad Bloods would probably rip her to shreds. Hell, Sloan would be first in line.
Xander’s grip tightened around his knives. One of the blades cut into his palm, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “That’s what’s making me fucking crazy. If it’s her… fuck that. Not doing it. But my cat’s kind of vague on the name thing. And he won’t fucking leave me alone.”
Xander was breathing faster now. Sloan could feel the explode-o-meter rising.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing his friend by the shoulders, trying to calm him with his touch, his presence. “We’ll figure it out.”
Xander jerked back, and his whole body slumped. “Don’t you get it? If it’s her, even if I stay a million miles away, I’ll never find anyone else. My fucking panther won’t let me.”
Sloan wished to hell he knew what to say. This was his brother, and he was tearing himself apart. He didn’t deserve this shit.
“Don’t give up,” he said quietly. “Okay? Just… don’t give up. And don’t leave.”
Xander just shook his head. “Caitlyn,” he said. “You gonna not be an idiot, and ask her to stay?”
Xander’s selflessness made Sloan want to break down and bawl like a fucking baby. In the middle of all the shit he was feeling, he still wanted Sloan to have his shot at happiness.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I think I am.”
After Sloan left, Caitlyn stuffed her toast in her mouth and went to get her computer. She wished to hell she still had her access codes to the Agency databases, but even if Jared hadn’t cut her off, using them would immediately alert him to what she was looking for.
A country singer and her mate, who openly wore dragon artifacts.
Instead, she paged through the internet for pictures of Ashley and her mate, Israel. He seemed to act as her bodyguard, hovering in the background of nearly every picture of her in a public setting. Caitlyn noticed that he usually wore a fingerless glove on his right hand, to cover the implanted artifact.
Ashley was never without her necklace.
Caitlyn was about to access the shifter dark web when her laptop lit up with a Skype call.
It was Jared.
Caitlyn hesitated, then answered the call, making sure to disable the video. She didn’t want him picking up any clues to where she was from the background. Hopefully, since the call was coming in over wi-fi, he couldn’t trace it.
“Hello, Jared,” she said.
He had his video on; she could see him sitting in his study at home.
“Caitlyn,” he said. “Where are you? I found your motel, but you moved out.”
Which motel? she wondered. The first one, where she’d called him from? Or the last one? Were those his agents last night?
But she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “Why are you tracking me?”
Now that she could see him, she could also see the exasperated micro-expressions that always crossed his face when he was dealing with her.
“Because you’re running around crazy?” he said in that patient tone that fucking set her teeth on edge. “You’re aiding and abetting a fugitive, Caitlyn,” he added. “That’s very serious.”
“I am not,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. Because what if she was? What if she was shielding the very artifact-smuggling ring the Agency had been trying to infiltrate all those years ago? Nonetheless, she went on, “You have no proof that the man I found, Sloan McCall, is this Devlin person you’re looking for.”
Jared, being Jared, picked up on her tone immediately. “You know he is,” he said. “Why won’t you admit you made a mistake, trying to save him, and come home?”
“I can’t,” she said. No matter what kind of person Sloan was, she couldn’t go back to Jared.
“Of course you can,” Jared said, his
voice as smooth as silk. “No one even knows what you did. I put in for an indefinite leave of absence from your job, and I explained to our friends and families that you’ve gone away for complete rest and quiet.”
Caitlyn’s mouth dropped open as she translated that in her head. “You told everyone I had a mental breakdown?”
Jared said in the same silky voice, “Well, you must have, running out on our mating pledge like that. I just made sure that neither of us suffers the embarrassment of people knowing about it.”
Right, she thought. Who cares if I suffer the embarrassment of people thinking I’m crazy?
“This way,” Jared said, “You can come back, and no one will even know you tried to break our pledge.”
Oh, fuck no. Was he delusional?
“Jared, I’m not coming back. Whether or not Sloan turns out to be the person you and that report say he is, you and I are over.”
There was a silence, while Jared stared straight into the camera, his lip slowly curling in disgust. “God, Caitlyn, do you have a crush on that animal?” He paused again, looking appalled. “You do. That’s why you’re still following him around, even though you know what he is.” He looked suddenly horrified. “You haven’t slept with him, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t,” she said, but her voice trembled.
Jared shook his head. “This is worse than I thought. Caitie, we’ll track him down, with or without you. If you turn him in, I can spin it so that you don’t get swept up in the net along with him. But if you turn against me…”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence. She’d known Jared since they were kids—she knew how vindictive he could be.
But that didn’t mean he was wrong. She’d seen the evidence with her own eyes—“old friends” of the Bad Blood Crew practically dripping with magical artifacts.
Still, she couldn’t let Jared loose on them until she’d at least found out more.
“I’m not against you, Jared,” she said. “But I’m never going to be your mate, either. And I’m not going to help you railroad a man who may be innocent.”
Before he could answer, she cut the call and shut down the computer.
Bad Blood Leopard (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3) Page 6