“Marabelle?” I asked. He wasn’t the only one with information.
“Uhmm,” he answered again.
This was becoming a tedious conversation and he didn’t seem a bit fazed.
“We don’t want that now do we?” I asked. I really just wanted him to answer, to say something other than a grunt, damn it. His respectful cowboy routine grated on my nerves and if he didn’t talk to me I just knew I was going to punch him, butter knife or no.
“No, Ms. Sabin, I don’t. I also don’t want a war with anyone back East,” he said. His lips narrowed and his jaw tightened in a grimace.
It made me feel both relieved that Patrick was so feared and frustrated that I was still affiliated with that world. I’d thought I could escape it, forget. I couldn’t, and Jarvis was undead proof of that in a dingy white cowboy hat in the middle of Las Vegas.
Reaching for his hat, he slipped it back on his head with a cool grace. He tipped it to me again as he stood. “Ms. Sabin.”
“Jarvis,” I acknowledged just as curt with a quick nod back. I had to be polite. I had a feeling Jarvis might take it personally if I wasn’t polite. He strode out of the restaurant like he’d left his horse hitched outside. I flagged down the waitress and asked for my bill. I wasn’t hungry anymore and the urge to get the hell out of there was making me antsy.
Revving my bike’s engine, I jetted out of Terrible’s parking lot in a squeal of tires, heading to Enza’s house. I had a lot to think about considering the vampires were now aware of me. I had to get away from Enza and find somewhere else to stay. I couldn’t endanger her too.
Coming here had been a mistake.
I made the turn onto the strip and zoomed past the bright lights of Las Vegas at night, making my way into the darker and more residential neighborhoods. I cruised along the still surprisingly busy streets at a speed just a bit faster than the posted speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease that only a motorcycle could provide. I hit a straightaway with almost a mile between lights then let out the throttle. The engine roared through the gears as I hit 80 mph.
My back tire slipped and skidded beneath me as it blew in an explosion popping behind me. My pulse quickened and my breath caught in a hard lump in my throat as the bike swerved and the loud pop of exploding rubber pierced through the helmet. Skidding and fishtailing across the lane, I fought for control. Sparks lit up the night as the rim ground into the pavement. I gripped the brakes as tight as I could, feeling the ground beneath the bare rim rumble up through the metal of the bike.
Shit, it would suck to have survived all the vampire and werewolf bullshit only to die because of a blown tire.
The back rim sparked against the pavement with a sound resembling fingernail on a chalkboard, forcing the bike off in unpredictable directions. I took a quick breath and thrust forward, forcing all my weight and the momentum of the bike onto the front tire. Popping the bike onto the front wheel, I hit the front brake and skidded to a stop in a squealing mess of smoke and sparks.
The bike plopped down onto the front tire and a bare back rim. I held the bike up by sheer force of will, my chest heaving as I panted to slow my heart. I tried not to cry as moisture from sweat made my palms slick. My heart thundered in my ears and my stomach churned with fear.
“SHIT,” I whispered, my voice quaking. I flipped the visor on my helmet up. My hands shook and I gripped the handlebars harder to hide my trembling fingers as I straddled the bike, my feet flat on the ground.
A rickety old Ford drove up next to me and clanked to a stop.
I lifted my helmet off my head and shrugged my hair out of my face, waiting, as the window cranked down.
“Howdy,” a graveled male voice with a slight cowboy drawl said from inside the truck’s cab. He leaned out of the passenger side window, resting his elbow on the door as he grinned at me. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he glared at me with a scar running under his chin across his neck in a thin line of translucent pale skin. It had been long healed and maybe I was jaded but it looked like a slash from something similar to my bowie knife. The old wound could’ve been innocent but I doubted it.
I miss my bowie knife.
His hair fell over his right shoulder in a soft fall of coal black hair shining in the lights from the streetlamps and the dash. His eyes were a stark crystal blue that reminded me of Dean. Shivers ran up my spine as I thought of Dean’s hands on my face as he’d kissed me goodbye.
“Hello,” I said, dropping the kickstand and stepping away from the bike. “You don’t happen to have a phone I could borrow. My back tire blew and I need to call AAA,” I said with a smile.
“Nope, no phone but we can toss the bike in the back. I can take you wherever you need to go,” he said, reaching down to open the door from the outside.
There was no way in hell I was getting in the car with some strange dude. I didn’t want to end up in little pieces in the desert.
“That’s all right,” I said, waving him off. “I can just call from that convenience store I saw a few blocks back. Thanks, though.”
“Ma’am, that’s not such a good idea,” he said, stepping out of the truck’s cab. “Those two boys who followed you out of Terrible’s and shot up your tire are circling back,” he said, walking to my now abandoned bike. He gathered it into his arms like it weighed nothing and hoisted it up to the truck bed. “They’ll be here soon.”
I stepped back, my mouth gaping open as I watched him toss my roughly 650-pound bike into the bed of his truck. “I don’t think I’ll be going with you either,” I snapped, backing away from him, my nerves burning with anxiety. One step and then another. Maybe I could outrun him but I doubted it if he could toss my bike ten feet without breaking a sweat. I wasn’t that fast.
“Ma’am,” he said, leaning forward. He held out his hand for me to shake. “You’re safe with me. I give you my word.”
Hesitating, I placed my hand in his. Before I could think too hard or he could stop me, I twisted his muscled arm behind his back. I shoved him up against the tailgate of his truck in a wristlock, letting the pressure from my grip build through his muscles and grind the bones. I could’ve pulled a wristlock off in my sleep. A soft groan of pain escaped his lips in a grim line across his face.
“Who are you?” I asked, the deep, threatening tone came back to me as easily as if it’d never left. In truth, I hadn’t needed it in the last five months and a little piece of me welcomed it, missed it.
“Name’s Raiden,” he said, grunting through clenched teeth as I bent his wrist back just a bit further, feeling the soft crack of bone beneath his skin. “Uhhgg!”
I leaned forward and breathed in his scent. He definitely wasn’t a vampire. I didn’t get that scent of death underneath all of the other smells wafting around him. Plus, he had a heartbeat. He wasn’t human either though. Plus, this guy was warm, really warm. His hand was like fire in my grasp. He smelled . . . off, not like the wolves back home either. They smelled of Pack, of the woods on an early spring morning, and of fresh water from the creek. Raiden smelled dry, like the earth had filled his being with dust, and the setting sun.
“What are you?” I asked in a whisper.
“We’ve met, you and I,” he said in a gruff voice, rumbling with the pain of my wristlock. “We’re running out of time.” He groaned and stopped struggling. He turned his head a fraction of an inch to meet my eyes.
I saw a flash of amber fill his irises. He cocked his head, reminding me of Danny in his wolf form. I knew this man.
“The coyote,” I whispered, backing away in slow careful steps.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he turned, shaking out his arm as if trying to return blood flow to his fingertips. “You got quite a grip on you,” he said with a bashful smile. “Now, Ma’am, if you don’t mind. Those two boys are making their way across traff
ic. We should go.” He pointed at the parking lot across the street as two nondescript men, a.k.a. goons, left a medium-sized, dark sedan behind. The two men tried to dodge traffic, crossing the four lanes of fast moving cars like a Frogger game.
Nodding, I raced to the passenger side of the truck’s cab.
“My name’s Dahlia, by the way,” I said as he closed his own door and fired up the engine.
He shifted the old truck into drive with a grind of worn gears and hit the gas.
“Yes, Ma’am, I know. Every supernatural in this city knows who you are,” he said with a quick glance my way.
“Perfect,” I said, sliding down in the seat and crossing my arms. So much for going unnoticed. “I’m staying on the west side of town,” I huffed.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ma’am,” he said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
I turned full toward him and leaned my back against the door. “Look,” I snapped. “That’s the second time in an hour that someone’s called me ‘ma’am’. I don’t like it.”
“Well, Ma—” Raiden started but never managed to finish. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Sabin. For some of us, it’s an old habit to break.”
“I bet,” I snapped. The onramp for I-15 N loomed ahead and I bristled at the thought of disappearing into the desert with this guy. Everybody knew there were plenty of holes in the desert and I didn’t want to be in one of them.
Where the hell is he taking me?
“So,” I started in a more compliant, softer and less aggressive, tone. I did not want to be taken out into the desert. No way, no how. “When you said that it wasn’t a good idea, what did you mean?” I pushed myself as far up against the door panel as my body would allow and slid my hand behind me. Reaching for the door handle at my back, I clutched the cold metal in my grasp. I didn’t particularly want to jump from a moving vehicle at speeds of 65 miles an hour or more but I would if I had to.
“Those two boys are still following us. I didn’t think you wanted to lead them back to your house. Jarvis and his like can’t get in but those two servants can,” he said. His voice was flat and sure as he peered out into the darkness beyond the windshield, the city and its lights disappearing behind us.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked with my hand still clutching the door handle.
His eyes darted over at me with an expression in his gaze that made me feel like a frightened animal boxed into a canyon. I swallowed hard and gripped the handle tighter, making my knuckles ache. The metal gave just a bit under my fingers and my strength.
“Someplace they can’t follow,” he answered, returning his eyes to the road. Tapping his index fingers absently on the steering wheel, he drove. Tension percolated in the cab of the truck as the air became static and charged with my desire to run, to get the hell out.
“I’m not going to hurt you but jumping from a moving vehicle might, Ms. Sabin. Relax. We’ll be there soon enough.”
“Where’s there?” I asked.
“Moapa River Indian Reservation,” he answered. “We’ll be there in about an hour. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
I backed away from the door panel and eased into the bench seat. Fastening my seatbelt, I relaxed. Raiden was right. I was pretty sure I could take him one on one but the damage done from jumping might be too much, even for me.
The desert stretched out in front of us, around us, and behind us in an endless sea of nothingness as far as the eyes could see. The rattling hum of the engine lulled me into a fuzzy dreariness. The soft rumble felt soothing with its constant rhythm and the knock in the engine every ten seconds.
I tried to keep my eyes open, knowing it was dangerous to close them. No matter what I did, the quiet in the cab and the rough sound of the engine made my eyes heavy. I tried to convince my brain that I was in danger, but couldn’t convince myself, or the soft familiar voice in my head as her warmth filled my body. I closed my eyes only for a second.
His hands were so warm against my skin. Nearly covering the whole side of my face, he brushed a salty tear from my cheek.
“I missed you,” his deep baritone whispered in my ear as his arms wrapped around me, squeezing tight like a python. I slid my hands up his back and hooked my hands over his shoulders, clutching him to me. His broad, firm chest rubbed against mine, a wonderful weight pressing down on me.
“I didn’t think I would miss you as much as I did,” I whispered as another tear slipped down my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter,” his husky voice rumbled, curling my toes as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re here now.” He cupped my face in his large hands, the warmth of his body engulfed me, seeping into my core.
My mind spiraled into a frenzy of desire and lust, growing warm with the heat of hunger. Leaning into me, his full lips brushed against mine in a soft kiss that left me weak-kneed and panting. The soft delicacy of his kiss, the smell of his body filling my nose, and the familiar warmth of his skin were just as I remembered.
His fingers stretched into my hair as his mouth forced my lips apart. He slid his tongue between my teeth, consuming me, devouring me. He kissed me as if he’d eat me whole, growling deep in his chest. I knew then that I loved him no matter if it was right or wrong. Being in love with Patrick should have stopped me from loving Dean but it didn’t. Dean was the warmth of life to Patrick’s chill of the grave. I needed him. I needed them both.
His heated hands caressed down my back, kneading my ass and digging into the soft flesh as he tugged me against the hard line of his erection. I wrapped my legs around his waist, sliding my arms around his neck as I stroked his delicious bald head. Deepening the kiss, I let him know how much I’d missed him. He knelt down, setting me on his comfortable leather club sofa and blocking out all the light from the soft bulbs in the overhead chandelier.
“Ummmm,” I groaned as his fingers slipped in-between me and my jeans, finding me wet and ready for him.
“Ma’am,” he growled deliciously in my ear.
I stared up into eyes that shone a bright Caribbean blue.
“Tre?” I whispered into Dean’s ear, using the name that drove him over the edge.
“Ma’am, we’re here.”
Dean’s lips moved with a voice that wasn’t his.
“Ma’am?”
Snapping my eyes open, fear and disorientation bubbled in my gut. I was in the cab of a truck with a man. A man in dirty jeans and jet-black hair. He had blue eyes the color of sapphires that pierced the darkness like a knife. He smiled at me in a bashful grin that made his eyes dance in the low lights of the dash. I couldn’t keep my heart from pounding out a marching band’s cadence in my chest.
Raiden. I was on my way to the Moapa Indian Reservation.
Raiden. Not Dean. Raiden.
“I thought I told you not to call me Ma’am,” I snapped, feeling the loss of Dean’s warm hands from my body and hating it. God, it had felt so real. So good.
Clearing his throat, Raiden opened his door. “I thought it would be less jarring when you woke up,” he grumbled in a gruff of suppressed laughter.
Oh my God. What had I said? I stepped out of the cab and focused everywhere but at Raiden.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Several houses littered the desert, darkness hanging over the horizon like a weight. The single-story houses didn’t seem very big, bordering on adobe shacks with very few windows. The home in front of us seemed almost claustrophobic with a tin roof over the front door and a rickety aluminum screen door that was almost rusted through. A few outdated strings of lights were strung around the roof of the front porch, acting like a porch light with only three left on the string still lit.
Raiden strolled up to the door and knocked.
“Raide
n? Where are we?” I asked again with a little more urgency in my voice.
“My house,” a man muttered from the darkness behind me.
Jumping almost through my skin, I landed several feet to the left of where I’d started, crouching low and ready to pounce.
“Jumpy,” he said, striding by me toward Raiden.
The Paiute Indian was older, I would’ve guessed in his sixties and at least fifteen years older than Raiden. His features seemed worn and haggard but sincerity lingered at the corners of his mouth as he tried to hide a smile. His long, silver hair streamed down his back, free in the wind and flowing over his broad shoulders. He appeared experienced, with kindness in his fathomless black eyes as he shook Raiden’s hand. “What have you brought me?”
“A guest,” Raiden said, turning the old Paiute to face me. “Georgie, this is Ms. Dahlia Sabin,” he said, ushering me forward.
“Georgie?” I asked.
“You expected something else?” he asked, his soft tenor jovial and light.
“Yeah, I suppose I did,” I answered. He took my outstretched hand in a firm grasp and shook like I was the first outsider he’d seen in years.
“Vampire servants were trailing her and I thought it safer to bring her here tonight. The wards surrounding the reservation will keep them out,” Raiden said, holding the front door for the old man.
“I imagine Marabelle’s servants would be up in arms if The Blushing Death was in town. I expect nothing less from her or Jarvis,” Georgie said as he patted Raiden on the shoulder and strode into the house.
Raiden waited with the door open, patient and non-assuming.
I hesitated. No weapons, no backup, and no one to miss me for a few days. Everyone seemed to know who and what I was. The safety I thought I had was gone.
“Come on then, we won’t bite,” Raiden said with a hint of laughter in the quiet of the darkness.
Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) Page 7