Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel)

by Suzanne M. Sabol

  Jackson had been embezzling from Dean’s construction company and used the money to put a down payment on a mated pair of werewolf assassins to kill me. I’d challenged him at the Manit and broken his neck. The assassins had killed Amblan and burnt down my house. I’d killed them, too.

  “Yes. How can I help you?” she asked again in a professional voice.

  I remained quiet for a long moment, trying to think of something to say.

  “Miss Dahlia? Is that you?” she whispered.

  “Yeah. How are you? How’s the job going?” I asked, relieved that I didn’t have to come up with a lie. It was too much work to maintain a lie, wasted energy I didn’t have.

  “Oh, everything’s good. It’s been kind of busy here lately. We got a big contract from the city so Mr. Dean, the Mayor, and some of the city council people have been in and out of here on a regular basis.”

  She sounded so confident, so secure. I was proud of her. I had been confident Tamika would be able to handle the place when I bailed.

  “That’s great. I hope they’re not—”

  “Oh, hold on Ms. Dahlia. Someone just walked into the office.”

  “No, Tamika, that’s okay. Idon’tthinkIcan—”

  Musak.

  I should hang up. What am I waiting for? You’re waiting so you can find out how he is? You want to hear his voice, to know how much he misses you.

  “Dahlia?” Dean’s deep, uncertain growl rolled over the line.

  My heart raced, my knees went weak, and that little voice in the back of my head, the Eithina in me, echoed in ecstasy. Safe . . . Warm . . . Home.

  “Tre,” I breathed as all the barriers I’d built up against him in my mind crumbled at the first note of his voice. Yeah, I’m a big bad ass.

  “Don’t do that to me when you’re two thousand miles away and I can’t do anything about it,” he ordered. His voice sounded tortured, rumbling in his chest and across the line.

  “I’m sorry.” I laughed.

  “No, you’re not,” he teased.

  His deep chuckle filled my ear, sending a quiver of sensation straight to my core. I liked that I was the one who made him laugh. I could still see his stone-cold face looming over everyone in his Alpha male stare, showing no cracks in the armor. He was Gaoh. But the face that smiled, laughed, and got incredibly frustrated—usually with me—was the face that he showed only to me. That was my Tre.

  “I am, a little.”

  “A very little,” he interrupted with sarcasm.

  Huffing out my own frustration with a heavy sigh, I said, “I hadn’t meant for Tamika to bother you. I’d just wanted to . . .” I wasn’t sure what I’d wanted. Maybe just to hear his voice, to know he was all right, that Patrick was all right.

  “Don’t worry. Tamika had orders to put you through. No matter the time. I wasn’t sure she’d do it. She isn’t as afraid of me as everyone else,” he said almost to himself. “Maybe I’m doing something wrong.”

  I laughed.

  “What?”

  “Tamika’s had a hard life. You don’t scare her.” I could feel the smile reach my eyes just talking to him.

  “Maybe not, but she adores you. That’s why I wasn’t sure she’d tell me. She says you need to get your head together and that you’ll be back when you do. But I knew all that already.”

  I had an image of 5’2” Tamika giving Dean at 6’4” a stern talking to and telling him not to pressure me. He’d sit there and listen too. Tamika could be scary when she wanted to be.

  “What I wouldn’t give to touch you right now,” he said so low, I’d almost missed it.

  “I’m sorry for that, too,” I whispered.

  “What, that I want to touch you or that I can’t?”

  “Both,” I breathed. “I think I’ve been selfish, hurting people that didn’t deserve it. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” A tear streaked down my cheek.

  “Baby, that’ll be fixed when you come home,” he crooned. His deep, encouraging octave caressed me like he was rubbing my skin with mink.

  “Do you think he’ll forgive me?” I asked, my voice quivering as tears soaked my cheeks. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if Patrick had moved on or decided he didn’t want me anymore. I thought I’d wanted him to move on but the idea that he might not want me, hurt.

  “Baby, that’s something you’ll have to ask him.” His voice was soothing, like coming home, and I didn’t even mind that he was calling me Baby. “All I know is he’d be an idiot to look you straight in the eye and tell you to get lost.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice but I also knew Patrick. I’d hurt his pride. He may not forgive me. He needed me but he may not want me, not anymore. I had no one to blame but myself.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll straighten all this out when you come home. All three of us,” he said.

  I’d fought the connection to Dean from the start. I’d been attracted to him and even grew to adore him as a friend. It wasn’t until the power between Patrick, Dean, and myself had solidified in a painful jolt of energy and mystical fireworks that I knew we were something more. It wasn’t until I killed Jackson for dominance and protected Dean’s Pack that he and I both realized I was his equal. The Pack was mine just as much as it was his. It wasn’t until I left, that I knew I loved him and that he loved me too.

  “Danny . . . hurt him,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, that whole situation didn’t sit well.”

  Understatement of the century!

  “With either of us,” he added with a growl. Danny had been Dean’s friend, his Beta and his right hand. His statement and animosity surprised me.

  “But . . .”

  “You’re mine. I knew you were mine from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment you met my gaze and squared your shoulders when you should’ve backed down. From the moment I caught your scent.” His voice was harsh and filled with the pent-up anger that I realized he’d been holding for a very long time. “Danny was my friend and he loved you. I didn’t want to admit any of this to him, to Patrick, and definitely not to myself.” His voice trailed off and the background noise muffled as if he had covered the phone. “All right, Tamika, all right.” His voice got closer to the phone as he finally said, “Baby?”

  “Tre?”

  “Mmmmm.” He moaned in the back of his throat. “That’s dirty.”

  I laughed, brushing the last of the tears away.

  “Listen, I gotta go. Full dark was 15 minutes ago.” His voice was sad, like he didn’t want to let me go. I didn’t want him to.

  “I’m coming home,” I said without hesitation.

  “When?”

  “As soon as I can,” I said, smiling, excited at the prospect. I wanted to go home, to feel Dean’s rock-hard muscled arms around me. I wanted Patrick’s silky smooth fingers to caress my face and for him to tell me how much he loved and missed me. I wanted to go home.

  “Well, don’t lose all that money I gave you on the slots. I’ll make you pay me back if you do that,” he said with a smile in his voice that made me smile too.

  Wait! What?

  “Why would you say that?” I asked with a slight tremble in my voice. He couldn’t know where I was yet. I’d been so careful, and Jade wouldn’t have said. She just wouldn’t.

  “You didn’t think that I haven’t known where you’ve been this whole time, did you?”

  Silence.

  “You tell Georgie, next time you see him, that I said ‘Hello’,” Dean said with a chuckle in his voice.

  “You sonovabitch,” I snarled. The words were out before I could think about them.

  He laughed a deep rumble in his chest that made me ache for him even if he was being an asshole.

  “I love you, too, baby,” he said bef
ore I heard the click of the phone call end.

  “Sonovabitch!” I whispered into the silence of the empty house with a small smile cresting my lips. He’d known where I was and let me figure it out for myself. He loved me!

  If I wanted to go home, I had to get this shit in Vegas cleared up.

  “Time to go cause some trouble,” I said with a hint of excitement. I was going home and there was nothing anybody could do to stop me.

  Chapter 13

  Slipping on a pair of jeans, a fitted T-shirt and my black biker boots, I slid the silver-plated letter opener into my sock. It wasn’t a bowie knife but it was something. I tugged the leg of my jeans down over the boots.

  I didn’t have time to go through the waiting period for a weapon or the equipment to make my own. I’d been trying to disappear and being armed was the last thing on my mind. I found myself in a precarious position with only one viable option for a weapon. A fucking letter opener. It would have to do.

  I rode my bike out of the subdivision and found the nearest strip mall with a bar. A seedy, poorly lit biker bar.

  Perfect!

  If I was having Detective Salazan followed, surely, someone had to be following me. That’s what I would do. It’s what I had done.

  The place smelled of stale beer, peanuts, and body odor. Peanut shells that were a few days old littered the floor, no longer crunching under my feet.

  The bar stretched along the right-hand side of the room, lining the bar with an oversized wood surface that had seen better days. The bottles along the wall had frayed labels and liquor that seemed too light, probably watered down. Three pool tables with torn felt and nicked finishes made a neat line down the center of the bar. The room was an open rectangle with a jukebox in the far left corner and a single door at the back. I imagined there was a hallway back there with restrooms, although, as I glanced around, there was probably only one restroom, and an office or stockroom. The place was a shit hole.

  I made my way to the far end of the bar, away from the front entrance and toward the back. My feet stuck to the floor with each disgusting step. The place had probably never seen the wet side of a mop, and by the looks of the guy behind the bar, it wasn’t likely to either.

  The bartender, a three hundred pound glob of squishy fat with a handle bar mustache that actually curled at the ends, glared at me like I was an imposition. The guy had a braided ponytail that hung down his back past his shoulders and swung like a pendulum every time he waddled down the bar. His black, Soprano’s T-shirt had seen better days and was conveniently missing the sleeves. Long, black hair dangled from his armpits as he reached for a glass. The glitter of a gold band on his left hand caught my eye as he turned the glass in his hand, no doubt wiping the dirt before he served someone.

  My skin crawled as he sneered, and the shiny gleam from his gold tooth caught the light.

  I hopped up onto the last stool in the row down the length of the bar and faced the room. I didn’t want to be surprised when they approached me. The goons had almost caught me before. This time, I’d let them.

  The gargantuan bartender made his way down to me and I had to guess it was the first exercise he’d had in years. A few beads of sweat glistened on his brow when he stopped and his breathing was shallow and erratic.

  “What’ll ya have?” he growled, not even attempting a smile.

  “A bottle of Sam Adams,” I said. No way in hell I was drinking anything from a glass in this joint. He lumbered back down the bar to the coolers and grabbed a bottle, popped the cap, and headed back toward me at the end of the bar. He didn’t seem pleased.

  “That’ll be $6,” he grumbled, tossing a bar towel over his shoulder. “Unless you wanna start a tab?”

  I tossed seven singles from my pocket onto the bar. Either beer was expensive or he charged me for the exercise.

  I nursed it for about half an hour until I couldn’t put the warm liquid in my mouth anymore.

  Maybe I’d been wrong? Maybe no one was following me. If they weren’t, what kind of show was this Marabelle running?

  I shoved away from the bar and the bartender gave me a cursory glance but nothing more. A whoosh of air from the front door stopped me and I turned like all the rest of the sad souls in the bar to stare.

  Well, hello Goon Number 1 and Goon Number 2.

  I slid back up onto the stool as the two men entered the bar. Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t keep the disdain from pursing my lips. Really? Is there a handbook or something for flunkies?

  Both were dressed in black jeans, black boots, and black leather jackets. They had different T-shirts underneath those jackets but they could have been identical twins if one of them hadn’t been the size of a 14-year-old boy. Scrawny, the kid seemed as if he’d snap in a hard wind. The other one, the bigger one, was clearly in charge. He strutted a few steps in front of the boy and carried himself like he could kick the ass of anyone in the room. I had a feeling it was more bravado than fact when his eyes darted from side to side in a quick, repetitive, almost nervous motion instead of taking in the room smoothly like a predator.

  He caught my eye. Instead of making a roundabout path to me, the two of them made a beeline in my direction like I had a homing device on me.

  Amateurs, complete and utter amateurs.

  Both of them smelled human. I didn’t mind killing vampires, werewolves, ghouls, or anything else. But humans? Humans, gave me pause and I usually drew the line.

  The leader sidled up and plopped down on the stool next to me. He wasn’t unattractive but he possessed a sniveling quality that was repulsive. He was blond, like a surfer boy, bottle blond with dark brown eyebrows and unimpressive hazel eyes. The kid stood about three steps behind Surfer Boy on my right. He was young, too young, to be hanging out with the likes of Surfer Boy and vampires. He couldn’t have been more than 18 and still had the acne to prove it.

  “Does your mom know you’re out past dark?” I snickered without taking my eyes from Surfer Boy.

  “Hey, BITCH, you can’t talk to me li—” the kid started in his squeaky voice but was cut off with a single hand movement from the other.

  I sneered at Surfer boy while ignoring his child companion. That pissed the kid off. His teeth ground and his hands balled into tight fists as his jaw clenched, making the muscles jump down the length of his neck. I couldn’t keep the malicious smirk from my lips.

  “I don’t like the kid’s choice of words but it certainly does fit you to a T,” Surfer Boy said, like what he thought mattered.

  “You’d think someone that young could be a bit more creative,” I said in a disappointed tone. My mother had used that same tone on me more times than I could count. That tone hurt, and I knew it.

  The kid bristled and took a brave step closer.

  “Teddy,” Surfer Boy warned.

  “Lyyyyyle,” the kid whined.

  “As much as I‘m enjoying the show, is there a point to this?” I asked.

  Surfer Boy, a.k.a. Lyle, sneered at me with an expression of confidence lighting his eyes. That little pissant thought he’d won. I wouldn’t use the weapon I had but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t kick the shit out of him. He slid his jacket away, showing me the shoulder holster and the Glock sleeping snugly against his ribs.

  “I think we should take this conversation outside,” Lyle said with that same self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  The kid snickered as he stepped next to me, and I fought the urge to backhand him until he begged for his mommy. That brought a devious smile to my face and shifted Lyle off his game. His smirk fell in confusion and he reached for the butt of the gun.

  “Keep your head,” I warned. Who drew a firearm in the middle of an open bar with witnesses? Idiots, that’s who!

  Lyle stepped away from the stool, waiting for me to get up. The kid went out t
he back door first and Lyle jammed me in the back, shoving me through the door with the tips of his fingers. Sliding his opposite hand across his stomach and under his jacket, his fingers rested on the Glock.

  “All right, I’m going,” I snapped.

  The hall wasn’t that long but it was filthy. A single door with a grungy, brown-stained toilet stood open. Even at gunpoint, I was glad to be leaving. I might need a tetanus shot. On the opposite side of the hall, a second door was closed, a padlock securing it shut. I imagined that was the office, slash stockroom. Money and booze needed all the security it could get. At the end of the hall, six or seven steps long, a door to the outside waited, leading behind the back of the strip mall.

  Parked out back amongst the potholes and dumpsters was a Lincoln, made sometime in the late seventies. The relic smelled of burnt cabbage and was covered in rust, making it impossible to tell what color it had originally been.

  “You guys sure know how to ride in style,” I mocked.

  “You don’t know when to shut up, do ya, bitch?” the kid squeezed out between clenched teeth.

  I turned, just enough to keep both of them in sight. The bigger threat stood behind me with the gun.

  “So, what’s the plan here, Lyle?” I asked, rolling his name around in my mouth like it had a sour taste.

  “Well,” he said with a sadistic grin. “The plan was to convince you to get outta town, but see,” he said, nodding to the kid and I knew, just fucking knew in my gut, I was going to take a beating. “I think you’re a pain in the ass and won’t go.” He gave me a sneer as the crisp sting of a needle punctured my neck.

  Motherfucker!

  My eyes widened with realization as the debilitating feeling of sleep spread through my body, making my eyes heavy and my focus blur. Those fuckers had drugged me and I hadn’t seen it coming. My muscles relaxed, turning to jelly and the world spun around me. Shit it’s strong.