She reached behind the seat, fished in her bag on the floor, and handed him the phone. “The sooner the better.”
If anyone had told her she’d be on the run with a fugitive, she would’ve said they were living in Loony Land.
The headlights struck a green rectangle with white lettering—a road sign, finally! BICKLEY 3, it read.
Val gaped at it. “Bickley is twelve miles from the cabin.”
“And you’ve driven, what, about three?” His eyes reflected her astonishment.
“You sent us six miles. Six times the distance any mage ever attained with a freakin’ paperweight, and you did it with a car, two people, and gear.” A chill ran down her spine. “Griffin, what are you?”
“Stronger than I knew, I guess.” Again, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know how I did it. My record with a car is about a mile. I just wanted us safe.”
Nothing about him hinted at evasion or deceit. Val blew out a breath. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll worry about it later. One thing at a time, and rest comes first. Beyond Bickley is Abner Wade State Park, a great place to recharge.”
Rest would also give her time to think, something she badly needed if she had to accept that someone she’d trusted for most of her life was a traitor.
“I paid with cash.” Griff climbed back into the car. Valeria looked strained, and no wonder. She’d come to grips with a lot today. “Remember, no credit cards from here out. Those are traceable.”
“Right.” She grimaced as she put the car in gear. “I only have about seventy-five dollars on me. That won’t go far.”
“This place is pretty cheap. We’re in cabin six, on the left side. As for money, I have a couple of hundred, and I can get more.” Through the untraceable account he’d gotten from the Feds. “Don’t worry, Valeria. I’ll get you home soon.”
For now, though, that translocation was catching up to him. His eyelids felt heavy. Gritty, too. Fatigue thrummed in his muscles and knotted his gut.
Worst of all, the ammonia taste in his mouth was so strong, it backed up into his nose. Shit. If he turned ghoul, what would happen to her? She’d burned her bridges tonight because of him. His choices had led to too many deaths, including two close friends and the woman he’d loved. Somehow, he would keep Valeria safe.
She backed out of the parking space, and he flipped open his phone. Stefan or Will might be able to clue him in on how the Collegium had tracked them. The message icon appeared on the screen. He checked his voicemail.
“Mages coming,” Stefan’s voice said. “Get out now, both of you. They found you by scrying through Banning’s pendant. The Horus charm mostly blurred your face, but it failed for just a second, enough time to let them suspect who you were. Get rid of her pendant.”
Well, shit. The Horus pendant’s screen had probably failed when she’d cupped him. His intense reaction to that could’ve broken through. But he couldn’t tell her the truth without risking Stefan’s cover. He glanced at her throat. “What happened to your necklace?”
“I left it at the lake.” She shot him an uneasy glance. “It was the only new thing I had, the only way I could think they might spy on us.”
“Smart move.” He tried to keep the relief from his voice. She’d made a tough choice, and it showed in the unhappiness shadowing her eyes. He longed to comfort her, but hugs wouldn’t solve their problem. After tonight, she’d have no reputation left. He couldn’t let her pay any more than she already was for giving him a chance.
She drove into a gravel parking lot surrounded by a dozen or so small huts. Judging their color at night was tough, but they looked slightly run-down—a bit of paint peeling here, an uneven roof shingle there. They’d definitely seen better days.
VACATION CABINS, the sign had said? More like garden sheds for the Bates Motel. Still, obscurity was good for fugitives.
He and Valeria climbed out of the car and unloaded their gear. He jammed the key into the lock, turned it, only to have the door stick. Bates Motel, he thought again, and put his shoulder to the wood. His weight, more than his strength, forced the door open.
Great, a musty smell. Better not be from the body of a mummified old lady. Frowning, he stepped inside and found the light switch.
Dim yellow light issued from a floor lamp by the window to his left. Cracked leather armchair on one side of it, worn green-cushioned love seat on the other against the wall by the door. Spindly coffee table in front of the love seat. Kitchenette to his right. Bed across the room.
One bed.
Hell. “I didn’t think to ask about the beds,” he said. “I’ll take the couch.”
She squeezed past him to set her bag and sword down. “It’s way too short for you. We’ll share the bed.” Her lips quirked up in a wry smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I promise not to molest you.”
If only she would. Even half dead and totally exhausted, his body responded, and he swore silently.
“No argument.” Her firm tone underlined the words.
So the shire reeve still lurked inside her. Good. She’d looked so discouraged earlier. But sleeping next to her was dangerous for his peace of mind. Undecided, he stared at the love seat.
“Can the chivalry,” she said. “I need you functioning. You won’t be, without real rest, and you’re too tall to get it there. Unless you want me to take the couch?”
“No way.”
“Okay, then.” Her stern gaze locked on his face, no yielding in her eyes.
He drew on the last dregs of his strength to firm his voice and almost winced at the spike in ammonia taste, a reminder he was no good for her or any other woman. She deserved better than a fugitive who could turn ghoul at any time. “Okay. Thanks.”
She nodded, but grief darkened her eyes. Helpless to fix it, he clenched his fists at his sides. She probably felt more alone now than she ever had, even when her parents died. A corner of his soul he’d learned to ignore knew that aching loneliness, that desolation of being an outcast. He hated it for her.
“Before we settle in,” she said, “I have to tell you, I was seriously pissed when you flipped that SUV.”
“What, you wanted me to wave toodles?” He fought back a roar of impatience. “I had to stop them.”
“I know.” She blew out a heavy sigh, her eyes tired and pained. “I said I was pissed. While you were checking us in, I realized you had little choice. You’ve spent years battling mages who should’ve been your allies.” Her lower lip trembled, but her voice stayed firm. “I need to stop thinking of the Collegium mages as my teammates. They’re not anymore.”
No, and the bastards had been ready to kill her with no questions asked. But his anger wouldn’t help her now. He brushed her hair back gently. “It never gets easy.”
At least the last dregs of his power kept him on his feet, though not for long. And tonight had jacked up his blood venom levels. He not only tasted ammonia but felt rage bubbling in his veins.
“We need to get a couple of other things straight.” Her eyes narrowed. “First, while I’m glad you’ve recovered a bit, you don’t give me orders.”
The hell he didn’t. “Back atcha, babe.” He could do narrow eyes, too.
“Do not babe me in that snide tone. Second—”
“You’re not my mother, my nurse, or my boss, so stop acting like you are.” Hell, a minute ago he’d been glad—
“When you’re teetering on your feet, you need at least one of those. Don’t be an ass, Griffin.”
He raised an eyebrow, daring her. His hands balled into fists. “Want to rephrase that? Babe?”
Snapping with irritation, her eyes skimmed over him. “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden?”
Ammonia burned the inside of his nose. Red haze washed across his vision. His fists tightened. His body twisted, left foot edging forward, right arm drawing up and back to punch.
Valeria balanced on the balls of her feet, hands rising. She was set to meet him, but by hell’s bells, he’d teach
her not to boss him around. He’d saved her stubborn life. She should be on her knees, thanking him. Stripping for him. Spreading for him. He’d make her beg once he’d wiped that pained look off—
Pained?
Pained. Despite her set expression, her eyes were mossy wells of aching disbelief. A moment more, he hovered between fury and guilt before the guilt won. The rage abruptly drained.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” He dropped his hand, made his body relax. “Valeria, I’m sorry.”
She kept her ready stance. “In the last five minutes, you’ve gone from looking half dead to threatening to hit me, and now you’re slumping and sorry. Which will it be five minutes from now?”
“Semiconscious, probably, and still very, very sorry. I’m tired from the fight and the car. When I’m tired, my temper is damnably unsteady.” Because fatigue let the venom level in his blood rise, but he couldn’t tell her that now, not after the day they’d had, the danger they’d faced.
The way he’d threatened her.
He owed her the truth, had meant to tell her at the lake. Maybe he was a jerk not to do it now, but if they could pass a peaceful night, maybe she’d be more inclined to trust him, not fear him, when he explained.
She studied him, her face still uncertain. “Okay. This time. Any new insights about how you threw us so far?”
“I don’t know how I did it. I wish I did.” Could it be the venom in his blood? Could there be any benefit to that? “I’ve never done anything even close to that before.”
“Well. We can kick that around in the morning.” She hesitated. “I have pajamas I’d planned to sleep in. Are you okay with that?”
As in, able to control himself? The question stung, but after his temper fit and almost punch, he deserved it. Trying for normal, he asked, “Any chance they’re red lace and skimpy?”
Her lips twitched, as though she bit back a smile. “Sorry. Yellow cotton shorts and T-shirt. With daisies.”
“Beats my black gym shorts.” He smiled, tried to make it teasing. Maybe that slight upward curve of her mouth was a good sign. “Valeria,” he said seriously, “you can trust me. I swear you can.”
Her smile faded. She gave him a level, warning look. “I hope so. We should call it a day. Everything will look better in the morning.”
Despite her upbeat tone, doubt shadowed her eyes as she turned away, and with good reason. The hunt for him would include her now. He’d gained her as an ally in a way he never would’ve chosen. Damn it.
He fished the warding stones for the cabin out of his bag to set at the building’s corners. First thing tomorrow, he’d have to take a blood level. He should do it now, but digging the kit out, running the test, would lead to explanations he’d rather delay.
Maybe he should send Valeria away, no matter how she reacted when he told her. He’d nearly clocked her tonight. What if his control slipped again, when he was stronger? What about the pain in her eyes?
He cared about her, so he should think of her, not his need for an ally, his need for—
No. Not going there.
Morning, he thought, as he set the first ward. In the morning, he would tell her everything.
Val awoke to faint morning light filtering through the curtains. Despite what she’d said to Griffin, their situation didn’t seem any better. And her eyes felt gritty. No surprise, considering that she’d slept like a horror movie heroine, starting at every creak of the run-down cabin, at the brush of tree branches over the window above the bed, at the strange dreams that haunted her sleep.
Griffin still slept. Breathing quietly, he lay on his back with his face turned toward her. On his chest rested the flat, golf ball–size Eye of Horus pendant.
She fingered it cautiously, and the high level of warding magic it contained zinged against her fingers. No wonder he’d eluded all searches. Even unwarded, that symbol was a protective charm, one sometimes invoked against hostile scrying.
In the dim light coming through the curtains, he looked less drawn and tired than he had last night. And no longer scary.
What had turned the ardent lover, the gentle, courteous man who’d treated her wounds, the brave one who’d risked his life for her and for a homeless child, into an arrogant, menacing bully? No matter what he said, fatigue alone didn’t explain it. Something was going on with him, and she had a right to know what it was.
Despite her concerns, the sight of him sleeping, defenseless, made her want to shelter him. Last night had been too tense for a good night kiss, but she’d wanted one. Still did, even though they’d both backed off from near kisses at the lake. Still, she wanted to run her fingers through the dusting of dark hair on his chest and trace the sculpted planes of muscle underneath.
Last night, she hadn’t noticed the scars below his left shoulder. Four parallel marks almost as long as her hand scored the tanned surface of his upper chest. Talon marks. He wouldn’t have scars if there had been anyone around to heal him. Instead, he’d had to fight the venom in his system, enduring the burning agony of those wounds, alone.
Gently, she brushed tumbled jet-black hair off his brow. He sighed but didn’t rouse. She let her fingers drift down, toward the shadowy stubble lining his jaw. He had such a strong face. A strong heart. A strong sense of right and wrong, which made his temper fit last night even more baffling.
Val sighed and scrubbed at her tired eyes. Maybe a shower would clear the cobwebs from her brain.
She padded into the bathroom and shut the door. The doctors had healed the serious damage from that disastrous raid but left the minor problems to resolve on their own. After her shower, she would need to reapply salve on her scraped hands. Most of the tub she’d brought from Dare’s was gone. She would finish that, then dip into the supply Stefan Harper had given her when she left the infirmary.
She turned the water on to let it heat. Giving it time, she dug the two tubs out of her toilet kit. They looked the same. Weird. She’d packed so quickly to leave the Collegium that she hadn’t noticed.
She unscrewed the top of one and found it nearly full, the surface smooth. This was the newer one, its lemon verbena scent refreshing. Finishing one before starting another was more efficient, so she opened the other tub.
The same scent of lemon verbena wafted across her nose. Val frowned, staring at the tub. Healers mixed their own salve. Lemon verbena was popular for its healing properties, but no one used the same proportion as anyone else.
Cautiously, focusing on the degree of scent, she sniffed the tub in her hand, then the other. The same scent touched her nostrils. The shades of pale yellow matched. The mixtures were exactly the same.
An expert tended you, Dare had said, back at his place.
Not just any expert, either. The Collegium’s chief medical officer was in league with Griffin Dare. No wonder Dare knew so much about the Collegium operations, had such detailed intel.
How many other insiders had he co-opted? One was too many, a sign of poor attention to the Collegium’s own backyard by her, the Council, and the two shire reeves between her and Dare. The blasted place might be one big leak of information.
Val’s lips tightened. He believed his cause was just. She was beginning to think so, but there was still the little matter of his going scary-weird on her. That, too, they would settle this morning.
Griff forced his heavy eyelids open. Valeria was already up, and the shower was running.
He plucked his watch from the bedside table. Six fifty. Seven hours of sleep should’ve brought his blood venom level down a good bit.
Still, morning had arrived. He had no right to delay the reckoning any longer, not with Valeria’s fate also at stake.
Yet he couldn’t resist brushing his fingers over the dent in her pillow. Her light, honeysuckle scent caught in his nose, banishing the residue of ammonia that lingered there. He closed his eyes and could, for a heart-stuttering instant, feel her body in his arms, her lips on his.
She deserved to know what she was dealing with
, including his venom problem. He rolled out of bed and scrounged in his bag for the kit.
Seated on the couch, he set the toximeter and a cotton pad on the rickety coffee table. With the lancet poised over his finger, he hesitated. If this was as bad as he feared it might be…He triggered the blade. It snapped against his finger, and a drop of blood welled from the tiny cut.
The shower stopped. A moment later, the bathroom door opened. Still in her pajamas, with dry hair, Valeria marched toward him. “What are you doing?”
“You didn’t want a shower? Or is something wrong with it?”
The cotton shorts bared most of her legs while the T-shirt draped the firm curves of her breasts. Those tanned, toned arms would feel smooth against his mouth. Under his hands.
In his dreams, maybe. Once he told her the truth, his chances of touching or tasting her were gone forever.
“Griffin, are you diabetic?”
“I wish it were something that ordinary.” He turned on the toximeter and let the droplet of blood fall onto its gray central screen. The blood disappeared. Green rippled outward from the point of impact, then black, and he held his breath.
“Then I repeat, what are you doing?”
Praying. “Hang on a sec.”
Above the screen, the readout started to blink. A number formed, ten, but the readout was climbing. Thirteen, twenty-four, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-eight—oh shit, never that high before—forty-one, and his heart hammered in his chest. At forty-four, the numbers stopped blinking. Forty-four, a scant handful shy of the fifty-six marking the point of no return. The fifty-five he’d privately sworn was his limit.
It must’ve been in the fifties last night. He and Valeria were both lucky he hadn’t tried to kill her.
“Griffin.” She sat next to him, laying her hand on his forearm. Her touch ripped through him. It felt so sweet. He couldn’t bear to think that in moments she would withdraw it forever. “What’s wrong? You seem so…rocked.”
More like doomed. Steeling himself, he looked into her worried hazel eyes. “I’m not diabetic, but I do have to check my blood levels daily. For venom.”
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