Settling next to a puddle of rainwater between two trees, Torrey searched for Riley. After a long, long time, the water clouded over, and then it cleared to reveal her little sister. The picture was tiny, large enough to show her that Riley was still unconscious but not big enough to see much more. The fabric under her head looked like a car seat. Unable to widen the lens of the picture, the only information she could glean was that Riley was alive and in a vehicle with black leather seats.
A tear of frustration dispelled the image. Leaning back against the nearest tree, Torrey closed her eyes. Sometimes understanding came to her while meditating. The worst that could happen would be that she learned nothing new.
Firmly grounded, Torrey reached out to nature, pulling the spirit of the grass and trees into her. Digging deeper, she connected with the soil and the rocks, with the water vapor in the air and the droplets on the sidewalk. Her jeans were cold and soaked with rainwater, but she ignored the small discomfort. The world fell away.
She zoomed through the atmosphere to find a Jeep speeding away from the city, toward a desolate-looking mountainous area. It was the perfect setting for a wolf pack. People kept to themselves in the rural mountains. Nobody would ask questions about beings that lived for hundreds of years.
Torrey wanted to follow the Jeep, but she had reached her limit. Actually, she had pushed her abilities far beyond anything she’d ever done before. Desperate, she tried to hang on, but blackness closed in, obscuring her view.
“It’s a charm.”
The voice came out of nowhere. Startled, Torrey opened her eyes to find herself back in the park. A man stood over her, blocking the dim light that managed to filter through the trees from the nearest streetlight. He was average height and had an average build, but his features were hidden in the gloom.
“Pardon?”
“It’s a charm,” he repeated. His voice was rough, as if he didn’t use it often. “You can’t follow him because he’s placed a charm to keep you and any other witches away from his territory. It’s common practice for a wolf community.”
Torrey swallowed. This man was not a witch. How had he known what she was doing? On a whim, she asked, “How can I get around the charm?”
The man smiled, which was odd because Torrey couldn’t see his face, yet she had no doubt he was smiling. “You can’t, not yet.”
“Can you?”
A low, rusty laugh drifted down to her. “That’s a more complicated question than you can fathom.” He held out a hand to help Torrey to her feet.
She dusted her backside as well as she could. Fall debris and sharply cold water stained her clothing, making her attempt pointless. “Do you know where he’s taking her?” Careful to test him, she left out names.
The man shook his head. Now that she was standing, she should have been able to make out his features, but he remained as vague and indistinct as he had been from her unfavorable vantage point on the ground. “There is much I cannot tell you and much I do not know. I can tell you who is best suited to help you with this quest.”
Torrey regarded him with quiet wonder. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not in league with Seth, trying to throw me off his track?”
He made a movement that might have been a shrug. “How do you know when anyone is telling the truth? Was this Seth telling the truth when he promised that your mother would not die of cancer? Is death not the inevitable result of the drug he gave you?”
She understood his implication. The literal truth was not always the whole truth. Truth was subjective. Intent was everything. Impatiently, Torrey pushed her hair out of her face. “Why are you willing to help me?”
A smile flashed, more in her mind than on his face. “That is a good question. Would you like this man’s name and location?”
“I’d like you to answer my question.” Though she wasn’t used to pushing her will on anyone, the steel in Torrey’s voice was authentic.
“I cannot, not to your satisfaction. I can only tell you that while I regret the events in your life that have led you here, your arrival was inevitable. Trust your instincts, Torrey. They will not steer you wrong.” He reached out, capturing her cold hand in his warm one. “A warm shower and a good night’s sleep are what you need. Begin your quest tomorrow.”
Torrey looked down at her hand as he released it. Her fingers were curled around a folded slip of paper. She shot a questioning look at the man, but he was gone. The paper was her only evidence she hadn’t imagined the entire surreal encounter. As she stared at it, the air took on the consistency of water.
* * * *
Afternoon dawned bright and chilly. Torrey sat up slowly, shaking away the last vestiges of her deep slumber. She looked around her room, blinking it into focus. The queen-sized bed was the same. The laundry basket in the corner overflowed as it had ever since her mother fell ill. A paperback novel was on the floor, right where she’d dropped it when it failed to hold her interest. Everything was where she left it, so why did she have the nagging suspicion something wasn’t right?
Riley. Frank. The shadowy man in the park. Throwing back the covers, Torrey looked down to find she was in her pajamas. Judging by the rat’s nest state of her hair, she had showered before falling asleep. She had no memory of taking a warm shower or of falling asleep or of leaving the park, but she felt clean and refreshed, more alert and alive than she had felt in a long, long time. The man’s suggestion had taken on the air of a command, then of a spell. Was he a witch? He was easily the most powerful being she’d ever encountered. He didn’t trip her witch-sensing switch.
Most witches could sense each other, but she couldn’t sense anything about the mystery man. She had no idea who or what he was, but she knew she was going in search of the name on the card. Two lines, printed in precise block letters, spanned the width of the paper.
Shade. Rick’s on Route 2, West Virginia.
The directions were imprecise to say the least. Thank goodness for Google. She had slept until after two in the afternoon, and a quick search informed her that the drive would take several hours. Torrey threw some clothes on, tamed her hair into a ponytail, and hit the road.
The sun dipped low in the sky by the time she pulled into a gravel parking lot that lacked in any kind of organization or lighting. Her Tempo had an aversion to any speed above forty-five. The dim red neon sign identifying the squat, square building in this desolate place as “Rick’s” only cast its glow so far.
The bar was the hole into which society poured its dregs. She wanted to turn back, to complete a half-moon in the densely packed lot and leave, but she couldn’t. Riley’s life would be forfeited if she chickened out. Screwing in her courage, she got out of the car and made her way gingerly toward the door, trying to notice the people loitering outside the dingy building as little as possible.
The inside was worse than the outside. The stench of spilled beer was underlined by something more acrid. To her left, billiards tables, smoke, and sweaty men filled the space. The bar was to her right, populated by the same smoke and different sweaty men. A jukebox blasted angry, twangy music from the back. Nothing about this place or its patrons was inviting or friendly.
Pulling her jacket closer around her, Torrey surveyed the men openly staring and rethought her choice of clothing. The jeans and plain shirt were low-key. She hadn’t thought the neckline evocative when she threw it on that afternoon. Now, she thought maybe the cut of her shirt was too suggestive and her jeans a tad too tight.
Then she noticed she was the only woman in the place. Torrey had to convince herself not to turn and run. She summoned Riley’s image in her mind.
Swallowing her trepidation and pasting a solemn expression on her face, she headed toward the bar. The sea of flannel-shirted men parted to make way for her. Barely. Bodies brushed against hers, and groping hands stole brief squeezes of anything they could reach.
The sparsely toothed bartender surveyed her with sheer bafflement. “Whaddaya want?”
Torrey knew he wasn’t asking for her drink order. She was indisputably out of place in the bar, and not only because of her gender. “I’m looking for Mr. Shade.”
Recognition flashed in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he turned away, completely ignoring her existence, as were most of the patrons who were so interested in her a minute ago. She wasn’t sure what to do.
“Excuse me?” she called to the bartender. “Do you know where he is or don’t you?”
The old man’s eyes took a curious path to hers, wandering around the immediate vicinity. He leaned in close and spoke as quietly as he could. “I have a granddaughter about your age, young lady, and I’m going to tell you the same thing I would tell her. This is no place for you to be, and that is no man for you to mess with.” His head jerked curtly toward the door, and he turned away from her again.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I need to hire him to find somebody for me.”
The bartender continued to ignore her, but the burly man to her left looked nervously from her to a man at the opposite end of the bar, where it curved outward and dead-ended into another wall. Torrey followed his gaze to the person seated there.
The man was large, his bent head easily standing out above the rest of the patrons’ heads. His back was to Torrey. Shaggy black hair draped just past the collar of the plain black cotton shirt that strained to cover his broad shoulders.
She couldn’t determine his exact height because he was sitting, but she could tell he would fit in with the tallest members of an NFL team. The stool next to him was conveniently vacant.
He was easily the most dangerous being in the room, and not because of his don’t-mess-with-me, badass attitude. A man that size had to be a werewolf. The shadowy man had sent her to a wolf to help her track a wolf. The basic sense of the idea was negated by the fact that wolves stuck together and never mixed with witches. She sensed nothing from this distance, but that was to be expected. Her senses were nowhere as developed as his.
Maybe if she was careful and didn’t use her magic…
Throwing her shoulders back to appear more confident than she felt, Torrey made her way to the other end of the bar and settled on the empty stool. The torn vinyl scratched against the denim of her jeans, catching and releasing the fabric until she stopped moving.
From the side, he was foreboding. His brooding features warning anyone and everyone away. Torrey mustered all the nerve she had. “Mr. Shade?”
He tipped his beer bottle up and signaled the bartender for another, giving no sign he saw or heard her. The bartender brought it immediately, shooting a warning look at Torrey, but she was busy studying the man who was supposed to help her find Riley.
Dark stubble stained his chin and cheeks, creeping down his neck. Though menacing, his profile was striking, his features perfect. Full, sensual lips. Dark-lashed, almond-shaped eyes whose color was indeterminable in the sparse light. Tanned skin that could be the result of the sun or of ethnicity. One smile and women would fall at his feet.
Ignoring the silently sinister warnings emanating from him, Torrey soldiered on. A strand of wheat-colored hair had fallen from her ponytail. She shoved it behind her ear. His eyes flickered once to the side, a movement so quick she thought she imagined it. “Mr. Shade, I need your help.”
He finished his beer and exchanged it for the full one the bartender left. “Go home, little witch. It’s a mistake for your kind to get mixed up with mine.” He turned then, piercing her with his dark eyes.
She was taken aback by the heat seeded deep inside and, more so, by her body’s unexpected reaction to him. A sane person would have been unnerved. Instead, she felt a stirring coming from the same depth as his anger. Chagrined, she squelched the tingling between her thighs.
“Go home, little witch.” His voice was low and scratchy and strangely hypnotic.
Torrey met his icy gaze with nerves of tempered steel. “Mr. Shade, you don’t seem surprised to see me, so you must have known I was coming. It’s probable you know what I want. If you weren’t willing to help me, then why did you come here tonight?”
Shade dismissed her again, before she even finished speaking. The bottle tipped up. Without looking her way, he drained it, rose from his seat, and set a twenty on the counter under the empty bottle. “Curiosity kills witches and cats.”
If she hadn’t seen his lips move, she wouldn’t have known he said anything at all. It was an oddly phrased death threat. He moved past her, a large shadow obscuring the room before disappearing through the door.
Torrey blinked. He’d moved quickly enough. Scrambling from the stool, she ran after him, emerging from the building in time to see him disappear around the corner.
“Mr. Shade,” she shouted as she ran. The slim alley contained a Dumpster and a black F-150. Dim light from the streetlamps dotting the narrow highway lane cast long shadows, making Shade appear taller and deadlier. As if he needed the effect.
He froze a few feet from his truck.
Instinct made Torrey position herself between his body and the door to his truck. “Please, Mr. Shade. I need your help, and I think you need me, too.”
His brows rose slightly at her bold statement. “I need you? For what?” Eyes flicked over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts and hips.
Torrey shrugged, feigning nonchalance. A mixture of anxiousness and attraction broiled her insides. “I don’t see why that man would have set up this meeting if it wasn’t going to be mutually beneficial. I can’t pay you, Mr. Shade, but I must have something you need.”
He leaned close, sending her insides into downright upheaval. Torrey remained still as his face closed in on her neck. She doubted he would rip her to shreds, but that wasn’t something one could ever be sure about when dealing with a wolf.
Shade’s mouth hovered inches from her pulse, a threat and a promise. He grasped her shoulders with a surprising gentleness and inhaled deeply.
The five seconds his action took were far too long for Torrey. The hitch in her breath revealed her inadvisable attraction to this wolf. She hoped to hell he interpreted it as fear. For some reason, she didn’t find him scary. He could kill her easily, but she didn’t feel unsafe.
She didn’t feel safe, either. “Mr. Shade, please.”
Shifting his focus, Shade sniffed at the other side of her neck, at her face. With a bend to his knees, he lowered his face to inhale whatever fragrance he found between her breasts.
Torrey wanted him to press closer. She wanted to feel the scratch of his cheeks against the sensitive skin of her breasts. She wanted to feel his lips and the heat of his mouth on her pebbled nipples. But that wasn’t why she was there. Throwing caution to the wind, she buried her fingers in his thick, dark hair and yanked his attention back to her face. “Mr. Shade.”
Eyes penetrating hers, he interrupted whatever she had been about to say. “Are you stupid, or do you have a death wish?”
“I’m desperate,” she said. “A wolf has kidnapped my sister, but he really wants me. I don’t know why he didn’t just take me in the first place and leave her alone. I need you to track him so I can negotiate an exchange. When that is done, I need you to see Riley safely home.”
He studied her silently. Strength emanated from his body, inches from hers, and something silvered his midnight-blue eyes, rendering him half-feral. Belatedly, Torrey released her hold on his hair. The apprehension shivering through her was a primal response to the way he looked at her.
The hands on her shoulders held her immobile. Her own hands dropped to his shoulders, flexing on the muscles there subconsciously.
“He wants your power,” Shade muttered in the tone of a condemned man. “Are you unaware he cannot take it from you, that you have to give it willingly?”
Torrey bit her lip hard. That was something Frank should have taught her. Seth wasn’t after the money, that much she now knew. His irrational actions began to make sense. He wanted Torrey to offer herself
in exchange for Riley. He had her there. She would do anything to save her sister.
“I don’t have much power,” she said, her volume impossibly low, but she knew his advanced senses would hear her anyway. “I can only scry a little bit.”
Those black brows drew together sharply. “You are powerful, little witch. I can smell it on you. I smelled it the second you walked into that bar.”
Torrey looked away. “I can’t control it. I’ve tried, but…” She shrugged, illustrating the futility of her attempts. “Please help me, Mr. Shade.” She met his eyes honestly. “I have an insurance policy. It’s only fifty thousand, but I can name you beneficiary. I’ll give you anything I have. Name your price.”
Taking one step, Shade pressed her between the door of his truck and the hard wall of his body. He lifted his hands, pressing them to the glass on either side of her face. “If I want you?”
Now it was her turn to raise her brows in shock. She found him attractive, but men like him didn’t usually return the sentiment, wolf or not. He caged her with his body, but he wasn’t aroused. The way he pressed against her, that wasn’t something she would miss. Moisture tickled between her legs, an itch demanding attention, but that feeling was one-sided. “You don’t want me.”
Something flickered there, some kind of war she didn’t understand. “I want your power.” Dropping his arms, he stepped back, releasing her suddenly and completely. “When the time comes, bequeath it to me, not to the man who stole your sister.”
The disappointment that tore through Torrey had everything to do with the loss of his body next to hers. Jerkily, she nodded. “Find my sister, Mr. Shade. Exchange me for her, and I will honor your request.”
“It’s just Shade,” he said.
“Shade, then. Thank you. You can’t know what this means.”
His lips were on her before she finished speaking. They were unexpectedly hard for something that looked so lush and soft. He demanded, took, stole, and Torrey yielded completely. Her hands found their way back into his hair to hold him close. Sensations rippled through her body, finding a primal need that went far beyond the simple fact of him and her.
Zurlo, Michele - Torment [Daughters of Circe 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 3