She and her classmates were playing tag at recess. It was third grade. Janie ran to the large oak tree that was a safety zone. Larissa knew something bad was about to happen. She pushed Janie far from the tree, shouting, “Watch out!”
Janie faced her with a shocked expression. “Why did you push me?” As she rose to her feet, her attention was snatched by a loud cracking sound overhead. A branch crashed to the ground, right where Janie had been standing a moment before.
After Janie had recovered from the terror of almost being killed, she thanked Larissa. “How did you know?”
Larissa shuffled from one foot to the other. When things like that had happened in the past, her parents had told her she had to keep them to herself. They’d said people wouldn’t understand how she could sense these things, and they might be afraid. “I must have heard it splinter.”
Janie said, “I was right near it and I didn’t hear anything.” She moved closer to Larissa, watching her with an odd expression. “How did you know?”
Larissa shrugged. “I just did.”
Janie stopped the questioning, but kept a close eye on Larissa in the years that followed. Larissa saved her from other precarious, life-threatening situations, and a close call with a date rape.
Finally, during their sophomore year, Janie said, “I’ve been friends with you for many years and I know you have this special ability somehow. It’s kind of like you’re my guardian angel or something.”
“Ha,” Larissa replied. “I wish. I’m no angel. Just another screwed-up human. Do you want to watch a movie tonight?”
Janie continued, despite Larissa’s attempt to change the subject. “You don’t have to worry about me thinking you’re a freak or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Whatever it is you can do has saved my ass more than once. So you can tell me without worrying that I’ll judge you.”
Larissa decided to confide in her. “I sense things before they happen.”
“Like seeing the future?”
“No, I don’t see it.” She pursed her lips as she sought the right words to describe it. “Something hits me, like a gut feeling. And I know what to do.”
“You didn’t see the branch falling years ago, but you knew it would fall?”
Larissa shook her head. “Not exactly. I knew something bad was about to happen to you and I had to get you out of that spot quickly.”
Janie peered at her with awe. “That’s amazing. Pretty awesome, if you ask me.”
With a grin, Larissa added. “You seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”
Janie tilted her head and smiled. “Sounds about right.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Janie said. “I have you as my best friend. I know you’ve got my back.”
Larissa sighed, blinking at her reflection in the mirror as she returned to the present. Her ability to sense things was her secret. And Roman, essentially a stranger, calling her a witch during her first one-night stand crept under her skin like slithering tentacles, far too invasive for her private, shielded little world.
She needed to get away from him. Throwing open the door, she declared, “Tonight was a mistake. Bringing you back here. I’m sorry if I led you on. You really have to go this time.”
CHAPTER SIX
Why did Roman have to open his big mouth and ruin it?
How stupid. After they’d had fantastic sex—twice. And right when he’d gotten her to confide in him a little.
He bounded down the seven flights from her hotel room rather than use the elevator for the second time that night. Getting his heartbeat up might help to break through the monumental mound of regret building up inside his chest.
Why had she gotten so upset that he knew? Had he revealed something she was trying to hide?
He’d been tracking her, watching her, and studying her all night. After thinking she could be dangerous or a dark siren, he should have felt victorious when he’d finally discovered what she was. The heavy ache inside him signaled otherwise.
Going home with her had been part of his plan to get close to her, to uncover her secret—a mission he’d been all too eager to take on. When they’d slept together, he hadn’t sensed any dark magic; the only deep secret he’d discovered was her vulnerability. The terror in her eyes when he’d called her out as a witch flashed before him.
How could she not know she was a witch? Every witch he’d met had special abilities, which they were proud of.
Unless she was desperate to keep it a secret. Humans feared anything they couldn’t see or grasp. Instead of admiring extraordinary capabilities, they shunned them. Anyone different was regarded with mistrust.
He stormed out of the hotel. It must have rained while he’d been in there with her, since the streetlights reflected in the puddles.
That was it. Time to walk away. She’d kicked him out. No point behaving like a fool, chasing someone who didn’t want to be caught. He’d made a mistake. Time to move on.
To hell with it. He was a gargoyle out to protect the city. His mission in going home with her had been to make sure she wasn’t a danger. Mission accomplished.
A reminder of that connection when he’d been buried deep inside her returned. That sense of how right it had felt…
Stop.
He didn’t need that distraction. She was too damn complicated. Plenty of other women in this city to entertain him, who wouldn’t push him away.
Still, she’d appeared so young and pained when she’d told him about the bombings, he’d wanted to ease her troubles. Interesting—the incident that had brought his clan to Boston was the one that tormented her. A connection, somehow? He dismissed the idea with a snort. Simply a coincidence.
Forget her. Get back on track.
His instincts had been off. Sure, he’d followed someone who’d turned out to be a witch, but it had been a false lead. Investigating the wrong person. The night still pulsed with ominous energy—one that pricked at his skin and left an acerbic taste on his tongue.
When he reached the end of the block, he had a clear view of the moon. The eclipse was in full throttle, the right half sliced by the shadows. The faint red hue shone with more vibrancy—no wonder they called it the blood moon.
Red. A warning. The humans had to be wrong. Not love, nor passion. But danger.
* * * * *
After Roman had left, Larissa slumped on the armchair. What was wrong with her? She’d had the most amazing sex of her life with a guy who worked her chemistry like nobody’s business, and she’d kicked him out? Seriously fucked up. If Janie knew what she’d done, she’d shake her head in disbelief.
She dropped her head back on the chair and sighed. Without his number, she couldn’t contact him, let him know if she changed her mind. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Enough. She couldn’t dwell on it all night and think about how fucked up she was.
Seeing her messed-up bed made her think of the amazing things he’d done to her body not too long before. She dropped her head into her hands swore. Why did she have to react that way?
Shoving her regret aside, she grabbed her phone to call Janie. It was past midnight. Janie would still be up, but if she was doing the horizontal tango with the guy from the dome, she wouldn’t answer. She texted: You busy?
Not really. We’re having a drink at some bar near the Theatre District. What’s up?
Feeling shitty. Why am I such a train wreck in the relationship department?
Hold on. Bar is crazy loud. Will call.
A minute later, Janie called. “Larissa, what’s wrong?” The slight slur indicated she’d had a few drinks, but she sounded coherent enough, and concerned.
Leave it to Larissa—instant buzzkill.
Where to start? “I blew it.”
“Blew what, exactly?” Janie asked.
“I don’t know why, but I pushed him away. Twice!”
“The guy from the dome?”
“Yeah, Ro
man.” Hearing his name roll off her lips solidified the blow. She’d never see him again.
Ugh, she was being melodramatic. She’d just met him. She was not this type of woman.
“Rewind,” Janie said. “Tell me what happened.”
Larissa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We ended up here at the hotel.”
“Ooh!”
“Janie, no oohing. Let me tell the story.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“Everything was good. Great, in fact. The sex was…awesome.” Larissa paused. “But then—”
“Uh-oh, not a ‘but then’.”
“Yeah, well—things got weird.”
Janie made a sound like humph. “Hate it when that happens. What happened?”
“He called me a witch.”
“What a bastard! How dare he?”
“No, not like he was calling me a bitch. He said witch.”
Janie clucked her tongue. “Still rude.”
“You’re not getting it, Janie. He said he sensed that I was a witch. You know, like hocus pocus and all that.”
Janie paused. “Are you shitting me? Why would he say that?”
“He said he knew from my scent. My scent,” Larissa repeated. “Can you believe that?”
“That’s twisted. Totally bizarre.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I freaked and kicked him out.”
Janie chuckled. “Sounds like you.”
Larissa groaned. Being overly defensive was not one of her best qualities. Having it pointed out as a signature trait didn’t help. “Why would he say something like that?”
“Listen to me. Both you and I know there’s something different about you.”
“Janie, stop—” She hated that topic and shut it down whenever it came up.
“The way you sense things before they happen,” Janie powered on. “And I don’t mean in a bad way. Lord knows you’ve saved my ass more than once. But you need to accept that there may be a reason behind it. Maybe there’s something to what he said.”
“Oh God, my best friend thinks it too. Thinks I’m a witch. That’s great.” Larissa drew out the last syllable.
“Don’t be sarcastic. You wanted to talk, but you’re reacting.”
Larissa bristled at the truth. “Sorry.”
“I think you should talk to him about why he said that. He might know more than you or I do about these kinds of things.”
Larissa chewed her lip, realizing Janie had a valid point. The smart thing would have been to ask him more. Hell, she was trained for interrogations. When it came to guys, she reacted far too quickly. “I can’t.” Her leg twitched, the way it often did when she was nervous.
“Why not?”
“I don’t even know where to find him. I didn’t even get his number.”
“Bull. You’re a cop. You have ways.”
Larissa exhaled, suppressing a groan. “I don’t even know his last name. A first name and what he’s like in the sack isn’t much to go on.”
Janie laughed. “But it’s something. And I know you have ways to find people.” She paused. “I think you should talk to someone else, too.”
“Who?”
“Your family. See if there’s anything behind what this Roman guy said.”
“Are you kidding me? You know my dad. I don’t care if he’s retired, he’s still all no-nonsense cop. He’d freak even more than I did if I even mentioned the idea of witchcraft.”
“Really, Larissa? Come on, give the man some credit. He’s known you your entire life, knows what you can do.”
Janie had a point. Larissa had looked up to her father her entire life. After her mother died, it had been the two of them living in their house. She’d grown up wanting to be just like him, make him proud, and she’d followed him into law enforcement. It had turned out to be an oddly fitting match. Although she desperately wanted to live a normal life, her ability to sense things wasn’t regarded as strange. Police often attributed the unexplainable sense that triggered a lead as “cop instinct.”
“Witch,” Larissa said. “As in witchcraft. I can’t even wrap my head around the idea. That’s more a weird Salem thing. Not my scene.”
“Then I guess you should be a little more open-minded. Maybe it’s a family thing. I mean, look at your grandmother. She’s what many people would call eccentric.”
True. Her free-spirited grandmother was about as opposite as her no-nonsense dad as was possible. Her place resembled a museum of strange artifacts more than a typical, cookie-baking grandma’s house. Larissa had often found herself drawn to the various crystals strewn about and the varying vibrations she’d pick up—some provided a sense of calm while others projected energy. Her grandmother always lived with three cats, saying it was an optimal number. Larissa loved to interact the cats; in fact, she often thought they’d found a way to communicate, an affinity she’d felt with many animals.
“She is rather—unique.”
“I’ve known you since we were kids,” Janie continued, “and this wouldn’t be an earth-shattering revelation. More like when someone you know tells you they’re gay years after you’ve figured it out.”
Was it that obvious? Janie convincing her to go out tonight had led her to face aspects of herself she wasn’t ready for. Tugging at a little string might unravel a complicated array of knots. Did she really want to know all this, figure out how different she was? She’d spent her entire life trying to be normal, if there was such a thing.
“If it’s true, would you think I was—some kind of weirdo or something?”
“Oh, of course not, sweet cheeks. Whatever you are is awesome.” Janie laughed. “Actually, it would be pretty cool to have a friend who was more than a cynical cop. A witch? Why the hell not?”
“Thanks, Janie.” She paused. “I think.”
“Don’t dwell on it, okay? Get some sleep tonight, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Okay. You coming back soon?”
“Umm…” Janie hesitated. “Probably not. This guy is wicked hot. I think it’s time for me to break my dry spell as well. Try a new kind of physical therapy.”
“Janie…” Larissa began. About to warn her about the dangers of going home with a stranger, she knew she’d sound like an utter hypocrite. “Be careful. And call me if you need me.”
After they’d said goodbye, Larissa stared out the window. The moon wasn’t visible from this angle, only a few lonely stars.
The uncertainty of being nudged down a new path weighed her down. One leg twitched again. She held it with one hand to physically stop it, but as soon as she removed it, the nervous reaction resumed.
She stood and paced in front of the window, debating her next step. Trying to sleep wasn’t an option. It was difficult enough on a regular night. Sitting in the room wouldn’t accomplish anything.
When in doubt, she moved, observed, took action. Better than to sit around and wonder. She threw on jeans and a black tank top and then she strode to the door set on a new purpose.
Find Roman.
Larissa grabbed her gun and phone and tucked them away out of habit before she ran outside. The security of her weapon within reach helped her to cope with the unsettling feeling she’d had earlier.
Most of the moon was captured now. The final sliver cast an eerie glow. Last time she’d seen it, she’d been with Roman, trying to lure him back inside. She groaned at the reminder.
She spun a hundred and eighty degrees, searching for Roman. Where the hell would he have gone?
Figured she hadn’t asked for his number or where he’d lived. She didn’t even know his last name. She could start by searching databases—Roman wasn’t a common name, so the results wouldn’t be too overwhelming—but using department resources to search for someone she’d slept with didn’t sit right.
A face-to-face conversation with someone who might know him might yield more insight and not bother her so much.
The one person she knew he’d spoken to tonight was the bartender. He’d be a good place to start. Bartenders could provide much information on clientele, especially regulars.
She followed the route they’d taken from the Common, passing people pointing and gawking at the moon. The dome still loomed with potential couples pursuing each other in flight, the way she and Roman had only hours before. Of course, he was nowhere to be seen. As if he’d hang around there waiting for her to come to her senses and search for him. She’d all but tossed him out on his ass.
What an idiot she was. Twice in one night.
She sighed and returned to the club. Had it really been only earlier that evening that she’d met him? It seemed as if days had gone by.
“Last call.” The bartender rang a cowbell to get the last rush of sales before the crowd dispersed into the night.
With the line forming, she’d have to wait. She could use a drink, but didn’t need anything hampering her judgment while she searched for Roman. Later, she’d find a bottle—no, a gallon—of anything with alcohol to bury the mounting regret.
She scanned the city from the roof, searching for any clues below. The attempt was fruitless—who could see any details from this distance?
After the club had emptied, Larissa approached the bartender from whom Roman had bought drinks earlier.
“I was here earlier talking to a guy with long black hair and a bit of a European accent. Remember him?”
The sandy-haired bartender tightened his brows before saying, “Oh yeah. I remember you both. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for him. We lost track of each other after we left here, and I’m not sure how to contact him.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You sure it wasn’t intentional? No offense, but people hook up here all the time and go their own ways.”
“No, it wasn’t, I assure you.” Should she tell him she was a cop? No, that would set him on the defensive, the way many people reacted when questioned by law enforcement. “He asked for my info and I blew him off.” She cast her eyes down as if she were a shy, sweet thing. “And now I regret it. But I don’t know how to reach him.”
Tempted by the Gargoyle (a gargoyle shifter romance): Boston Stone Sentries Page 7