“If you’re sure?”
“I am.” Brant sent him a quick, friendly salute and strode off in the direction of the closest café.
The smell of food reached his nose about ten minutes later. He trailed up to the front door of Cozette’s Café and pulled the door open.
All eyes in the place swung in his direction, distrusting and wary.
Not that Brant blamed them. It hadn’t been too long ago that the Incola virus had been sweeping through the area, along with looters, gangs, and thugs bent on harm.
Brant ignored the curious stares and made his way to the nearest table.
A heavy-set woman wearing a skirt and a pair of black, enclosed shoes ambled over to his table. She reached up, tugged an ink pen free from a bun on top of her head, and pulled an order pad from her apron. “What’ll you have?”
“I’ll start with a beer.” He glanced down at the menu in front of him that acted as a placemat as well. “Whatever you have in a bottle is fine. I’d also like a burger all the way and a side of fries.”
She scrawled something down on her pad. “How would you like that cooked?”
“Well done,” was all Brant said, already scanning the parking lot through the red-checkered curtains on the windows.
The waitress scurried off to put in his order, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the murmuring of voices that had picked up around him.
“I saw it on the news,” a man sitting at the table behind him muttered in a conspirator’s tone. “They say those creatures are still a danger to the population. Them things have fangs, and they can destroy everyone on this island if they take a notion to. I mean, how can we be sure they won’t decide to kill us in our sleep?”
A woman’s voice piped in. “I heard that they’re screwing human girls to impregnate them too. Why is the president allowing them to live down there? What if they start coming after our children next?”
The guy’s voice grew in volume. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Some of them creatures are females too. Why don’t they stick with their own kind?”
Anger along with disgust sparked inside Brant. The Bracadytes were the victims in all this. They’d been tortured, forced to run for their lives and sleep with one eye open since the day the government had captured Hauke.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” that same guy responded, his voice nasally and grating on Brant’s nerves, “if one of those things ever cross my path, I’m puttin’ a bullet between its eyes. No questions asked.”
Brant surged from his chair and had the guy by the front of his shirt before he knew what was happening. With a powerful jerk, Brant yanked the guy to his feet. “It’s idiots like you that caused all this to begin with. Trigger-happy sons of bitches who can’t see beyond their own ignorance to understand what’s taking place around them. The Bracadytes aren’t responsible for the Incola virus. Humans are! That virus was created by the fucking CDC!”
Powerful arms came around Brant from behind, and the sound of Oz’s voice spoke next to his ear. “Easy there, buddy. Just walk away.”
Brant didn’t want to walk away. In fact, he’d love nothing more than to flip that table over and break a few chairs over a couple of heads.
“He’s not worth it,” Oz continued, momentarily tightening his hold. “Let’s sit down and have a beer.”
It took considerable effort for Brant to release the asshole’s shirt. He forced his fingers open and gave the guy a shove, effectively planting him back in his seat.
Oz clapped Brant on the shoulder and led him back to his table.
“What are you doing here?” Brant dropped into his seat and accepted the beer the waitress handed him.
Oz shrugged and ordered a beer of his own. “I figured you’d get into some sort of trouble. You had that look in your eyes when you left the docks.”
Brant took a long pull on his beer. “So, you thought you’d come babysit me?”
“Something like that.” Though Oz grinned at him, his gaze kept flicking to the table behind Brant. “Friends of yours?”
“Just a bunch of vigilante wannabes talking shit that they don’t have the balls to back up.”
“Figures.” Oz sighed, smiling at the waitress who’d delivered his beer.
She returned his smile, displaying slightly yellowed teeth. “You wantin’ to order?”
Oz nodded. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”
Once the waitress wandered off, Oz leaned back in his chair and sent Brant a wink. “I haven’t had a burger in months. Nor a beer for that matter. Thanks for inviting me along.”
Brant laughed. He couldn’t help it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Syrina climbed from the pool in the bath house, picked up her towel, and carefully dried herself off.
Her shoulder still ached, but thanks to Brant’s blood, Abbie’s stitch job, and Zaureth’s healing touch, Syrina felt amazingly better.
She patted her wound dry and dressed as best she could without using her injured shoulder.
Fiona stepped into the room, carrying her necessities. She sent Syrina a playful grin as she began to strip out of her clothes. “How are you feeling? You ready for the training room yet?”
Syrina easily returned her smile. “I am much better, and I will be back in the training room within the week.”
Moving to a bench to pull on her boots, Syrina asked, “How about you? I heard you were sick.”
Fiona shrugged. “Just a stomach bug, I guess. It didn’t last long.”
Syrina plucked at a tiny piece of thread on her damp towel. “I am sure that your brother is relieved. He showed some concern over your illness.”
“Did he now?”
Something in Fiona’s voice brought Syrina’s head up. She noticed a spark of humor in the redhead’s eyes.
“Look, Syrina. Why don’t you just ask me if I’ve heard from him? I can see that you’re curious.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“You are.”
Syrina tossed the towel into a large basket in the corner and met Fiona’s gaze. “Have you spoken with him?”
“Not yet, but Maria told me that Oz came home last night smelling of beer and that he’d apparently been with my brother. I went to check on Brant this morning, but he wasn’t in his room. And his bed didn’t look slept in.”
The thought of an inebriated Brant out on the surface all night bothered Syrina more than she wanted to admit.
She’d lain awake most of the night, attempting to connect with him to no avail.
Had he been with another female? Was he even now with one? She didn’t know, but she intended to find out.
Fiona’s voice brought her back to the conversation at hand. “You’re able to communicate with him. Why don’t you just talk to him?”
Syrina looked away as Fiona stepped into the bathing pool “I cannot always connect with him. He has the ability to shut me out when I am not wanted there. And he has made it clear that he does not want me there.”
She changed the subject before Fiona could question her further. “How is it going with the female who claims to be Carmen’s sister?”
“Carmen is taking things pretty well, considering. But Pyre has moved to an apartment three halls over from Trescina’s.”
That surprised Syrina. “Has something happened with Pyre?”
Fiona shrugged, stopping in the center of the pool. She turned to face Syrina. “The only thing I heard was that Trescina felt uncomfortable around him, and there seemed to be no love lost on Pyre’s end either.”
“No love lost?” Syrina questioned, not understanding Fiona’s meaning.
Fiona chuckled. “It means that Pyre doesn’t seem to like her either.”
“Of course he does not like her. She is human.” Syrina regretted her words the second they slipped free of her lips. “I did not mean—”
“I know what you meant, Syrina. It’s okay, really. The humans haven’t actually been gracious where your race is concerned.”
Syrina stood and sent Fiona an apologetic smile. “Not all humans. You have become a friend that I hold dear to my heart, and your brother…”
“My brother what?” Fiona prompted.
“He has saved my life more than once. I will always be grateful to him for that.”
Fiona’s gaze softened. “I think it’s more than that. You obviously have some kind of feelings for him. I can see it in your eyes when his name is mentioned.”
Syrina’s stomach flipped. She eased her weight back to the bench. “I do not understand what it is that I feel for your brother. But it cannot be. I would never be able to return home with a human mate in tow. My father would destroy him.”
“Is returning home that important to you? Aukrabah has become my home as well as my son’s. Klause and the other Bracadytes here would gladly embrace you as one of their own. Just as they did Kaspyn…just as they did me.”
Nervous and more than a little anxious by the conversation, Syrina cleared her throat. “It matters not. Brant harbors deep-rooted feelings for a ghost from his past—a woman who died in front of him, a woman he loved with all his heart. I could never replace her, nor does he wish me to.”
“You mean Melinda.” Fiona blew out a heavy sigh. “You’re right, Syrina. Brant did love Melinda. And I know that he carries a great deal of guilt inside him over her death. He blames himself for what happened even though he wasn’t at fault. But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What would that be?”
Fiona looked her straight in the eyes. “You said you could never replace Melinda. But I know my brother, and it wasn’t Melinda he was thinking about when he awoke in that clinic a few days ago. It was you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brant came awake slowly, his head aching from the alcohol he’d consumed the night before.
Why had he drunk so much? He’d hoped to dull the emotions swimming around inside him—emotions brought to life by an Arkadian female.
Brant hadn’t allowed himself to become close with a woman since Melinda’s death. He never wanted to experience that level of pain again as long as he lived. To open himself to someone like Syrina was unacceptable. He’d be asking for heartache. Listening to the talk back in that restaurant only proved his point. The Bracadytes would never be safe. They’d always be hated…and hunted.
Of course, it didn’t matter anyhow. Syrina had made it perfectly clear that she had no desire to be with Brant…even if he did want her. Which he didn’t.
Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? No matter how much alcohol he’d drowned himself in, her face and voice continued to creep into his head randomly throughout the night.
His mind drifted back to the day he’d licked her to completion. Brant had never seen, felt, or tasted so much passion in another in all his life. Not even Melinda.
Syrina had a scent that he could drown in, and if Pyre hadn’t interrupted when he had, Brant feared he’d still be there, kneeling between her knees, tasting her still.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, annoyed that he’d allowed Syrina to dominate his thoughts once again.
He rolled over and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He’d slept most of the day away in a local hotel room that had recently reopened.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he rested his head in his hands. He needed to shower and at some point, check on the situation with the girl they’d brought back from Cuba. But not tonight. He wasn’t ready to see Syrina and the resentment he knew would be swimming in her amber-colored eyes.
Pushing to his feet, he meandered into the bathroom, peeled out of his clothes, and turned on the shower.
The hot spray of the water felt amazing on his tense shoulders.
He leaned his head back and allowed the steamy warmth to sluice down his body and relax his stiff muscles.
“Brant?”
Syrina’s voice inside his head sent the tension returning with a vengeance.
“Brant, I know you can hear me. Why have you not returned with the others? Even Oz is back in Aukrabah. Yet you remain on the surface where it is unsafe.”
Brant picked up the shampoo and soaped up his hair. Why did it matter to her if he remained on the surface? He wasn’t her mate, nor would he ever be. She’d made that perfectly clear from the beginning. Not that he wanted her for a mate. He didn’t.
He ground his teeth at her next attempt to communicate with him. With as much patience as he could muster, he firmly sent back, “I’m a hell of a lot safer on the surface than you are. I’m immune to the Incola virus, and I’m not sportin’ fangs, so no one’s gonna take potshots at me.”
The sensation that slid through him summoned regret instantly. Something resembling pain bled through Syrina’s presence in his head. His words had hurt her.
“I’m sorry, Syrina. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Silence.
“Syrina?”
There was no evidence of their connection. She had pulled from his mind as quickly as she’d entered it.
Brant wanted to take back his thoughtless words. He hadn’t meant them the way they’d sounded. And they had sounded racist, he realized, blowing out a regretful breath.
No matter how Syrina felt about him, Brant would never willingly hurt her. Especially with something as idiotic as a bigoted-sounding comment. If anything, Brant thought himself beneath Syrina, not good enough…unworthy.
She was an amazing female. One who would make some Arkadian male a wonderful mate, someday.
Regret swiftly turned to jealousy the longer Brant imagined Syrina with another male.
Why did he care who Syrina mated with? Because somewhere deep inside Brant, he knew he wanted her. He’d wanted her even before she’d allowed him to taste her body.
Melinda’s face flashed behind his eyes, bringing with it a fresh round of guilt.
Brant finished rinsing his hair, snatched up the soap, and went to work, scrubbing his body. He needed food and another drink. And not necessarily in that order.
* * * *
Most of the high-end establishments in Destin had yet to reopen, leaving Brant no choice but to settle for a hole in the wall bar named Mermaids near the docks.
He had stopped by a department store after leaving the hotel and bought himself a clean change of clothes. The ones he’d been wearing ended up in a bag, along with some cash, and placed next to a sleeping homeless man behind the store.
Brant opened the door to Mermaids and made a beeline for the bar.
A dark-haired girl wearing too-tight jeans and a T-shirt showing her midriff sent him a welcoming smile.
Brant nodded toward a bottle on the wall behind her. “I’ll start with a shot.”
She spun around and plucked up said bottle, grabbed a shot glass, and filled it to the rim. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“I’m not from around here.” Brant accepted the small glass, brought it to his lips, and tossed it back. “Another, please.”
“Sure thing.” She quickly refilled it. “I don’t detect a northern accent. California, maybe?”
Brant grinned and tossed back the second shot. “Not California. I’m from the south, just not this far south. Another, please.”
Pouring the dark-colored liquid into the shot glass, she asked, “Would you like to see a menu?”
Brant downed the shot she handed him before sliding the empty shot glass back her way. “What’s good here?”
“Marvin makes a mean grouper sandwich,” she responded, refilling his liquor once more.
Brant plucked up the now full shot glass and brought it to his lips. “Then that’s what I’ll have.” He downed the burning liquid.
The next two hours went by with Brant sitting quietly at the bar, sipping on a beer and occasionally doing a shot. His mind had become numb along with his memories of Melinda and his unwanted thoughts of Syrina.
“Is this seat taken?”
A pretty platinum bl
onde sidled up next to him and rested her long, red fingernails on his arm.
Brant noticed her eyes were blue. Unlike Syrina’s amber-colored ones.
He shook off that thought and pulled out the stool next to him. “Have a seat.”
She sent him a smile, her dark red lipstick sparkling in the fluorescents above them.
He could see that somewhere beneath all that makeup resided an attractive woman.
Syrina’s lack of cosmetics only made her more beautiful in Brant’s eyes. She didn’t need makeup to look alluring. Her skin was flawless, her lashes thick and lush, and her pink mouth… Ah, her mouth.
The woman’s sweet-smelling perfume drifted up Brant’s nose. Though not unpleasant, it didn’t hold a candle to Syrina’s natural scent.
Brant ground his teeth at the direction of his thoughts and pushed Syrina completely from his mind.
He gave his attention to the new arrival. “Buy you a drink?”
“Sure,” she purred, settling on her stool. “I’ll have a piña colada.”
Brant tossed some more money to the bartender and ordered the lady’s drink along with another shot for himself.
The blonde leaned in close enough her breath fanned the side of his face. “I’m Jill, by the way.”
“Hi, Jill by the way. I’m Brant.”
Jill laughed, her voice becoming husky as she moved in closer. “Thanks for the drink, Brant. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The two of them remained at the bar, with Jill chatting about everything from her cats to her ex-husband who’d run off with another woman approximately eight years ago.
Someone put money into the jukebox, and the soft melody of a love song spilled through the room.
Jill got to her feet and held out her hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Brant didn’t really want to dance with her, but the hopeful look in her eyes had him sliding off his stool.
He guided her to the center of the floor, took her in his arms, and closed his eyes.
The gentle rhythm of the music seeped into his body to mingle with the alcohol and relax his mind.
Brant: Science Fiction Romance (Enigma Series Book 11) Page 9