“No.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “This tunnel isn’t safe.”
She sighed, pretending she didn’t notice his musky male scent and the heat of his hard body that was sending tiny flutters through the pit of her stomach.
“Are you always so stubborn?”
He managed a crooked, knee-weakening smile. “I’m charmingly determined.”
Charmingly determined? He was frigging beautiful was what he was.
Even covered in filth, with his suit in tatters and his hair tangled, he was drop-dead, mind-numbingly beautiful.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she muttered, more annoyed by her potent awareness of this Were than his teasing.
“As long as it’s your ass…” His drawling words trailed away, his golden eyes narrowed. “Wait.”
She frowned, grudgingly coming to a halt. “I thought you wanted to keep moving?”
He reached out a slender hand to press it against the side of the tunnel.
“There’s a way out just behind this wall.”
Harley squashed the distraction of Salvatore’s presence and concentrated on the wall, feeling the echo just beyond the dirt.
“I feel it.” She opened her eyes. “Can we get through?”
Salvatore straightened, pulling away from her. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Before she could point out they were currently absent a pick and shovel, Salvatore whirled in a movement too fast for human sight and kicked his foot against the hard dirt. Harley winched as his foot punched a large hole through the wall, revealing there was indeed an opening on the other side.
Damn. He could knock off a man’s head with that kick.
Or the head of a mouthy female.
Dismissing the unpleasant possibility, Harley moved forward, tugging at the clumps of crumbling dirt to enlarge the hole. She had barely started when Salvatore was at her side, his breath rasping as he shoved at a particularly stubborn rock.
“You don’t have to be Superman,” she said tartly. “I can do this.”
His brief smile was strained. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can find someplace safe to hide.”
Harley grimaced, feeling as if she had been dipped, dredged, and battered in grime.
“This someplace better have a shower.”
Salvatore grunted, managing to shove aside the rock. Then, without hesitation, he pressed himself through the narrow opening. Harley rolled her eyes as she hurried behind him. Clearly it didn’t occur to him to allow her to take lead, despite the fact he looked close to total collapse.
Typical.
He’d rather fall flat on his face than admit he needed a woman’s help.
She had always suspected that testosterone sucked any common sense from the male brain.
Entering the cramped chamber carved in the dirt, Harley paused to take in her surroundings. Not an overwhelming task. There was nothing more than a pile of stones in one corner, and across the room, an opening that revealed some roughly carved stairs.
She had, however, heard Caine speak of his various spiderweb of tunnels, and she knew there was more here than met the eye.
“The stairs,” Salvatore muttered, heading toward the opening.
“Hold on.”
His expression tightened with a weary impatience. “Harley.”
“Caine always keeps stashes hidden, in case of a hasty exit,” she said, moving to the loosely piled stones. Her kick held considerably less impact that Salvatore’s, but it was enough to send the rocks flying to reveal a pile of objects that had been hidden beneath them. “See?”
Moving to her side, Salvatore reached to pluck the two loaded handguns off the ground, surprisingly shoving one into her hand before tucking the other into his waistband at his lower back.
The large ivory-handled dagger disappeared into a holster beneath his tattered pant leg, but he appeared far more interested in the tiny silver medallions that were half-buried beneath the dirt.
Most people would dismiss them as pieces of junk. A stupid mistake.
“I recognize these,” he said, gathering the medallions in his hand, a smile of satisfaction curving his lips.
Harley shrugged. “Amulets.”
He tilted one of the amulets to display the odd symbol etched into the thin metal.
“Caine’s cur pack used these to hide from me while they were in Hannibal.”
Abruptly, Harley realized that Salvatore’s scent had disappeared. Completely and utterly.
“Holy shit.”
“Here.” He pressed an amulet into her hand. “Keep it on you.”
She absently tucked the amulet into her sports bra, unnerved that Caine had possessed such a powerful tool that he’d never bothered to share with her.
But why should she be surprised? Caine had never been subtle in his obsession to keep her from slipping away from his control.
This amulet would have offered her the opportunity to escape without fear.
“No wonder Caine keeps so many witches on his payroll,” she gritted, annoyed that she’d been so easily fooled.
“I thought he took them to his bed.”
“Fringe benefits.” She shrugged. “Or at least they seem to think so.”
The golden gaze studied her with an unwavering intensity. “But not you?”
“I’m not interested in being the flavor of the month.” She met his gaze squarely. “For any man.”
Without warning, he leaned forward to brush a possessive kiss across her lips.
“Good.”
Harley shot upright, frowning at the jolt of pleasure that raced through her.
“I don’t need your approval.”
Chuckling at her unmistakable blush, Salvatore grasped her hand and tugged her toward the stairs.
“Let’s go, sunshine.”
With Salvatore’s luck running from bad to extremely shitty, it was nothing less than a shock when the stairs led to a narrow exit that was well hidden and cur-free.
Not that he lingered long enough to appreciate his unexpected stroke of fortune.
Keeping a steady pace, Salvatore ignored the fact that St. Louis was less than an hour away, along with a strong Were pack that he could call on to protect him. Instead, he headed directly north, toward the far more distant Chicago and the damned leeches.
Harley’s expression was puzzled as they ran past the fields and dark farmhouses, but for once she kept her opinion of his leadership abilities to herself. Or perhaps she simply concluded that Caine was more likely to start his search on the roads leading south.
In either case, Salvatore was relieved not to have to fight with the female. In his current state, he wasn’t at all certain he could win.
Devoting the majority of his attention to making sure that nothing leaped at them from the cornfields and thick patches of trees, Salvatore wearily tripped over a fallen log that was hidden by the thick weeds.
“Enough,” Harley snapped, an odd anger in her voice as he smoothly regained his balance and turned to meet her glittering gaze. “We have to find someplace to rest.”
He regarded her in a thoughtful silence. Was she concerned for him?
“There’s a town just beyond the hill.”
“A town?” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Caine could have spies anywhere, and we don’t exactly blend in.”
“Then we’ll be careful not to be seen.” Taking her hand, he pulled her through the field and up the gentle swell that overlooked the small town. “There.”
He could feel Harley’s tension increasing as they neared the outskirts of the sleeping town, reaching a near panicked level as they traveled through the handful of blocks that made up the business district. Salvatore kept a firm grip on her hand as he headed straight toward the L-shaped motel that promised cable TV and Internet access.
He was too close to the promise of a hot bath and clean sheets to risk having to spend the rest of the night chasing his high-strung companion.
Carefully testing the air, Salvatore rounded the back of the motel, halting at the door nearest the end of the building. There were only a few guests occupying the various rooms, and all of them were human.
“We can’t check into a motel like this,” Harley hissed, tugging her hand free to indicate his filthy, unkempt appearance. “They’ll call the police.”
Salvatore smiled, moving forward to turn the knob, easily breaking the lock and shoving open the door.
“I have my own check-in system.”
Not nearly as impressed by his ability to find them shelter as she should have been, Harley stepped through the door and flipped on the light. Following behind her, Salvatore grimaced.
Okay, maybe he couldn’t expect her to be excessively impressed.
Perhaps not even slightly.
The room was larger than those in newer hotels, with a bed on one side and a pair of chairs and small table set beneath the window on the other. But the cheap furnishings had long ago given up the battle against shabbiness, and the turquoise paint was peeling off the wall. And the carpet…
Salvatore shuddered.
He moved across the room to peer into the bathroom, prepared for the chipped shower and vanity in a nasty shade of salamander.
Moving to his side, Harley wrapped her arm around her waist, her expression tense.
“What if the manager rents out this room?”
“Highly doubtful at this hour, even if there was anyone desperate enough to stop here.” He slid a challenging glance in her direction. “Do you want a shower or not?”
“And what are you going to be doing?”
He smiled. “Making myself useful.”
“Forget it.”
“Take your shower, cara,” he murmured, stealing a swift kiss before pressing her into the bathroom. “I’m in no condition to scrub your back. At least not with the attention to detail that I prefer.”
Her eyes narrowed, her expression defiant. “I’m locking the door.”
“I insist, and keep that gun where you can use it,” he murmured, pulling the door shut and waiting for her muttered curse and the lock to be slammed into place before turning to head out of the motel room and into the night.
A weary smile curved his lips as he moved silently through the shadows, heading toward the stores that had closed hours before.
He was on the run from a Were who should have died centuries ago, he had no idea what had happened to his servants, he had no money, no cell phone, and the silver digging into his shoulder felt like ragged shards of lava, but there was no mistaking the raw, primitive satisfaction that burned through his blood.
Finding Harley completed him.
It was that simple and yet, that insanely complex.
And it was nothing less than a miracle.
Halting at the back of a dress shop, Salvatore easily dealt with the cheap lock, using his powers to turn off the alarm system. Collecting a few plastic bags, he moved through the darkness to fill them with a change of clothing for Harley and himself, as well as a nightgown that Harley would no doubt insist upon wearing.
He hesitated a moment over the delicate lingerie, ruefully choosing a sports bra and matching undies rather than the silky thongs. Harley would choke him in his sleep with the thong if he brought it back to the motel.
Perhaps someday…
He paused long enough to empty out the cash register, making a mental note to reimburse the owner. Not that he particularly cared about a human’s business. But if Darcy discovered he’d stolen from the shop, she would pester him for weeks about his corrupted karma. And unfortunately, he might need the tenderhearted Were to convince Harley that he wasn’t some rabid monster who was plotting to kill her.
Leaving the dress shop, Salvatore made a stop at the small deli to scoop up several packaged sandwiches and bags of chips before making a final sweep of the neighborhood and returning to the motel room.
Careful to close the door and slide the bolt, Salvatore turned and…
“Dio,” he breathed, staring at Harley as she stood in the middle of the hotel room.
Her wet hair hung loosely around her shoulders, the amulet dangled on a thin strip of material she’d ripped from a washcloth and tied around her neck, she wore nothing more than a towel she’d wrapped around her still damp body, and the gun was held in one hand with a casual expertise.
She should have looked ridiculous.
Instead, Salvatore felt as if he’d just been kicked in the gut as he met the hazel eyes that flashed with a smoldering fury.
She was sexy, and dangerous as hell.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, her hand tightening on the gun. As if she was considering the pleasure of shooting him.
He reached down to grasp the bags and piled them onto the bed, clever enough to hide his smile of satisfaction at her annoyance.
“We needed supplies,” he smoothly explained.
“And what if you’d stumbled across one of Caine’s pack? Or that Briggs?”
He turned to meet her scowl. “Were you worried for me, Harley?”
She stiffened, not about to admit the truth.
“You’re in no condition to be out running around.”
“Ah, you do care.”
“You might have led them here.”
“I wasn’t followed.”
Prowling forward, Salvatore stripped off his tattered jacket and shirt, tossing them on the floor.
Harley instinctively stepped back, although she couldn’t hide the manner in which her gaze lingered on his bare chest.
“What are you doing?”
“I need you to dig out the silver in my shoulder.”
“With what?” She shook her head as Salvatore reached down to pull the dagger from the sheath at his ankle. “No. No way.”
Salvatore plucked the gun from her hand, tossing it on the bed before pressing the hilt of the dagger into her unwilling fingers.
“It has to be done, Harley. I can’t reach them.”
She clenched her jaw, trapped between her desire to condemn him to hell and the knowledge that his injuries wouldn’t heal until the silver was gone.
“Damn.” She pointed toward the chair by the small table. “Sit down.”
Taking his seat, Salvatore waited until Harley was standing rigidly behind him, reaching over his shoulder to grasp her hand and press it to his lips.
“Just the silver, cara.”
She predictably yanked her hand from his touch, but Salvatore didn’t miss the care she took not to jostle his shoulder.
“If I decide to kill you, it won’t be with a knife in the back,” she muttered. “Hold still.”
Bracing his hands against his knees, Salvatore closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Unlike vamps, he didn’t have the ability to go into a healing trance to avoid his injuries. Until he could shift, he had to grin and bear it.
Well, not grin.
It was more of a groan-really-loud and bear it.
Bowing his head, Salvatore clenched his teeth, trying to remember he was a macho king, while Harley sliced through his flesh, searching for the silver shards that had burrowed deep beneath the skin.
Harley cursed beneath her breath as she struggled with a particularly defiant shard.
“Am I hurting you?” she rasped.
“Harley, you’re cutting into my shoulder with a rather large knife,” he pointed out softly.
There was another searing jolt of pain, then blessed relief as the last of the debilitating silver was removed and his natural powers kicked into gear.
“I think that’s it,” she muttered, giving a tiny squeak of alarm as Salvatore surged from the chair and with a burst of energy, shifted into his wolf form.
At any other time, Salvatore would have taken smug pleasure in Harley’s gaze that clung to his large body with unconscious appreciation, perhaps even have done a bit of showing off to prove the strength of his body and the beauty of his thick raven fur.
>
Now, he sprawled on the carpet and shuddered as he struggled to heal his wounds, feeling as weak as a pup despite the mystical forces that flowed through his blood.
Any preening would have to wait.
A damned shame.
It was one of his finer talents.
His shoulder cramped as the torn muscles and punctured skin knit back together, the burned flesh being restored, although it remained tender. Tired, hungry, and weakened by the mating bond, it would take some time for him to fully recover.
Allowing himself only a brief moment to savor the primitive pleasure of embracing his wolf, Salvatore grudgingly shifted back to human, indifferent to his lack of clothing as he shakily rose to his feet.
A Were was rarely modest.
He did pause to scoop the amulet off the carpet. He didn’t know enough about magic to know how close he had to keep the thing to hide his scent, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances.
“Cristo. I need a shower,” he muttered, crossing toward the bathroom. “There’s food and clothes for you in the bags.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” He glanced over his shoulder and pointed toward the bags on the bed. “Eat.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Yes, sire. At once, sire.”
“And behave yourself.”
Leaving the door to the bathroom open, Salvatore stepped into the shower, sighing in relief as the hot water poured over his body. He was less pleased by the cheap motel soap and shampoo, but at least it managed to scrub away the grime, and wrapping a towel around his waist, he ripped a strip off a washcloth to tie the amulet around his neck.
He shoved the wet hair from his face and returned to the main room, a small smile curving his lips as he discovered Harley had pulled on the flannel nightgown that fell past her knees.
No doubt she assumed the repulsive garment would stifle his rampant desire. Instead, Salvatore found himself pondering the various methods of stripping it off.
He could do it slow, tugging the ugly fabric upward to reveal the body beneath, inch by glorious inch. He could do it quick, ripping open the gown with a sharp jerk. He could do it using nothing more than his teeth.
Pacing the floor with short, jerky steps, Harley watched as he moved toward the bed, her expression oddly wary.
Beyond the Darkness Page 8