Keeping His Siren Part 2

by Kiersten Fay

  When he opened the sedan’s back door for her, two rogue tears trickled down her cheeks, and her chest heaved for air. “You said you’d forgive me.”

  He appeared confused at first, then seemed to recall their conversation on the boat.

  “Don’t cry,” he muttered, looking remorseful. Or was he just pitying her? How many women had he sent packing after seducing their hearts?

  As if to confirm that, his expression turned neutral.

  Humiliated by her show of emotion, she crawled into the car and hid her face behind the curtain of her hair, soft tears coming faster. He didn’t close the door. Instead, he knelt down, setting one knee in the dirty gutter. She blinked, confused, and looked at him. Really looked. His lips were turned down in a way that made her wonder if this was just as hard for him as it was for her. But if so, then why send her away?

  His controlled expression cracked, and he suddenly appeared so very tired. “Please don’t cry,” he repeated, wiping a tear away from her damp cheek. “It guts me.”

  “I don’t want to go.” I want to stay with you, she didn’t say.

  He bowed his head. “I know.”

  “So then why must I?”

  “A lot has happened.” He hesitated. “Too much.”

  Meaning she’d betrayed him too badly for him to forgive her?

  He paused again as though to choose his words. “If you stay, there will be consequences. Things I...things you and I might not be ready for.”

  She sniffed. “What? What things?”

  He shook his head and stood. “We need some time apart. I need to clear my head. So do you. I’ll call you when Cole wakes up.”

  With that, he closed the car door. Through blurry eyes, she watched Cortez walk away from her and vanish into his club.

  He hadn’t glanced back. Not once.

  Chapter 37

  Four days! Four grueling, agonizing, nail-biting days.

  So far that’s how long she’d been waited for news about Cole. Four days of carpet fretting, hair-pulling worry. Well, three if you didn’t count the day Donovan had dropped her off. Mental and physical exhaustion had dragged her straight to bed where she’d sprawled unconscious for twenty-four hours straight.

  Unconsciousness was bliss. Wakefulness, gruesome. Especially when she wasn’t only anxious to finally, finally see her brother, but apparently she was experiencing Cortez withdrawals.

  He needs time away from me.

  She hadn’t received so much as a text updating her on Cole’s condition....

  Or one asking how she was doing.

  When her tummy rumbled, she popped some cheap instant noodles in the microwave, then leaned back against her warped linoleum counter to watch the number tick down.

  She’d gone from seeing him every day, smelling his clean, woodsy scent as she slept, touching his luscious body at her leisure, to not even having the simple luxury of hearing his deep baritone voice. It was like sensory deprivation torture.

  Before there was joy, music, vibrancy. Now there was muted silence, a lonely apartment, and the act of pretending she was fine. Going through the motions. Eating when she needed to eat. Bathing when she needed to bathe. The rest of her time dedicated to sleep. Or at least attempting to. Even when exhaustion rode her, she would tango with the covers, both trying to ignore and soothe her aching heart, not only due to the absence of the man who had burrowed a nook straight to its center, but she and Cole had never been apart for more than a few hours, twenty-four at the most if they both worked a double.

  She tried to recall the last time she’d spoken to him. Was it over the phone on the island? Hadn’t he told her then about Tiffany missing her shift? Was that when Marco had started his gruesome task? While Naia had been having the time of her life, living it up with the most gorgeous, glorious, sexiest beast of a man she had ever encountered. Giving him access under her skin, deep in her bones, way past the mysterious place where the soul lived. That was where Cortez had claimed his niche, marked his spot, and would forever haunt her. Leaving her fractured and not quite whole, but like some sort of puzzle that was missing its corner.

  She’d never been so alone.

  Nights were the worst.

  Last night, the true pain of her loss had hit her square in the chest, waking her with a gasp that had been swallowed up by the darkness of her empty room. Before waking sense had returned, she’d frantically checked her torso, making sure her ribs hadn’t been ruthlessly cracked open.

  Of course they hadn’t. She was intact, but only from the outside. The insides were a jumble of marbles and fine-spun glass.

  She was done lying to herself. It only prolonged her suffering to hold any form of hope that she and Cortez could return to their former joyous state. The lack of a phone call told her that at least. He probably wanted to break things off with her completely, sever the ties, were it not for Cole.

  So instead of ripping off the band aid and admitting that straight-out, he’d sent her away. Don’t cry. It guts me. At the time, those words had sparked a fuse of hope within her, but it had since burned out. He just didn’t want the guilt of witnessing her devastation.

  The only bright point over the last few days had been when Goldie had stopped by. Newly released from Hotel de Vampire, as she’d dubbed it—and how after everything she could make jokes was beyond Naia—she’d appeared almost good as new but for a few visible contusions around the face and neck.

  When Naia had answered the door and saw who it was, she had leapt on her friend as though they’d been parted for years, hugging her so hard Goldie had lightly complained about bruised ribs, though she’d held onto Naia just as tightly. When they did let go, Goldie had produced a bottle of wine from her tote and declared, “It’s half past girl’s night! Time to get twisted!”

  Glasses filled, they’d curled up on the couch where Cole used to sleep, she cruelly reminded herself. Self-flagellation was now a favorite pastime it would seem. She’d never again walk in on him, limbs sprawled, full-on drool face, snoring the roof off the place. He’d likely be staying at Ever Nights for the foreseeable future. Learning to be a vampire.

  Recently turned, how dependent would he be on blood? Where would he get it? Who would he drink from? She couldn’t even picture her little baby brother with fangs. Ugh, or sucking on necks.

  She shuddered.

  Goldie had distracted her from these thoughts with a gruesome retelling of her ordeal, though the diversion wasn’t exactly favorable. It had happened precisely as Cortez had described, with Dante compelling her to meet Marco behind Ever Nights. By the time she’d found him, Marco’s hands had already been bloody.

  From pummeling Cole?

  From there, Goldie and Marco rode a service elevator to the basement. Tiffany was already there in room three-oh-eight, drugged out of her mind, shivering, yet drenched in her own sweat. Goldie recalled Marco muttering something like soon now, then proceeded to beat and drain her dry.

  Because Dante kept her aware of everything around her, she remembered every blow, had known she was about to die. Naia couldn’t even imagine the horror of that. Thankfully Goldie’d had the good sense to go limp and play dead, which might very well have saved her life—Marco, apparently, had wanted to take things slow—but noises from the floor’s lobby had alerted him to the presence of others. He’d fled, leaving Goldie on the brink of death, but with help on the way.

  Too bad they hadn’t arrived sooner. During the time it had taken Marco to abuse and nearly drain Goldie, and for Naia, Lex, and Ryder to get there, the drugs had claimed Tiffany’s life.

  The microwave dinged. Naia retrieved her dinner and sat at her tiny kitchen table, waiting for the noodles to cool.

  It had seemed almost cathartic for Goldie to unburden herself, so Naia had dutifully listened, though it revived every terrible moment for her as well. The violence. The blood. The carnage. The sheer panic that had flooded her. The total and complete helplessness.... The warmth of Cortez holding her so clo
se, so protectively, while she’d lost her shit.

  Thinking back, she was pretty sure he had held her as she’d slept as well. But no, that couldn’t be right.

  A faint memory surfaced of him pulling her into the warm curve of his body...tenderly kissing her shoulder.

  That couldn’t have happened. She had to be remembering incorrectly, her wounded heart wishing for the impossible.

  She recalled the way he’d looked at her after discovering her motive behind seeking him out. Like she was a stranger. An enemy. Yet another person who’d sought to use him.

  The image was replaced by the way he’d regarded her on his island. Like she was treasured.

  She’d felt treasured.

  That feeling was gone now. Siphoned away through the hole in her heart left by Cortez. A wide, dark cavern where she wanted to curl up and grow roots.

  She had fallen for him completely; he wanted her out of his life.

  So then why had he saved Cole?

  She knotted some stringy noodles around her fork and popped them into her mouth, the flavor conspicuously absent. Compared to Victor’s salmon, this was dog chow.

  She swallowed the bite and forced herself to eat more, her thoughts drifting back to Cortez.

  He’d had no plans to sire any more vampires. He hadn’t even vetted Cole. After Dante, Cortez was understandably cautious and extremely selective about who he brought into his clan. Turning a mortal was serious business under any circumstances.

  Not to mention, in all respects, Cole had essentially been dead—it was becoming easier for that morbid thought to bypass the pain center in her brain. With Tiffany’s death, the damage Dante intended had been done. Either Cortez would be held responsible, or not. Transforming Cole, thereby saving his life, wouldn’t have changed that. And now Cortez had a new, if not unwanted, certainly unintended, member of his clan. A responsibility she couldn’t begin to fathom. There’d been no obligation to save him by such extreme measures unless....

  Had he done it expressly for her? Because he didn’t want her to suffer the loss of her beloved brother and only family? The ultimate gift? She hardly dared to hope at his motivation. By doing what he’d done, he pretty much guaranteed she’d be in his life for as long as Cole was, whether he wanted that or not. And he didn’t.

  Right?

  If you stay, there will be consequences. Things you and I might not be ready for.

  At first she’d assumed consequences meant punishment for her role in Dante’s plan. Now she wasn’t sure. He’d included himself in that dictum. Meaning there would be consequences for him as well? And what things had he been talking about?

  Her phone chimed. She glanced at the caller ID.

  Her heart did a flying trapeze flip.

  “Hello,” she blurted eagerly.

  “Good evening, Naia.” His supple voice liquefied her insides, warming them like chocolate over flame. Then, registering the strain in his tone, she tightened back up.

  She got straight to the point. “How’s Cole doing?”

  “Good. He’s awake now. You can come see him, if you like.”

  Abandoning her dinner, she bolted to her room on the hunt for her shoes. “Yes. Okay. I’ll leave now.” She spotted the soul of one tennis shoe peeking out from under the bed. She went to all fours and scanned for the other.

  “I’ll send a car.”

  There it was way underneath. She must have kicked it there at some point. “A car? Okay. I’ll be ready,” she uttered, reaching her arm into the tight space, the excitement making her impatient.

  “I’ll see you shortly.”

  She froze, ass in the air, fingertips straining. “You’ll see me?” But he had already hung up. She hadn’t expected for Cortez to stick around when she visited Cole long enough to even say boo. She’d pictured him in isolation, up in his lonely tower of solitude, waiting to reclaim his territory the minute she left again.

  That still might be the case. Maybe his last words were just something one said instead of goodbye. See you soon. Talk to you soon. See you later.

  But just in case....

  She found her reflection in the bathroom mirror. When had she showered last? Had she even brushed hair since returning home? The nest on her head was practically growing a personality. And she looked pale and weary. The picture of grief.

  Frantically she tore off her clothes and jumped in the shower, scrubbing her hair and skin like she was staving off Ebola. She’d be damned if he saw the evidence of how thoroughly their breakup affected her.

  Wrapped in a towel, she padded to her closet and tore through her wardrobe. Stained, faded, wrinkled, frayed.

  Unacceptable.

  Her eyes darted to the pile of luggage she had yet to unpack. She’d left it in the corner where Donovan had dropped it. She unzipped the biggest one. Inside one of the garment bags was an elegant looking dress with an above-the-knee hem and a deep V neckline. Perfect.

  She slipped the dress on and inspected the fit. It hugged her hips and waist and provided a flirty swing to the flowy skirt whenever she moved. Yet her cleavage was the star.

  After finger combing her hair—it would dry in a wavy fashion—she attacked the other suitcases till she found some sex-kitten shoes to match, a black strappy pair that wrapped her feet in loving bondage.

  Twisting for her reflection, she wondered if it screamed of desperation, but before she could decide on another outfit, the doorbell rang. Anticipating her eagerness to see Cole, Cortez had sent the car before calling her.

  Donovan stood on the porch. When he saw her, he did a double take. A slow smirk twisted his features.

  She suddenly grew self-conscious and glanced down at herself. “Overkill?”

  He chuckled and said simply, “This ought to be good. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 38

  The sight of Ever Nights was dazzling with its soft outside lighting and neon OPEN sign.

  Donovan pulled up to the front entrance. When she stepped onto the sidewalk something in her relaxed, a tightness unfurrowing. Like Ever Nights had become her sanctuary.

  Only it wasn’t.

  She had to reign in those thoughts. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. Whoever had said that had to have either been very insightful or had experienced some pretty shitty days. Her worst would be if Cortez treated her as if she were just another person, no different than any other in this club. A short term visitor that didn’t really belong. No. That wouldn’t be the worst. The worst would be if he treated her as a nuisance.

  She lifted her chin. She was here for Cole. She’d support him despite how she felt about Cortez. Or how he felt about her.

  There was a bouncer tonight. Dane. He silently opened the door for her. She thanked him though his expression was hard, dangerous, with an edge of disdain. She supposed they all hated her now.

  Inside was business as usual, music tapering from several doorways connected to the lobby and hallway.

  Kenzi was there, chatting with the desk clerk, a woman Naia had never seen before. When Kenzi’s gaze casually slipped her way, she straightened in surprise, then rushed toward her. “Naia. My god. I heard about what happened.” Kenzi threw her arms around Naia, her forward momentum knocking them both off balance. When they recovered, Kenzi set her at arm’s length. “Are you okay, honey? I’m going to take you for a spa day. No arguments.” As if just processing Naia’s appearance, she blurted, “Although you look fabulous. Lady killers around the world, eat your hearts out.”

  Naia smiled weakly. “Thanks, Kenzi.”

  “You’re here for Cole, aren’t you?” She scanned Naia once more and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “And apparently to flaunt what the good lord gave you.”

  She fought a full body flush. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

  “Never. Right this way, mon ami.” Looping their arms together, Kenzi dragged her through the club, into a room that was lit by brilliant, golden hews. Like the sun itself had taken a minute to stop in for
a nightcap.

  Kenzi pointed. “Just head in that direction. And just between us, it wouldn’t hurt to flip your hair as you go.”

  “Huh?”

  Kenzi just winked and waved goodbye, returning to the lobby. Naia looked in the direction she had pointed. All she saw was clubbers laughing, dancing, and drinking, but then suddenly the crowd parted, and she spied Cortez on the opposite side of the room with his back toward her. He was speaking with Ryder. Even from behind, she was stunned by how gorgeous he was. More so than she remembered, if that was even possible. Damn him.

  His arms were folded across his front, over a solid chest she remembered tracing with her fingers. Her tongue. The grey suit he wore amplified the powerful breadth of his shoulders. From what she could see of his profile, there was more stubble there than he’d ever permitted before. And he still looked sexy as hell.

  He was a colossal dream. Her very own fairytale prince.

  Don’t be stupid. Fairytales only exist in books.

  Attempting to fix things between them would be like crossing the ocean in a canoe, surrounded by sharks. She’d only get hurt in the end.

  After taking in a fortifying breath, she swallowed, lifted her chin, and then made her way toward him. A song with a hard beat started up as she crossed the dance floor, raising the energy of the room. A couple guys tried to engage her in dance, but she ignored them, her eyes fixed on her target.

  Ryder spotted her first. He blinked, taking her in from top to bottom and then mouthed something that resembled, “oh shit.”

  Cortez curiously swung around. His arms dropped to his sides as whiskey eyes scanned her slowly up, then down, then back again. Adrenaline whipped through her bloodstream. Was that a shadow of desire stalking behind his eyes?

  A second later she wondered if she’d imagined it. As soon as she reached him, he was back to that chilled version of himself that she hated. It was the face of rejection.