by A. J. Colby
Succubi are really just big softies. Who knew?
“Afraid so,” Holbrook replied after a long pause. “Besides, it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out where you were headed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE HEADLIGHTS OF Alyssa’s car illuminated my cabin as we bounced down the road, revealing it in brief flashes, and I prayed that we didn’t punch a hole in the oil pan. As we came to a lurching, bone jarring stop in front of the cabin, I let out a sigh of relief and started prying Loki’s claws out of my thighs. As sporty as Alyssa’s Optima was, it hadn’t been made to handle the snow covered roads around the cabin.
Emerging from the car, I looked over at my Jeep buried beneath a mountain of snow.
Well, that’s not going anywhere until I attack it with the snow shovel.
I hoped we didn’t need to make a quick getaway anytime soon.
“Home, sweet home,” Holbrook offered in a tired, but cheery voice as he levered himself out of the car, stretching the cricks out of his back caused by our bumpy ascent up the mountain.
Ruffling the fur behind Loki’s ears I gazed up at the cabin, looking as picturesque as a postcard under its blanket of snow. The quaint image shattered when I pushed open the front door and was immediately assaulted by the stench of rotten meat.
Covering his nose and mouth with the cuff of his jacket Holbrook fought to keep his gagging to a minimum. “What the hell is that smell?”
“That would be the rabbit I caught the day you and Agent Whack-a-doodle showed up on my doorstep,” I replied, remembering the carcass I had left in the kitchen sink to clean the morning they had swept into my life. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.
Has it really only been...what, seven days?
“I’ll open some windows and take care of the rabbit if you can get a fire started?” I said. Loki jumped down from my arms and made a beeline for the back bedroom in what I assumed was an effort to get as far away from the smell of rancid meat as he could.
Can’t say I blame him.
With his hand still over his mouth and looking decidedly green around the gills, Holbrook nodded.
I went to the kitchen to dig out a pair of rubber gloves and a couple of trash bags from underneath the sink while Holbrook set about loading logs into the fireplace, every once in a while emitting a gagging sound as he fought against the urge to puke. After opening the window above the sink to let fresh air flow over my face, I continued to take shallow breaths through my mouth until I’d stuffed the dead rabbit into one of the trash bags. Sealing it up tight, I dropped it into the second bag, tying it up before carrying it back through the house held at arm’s length.
Separate from the cabin, the old, two car garage was where I stored my grandfather’s truck, and all of the other items that had belonged to my grandparents that I couldn’t bring myself to part with. It was also where I kept the large trashcans, my sensitive nose able to pick up the smell of garbage if I kept it too close to the house.
After depositing the bag in one of the cans, I lifted up a corner of the thick canvas cover draped over the truck to run my fingers along the edge of a red fender. The aroma of engine oil and sun-faded seats roused a thousand memories of warm summer evenings snuggled up against my grandfather on the bench seat, dozing as we drove home with the day’s catch packed in a cooler in the back.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood out there, ignoring the wind flowing in through the gaps between the siding to send cold fingers down my spine. I heard the crunch of Holbrook’s steps advancing across the snow, but was still caught up in my thoughts.
“I miss you so much, Papa,” I murmured, not even caring that my voice was thick with emotion.
Holbrook’s hands were warm when they settled on my shoulders. “I’m sure he misses you too.”
“Will you take care of it, and look after Loki? When this is all over, if I’m...you know?”
Turning me around to face him, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on my face. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Riley.”
“But if it does...just promise me, will you?”
“It won’t come to that, but yes, I promise,” he replied. “Now, come on, it’s cold out here.”
Helping me cover the truck back up and lock the garage door behind us, he slipped his hand in mine and led me across the driveway to the front door. I’d have given anything to be able to walk hand-in-hand with him like that in the warm summer sunshine with the sound of birds and crickets all around us. As it was, I wasn’t sure we’d even get to see the morning together.
While I had been wandering down memory lane he had built up a roaring fire, filling the room with warmth and the homey scent of a wood smoke.
“I’m going to go change into some clean clothes,” I said, relishing the thought of finally being able to put on something that didn’t reek of fear and sweat.
“Okay, I’ll fix us some coffee,” he replied, removing his hat and setting it on the small table beside the couch. It looked oddly at home there, next to my grandfather’s old pipe.
Smiling, I curled my fingers around his and leaned in to press my lips against his cheek, his skin still cool from being outside. “Sounds great.”
Figuring that if I was going to meet death, I didn’t want to do it covered in dirt and grime, I hopped in the shower to rinse off.
Scrubbed clean and smelling of my favorite lavender and vanilla body wash, I pulled on a pair of ancient sweat pants and a t-shirt, taking some small comfort in the old and familiar clothes. If it wasn’t for the tight knot of fear in my gut I could almost have imagined that it was any other cold winter night where a simple cup of hot cocoa and a good book could chase away the monsters lurking in the darkness. As it was, the sight of Holbrook slumped on my couch half asleep with his feet resting on the edge of the coffee table did a damn good job of keeping the boogeyman at bay, if only for a moment.
Two steaming cups of deliciously strong coffee sat on the table, and he’d even managed to ferret out my back-up stash of Double Stuf Oreos.
I really would’ve liked to have gotten the chance to know him.
Curling up on the couch next to him, I laid my head against his shoulder, content to just listen to the steady thump of his heart.
“Mmm, you smell good,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, tucking me in tighter against him.
Weariness weighed on me, dragging my eyelids down. I fought against sleep for a while, but the heat of the fire and the solid security of Holbrook’s arm curled around me were a lethal combination, pulling me down into the sweet embrace of sleep.
* * *
The weight of Loki climbing into my lap startled me awake with a jolt. Blinking my eyes against the gloom, the fire burned down to glowing embers, I looked up into his violet eyes inches from my face.
“What’s up, buddy?” I asked in a whisper so as not to wake Holbrook who still had an arm curled around my shoulders.
Letting out his familiar grating meow, he pressed a large paw to my cheek, the pads of his foot cool against my skin. Beside me Holbrook continued to slumber, his heavy breaths the only sound in the room except for the occasional crackle and pop from the fire as the coals settled. Reaching up a hand to smooth the fur down Loki’s spine I was already sinking back down into the warmth of sleep when he pawed at my face again, more insistently.
“What?” I groaned, batting at his prodding foot when I heard the unmistakable sound of claws raking over the siding of the cabin.
Fear curled into a cruel fist around my heart, clenching it painfully as dread washed through me in a bone chilling wave.
Samson was outside.
Going still, afraid to even breathe, I listened and waited, praying that it had simply been the sound of the wind scraping tree branches against the outside of the house even though I knew there were no trees that grew that close. When the noise came again, making my heart thump painfully against m
y ribs, I tried to shake Holbrook awake, my movements sending Loki leaping down to the floor where he disappeared into the darkness.
“Holbrook,” I whispered, receiving no reply. “Dammit, Darius, wake up!” I hissed, shaking him a little more vigorously.
Snorting, he jerked awake. “What’s going on?”
Before I had a chance to answer him, the blood chilling sound of a claw tapping on the window beside the front door cut through the quiet. My eyes rose to the window and I was relieved to see that the curtains were still in place. At least he couldn’t see inside.
“He’s here,” I said, my voice tremulous.
“In the bedroom. Go. Now,” Holbrook ordered in a whisper, already pushing me up off of the couch and reaching for his hat on the side table. For a moment I wondered why the hell he was worrying about his damned hat, and then I saw the Glock underneath.
I half ran, half crawled, my way to the bedroom, staying low and out of sight of the windows. It wasn’t until I was on the threshold of my bedroom that I spared a thought for my furry companion.
“Loki!” Skidding to a halt, my socks sliding on the wooden floor.
“Don’t stop. Keep going,” Holbrook hissed behind me.
“I have to get Loki,” I argued, my voice frantic.
“Go. I’ll get him,” he said, turning to head back to the living room when a pale streak shot past us both, careening into my bedroom to disappear under the bed.
Holbrook and I remained frozen for a moment, staring at each other in the gloom, before we moved in tandem, high-tailing it into the room.
“Now what?” I asked, breathless with fear as I crouched next to the bed and watched Holbrook shut the door, turning the old brass key in the lock.
“Help me move this,” he answered, already moving to my dresser.
Together we shoved it in front of the door, though he knew as well as I did that neither it nor the flimsy lock on the door would keep Samson out for long.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“NOW WHAT?” I asked, staring at the barricaded door.
“Um...”
Daring to pull my gaze away from the door for a moment I stared wide-eyed at the FBI agent crouched next to me in the dark. “What do you mean ‘um’? Don’t you have a plan?”
“Honestly? Not really.”
Samson’s growling voice silenced the snide comment that hung on the tip of my tongue. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He was still outside, but he wouldn’t stay there for long.
“Let me go out there,” I blurted, not even aware of what I was saying until the words left my lips. “I can lead him away.”
“No way.”
Turning to face Holbrook in the darkness, earnestness creasing my brow and filling my eyes with unshed tears, I tried to make him see reason. “He’s here for me. He’s not going to stop until I face him. You have to let me go.”
“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, shaking his head, though I knew he could see the sense in my words from the resigned slump of his shoulders. “Riley, he’ll kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you care?”
“I’m tired, Darius,” I confessed, looking away so I didn’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m tired of running and being afraid. I’ve been hiding for so long, and I don’t want to hide anymore.”
“Well, I sure as hell am not going to let you go out there alone,” Holbrook said, resettling the mantle of white knight around his shoulders. I even thought I saw him puff out his chest a little, and couldn’t help smiling.
Clasping his hand, I squeezed his fingers. “Thanks.”
Moving the dresser away from the door we stood silent and still for several moments, afraid to open the door even though we both knew that we couldn’t hide out in the bedroom forever.
“Wait,” I said, closing my hand over his as he reached for the door knob.
“What is it?”
Lifting my other hand to his face, I traced my fingers over the slope of his cheek, running them back into his hair to pull his lips down to mine. Power crackled between us, lifting my hair off my shoulders and stealing my breath away. I could have sworn that tiny green forks of lightning leapt from the ends of my hair, but the heated press of his lips against mine erased all thoughts from my mind.
When we broke apart we were both breathless and flushed, and despite the imminent danger lurking just outside, sharing a soppy grin.
The creak of the door opening sounded loud in the silence, causing me to wince and hold my breath. Holbrook insisted on going first, his gun held at the ready as he crept out into the hallway, motioning for me to wait until he was sure the coast was clear.
We already know he’s here, that’s kinda the point.
Still, for once I opted to hang back as Holbrook instructed, only moving out of the bedroom when he waved me forward.
“Where is he?” I asked, not bothering to whisper. Samson’s acute hearing would pick up my words no matter how quietly I spoke.
As if in answer to my question, Samson chose that moment to burst through the back door in a shower of shattering glass and splintered wood. The pale yellow door, with the tiny hand painted daisies around the window that my grandmother had painted, hung askew from the twisted hinges. He loomed in the doorway as the same hideous mix of man and wolf that I had seen in my dream, and for a brief moment I was transported back to the soul-freezing fear I had experienced when I felt my life seeping out between my fingers.
Holbrook’s involuntary jerk at my side drew me out of my memories, slamming me back into reality. Before I could even shout at him to shoot the son of a bitch he was already firing, the thunderous cracks of the gun rending the air, and making my ears ring. If it hadn’t been for the whole fearing for my life thing I might have been impressed by the Special Agent’s skills, but even as good as he was, Samson was faster. The wolfman moved in a blur as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to him.
In the blink of an eye he crossed the room, and with one massive paw knocked the gun from Holbrook’s hand as if it were as insignificant as a water pistol. The eddying air buffeted me with his passage, ruffling my hair as he passed close. Too close. Struggling to track his movements, I watched Samson move back into the kitchen, returning to the same spot where he’d started.
Risking a glance at Holbrook, I saw the gun lying on the floor between his feet and his bandaged hand cradling the other, his face contorted in pain.
“You okay?”
“I think my finger’s broken,” he replied, his voice muffled by the lingering buzz in my ears.
“You’re just gonna have to suck it up, cupcake,” I said a little harsher than I intended, but we had other, more dangerous things to contend with for the moment.
Drawing in a deep breath, he rolled his neck and resettled his shoulders, once again donning the mask of all-around badass.
Damn that man is sexy.
Ignoring the ill-timed pulse of arousal, I turned my attention back to the ravening wolfman across the room and fought the urge to turn tail and run.
Prison had not been kind to Samson. The charismatic young man that had swept me off my feet all those years ago was gone, replaced by the gaunt and sallow monster before me. Dark brown eyes that had once held warmth now shone golden and full of madness. Any remnants of sanity he may have once possessed were now as much a shadow as his easy smile. Dark hair hung in long matted strands around shoulders that were narrower than I remembered, caked with dirt and debris. He reeked of sweat, blood and grime, the stink coming from his soiled clothes as much as his unwashed body.
I shuddered in revulsion as his lips spread in a rictus smile, baring yellowed teeth. Sometime in the last eight years one of his front teeth had been knocked out, leaving a gaping black hole in his manic grin.
“You dated this guy?” Holbrook whispered.
“He was a lot cuter back then,” I shot back without taking my eyes off Samson.
<
br /> “Hello, Riley,” my psychotic ex-boyfriend said amiably as if he wasn’t standing next to the busted out frame of my back door, the blood of a half dozen innocent men crusted in the thick fur covering his arms.
His voice held none of the smooth timbre I remembered. Where before he had always sounded on the edge of laughter, his voice was now rough and hoarse as if he had spent long hours screaming.
He’s looney. Maybe he has.
It took me several attempts to find my voice, my mouth gone dry. “H-hi, Samson.”
“I’ve been looking for you, Riley,” he said, stepping into the kitchen, each crunch of glass beneath his feet sending a shudder down my spine.
“Oh?” I asked, my voice shaking ever so slightly.
“I left you messages. Did you get them?” he asked with the earnestness of a child, the sideways tilt of his head adding to his childlike demeanor.
“I did.”
“What did you think?” he asked, moving away from the kitchen table to trail a hand along the back of the sofa, fingers stained with I didn’t want to know what dancing over my grandmother’s afghan.
Anger flickered to life in my stomach, red hot and sour as acid. How dare he touch her things, my things, as if he had not torn my life to shreds along with my guts? Holbrook’s bandaged hand squeezing my wrist tempered my anger, his ever-present sense of calm washing over me in a cooling wave.
“Think of what?” I said, struggling to recall Samson’s words.
“My messages,” he growled, the sudden flare of anger drawing my gaze from the dark smears on his hand to the furious snarl on his face. “What did you think of them?” he went on, enunciating each word with manic cheerfulness.
“Oh. Um...” I floundered, at a loss as to what he wanted me to say.
“I hope you liked them. Did you like them?”
“Oh. Yes. They were very...thoughtful.”
“I knew you’d like them,” Samson said, his words rumbling like grinding rocks as his half-man, half-wolf jaw struggled to form them. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”