"Let me." Fayne took the bottle and held her hand over the sink. He didn't speak as he worked. He efficiently cleaned and re-bandaged the wound, his touch impersonal. As he finished, he let go of her immediately and stepped away as if he couldn't stand to be near her any longer.
Her heart cracked.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
His brow knitted as he looked at her damaged knees. "What did you manage to do to yourself?"
"I fell down," she said shortly.
"I can see that."
"Fayne, I appreciate your help, but I can take care of myself."
He waved at hand at her knees. "I see how well you manage. What happened, Erihn?"
"I told you, I fell down." Tears burned her eyes and, suddenly, she couldn't take it anymore. She'd been terrorized, her hands and knees hurt and she'd come home to find her lover with a beautiful woman in his arms. The writing was on the wall and she had to get far away from him before she fell apart completely. "I'll be leaving. Today, in fact." Fayne's gaze bore into hers. She stepped back as the anger ignited in his eyes.
"Of course you are," he lashed out. "You have everything you wanted from me."
Erihn frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I found your notes."
"What notes?" She was perplexed.
"The notes you made about me." He growled and turned. "About my kind."
She caught the flash of pain in his eyes before he turned his back to her. "Fayne, what are you talking about?"
She jumped as he turned. Quick as a cat, his arm snaked out and his hand wrapped around her wrist. She gave a yelp as his fingers tightened and he pulled her into the bedroom. His grip gentled as her led her to the bed. Her briefcase sat on the bed where he must've set it when he brought it upstairs.
"Explain that." He released her wrist abruptly.
Erihn looked at the briefcase. Crumpled papers stuck out of the open top, making it obvious he'd gone through it. "I still don't understand. What do you want me to explain? Why did you go through my briefcase?"
A snarl curled his lip. He reached for the bag, dumping its contents on the bed. He scooped up the notebook and flipped through the pages. Finding the page he wanted, he dropped it onto the bed then pointed at it.
"Explain why you used me as research."
Erihn blinked. He thought the were-cat was him? She scanned the notes he was pointing to. ...were-cat around 30... amazing sexual powers, the ability to sustain multiple orgasms...turns into a cat at night to build upon his powers... motorcycle and wears a leather jacket...has a son whom he has "adopted"...
She shook her head. "Fayne, this isn't about you," she said. "I'll admit you gave me a few ideas such as the motorcycle, but that's about it."
"What about the part about a child? What about my son?"
She shook her head again. "Fayne, I didn't know about Max when I wrote this. Besides, this has nothing to do with you."
"What about a were-cat's abilities? Where did you do your research?"
She was confused. "I don't understand. You think I modeled the were-cat after you? That's impossible. I wrote Velvet Lover long before I even met you. It was in that book I introduced my were-cats."
"I think you used me as research because you know I'm a were-cat. That's what I think."
Erihn froze. Fayne thought he was a were-cat? Was he mad? Yes, he'd told her he was a were-cat while they were making love yesterday, but she'd thought he was kidding. Were-cats didn't exist, they were a figment of someone's imagination. A trill of alarm went through her. Was he the letter writer who'd been threatening her?
"Fayne," Erihn strove for a calm voice. "Were-cats don't exist. I found a book in Val's library and I took the information from that."
"Where's the book?"
"In my purse in the car. Fayne, how can you believe you're a were-cat? I mean..." Erihn faltered as a horrific thought occurred to her. What if he was doing this to drive her away? She swallowed audibly. "If you want me to leave, I'll go. Just don't sit there and use excuses to get rid of me."
"Don't even try and turn this on me, Erihn. You know you did me wrong. You know you lied to me and used me for research," he fairly spat the word. His eyes were as cold as ice. He spoke and inwardly she cringed. "I want you to leave here and never return while my son and I are in residence."
Her heart cracked a little more with each word. She didn't know how to extricate herself, to explain she'd done nothing other than fall in love with the wrong man. Her tortured knees ached as she braced them, forcing herself to remain upright. She wouldn't show weakness in front of this man again, ever.
"You're wrong, Fayne. I've done nothing for you to accuse me." Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. "I don't know why you're doing this, but, someday, you'll regret it."
"I already do." Fayne walked to the door and turned, his eyes empty. "I thought you were an angel sent just for me." He left.
I was and you threw me away.
Her knees gave out as she stumbled to the chair. As emotions clogged her throat, she bit her uninjured hand to stifle the sobs that threatened. A low moan built in her chest as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She pressed her face into the back of the chair as the sound broke forth.
How long she sat there and cried, she didn't know. Finally, the tears slowed, the hysteria passed and a blessed numbness settled over her. Erihn staggered to her feet and haphazardly tossed her clothing into the suitcase.
She paused to strip off her ruined clothes and stuff them into the trashcan. She never wanted to see them again. She attended her knees, bathing them in antiseptic and slapping a slipshod dressing in place over the worst one. Automatically, she dressed in a pair of comfy black leggings and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. The somber color fit her mood.
The howl of the wind steadily increased as she finished packing. Standing in the doorway to the tiny terrace, her tears dried and her shoulders squared, Erihn gazed on the scenery that had been a balm to her soul on so many occasions.
Storm clouds danced along the ridge, hovering before making the plunge into the valley. If she wanted to make her escape and not be forced to spend another night in the house, she'd have to hurry.
Her bag sat in the doorway. She eyed the mess on the bed. Scooping up the scattered papers and notebooks, she stared at the crumpled pages in her hands. There was no way she could write this book without remembering every moment she'd spent with him. His touch, his laugh. The thought of writing Velvet Rhapsody made her nauseous.
Erihn gave a bark of laughter. She was truly a fool. She dropped the pages into the trashcan on top of her suede skirt and ruined stockings. Hopefully, her publisher would understand when she announced no more were-cat books would be written.
She stripped the bed, her movements sharp and angry. Damn him for doing this to her. Why couldn't he be honest and just dump her? Instead, he had to lie and use some half-baked story to yank her chain and throw her out of his life when his little girlfriend arrived.
Stomping into the hallway, she stuffed the sheets into the laundry chute. Grabbing her bag, she took one last look around, making sure everything was in order. Her gaze lingered on the bed for a moment before she turned away.
The house was eerily quiet as if it were waiting for the next drama to unfold. She dropped her bag by the front door and walked into the living room to make sure the windows were properly closed as the first drops of rain splattered on the deck. No one was around. Were they together downstairs even now? Were they making love?
Anguish clawed her chest as she walked slowly through the familiar rooms, remembering her and Fayne's scant hours together. She stopped by the front door and saw his leather jacket was gone. He'd left. She picked up her bag, and squared her shoulders. Her hand closed around the doorknob.
"Damn him," she muttered, wrenching open the door.
A scream caught in the back of her throat as a shadow loomed in the doorway. A man in a red and black plaid jacket stood on
the stoop, his hand raised as if he were about to knock. Rain was coming down harder now, obscuring the cars in the drive a scant twenty-five feet away.
"Erihn Spencer?" He yelled to be heard over the rising wind.
"Yes, I'm Erihn Spencer."
"I need you to come with me. There's been an accident."
Alarm raced down her spine and she lost her grip on the bag. "Fayne?" she whispered.
The man nodded. "I need you to come with me. He's calling for you."
Erihn nodded as fear gripped her chest. She started out the door, stopping when the man stooped to get her bag.
"Where is he?" She stepped out into the rain.
"There was a landslide below." The man wrapped a hand around her elbow. A trill of trepidation ran down her spine. Could she get into a car with a strange man again? She shoved the thought away. Fayne was injured and he needed her. She didn't have a choice.
"Is he...?" Erihn couldn't say it.
"No, but he's hurt really bad."
She allowed him to lead her to an S.U.V. parked in the drive behind her car. The garage door was open and Fayne's bike was absent. She nodded her thanks as the man opened the door for her.
"What's your name?" she blurted.
The man smiled. It was a cold little smile. "Ivan, Ivan Daniels. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss."
Max stood in the window and watched the big truck turn around, then lumber up the sloping drive, the scarred woman and a funny little man in it. The man was bad. He smelled bad like he'd been near the dead recently. He knew that smell all too well.
In a soft, sad little voice he spoke to himself. "He got her..."
* * *
Chapter 10
The rain started in earnest as Fayne reached the foot of the mountain.
He stopped beneath the I-70 overpass to adjust his jacket collar. Not that it mattered now; he was already soaked to the skin. That's what he got for leaving the house when he knew a storm was coming. He just couldn't remain there a second longer. He glanced up the mountain to the peak where Jennifer's house sat, obscured by heavy clouds. His chest tightened.
Even the weather conspired against him. He grit his teeth. Guess it just wasn't his day. The wind shifted and he caught a whiff of a scent that didn't belong. He stilled. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and sniffed the rain-scented air. The scent of mud, rain and car exhaust was underlain with something dark, evil.
The scent of death.
Fayne opened his eyes to narrow slits. Something was terribly wrong. His lips tightened as he settled on the seat of his bike. Putting it in gear, he began the treacherous ride up the mountain.
He could only hope, when he arrived at the house, Erihn hadn't left. It would be foolhardy to leave in such a downpour. Erihn. He gritted his teeth. She'd looked so stricken as she'd protested her innocence.
Was she innocent?
How could she know the things she'd known? Was her story about the diary true?
The wheels of his bike sliding on the wet pavement shook him from his thoughts. Rainwater ran down the sides of the road in steady streams. The earth was soaked to the point where the rain had no place to go other than the road. He passed the section where the landslide had occurred a few days ago.
Water trickled in numerous rivulets over the raw, exposed earth. There was just too much of it, and he knew there'd be more slides if this rain kept up. He hunkered lower over the bike, carefully guiding it up the road and into the clouds.
Inwardly, he cursed as the weather impeded his progress. Several times he had to steer around debris littering the road. Finally, he reached the gravel drive and breathed a sigh of relief as the house came into view. Alongside the drive, rivers of water ran down the hill, around the side of the house toward the point just beyond the deck in back. Erihn's car remained parked cockeyed in the drive.
He pulled his bike into the garage and turned it off. He climbed off, then shed his wet jacket, tossing it over the handlebars of Mac's mountain bike. He opened the door and stepped into the foyer. The unnatural silence of the house surrounded him. He paused, taking note of the surroundings, but scenting no danger. He flipped the wall switch. Nothing happened.
He grinned. The power was out. Wouldn't his friends laugh if they knew the great were-cat Fayne was jumpy over the power being off? He walked into the hallway and was surprised to find Max standing in the living room. Max stared transfixed at the flickering flame of a candle with an odd expression on his face. Several lit candles were scattered around the room and a small fire burned in the fireplace, bathing the room in a warm golden glow.
"Max?"
The child didn't stir; his expression dreamy as if he were listening to music no one else could hear. Fayne walked down the steps, his movements cautious. The boy didn't react when he crouched down beside him. "Maxi?"
The child made an inarticulate grunt, then a sigh.
Footsteps bounded up from the basement, and Fayne smelled Bliss' perfume before she reached the top of the basement steps.
"Max," he spoke in a sharper tone of voice.
The child jerked, then slowly turned toward him. His heart thudded wildly when he saw the flat black of his eyes, a sight he knew far too well.
"He has her."
Fayne swallowed. "Who?"
"He has the woman."
He glanced at Bliss and caught her shocked expression. She had several fresh candles in her hands. He turned to Max, "What woman?"
"The marked one."
"Marked one?" He whispered, horror blossoming in his throat.
Max lifted a hand, placed a cold finger on Fayne's cheek, and drew the shape of Erihn's scar. Fayne's stomach knotted as he fought for calm. "Bliss, run upstairs and see if she's in the bedroom."
She didn't answer, but he heard the clatter as she dropped the candles on the hall table. Her leather shoes made a slapping noise on the floor tiles as she ran for the steps.
"Max, where is the marked woman?"
"In a hole."
Fayne frowned. "A hole?"
"He's coming for me and he's using the little man to help him."
"What man?"
"The man that took her away. He had squares on."
"Squares?" Fear clawed at his throat and he clenched his jaw to prevent a snarl from escaping.
"Does he mean plaid?" Bliss appeared in the archway out of breath. "She's gone."
"Red and black squares and a green truck." Max blinked as if he were waking from a deep sleep. "I thought you were hurt. That's what the man said."
"What happened, son? What happened to the marked woman?"
"The man came to the door and said you were hurt. She went with him. He was going to take her to you." Max frowned. "You're not hurt?"
Fayne hugged the little boy. "No, I'm not hurt. I need to know where Erihn is, Max. I think she's in trouble."
The boy stuck his lip out; it trembled slightly. "She's in a hole."
"What do you mean by a hole?"
He shrugged.
Fayne's heart constricted. "A cave?"
The child nodded.
"Where is she, Max?"
Max pulled out of Fayne's arms and walked up the steps into the dining room. He pointed out the large window facing the north cliffs. "She's there, in a hole."
He grabbed a candle and followed his son into the gloomy room to look out the window. Darkness was falling and heavy clouds obscured the cliffs. Fayne's heart dropped to his stomach. The temperature was dropping rapidly and, in this weather, she wouldn't last long out there. He had to move quickly.
"Okay, Max. I need to go get her and bring her back. Can you stay here and take care of Bliss for me?"
Max's head tipped to one side, and his expression grew distant. Slowly, he raised a hand to his lips. "I can hear her screams," he whispered.
Fayne shot a look at Bliss and she nodded imperceptibly. He smiled his thanks and dropped a quick kiss to his son's forehead. Then he stalked toward the French doors, stri
pping his clothing as he went. He opened the doors, wincing as the icy rain struck his bare skin. The familiar darkness closed around him as he shut the door.
He glanced back to see Bliss in the candlelight as she enfolded his son in her arms. Her gaze met his as she picked the boy up. She nodded and walked into the living room out of his view.
Fayne turned to face the North peak. He closed his eyes, reality receding, as he embraced the violet fire and unleashed his beast.
Erihn tasted blood as she slumped to the ground. The earthen floor of the narrow cave was cold and damp beneath her as the scent of mud and mold filled her nose. Darkness flickered on the edge of her consciousness but she refused to give into it. If she had an episode now, she was as good as dead.
Ivan stood in the mouth of the cave, two lanterns at his feet, rubbing his knuckles as he watched the rain. A frown played on his lips. "I'm sorry I hit you, but I had to. I had to stop the screaming."
She spat blood from her mouth and gingerly rose to her feet. The cave was sharply sloped toward the belly of the mountain. To her right was the cloying darkness and to her left was Ivan. Which of the two evils was worse?
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her tongue growing numb where she'd bitten it. "I shouldn't have screamed." Erihn put her hand on the cold wall to balance herself. Rainwater ran in from the mouth of the cave and she'd landed on the lowest side of it. A narrow trickle was rapidly becoming a small stream, turning the floor into mud and walking into a hazardous affair.
"She shouldn't have screamed either. I had to get her to stop screaming. She just kept going and going. I didn't think she'd ever stop."
Erihn froze. What did he mean? Had he killed someone? "Who are you talking about, Ivan?" She held her breath waiting for his answer.
"My wife, Mary." Ivan said finally. "I do love her so."
She released the breath she'd been holding. So she wasn't dead. "Where is Mary now, Ivan?" Carefully, she began to pick her way to the higher side of the cave.
He frowned. "I don't know for sure. She ran off. That's why I had to find you. I need your help to bring her home again."
Erihn sat on a narrow, flat piece of rock. It was cold, but at least it was dry and off the floor. "Why do you need my help?"
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 3 Page 15