Shards of glass rain down onto the floor around her bare feet.
The man’s shadow slithers back, and he looms in the open doorway with a grin on his face. “There you are.”
Sophia grabs one of the baseballs, which makes her hand ache. She tosses it overhanded just as her uncle taught her.
The man ducks, but the ball strikes the side of his head and generates a thwacking sound.
“Fuck.” He curses under his breath then enters the room holding his head.
She takes hold of a couple more balls and tosses them. But the man dodges them and continues to plod down the middle of the room. He’s closing the gap between them and fast. Standing on the tips of her toes, she rips a long wooden bat off the wall.
Two more men enter the restoration chamber. They split up, each taking an opposite side of the room. In unison, the three men push forward. The man in the middle—the closest—his irises have an odd hue. And an amber, glowing ring forms around them. He sheds his shirt then arches his back, rounding his shoulders.
Wings emerge from behind him. They’re partially opened, giving him the appearance of a hooded cobra. Half of his body has a fleshy tone, the other, a shimmering silver hue. Three-inch claws protrude at the middle bend of both of his wings. Moonlight shines off of the sickle-shaped appendage, giving it an ominous appearance.
Swing the bat, Sophia makes contact with the lower half of his changing body, striking his ribs. The impact produces a cracking noise. The shockwave of the blow makes her arms shake and pain rips through her left hand.
He staggers back and grabs his chest, gasping for air.
The other two men continue to advance.
Sophia pushes past the injured man-creature thing—because the last thing she wants is to be pinned down against the window with nowhere left to go.
His fingers, long and spindly, reach out for her. “You’ll be sorry you did that.” His glowing eyes track every move she makes.
Sophia tightens her grip on the bat. She swings, again.
He crouches low then hisses.
She misses. And the force and momentum of her swing almost topples her over.
The faint sound of sirens pierce the night. Help. It’s on its way.
A tall man steps into the doorway. He’s huge, tall. He’s about the size of a refrigerator. The guy whistles, loudly in a high-pitched, sing-song tone. The group of men backs out of the restoration room.
They’re heading back through the bookstore, toward the side exit. But they’re moving slowly because of the guy—or whatever he was—that Sophia hit. Standing next to the door frame, she presses her back against the cool stone wall. Her chest heaves with each ragged breath she takes.
What hell was that that thing? The wings. They didn’t have feathers. They were almost bat-like.
Soft footsteps approach. They drum against the hardwood floor. Fear grips her, squeezing her chest. She holds her breath and her body tenses.
Fuck. They’re coming back. What the hell do I do now?
Sophia’s phone lights up in the front pocket of the shirt. She ignores it and grips the bat tighter.
A dark figure steps through the opened doorway.
Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she repositions her body and opens her stance. Slowly, she draws in a deep breath then swings the bat.
The intruder ducks then spins around. He’s quick and agile on his feet; he has cat-like reflexes. The bat slams into the doorframe with a loud thud. Her body shakes from the recoil of the solid hit, and she almost drops the bat. Her hand throbs but she ignores the pain radiating up her arm. She draws the wooden weapon over her shoulder, preparing to take another swing.
A second solid mass rams into her body and slams her to the floor. With bat in hand, she rolls to the side. But long fingers wrap around her arms, pulling her under her attacker. The weight of his body pins her down, trapping her.
Sophia wiggles a hand loose. She rakes her nails across his face. A large hand encases her free hand. He then restrains her other, ripping the bat from her grasp. Her hands, he forces them above her head. She opens her mouth, draws in a deep breath, and then a scream rips loose from her throat.
“Sophia,” a familiar voice whispers in her ear.
“Aden.” A wave of tremors shakes her body.
“Yeah.” He releases her hands and helps her sit up. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Fuck.” Logan groans. He rises, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m going to take a quick look around.” He steps out of the room and into the darkness.
“They weren’t right.” Sophia wraps her arms around Aden’s neck. “They weren’t human.” The warmth of his body radiates through her clothing.
Aden coaxes her to a standing position then draws her into his arms. “Shh...it’s okay.”
“No.” Sophia shakes her head. “It’s not. You don’t understand.” She swallows a lump in her throat. “They’re not human.” She pauses. “I know it sounds crazy. And I don’t ask because I don’t know what the hell they are, but I know they’re not human.”
“I know.” He cradles her to his chest. “I believe you. But you’re safe now. I got you.”
“What if they come back?” She clings to his shirt.
“Then Logan and I will protect you.” His breath warms the side of her face. “Are you injured?”
She shakes her head.
“Then come.” He release her then takes hold of her hand. “We should move to the front of the store and wait for the police there.”
Sophia takes a few steps then grimaces.
Aden places a hand on her abdomen, stopping her forward momentum in the dim light.
“Thought you said you were fine.”
“I am.” She slides his hand off her abdomen, and then she laces her fingers with his. “I just twisted my ankle when I went down the laundry chute—that’s all.”
Logan steps through the open doorway. “The place is clear; they’ve moved on.” He picks up the bat. “And what were you doing in the laundry chute? Those tunnels aren’t safe.” Shining a pin light, he examines the wooden surface of the bat’s handle, and his eyebrows shoot up. “And moreover, what the hell were you doing swinging this? Do you know what it is?”
“The chute was the only way out of the bathroom.” Sophia shakes her head. “And for your information, I know what a baseball bat is.”
“No. This isn’t just any bat. This belonged to Babe Ruth. It’s priceless.” His fingertips slide over the newly made dents marking the body of the bat. “Fuck. It’s autographed, too. And he didn’t sign many items.”
“It was the only weapon I could find.” Sophia shrugs her shoulders. “If you think that’s bad. I threw several signed balls at the guys, too. I even hit them. But I used the bat on the one who approached me.”
Aden looks down at her then chuckles. “Well, all I have to say, is that you’ve got one hell of a swing, that’s for sure.”
“No kidding. Do you realize you almost took my head off with this thing?” Logan holds the bat over his head.
“I um...I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it was you. If it makes you feel any better, you can keep the bat. I have others.” She pauses. “Babe Ruth was a friend of my uncle’s parents. That’s how the stuff ended up here.”
“Come on,” Aden says, softly. “We should move to the front.”
“Do you smell something?” She sniffs the air.
“Yeah. Your hair.” Aden draws her closer to his body. “It smells nice.”
“No. I smell smoke.”
“I think it’s coming from up there.” Logan points upstairs. He takes the stairs two at a time. “You guys go. I’ll join you after I check it out.” Stepping onto the upper-level platform, he pauses then moves out of sight.
Aden’s hands slide down Sophia’s back. They come to rest on her hips.
“You have nothing on under this shirt, do you?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I...um�
�” She stammers, and her cheeks warm.
“I take it; you didn’t have a change of clothes in the bathroom.”
She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. But then again, I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I guess not.” Aden sweeps Sophia off her feet.
“What are you doing?” She grabs his shoulders.
“I’m carrying you to the front. I want to see how bad your ankle is. Plus, you’re bleeding.”
“Yeah.” She lays her head against his chest. “I cut my hand when I broke the glass out of the display case.” The steady beat of his heart offers a sliver of comfort.
Aden’s gaze travels the length of her long legs. His eyes come to rest on her feet. “So, what you’re telling me is that you not only cut your hand, but you walked through shards of broken glass barefooted.”
“Well, I didn’t find any shoes in the laundry chute when I landed if that’s what you’re asking.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, I didn’t stop to ask the intruders if they could hand me some clothes and shoes before they broke down door.”
“I guess not.” Aden grins then shakes his head.
Chapter Six
Aden Clarkson
THE COPPERY SCENT OF BLOOD fills his nose. But there’s something else, something sweet mixed in with the metallic, earthy smell. It’s the same alluring fragrance he had picked up in the park earlier. It’s Sophia. The enthralling aroma is radiating from her body. She smells human, but not entirely, so what the hell is she?
Aden sets Sophia down on the counter next to the register. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he uses it as a flashlight to examine her arms and legs. He pulls a cloth bag off a sales rack and wraps it around her left hand and wrist, which are now covered in blood. Examining her legs, he comes to a stop at the base of her left ankle. It’s puffy, but the pads of her feet are clear.
Footsteps drum on the hardwood floor. A familiar scent wafts in the air.
Sophia’s body tenses and she draws in a sharp breath.
“The building is clear.” Logan steps into view. “But those asses started a fire upstairs that I didn’t catch in my first sweep.” He exhales a heavy breath. “I put it out. But they ransacked the bedroom. And well, as for the fire, they burned a suitcase full of clothes under a bed. I think they were yours.” He approaches Sophia. “Do you know what they were looking for?”
“No.” Her eyes water. “One of those things kept telling me to give him what he wanted. That if I did, they’d leave me alone.” She struggles to keep the tears at bay. “What were they?”
“You haven’t lived here long, right?” asks Aden.
“Yeah. I have. I grew up here.” Her lips turn downward into a pouty frown. “Actually, that’s not true. I mean, I used to live here. I’ve not been home for a while—not since starting college in Boston several years ago. I only came down to visit during holidays.” She gazes up at him, and their eyes lock. “I’ve been here a little over a week to sort some things out over the summer.”
“What kind of things?” Aden takes hold of her ankle.
“A week ago...” Sophia takes a deep breath then clears her throat.
“Does that hurt?”
She nods. “My uncle...he was found dead in the basement.”
“Your uncle is deceased?” Aden slides a hand over the top of her foot.
“Yes. His death was ruled a suicide, but he wouldn’t have done that. I know my uncle; he would’ve never taken his life.”
“Well, whoever they were, they wanted something. That much is clear. They’ve tried twice to get to you.” Aden’s fingertips glide over her skin. The contact generates a prickling sensation that covers his palm then travels up his arm.
Her eyes widen, and she follows the movement of his fingers on her skin. “You don’t look surprised?” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat, once again. “I mean about them.” A tremor ripples through her body, and she trembles from head to toe. “What were they?”
“I’ll tell you, later. I promise. But not here.” Aden places a hand on her knee. “This isn’t a discussion for the police.” He peers into her brown eyes. “Do you understand?”
Sophia nods. She places a hand over his.
The contact sends a mild jolt up his arm and his body buzzes.
She sucks in a deep breath, pulls her hand away from his, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Hmm...” Sophia looks down at her fingers. Confusion etches the fine contours of her face.
Well. At least now, he knows he’s not the only one who feels the electric pull between them. Magic. He can feel it swirling under the surface of her flesh when he touches her, so what the hell is she?
He draws in a deep breath. But it does little to clear head his head. “Were there any similarities between the attacks?” The swirling scent of her growing arousal piques the interest of his inner gargouille. “What did they look like? How tall were they?” The warmth of her body, he can feel it radiating. And her smell, well, it’s intoxicating.
“You’re what, about six-foot tall?” She chews on her lower lip. “And Logan’s a bit shorter...?”
“I’m six-two. He’s a hair over six-foot. So, were they taller or shorter than us?”
“The one at the park was shorter than both of you.” She scrunches her nose. “But the guy with the accent tonight—the one who broke through the door—he was tall, maybe your height or taller.” She pauses. “The guys with him were shorter. I think they were also younger, except for the one guy who stood in the doorway of the restoration room. He whistled at the others.” She scrunches her nose. “And he was big. I don’t mean a little; I mean huge—giant-sized like a refrigerator.”
“What else can you tell me?” His eyes travel down the shirt she’s wearing then lingers on her bare thighs. Thighs he wants to wrap his arms around. Thighs he’d like to kiss. Thighs he’d love to bury his head between.
Fuck. Get a grip. He has to rein in his inner gargouille because right now, it has a one-track mind and that mind is focused on Sophia and her enticing scent.
“At the park and here, they wore black ski masks. One of the men, the taller one, said something, but I didn’t understand everything he was saying. I think he was speaking Italian.”
“What did he say to you?” Aden places a hand on the counter. His thumb barely brushes the side of her thigh.
Goose bumps erupt up and down her legs “He called me a Strega Bianca.” She struggles to regain control over her speech. “The one at the park called me that too. He said I was a nascosto—that I was the hidden one.”
“Fuck,” he says, barely above a whisper. “How much do you know about your family?” He strokes his jaw.
“What? Why? I don’t understand. What does my family have to do with this?”
“If you’re who they think you are, Sophia.” He holds her gaze. “Then your bloodline has everything to do with this. So, tell me about your family.”
“There’s not much to say. My parents died when I was six. And I was raised by my uncle.”
The scent is stronger now than it was before. But, at least, it all makes sense now. She’s fae. And only one thing can mask a witch’s scent, a cloaking spell. Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide her. “What about other family?”
She shakes her head. “There wasn’t anyone else. Just my uncle and me.” Sophia pauses, briefly. “What did it mean—what he said to me?”
“They called you the white witch, La Strega Bianca.” He takes in a deep breath then exhales slowly. “And nascosto means the hidden one.”
“I don’t understand.” She rubs her eyes.
“Did he say anything else?” He places a hand on the side of her thigh. The contact makes his fingers buzz.
“Yeah.” Sophia nods, slightly. “He said his master, Meurjôn will be pleased that I’ve been found.” She cradles her hand to her chest.
“That looks pretty bad.” Logan walks up. His eyes travel down the length of her frame, lingering on her bare legs.
&nbs
p; Fragments of the dream the three of them shared roll through Aden’s mind.
Fuck. She doesn’t even know what she is. How the hell can that be? Why would her uncle mask her—cloak her—bind her powers? By doing so, he only made her naïve and vulnerable to the dangers around her.
Thoughts of Logan’s hands skimming up her thighs, the thighs Aden hungers for, now, flood his mind. His inner gargouille stirs, seeking release because he doesn’t want to share her. No. Not even with Logan. Fuck. Not with anyone. God. Get a grip, man. It was only a dream.
Sophia pulls on the tails of the shirt she’s wearing, trying to cover more of her legs. But her movement only pulls the fabric of the shirt snug across her chest, accentuating the curves of her breasts. And the thought of her bare, silky skin under that dress shirt, makes his cock pulse.
“It looks worse than it is. It’s not deep.” Aden’s inner gargouille needs to be reined in and fast. “A few butterfly strips will take care of it.” He steps away from the counter, but not before skimming his fingertips over her upper thighs. “I’ll be right back.”
His eyes zero in on her goose-pimpled flesh. And her alluring scent, sweet and enticing, is now mixed with a palatable arousal. Fuck. He needs to place some distance between them, at least, until, he can get his inner gargouille under control.
He heads toward the couch in the adjacent sitting room and grabs a rustic-colored blanket. It’s plush, soft under his hands, but not nearly as smooth and silky as Sophia’s skin.
Eyes. He feels them raking over his frame. Aden cocks his head to the side. It’s Sophia. Her eyes, they’re intense. And they’re trailing up and down the length of his body. Her gaze lingers about waist level, and she licks her lips. Plump, juicy lips that he’s sure are just as sweet and ripe as her irresistible scent.
Aden clears his throat. But her eyes dawdle a few more seconds before she glances up. Their gazes lock. Her eyes widen, and she chews on her luscious bottom lip. A rose-colored hue washes across her face, and her cheeks redden.
Strolling up to the counter, he leans in close and whispers, “I thought this might make you more comfortable.” He takes one more look at her mouth-watering thighs then drapes the blanket over her legs.
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