The light in his eyes dulled as his hands slipped from her face. He nodded in defeat and she almost wanted to weep, to beg him not to give up on the idea, the dream of them, even though that’s what she had demanded. She didn’t want the fantasy to die.
“That’s the way it is then.” He faced the front again, grimly staring out the windshield at Megan Johnson’s apartment just as a gunshot shattered the quiet.
* * *
THE SOUND OF THE shot echoed in the late afternoon, reverberating off the buildings. Darius tensed, looking for a shooter or a victim, but Tresa was out of the car and running across the street before he’d decided on his next move.
“Shit.” Flinging open the door, he took off after her, catching up with her in an instant. He pulled her to a stop just before the building’s front door.
“What are you doing?” he growled, furious that she was running headlong into danger with no thought of herself.
Her gaze was wild. “She’s in there—she could be hurting someone! I can’t let her do that again!”
“Just think for a second. Since when is a gun her weapon of choice?” He gave her a gentle shake.
Comprehension flickered over her panicked face. She exhaled heavily and nodded, her dark hair swaying around her shoulders. “Yeah. Okay. Okay.”
“You’ve got to slow down and think. Stop putting yourself in harm’s way.” His hands trembled a little on her shoulders. He quickly dropped them to his sides, hating that he should feel so weak and unmanned. It had been so long since he’d actually felt this way for another person. Since he’d cared this much. It was what he’d wanted, what he had missed for so long. Now he had it, and he couldn’t help thinking how much easier everything had been before. When there was nothing and no one to worry over. Fear for her was an unsettling thing, a beast gnawing at his heart.
Shaking his head, he refocused his attention on Tresa.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll be careful.” She motioned to the graffiti-sprayed door. “Let’s go.”
Taking Tresa’s hand, he pulled her behind him and stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dark interior and peering around them. Only a silver bullet could do permanent damage to him, but that didn’t mean an average bullet wouldn’t debilitate him. If he was incapacitated, then he was just dead weight for Tresa.
He moved cautiously. The dim hallway was full of shadows. Somewhere, a baby cried; otherwise it was eerily quiet. Still. Like gunfire was nothing new, and the tenants knew they needed to stay inside until the smoke cleared.
“Apartment three sixteen,” she whispered at his back. Nodding, he led them up the stairway, not about to take the questionable elevator.
The sound of the crying baby grew louder on the third floor. They passed a door and could hear a mother making shushing sounds inside.
They stopped in front of Megan Johnson’s apartment. The door was cracked open. Darius started to push it open with the flat of his hand, holding his breath as it began to swing inward, hoping he wasn’t about to feel a bullet rip through him.
He felt Tresa behind him, straining for a glimpse inside. “Can you see—”
Something whizzed past his head and a vase exploded against the wall, shards of ceramic shooting everywhere. He saw a slight figure sliding out the window at the far end of the corridor and was lurching in that direction until he felt Tresa tugging on his arm, pulling him back.
“Darius, look!”
He followed Tresa’s gaze.
Erin painstakingly picked herself up from the floor of the apartment, one hand covering her nose. Blood seeped out from her fingers and ran over her lip.
Tresa rushed inside the room to help her, looping an arm around her waist. “Are you okay?” She bent her head to better see her face. “What happened? What are you doing here?”
Darius dove back into the hall. Running down the corridor, his feet barely touching the floor, he jerked to a stop to peer out the window. He watched a black-clad figure deftly climb down the fire escape. Once at ground level, she looked up at him, confirming his suspicions. It was Megan Johnson.
He watched her race off and was on the verge of following her when he heard Tresa cry out sharply.
Forgetting about Megan, he sprinted back to the apartment, fear lodged in his throat.
Tresa was sprawled on the grimy floor. She looked up at him, holding her cheek.
“What happened?” Darius crouched before her, peeling her hand from her face. Her pale cheek was marred an angry red.
She waved a hand at Erin. “She clocked me. Just surprised me; I’ll be fine.”
“You stopped me from going after that bitch!” Erin said defensively, delicately pinching her bleeding nose. “Where did Megan go?”
Darius glared at her. “She got away. Took off down the fire escape.”
“Great!” Erin threw her arms up in the air.
“Probably because you decided to take a shot at her.” Tresa dangled in the air a handgun that presumably belonged to Erin.
Darius snatched the gun and turned incredulous eyes on the girl. “Are you serious?”
Erin’s eyes sparked with defiance. “I wanted her to admit what she did.”
Darius swore as he stuffed the gun into his pocket. “You’re lucky she only punched you. You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
“She’s killing my friends—I think I do know!” Indignant color burned brightly across Erin’s cheeks as she clutched her nose.
Tresa patted her arm. “Calm down.”
Darius shook his head in disgust. “Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.” They needed to catch up with Megan. No telling what she would do now that she knew they were on to her.
He led Tresa and Erin out of the building. “Where’s your car?”
Erin motioned to a BMW parked across the street. “But I don’t think I can drive.” She lifted her hand from her nose and flashed her bloodied fingers, as if that prevented her from driving.
Darius sighed. He looked at Tresa, but she was already holding out her hand for the keys to the rental. “It’s okay. You drive her. I’ll follow.”
He dropped the keys into her palm. She turned and unlocked the car without a word. He watched her until Erin tugged on his arm, pulling him toward her car.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her clutch on his arm was becoming a familiar sensation.
Settling behind the wheel, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The need to see Tresa, to keep her in his sights at all times, to always keep her close to him, was becoming more and more powerful.
TWENTY-ONE
Erin lived in a lavish condominium with two other girls. As they walked down the plum carpet–lined corridor, Tresa couldn’t help but compare it to Megan Johnson’s squalid environment. Erin punched in her door code and entered the airy apartment.
“My roommates are in class right now,” she announced, dropping her purse on the couch.
His expression grim, Darius asked, “What were you thinking, going to Megan Johnson’s place today? Armed with a gun?”
Erin look affronted. Her lips pulled into a childlike pout as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t going to kill her. Have some faith. I just wanted to spook her into admitting what she did.”
Tresa rolled her eyes. “And then what? So she admits it to you—what would you do next?”
Erin’s faced flushed. She glared at Tresa and then stormed into the kitchen. She returned a moment later, a bottle of sparkling water in her hand. Arching an eyebrow, she took a dainty sip.
“You’ve got to stay out of this,” Darius continued, his voice hard.
Tresa pointed to Erin’s nose. The bleeding had stopped, but it was pink and swollen. Faint traces of dried blood ran in streaks above her lip. “She already hurt you.”
The pink in Erin’s cheeks deepened. “She knocked the gun from my hands and hit me,” she mumbled.
“Look,” Darius said in a gentler voice, moving forward and resting a
hand on her shoulder. “We don’t want you hurt. Enough people have already died. Let us take care of this.”
Her expression softened and Tresa suspected it had a bit to do with his hand on her shoulder. She knew the power behind Darius’s touch. The girl was obviously infatuated with him. He either didn’t see it or pretended not to.
Erin inhaled, lifting her prominent chest higher. “All right.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “I know you care about me, and I don’t want you distracted by worrying over me. Not while you’re tracking down Megan.”
Tresa swallowed a snort.
“Thank you.” Darius guided Tresa toward the door.
Tresa opened the door and stepped into the hall. When she realized Darius wasn’t with her, she turned around just in time to see Erin wrap her body around him like a second skin. She mashed her mouth to his as if she was starved for the taste of him.
He didn’t seem to be fighting her, and Tresa stalked down the hallway, hating that she could feel so jealous.
“Tre!”
She ignored Darius, keeping a steady pace. No running. That would look as though she was hurt and upset. And she wasn’t so foolish as to give him that much power over her. No way.
A hand clamped on her arm and forced her around. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“Of course. I have perfectly good hearing,” she said stiffly. “I have excellent vision, too.”
His gaze scanned her face, missing nothing. He motioned behind him. “You’re not upset about that?”
She tried for a light laugh. “What? You swapping spit with some college girl? Why would that upset me? You can do whatever you want with whomever you want.”
He dropped his hand from her arm. “You think I wanted her to kiss me? I just asked you to run away with me!”
And she had said no. A fact she needed to remember.
She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I have no claim on you.”
He pulled back, his expression intense, probing. “So you don’t care. I could go in there and fuck that girl, and you wouldn’t care.”
She winced, but forced a stiff nod.
“Well, I want you to care.”
“Don’t say that,” she hissed.
“Too late.” He pounced, his mouth claiming hers. He kissed her long and hard. Her hands came up to cling to his wrists—at first to pull them away, but that thought quickly fled.
She melted into him, relishing his hardness, his strength. She marveled at how she could feel both safe and excited, like she was hanging from the edge of a cliff.
When he tore his lips from hers, she strained forward, chasing his lips, seeking the drugging taste and warmth of him. She felt dazed, lost, staring into the gleam of his eyes.
He smiled down at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “How can you doubt that I care more about you than about some vapid girl with more lip gloss than brains?”
At the sound of a soft gasp, Tresa looked past Darius and saw Erin at the end of the hallway, her expression shattered.
Darius turned as Erin whirled around and raced back into her apartment. The door slammed.
Tresa winced. “Should we—”
“Let her go. We have bigger concerns—the first being Megan Johnson.”
“And if she’s our witch, I think Erin just moved to the top of her list. We’d better stake out Erin’s condo. I doubt she’ll let us camp out in her living room now.”
Darius nodded. “Yeah.”
Tresa headed for the car, tossing up the keys and catching them in her hand. “We’re going to need some coffee.”
TWENTY-TWO
Tresa wadded up the trash on the floorboard and stuffed it into a wrinkled plastic bag. Finished, she took a sip of her tepid coffee to wash down her last Cheeto. Over the last few hours, she’d eaten her way through Ding Dongs and various types of chips.
Darius shook his head. “How can you eat that stuff?”
“Don’t tell me you miss the food we used to eat?” She made a face as she set her coffee cup in the holder. “I don’t know what I did before preservatives.” Her eyes widened. “Before chocolate. Besides, this is a stakeout. Aren’t we supposed to snack on junk food?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Snack, yes. Binge?”
She winked. “Just don’t let me anywhere near a waffle house. Now, that might be the most marvelous invention of modern man.”
He nodded, feigning seriousness. “Yeah. Forget about the pacemaker, vaccinations and space travel…”
Her expression turned equally serious. “Nothing tops the waffle house.” She held up a hand. “Wait. Except maybe the Slinky.”
He nodded firmly. “Ah. The Slinky. Of course.”
She finally grinned.
Everything inside him lifted, lightening at the glow of that smile. All of him felt touched by it, warmed and comforted. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. Not even when he was at the monastery and he had people around him who cared. In their own way. As much as his fellow monks could care. That life had been grueling, hard and joyless. This, with Tresa, was the closest he had come to joy.
His cell phone rang, and he glanced down to see who was calling: Helen.
Tresa did her best to look uninterested, but he saw her sneak a glimpse at the caller name.
He answered the phone. “Yes.”
“Darius! Heavens, where are you? Have you looked at the calendar? The moon is waxing.”
Tresa tried to appear interested in the nonexistent activity across the street, but her eyes shifted to him several times.
“I know,” Darius told Helen patiently. He was always attuned to the status of the moon.
Helen continued with her concerns, chastising him about not getting home at once, her voice a buzzing gnat in his ear.
Tresa carefully ate a chip, biting off the corners one at a time.
At last Darius erupted. “I’m perfectly aware of how much time I have left. It’s not something I can forget. Don’t worry. I’ll be home in time. I’ll call you when I’m headed back.” He ended the call before Helen could object further.
“Home?” Tresa looked at him, her dark eyebrow lifted in question.
The word from her lips jarred him. Yes. He had a home of sorts. Or at least a home base.
“Believe it or not, yeah. I haven’t spent my entire life chasing you.” He attempted a teasing tone, but missed the mark.
Color stained her cheeks and she laughed brokenly. “Of course not. Just because I never lived anywhere very long doesn’t mean you didn’t put down roots. It doesn’t mean you don’t have someone waiting for you back home…” Her gaze drifted out to the street again, as if she couldn’t meet his gaze. “Wherever that is.” She stuffed another chip in her mouth.
“That was Helen,” he explained. “She’s… my housekeeper, I guess. Seems a bit inadequate to call her that, I suppose.”
She shot him a dubious look. “I see. A housekeeper who calls to check up on you.”
“She’s a worrier. Always has been. She’s been with me for close to forty years now.”
Tresa settled her gaze back on him again. “That long? She’s human?”
“Yes. She’s the grandmother I never had.”
Instantly, her voice softened. “It must be nice… having someone care about where you are. Having someone care, period.”
“I saved her when she was a young woman. A few lycans thought they’d make her their toy for the night. She’s been with me ever since. It’s nice to be around someone who knows what I am and accepts me anyway.”
“Yeah,” Tresa murmured, looking at him in a way that made him uncomfortable—as if he was some kind of hero. If only she knew all the terrible things he had done… things so terrible, nothing he ever did now could make up for them.
“It is nice having someone accept you for who you are,” she added.
Meaning she thought he accepted her, even when he shouldn’t. And he did. He had for some time. Their gazes held for a long
moment. Tension crackled between them.
He looked down to the bag of chips crumpled in her lap. “You know, you’re addicted to junk food,” he remarked, needing a break in the spell.
“True.” She shrugged, unbothered. “It’s not as though it’s going to kill me. And I definitely don’t miss cleaning the game Michel used to bring home each day.”
Her husband. A silence fell between them as he wondered about the man she had clearly loved.
She slid him a look before staring back out at Erin’s condo. “Was there ever anyone for you? Before? Or after…”
Before the curse that ruined your life. The curse I created. She didn’t need to say it; he heard it nonetheless.
“Not too many women at the monastery. And the brothers never permitted females within the walls.” His lips twisted. “After the pack… after that there were women.”
Her smile slipped and he was certain she knew that he was remembering the brutality of those years.
“Do you ever think He remembers us?” she whispered.
Maybe she thought Darius would have an answer because he had been at the monastery, a servant of God. “I don’t know. I guess that’s why I keep trying to break the curse. I can’t ever be the man I once was, but maybe there’s a way to reclaim something of myself. Even just a shred.”
“Do you think… there’s any chance of redemption for us?”
He stroked her cheek with one finger. “You deserve it, Tre.” He knew she had never hoped for it before—never thought that she deserved it.
She gave a small nod. “I feel different now. Changed.” Her gaze locked with his. “You’ve done that. Made me hope.”
He sighed. “I was lost for so long. I did so many evil things… I don’t know if I can be forgiven. But if I regain my mortality, I’ll face whatever is waiting for me. Even if that’s damnation.”
“No.” She covered his hand with hers, pressing it against her cheek. “Just thinking that you…” She shuddered. “I can handle the thought of my damnation, but not yours.”
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 16