Crazed Hearts: Grimm’s Circle, Book 3

by Shiloh Walker

  “I didn’t hit my head,” she muttered, reaching up to touch her head. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she jerked her hand down. She hadn’t hit her head. Damn it, she’d seen this man with a woman, and a dog near her car.

  The book. Damn it. She started to prowl around the room. He’d grabbed the book, and considering how easily he’d found it, and the way he’d handled it, so careful not to touch it, it was like he had recognized the nastiness of the book too. If she found the book here, then that was proof…proof of what though?

  What did it prove if she found the book?

  But the book was nowhere that she could see. It didn’t mean anything though. She’d been unconscious—there had been plenty of time for him to hide it.

  “Take me to my car,” she said quietly. He’d broken the window. He could hide the book, and he could pretend no woman, and no big-ass dog had been there, but he couldn’t act like he hadn’t busted out that window. Even if he’d had the foresight to get it repaired—if he could do it that fast out here in the boonies—there would still be shattered, slivered glass, right?

  Although how had he broken it like that?

  With just a single strike?

  “Your car.” He gave her a puzzled, disconnected smile, a slightly crazed smile. “You have a car.” Then he shook his head and muttered to the ceiling, “I should have thought to look for a car, of course.”

  “You’ve seen my car,” she snapped out.

  “No. Sorry, love.”

  He didn’t know why he was needling her, truly. Maybe just to relieve the rising tension inside. Pretending to be the crazy bastard—or at least crazier than he was—had always amused him. But there was something about the way she looked at him, as if she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to smack him or what, it was a nice…distraction.

  Just a distraction, of course. It didn’t do much to ease the ache in his heart, and it also didn’t do a damn thing to ease the vague, itchy restlessness he felt every time he looked at her.

  Best thing for that would be to get her out of here, but that couldn’t be done tonight.

  Maybe he should have taken Greta up on her offer after all. A third person here could have proven a better distraction, and Greta, when she wanted, had a soothing way about her.

  He moved into the kitchen, leaving her staring at his back. “I can’t take you out looking for a car just yet anyway. It’s getting late.” He waved vaguely toward the windows, glad it got dark earlier in the woods. Although he had no trouble navigating the woods at night, he wasn’t about to take her out into the darkness.

  He wasn’t sure how many demons waited.

  Some, he knew.

  He could feel their presence, an itch on his skin. He hadn’t raised his personal protections—couldn’t afford to, not while the possessed humans were still around his home. Had to protect his intruder, after all.

  Even with the extra Grimms out there in force, this woman was his responsibility.

  His.

  The word echoed around in his mind. Echoed. His hands started to itch. Heart started to pound. The longer he looked at her, the worse it got.

  His.

  She stood there, shifting from one foot to another, her eyes big and dark and velvety soft. “I need to get to my car,” she said. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Yes, yes.” Although he wasn’t hungry, he busied himself getting something to fix out of the freezer. Steak. Easy enough. Potatoes. A salad. He wasn’t hungry, but he should eat and she needed to. “I know, you want to find this car of yours, but it’s late and we can’t very well go trampling around through the woods at night if you’re not sure where we’re going, now can we? Do you even know where you left it?”

  She opened her mouth. Probably to argue with him again, insist that he’d seen the car. He knew the exact moment when she decided not to bother. This was a bit he’d played often—he knew almost to the second how long he could push a person before they decided it wasn’t worth it, and they’d try another tactic.

  He could feel the edginess coming off her, but it wasn’t panicked. Good. He didn’t need her thinking he was going to slaughter her in her sleep. That wouldn’t make for a restful night. He didn’t mind her being uneasy, but terrified, no.

  “You like red?”

  She blinked. Those big brown eyes shifted from irritation to confusion. “Red?” she repeated. “As in the color?”

  “Well, it is a lovely color.” He imagined she would wear red rather well. Red satin against that pale, pale flesh, those pearls lying against the vivid color…

  Then he frowned, wondered where that thought had come from. Turning it aside, he crouched down in front of the small wine-chiller. The wine chiller that had been crushed when he and Will had their little…tussle.

  All undone now. Will, Ren knew. Although Will’s clothes had still been stained with the blood and the wine when he disappeared with Mandy earlier.

  Grabbing a bottle of red, he showed it to his guest. His still-nameless guest. “Red,” he repeated. “Do you like red? And I still don’t think I know your name.”

  “Aileas,” she murmured, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

  “Aileas.” He smiled as he echoed the name.

  She lifted a brow at him. “I’m impressed. You didn’t butcher it.”

  “I’ve heard it before,” he said, shrugging. It had been some time—years, actually. “Not here, of course.”

  “Hmm. I thought there was an accent there. You’re not American.”

  No. No, he wasn’t. Lifting the bottle, he asked again, “You like red or not, Aileas?”

  “Yes, I like red.” A polite smile curled her lips. Then she scowled, wrinkling her nose. “Screw it. No. I don’t really like red wine, unless it’s sweet. It always makes me feel like somebody crammed a dozen crackers in my mouth and didn’t bother giving me any water. Now if you have sweet wine, yes. I like sweet red wines.”

  “I’m making steak. You can’t do sweet wines with steak…Aileas,” he murmured her name again, just to feel it on his tongue. He really did like the way it felt. It felt like…home almost.

  “Says who? If I’m drinking the wine and eating the steak and I don’t care if I’m eating a steak and drinking a sweet wine, why can’t I?”

  Ren cocked a brow. He had to admire that logic, even if she was completely wrong. Kneeling down, he reached inside the chiller again. The muscat wines there had been picked out by Mandy, but Will had already said she wouldn’t be returning here.

  Might as well see somebody enjoy them. Somehow, he suspected his guest—Aileas—needed a glass of wine.

  He sure as hell needed one.

  “What the hell,” he murmured. “If you’d like to have your dessert with your steak, why not?”

  Her eyes lit up as she saw the silver label on the bottle he sat on the counter and he smiled a little.

  Those eyes…they tugged at him. “Like that one, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Reaching for the corkscrew, he opened the bottle of wine and poured her a glass. From the corner of his eye, he saw her rubbing at her head, frowning. Through the low-level shields he kept up, he could feel her vague unease. Wondering now if she had hit her head—despite the fact that she was actually very convinced she hadn’t—if she did have a head injury, and if she should be drinking the wine.

  He sighed and lowered his shields. It had been years, decades…longer, since he’d attempted to use his gift on any mortal. But she couldn’t be running off on him. He’d have to stop her and that would frighten her more. She couldn’t leave his home tonight. Too much danger in the woods. And although he had it under control, his temper was balanced on a hair trigger tonight. He didn’t need to tangle with her and risk setting it off.

  As he poured the wine, he took a deep, slow breath and centered himself. He’d need to touch her.

  A quick touch, make sure she was open. Should be, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to feel this much from her. />
  As long as she was open, he could plant a gentle, easy suggestion for her to relax. Trust him. Rest through the night. It would be quick and easy, nothing he couldn’t handle. He might not use his gift, but they’d seen to it that he was trained. That was one thing he hadn’t had much choice with. Calming a tired, nervous woman who already looked exhausted wouldn’t take that much, surely.

  Come morning, he’d get her pretty ass out of these woods and figure out how to handle the demons who’d set themselves on her tail.

  He had a score to settle with them anyway.

  Setting the wine bottle aside, he turned and gave Aileas a small smile. Easy. The one he used when he was dealing with his animals, or the few times he had to handle children. Not the crazy, just-this-side-of-maniacal smile that had made grown men piss in their pants.

  “Your wine,” he said, strolling over to her. He handed it to her and casually, easy as you please, he hooked his arm through hers, guiding her to the table. “Why don’t you sit in here a bit, keep me company while I cook? Not too often I have company, you know…”

  As he spoke, he pushed. Oh, she was open.

  And holy fuck, the pain inside her. It screamed at him. A loss, like a bloody, gaping hole. Fear, gnawing and deep. Determination. He also sensed that taint he’d felt earlier. But it was light, just hovering on the surface…like the book had been trying to sink its evil inside her. It clung to her skin, but it couldn’t get any deeper.

  Her soul…it was strong.

  It called to him too, damn it. The same way her eyes did.

  Ignoring that deep, relentless tug, Ren planted a suggestion, buried it inside her heart. You can relax here. You are safe. You can sleep and nothing, nobody, no thing shall harm you. I will keep you safe.

  Her subconscious resisted. You can’t.

  She hadn’t felt safe in a long, long time.

  I can, he promised. He wanted to do more than that, actually. He wanted to cuddle her close, run his hands through that silken, dark hair and promise her all sorts of nonsense…not just that he could and would protect her, but more. So much more.

  Mentally, he jerked himself back, slightly stunned at the path his thoughts were taking.

  Getting a little off tangent there, mate, he told himself. Way off tangent. He just needed her calm. And asleep. So she didn’t rabbit on him. That was all.

  But he didn’t believe it. Not even for a second.

  You are safe, he whispered inside her heart again. Safe, I swear on my soul.

  Then he retreated. It was the best he could, he told himself.

  Retreating, pulling away from her, it was something he did not want to.

  Only seconds had passed.

  When he looked into her eyes, he gave her a smile and pulled out the chair, let her sit.

  Just seconds. Mere seconds.

  Yet, as he moved to the counter to work on dinner, the ground beneath him no longer felt quite so…steady.

  Chapter Seven

  It felt too easy sitting here.

  Watching him.

  Easy, almost natural.

  Part of her realized she needed to be out of here, out of here and gone. Running. Hard and fast away from this place.

  Someplace safe.

  Not away from him, exactly.

  He wasn’t a threat to her. She didn’t know how she knew that, and she also wasn’t sure how she knew that he’d help her if he could.

  Aileas just knew there was a threat, and it wasn’t some bump on her head.

  Absently, she reached up again and touched her head, searching for that nonexistent bump. She hadn’t hit her head. She knew she hadn’t. She hadn’t hit her head, and she damn well had seen him on the road with a woman, and the dog—shit. Not a dog—more than a dog. Part-dog, part-wolf, if she knew anything about animals, and she should considering they were her life’s work.

  Assuming she could ever get back to her life.

  If she could ever stop running…

  She lifted her glass and sipped the cold, sweet wine, letting it roll down her throat and warm her belly.

  She was so tired of running.

  “How do you like your steak?”

  Looking up, she met Ren’s eyes. Such dark, dark eyes. Full of secrets. And pain.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your steak,” he said again, angling his chin toward the small countertop grill. Then he grinned, strong white teeth flashing at her in a wide grin. “Please don’t tell me that you’re vegetarian. I don’t have much to feed somebody who doesn’t eat meat.”

  “Oh, no. I’m a carnivore. Ahhh…medium rare,” she said, forcing a smile. That grin of his should be illegal. It made him look like a pirate. Pirate… That kind of suited him. With that smooth, naked scalp of his, that dark swarthy skin, he looked a bit piratical. Maybe give him a patch. A gold hoop in one ear, and a parrot on his shoulder.

  Her mind started to wander and she could see him standing, legs spread on the deck of a ship. But it wasn’t a parrot on his shoulder. It was an owl. In the middle of the day. Didn’t make much sense, but then again, this was a daydream. Daydreams didn’t need to make sense. He turned and murmured to the owl, his voice soft and low. Sad. The owl nuzzled his cheek and a smile curled his lips.

  “…salad?”

  Aileas jerked and the daydream shattered around her. Looking up, she saw him standing just a few feet away, holding a glass bowl in front of him. She found herself eyeing those large, long-fingered hands. Elegant hands, she realized. Very elegant…very nice…

  Her mouth went dry as she imagined feeling those hands gliding over her body.

  Her heart started to race.

  Oh, shit.

  The wine. Had to be the wine.

  All two drinks she’d let herself take.

  Maybe she had hit her head.

  A crazed thought leaped into her mind and she looked down at the wine appalled, wondering if he’d drugged it.

  A sharp breath escaped him and she jerked her gaze up, saw something flash across his face, something that look like a mix of outrage, disgust…and hurt.

  She had the strangest feeling he knew what she was thinking.

  But then it was gone and he gave her that polite, oh-so-meaningless smile. “Would you like some salad?” he said.

  Salad. He was asking her if she wanted salad and she was sitting wondering if he had slipped her some sort of date-rape drug.

  Shit. Swallowing, Aileas shook her head and looked away.

  He moved away and she found herself watching from the corner of her eye. His back was rigid and the look on his face… Shit, he looked like somebody had slapped him. Hell, like she had slapped him.

  But it wasn’t like he knew what she was feeling.

  That would make him…

  Like me.

  Abruptly, she sat her wine down. Her hands were shaking. Shit. Most of her life, she’d been keenly aware of the emotions of others. Too aware. She’d been diagnosed, misdiagnosed with ADD, ADHD, medicated, overmedicated, all in attempt to control something that had terrified her parents. Her parents had never understood, but fortunately, her grandmother had helped her figure it out, and helped her figure out how to handle it.

  She didn’t have ADD, ADHD and she didn’t need drugs.

  She had trouble with school because she was too easily picking up on the emotions of others. Once she learned to block those emotions, she’d done fine. Her parents assumed she’d outgrown it, and she was fine with that. There had been a few others she’d come across who had her weird knack for reading people. She’d always been able to sense them. They gave off a low-level vibe, and there was often a careful absence of emotion, because many of them, like her, either had learned to shield or they were taught.

  But this guy…

  She licked her lips and once more reached for her glass of wine, but this time it was more to keep her hands occupied. She didn’t want the damn wine, but she needed something to touch, something to fiddle with. She couldn’
t risk drinking it though—

  “It’s not fucking drugged,” he snarled and metal clanged as he hurled a knife into the sink.

  Aileas flinched at the sound.

  Then she leaped to her feet, gaping at him.

  Shit, he can read me.

  “Yes, I can fucking read you, and a damn sight better than you can read me. So if it’s possible for you to shield even a little bit better, I’d appreciate it because I’ve had one bloody bitch of a day and I don’t need you thinking I’m a bloody psychotic rapist on top of the shit I’ve had to deal with today,” he bit off, his voice growing more clipped with each word.

  Blood rushed to her face, then slowly drained away. Stiffly, she said, “I’m sorry. But I don’t really know you, do I?”

  “Well, I don’t know you either, but I’m not sitting here worried that you’re going to wait until I’m asleep and try to rob me blind.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “It’s hardly the same thing, I think.”

  “True.” With his back to her, he turned on the water and then washed his hands. When he turned around to face her, that lean, saturnine face of his was expressionless, but those black, black eyes burned with emotion. Too much of it, she thought. It danced over her skin like fire, stinging her, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

  “I’ll tell you what. I can prove to you easily enough that I’m not a threat to you, seeing as how you’ve got a bit of an unexpected surprise inside of you. Then will you stop staring at your fucking wine like you think I loaded it with roofies or whatever the current drug of choice is for perverts?” he asked, his voice silky, soft.

  She folded her arms over her middle. “You can prove to me you’re not a pervert.”

  “Sure. Similar gifts, lamb,” he said. Then he shoved off the counter and came to stand just a foot away. He held out a hand, his palm up. “I can’t tell you that I’ve never hurt a woman in my life, but I can tell you that I’ve never forced a woman, never drugged one, and I don’t plan on changing that now. Touch me. If I lie to you, you’d feel it. You’d know it.”

  Hell. Aileas swallowed and lowered her gaze, staring at his long-fingered hand. Elegant hands. Poetic hands. She didn’t need to touch him to know the truth.