The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1)

by Melissa Riddell

  My throat works to swallow, but paralysis sets in. I don’t know what he’s going to do with me, but I’m hoping he makes good on the dare.

  Those sinful lips lower, and my body stills—fighting the memory of that dingy motel room with the thought of his mouth tracing that same trail on my neck. I think he senses the hesitation, because he moves to my jaw and traces a path of kisses from chin to ear.

  The torture is exquisite, like a raging fire burning along an invisible highway of fuel, consuming and claiming. I’m dying inside from pleasure, and don’t even care I’m the source of the combustion—in danger of dwindling to nothing.

  I reach out and run my hands through his hair. It’s soft, springy, and slides over my fingers like silken threads. A groan begins in the back of my throat before I can stifle it. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He’s a beautiful, dangerous bundle of trouble intent on wrecking me.

  Survive and find Sissy, remember?

  Even though my head says this is a bad idea, my heart’s a cheerleader waving her pom poms and performing air-born splits. Stupid, traitorous heart.

  The kiss of fire lingers on my earlobe. Sharp teeth nip the tender skin, and I gasp at the shock of electricity shooting through my veins.

  His breaths are fast, and wiry muscles strain against my own, as if he’s trying to hold himself in check. Whiskers rub my cheek, sending a whole new wave of desire through my pounding blood. Their rough texture is fine sandpaper next to my soft flesh.

  With a grunt, he pulls back. Half-lidded, he gives me a scorching stare. “What did you say when we first started heading out? That you wouldn’t have sex with me if I was the last human on earth?” His tone teases, but also holds a question. “How about now?”

  I squirm. “I-I would . . .” my tongue darts out to lick chapped lips.

  Following the movement, his pupils like super massive blackholes, locking me in place. Joy lights his face and smooths his forehead.

  Wait. What did I just say? No, I will not have sex with him. What’s happening to the gray stuff between my ears?

  My words stammer out to correct the blunder. “I would not.”

  He leans his forehead next to mine and breathes. After a couple of ragged inhalations, his forehead rolls back and forth on mine. His bottom lip curves, and he releases my neck to slide his hand behind my shoulders. “On second thought, I like your mouth dirty, but the rest of you needs a good soaking.”

  I stiffen. “What?"

  He scoops me into his arms, walks two steps, and dumps me into the cold stream.

  My back hits the water and I go under for a second before I claw my way to sit and suck in air. I’m sure I look like a cat floundering in the freezing water. Even though it’s a foot or so deep, my body and clothes absorb the liquid like a sponge. “Y-you asswipe. I’m gonna kill you.” My feet find a foothold on the slippery, algae-covered rocks of the bed and I stand, only to fall on my ass again.

  He throws his head back and laughs, the sound bouncing off the trees.

  My lips tighten. Fury causes a momentary redness to fill my vision before it clears. I slap my hands against the top of the water. The sting of my palms is satisfying when I imagine smacking his pretty face.

  “I hate you, Jareth Grant.” More careful this time, I manage to grab onto the branch of a dead bush and get to my feet. Wet clothes hang from my arms, my chest, and my hips. I’m twice as heavy with the frigid water weighing me down. Liquid pours from every inch of my body.

  Remembering the pistol that rests in my boot, I pull it out. “Damn it. That was a douchebag thing to do.” I’m tempted to see if the ammo’s wet by firing at his feet, but his head would be a better target. “I should shoot your ass. You just sentenced me to pneumonia. This water’s fucking cold.” As soon as the words leave my lips, my teeth begin to chatter.

  “Then let me warm you up.” His narrow hips move closer, and he rakes a hand through those raven coils of hair, a dark God about to claim his prize.

  How can an asshole look so appealing? I throw my wet pistol at him, and hope it goes off in his direction. I know it’s mean and dangerous, but I’m pissed. I hate being wet and cold.

  He ducks, and the gun sails over his shoulder. Pity. His eyebrows climb, and he scrambles to pick the silver weapon from wet leaves. Another low chuckle floats my way.

  “You’re such a bastard.”

  Stumbling away, I try to maintain some dignity and straighten my shoulders. I toss out one last comment. “I wouldn’t let you warm me up even if you were the last human on earth, and I was at death’s door, trapped in a blizzard. Jerkwad.”

  His rich laughter floats in the cool air, caressing my ears with a dark promise. Deep down, I’m afraid I’ll be eating those words before all’s said and done.

  A wet trail follows behind my feet, and I slog back to camp. I wring the water from my shirt and silently curse him with every vile name in my mind.

  Kodiak hauls ass from some brush and tries to lick the water that pours down my soaked jeans.

  “Enough.” I push his snout away, disgusted with everyone and everything.

  The air cools as the sun moves closer to the horizon, and I dive into the tent, desperate to peel off the wet clothes and climb into my sleeping bag to get warm again.

  I throw the water-logged garments in a corner and shiver. “Fucking asshat.”

  How could I have thought I was starting to like him? When these clothes dry, I’m going to take my skinning knife and cut off his balls. This thought cheers me up.

  Kodiak cuddles with me in the sleeping bag and tries to clean my face.

  “You’re to blame, too. If you hadn’t knocked me over this morning, I wouldn’t wear dried mud from head to toe. And then you had to chase that damn squirrel.”

  His teeth nip my chin, and he shows a smiling muzzle.

  The shadow of Sparky moves on the outside of the tent wall. He and Jackass Jareth talk in low voices.

  I shoot the bird, even though no one can see it. How long’s it going to take the clothes to dry? Days? Am I going to have to walk around camp wearing a damn sleeping bag? The thought is humiliating. When I cut off his nuts, I’m going to fashion a fuzzy pair of socks and wear them like a trophy.

  A scratch at the door grates on my last nerve.

  “Go away.”

  “Red, I’m sorry, truly. I have a peace offering.”

  My fist punches the tent wall, somewhere near his face, and the entire thing shakes. “If you think I’m stupid enough to fall for one more of your tricks, you’ve got another thing coming. Thanks to you, I’m stuck in this damn tent wearing a motherfucking sleeping bag like it’s a goddamn mumu.”

  There’s a noise right outside the flap that sounds like choking laughter. “I’m not coming inside, but I’m going to open the door to throw something in.”

  “It better be your balls on a plate, because that’s the one thing that’ll satisfy me right now. And let me be clear—there’s nothing sexual in that comment.”

  The zipper slips downward, and a large, carboard box tumbles onto the floor.

  I don’t move for a full minute.

  His shadow shifts. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Why? So, you can poison me with a venomous snake?”

  An arm lifts to scratch his head. “Let me put it this way—if you don’t open the package, I’m coming inside to do it myself. So, unless you want me to see your fancy mumu, open the damn box.”

  I throw the double bird in his direction. “Fine.” Inching my way to the sketchy gift, I grab it and scoot away. “Knowing you, it’s no doubt full of dangerous shit, like brown recluses and black widows.”

  Kodiak sniffs the box before I shake it. Whatever’s inside doesn’t make much noise. With a slight thud, then a rasp, I say a silent prayer and slide my pinky under a tucked, brown corner.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I peek, but darkness awaits. Taking a deep breath, my hand inches into the unknown. Something silky
brushes the pads of my fingers, so I dig deeper and find another item that’s dense and smooth.

  Satisfied there’s not a plethora of scorpions or colony of fire ants lurking, I flip the box over and the contents spill out. My fingers trace a new pair of high-end, black waterproof hiking boots. I lift two t-shirts—one white and the other black with a red circle and the letters Ka in the middle. Brown cargo pants and a long-sleeved, fuzzy gray sweatshirt lie underneath.

  Some of my anger floats away, and there’s a trace of awe in my voice. “Where’d you get this stuff?”

  I can hear the grin. “That was my secret. I sent Sparky to find some fresh clothes.”

  “Oh.” The pile of garments lying in my lap makes me want to cry. It’s such a small thing, but the thinking behind the action causes cold slivers of ice in my heart to melt. I hold the soft material to my nose, enjoying the faint scent that new clothes retain.

  A package of underwear, socks, and a bra slide from the middle of the pile. At least it was Sparky who found the underclothes. The idea of Jareth performing the task is mortifying.

  Excitement at having untorn, unstained clothing has me ripping off tags and tearing packages. Everything fits like a glove. “How’d he know what size to get?”

  His silhouetted hand lifts to his neck, the scratch of whiskers reaching my ears through the thin walls of the tent. “Because I pay attention.”

  Even the boots are snug and warm. I stuff the other clothing in my sleeping bag. I’ll worry about where to store the extras before we leave tomorrow.

  Wearing the shirt with the graphic, I step out of the tent.

  Jareth lets out a low whistle. “You clean up nice, Red.”

  The comment sends a tingle of heat to my toes. You’re supposed to be mad at him, remember? He dropped you in a frigid river. Yeah, but he also did something extraordinary, despite his bastard actions. Granted, it was Sparky who scavenged the clothes, but still—it was Jareth’s idea.

  “Where’d Sparky find all this?” I can’t quit rubbing my hands over everything, with the pants little zippered pockets, to the comfortable material of the black t shirt.

  The heat from his body radiates to my arms when he steps close. “There’s a small town a mile away. I figured it would have a store with what you needed.”

  The golden light is fading, and I build enough courage to meet his gaze. “Thank you.” Those butterflies return to the pit of my stomach.

  “Wow. You said thank you without a prompt.” His mouth exaggerates in a gasp.

  “Don’t expect it to become a habit. I’m downgrading your status from asshole to jackass.”

  He reaches to my collar and pulls out strands of trapped hair underneath the hem, brushing his knuckles under my chin before letting go. “It was an asshole move, and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes, everyone knows you’re sorry, now earn the apology.” I tap a finger on his chest. “I’m still mad. You can’t buy my forgiveness with clothes.”

  “Name your price, then, and whatever it is, I’ll pay.”

  His flannel shirt rubs against my fingernail when I push. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. Curling his fingers around my wrist, he pushes my hand flat over his heart, the beat fast and pounding. “I’d rather be full of someone else.”

  My swallow is audible. “You’re revolting.” I jerk my hand back like it’s on fire to finger comb wisps of hair from my forehead. “Don’t you have something you need to do around here, besides charge your spank bank?”

  The tips of his ears turn pink, his jaw drops, and he clears his throat twice.

  Score.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” It’s an absolute delight when the tables turn. I’m beginning to understand why he likes to see me flush, because it makes him adorable, in a dangerous, seductive kind of way.

  Those perfect eyebrows rise, giving his features a shocked, childlike appearance. The evening light caresses his cheekbones, adding a roundness that accentuates the deceptive innocence. “I-I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Kodiak runs to me and sits on his haunches, the gray toy mouse dangling from his mouth.

  I throw a smirk in Jareth’s direction while I rub my dog’s chin.

  Shaking his head, Jareth heads off to the fire pit.

  “Aw. You wanna play with the itty kitty toy?”

  Kodiak drops the mouse at my feet and gives me an accusing glance, like he knows I’m making fun of him and doesn’t care.

  I pick up the wet, spongy thing and toss it into tall grass near the tree line.

  He takes off in hot pursuit, eager to drown it with dog slobber once his sharp nose sniffs it from hiding.

  Sparky and Jareth roll several large boulders close to the campfire, and then sit down on a log. Another round of warmed MREs—ravioli for me and meatloaf for Jareth—make an easy dinner.

  A companionable easiness settles around the ringed flames, and I lean back to listen to the night. An owl calls out in the distance, the steady hoot, hoot, hoot relaxing. A few feet away, a group of raccoons, a mamma and her three babies, huddle together and peer in my direction. Their bandit masks slash through the whitish-yellow stalks of tall grass.

  Mr. Personality, aka Sparky, sits to my left, knees bent at a forty-five-degree angle, arms straight at his sides. He reminds me of a child who doesn’t quite understand where he fits in with the adults in the room.

  I throw a light punch into his shoulder. “Thanks for the new duds, Sparky. The Dark Tower is one of my favorite book series.”

  “With the limited information available without a network, I was able to recall your earlier conversation with Jareth over what you miss the most.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say the robot sounds surprised—but of course that’s impossible.

  “Therefore, the shirt would not only be practical, but also—” He hesitates, and starts to swing his torso around to face me—without moving his damn bottom half.

  The gesture causes me to throw my hands to his chest. “Don’t you dare do that weird twist again. Move like a regular person, not like something out of a fucked-up Tim Burton nightmare.”

  Jareth blows air out of his nose and tries to cover the snort with a cough.

  The robot swings a leg over the log to align himself in my direction. “I determined the shirt would bring comfort, as it is based on something you enjoy.”

  Well, damn. I have nothing to say to that. Does he listen to every conversation I have, like a walking, talking Siri stalker?

  I try not to let my shiver show. Lurker.

  With a steady supply of food over the past few days, Kodiak and I are putting on weight. It’s not just the dog who’s getting spoiled by Jareth.

  Night drops from the sky, and the stars shine and shimmer. It’s so clear I can imagine the starlight reaching the surface of Earth, adding to the moon’s glow.

  The fire spits and hisses. Wood smoke winds through the air and permeates my hair and clothes.

  Thinking about the wide blanket of stars overhead causes a momentary pang of fright. The night can hide a searching sphere, especially with camp out in the wide open. Cold fingers of fear prickle my spine. “Jareth?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think luck will hold out and the aliens will stay gone? I don’t like being out in the open like this. It’s even worse at night, with no cover to hide the firelight.”

  He crosses a leg over his knee and reties the lace on a boot before he responds. “Red, they have no reason to bother us.”

  The licking flames spark and embers fly up into the sky in a lazy dance that defies gravity.

  Jareth rises from the log and goes into the tent without another word. He returns carrying something large. When he gets closer to the fire, the top of the cloth-wrapped package from his rucksack comes into view. He hides the rest of it by jamming it inside his jacket.

  Irritation mixes with amusement at his persistent gua
rdianship of the mysterious object. “Come on, Jareth, what is it? Stop being a jackass and show me what you’re trying so hard to hide.”

  His teeth flash against the darkness of his beard. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Exasperation forces me to stand, and I put a hand on my hip. “You’re impossible.” I shake my head at his Cheshire-cat grin.

  “What can I say? I’m just an enigmatic kind of guy.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Come on, Kodiak.”

  “Now, now, Red”—Jareth blocks the entrance—“get your panties out of a wad.” He thumbs my chin with a quick jerk. “I’ve got another present for you.”

  Speechless, I open and then close my mouth before a moth makes an emergency landing. I don’t know if I should accept one more gift or run screaming. “A—another one?” My voice comes out a little higher than usual. “Why?”

  “Yep. But you have to close your eyes.”

  “Oh, hell no. You think I’m going to trust you with my eyes closed? Who knows what you might try to do.”

  Yeah, like kiss me with that tempting mouth.

  “Damn it. I’m trying to do something nice, earn your forgiveness. Are you going to let me or not?”

  Wow. He’s serious.

  “Fine, but please behave. I can’t take any more of your tricks.”

  “Yeah, yeah, cross my heart, blah blah blah.” He grabs my shoulders and steers me to a fire-warmed rock. “Take a seat, milady.”

  “If this is a ruse, you’re gonna need Sparky’s help.”

  “For what?”

  “Revival.”

  “Okay, okay. Now close your lids until I tell you to open them. No peeking.”

  Unable to help myself, I laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’m serious. If you peek, I’m taking it back.”

  The merriment coming from my mouth ceases, and my curiosity becomes an antenna that twitches in the air.

  There’s a snap and tear of cloth. A hollow thud follows. He’s opening the precious artifact—whatever the hell it is. The desire to snoop’s hard to resist.