Stupid man. Stupid. “I told you! You fucking idiot, I told you I wasn’t worth it.” Tears slipped freely, snaking down my temples, mixing with the water still dripping from him.
His lips parted. Hung open wordlessly. The navy in his eyes sharpened, the whites returning with the deep indigo mapping in veins through them. At last his voice rose, pitched so low only my nearness and preternatural hearing could pick it up.
“You are to me.”
My chest shook with a sob I couldn’t let out. His hand opened, the five inch mirror piece clattering to the floor near my head. His open palm thumped down next to my shoulder, blood spreading in my peripheral vision, and other hand went next on the other side of me. Head bowed, eyes closed, nose brushed my collarbone gently as he coiled. At last I dropped my arms, let them sink limply ’til my elbows hit the floor, hands rested uselessly just below my breasts because I didn’t know what else to do with them. Couldn’t reach to push him off of me, but couldn’t hold on—
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he whispered.
Fuck. Now I could hold on, and I did, reaching up to sink one hand into his hair, the other running over his back. He slumped against me, collapsing like a great expelled breath.
His head settled in the hollow between my neck and shoulder, lips brushing my skin. “What’s wrong with me?”
I blinked and held on to him tight. “Doesn’t matter.” I kept my voice steady. Calm. It cracked on the last word but I kept going. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jesus, not him disbelieving me too. “Yes, you are. I promise.”
“You said you’d stake me.”
“I was lying.” I ran my hands up and down his back, trying to reassure him—or maybe me. “I’d never.”
Minutes ticked by, shower still shouting for attention in the background. He said nothing, I said nothing, my words hanging in the air. I’d meant it, goddamn it—I wouldn’t stake him. Refused to. He’d find a way to save me—I had to give him the same.
Then fangs pricked my flesh. Just a slight pinch. Not a bite. Not a danger. But I tensed from head to toe, freezing with my arms wrapped around him, and waited.
“Maybe you should,” he whispered, his breath a hot spot against my neck.
“Never.”
“I’m...not...me.”
The world was slipping around me again, everything falling away, sheer futility of the situation rising up to grab me, but goddamn it I would fight back.
“Listen to me.” I shifted, moved my hands up to cup his face and jerked his head up to mine so I could meet his sad, red-rimmed, crazy eyes. “I will not kill you. Ever. And no one else will either. Are you listening? I promise I won’t. And I don’t make fucking promises to anyone. So I mean it.” I pressed my lips to the corner of his, to his cheek, his temple, and held him against me once more, my fingers trembling, voice trembling, everything in me just breaking. “I promise. No matter how long it takes. You’re worth it. You’re worth everything. I promise.” I kissed him again and he sank against me, mouth finding mine.
It was wrong. So wrong. Wrong as he kissed me deeply and I let him, wrong when he went hard against me and I rolled my hips up in response. Wrong because he wasn’t my Nate, not really—not entirely. Not fit to sign a contract, not fit to consent to sex, but I ached, every bit of me, wanting him.
His mind might not know me, but his body did. Fingers wet with his own blood came up to touch my face, copper peppering the air, and I didn’t care. Not if I was streaked in it, painted in it—I just wanted his touch. Six years. Six years.
I just wanted him.
He was all over me, holding me hard against the unyielding surface of the floor, heavy and oddly comforting, crushing. When he shifted and dragged up my T-shirt, I didn’t object; cotton tore and was cast aside.
I miss you, I thought but didn’t say, couldn’t say—couldn’t bring my voice up because words would break the spell, end this moment, and I wasn’t ready for it. Gooseflesh rose fast and hard on my arms, up my neck, skin damp with the shower water from him, overheated and hitting cool air. His mouth was urgent against mine, like kissing me could restore some sanity he’d lost, and I didn’t discourage it. I needed it. Needed the drag of large, calloused fingers over my breasts, scooping them out of my bra—needed to help him shove down my jeans. Needed to hear the rip of fabric as he gripped the front of my panties and pulled them away.
Needed it when his fingers sank into me and I gave out a throaty, sobbing breath, arching back violently and digging my nails into his back. My hips undulated to meet his touch once more before his hand slipped away to slide up my body and he thrust into me. A low groan played against my ear, drifting into a sigh.
Lips on my throat. Mumbling. I couldn’t make out his words, wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I just wanted to feel the drag of my nipples against his chest, reveling in every moment. Crazy or not, everything in me responded, working against him, finding our rhythm, forgetting this might not happen ever again—that it shouldn’t be happening right now. Climax built, warmth and pleasure rolling, rolling, tightening until it exploded and for a moment I was weightless, painless, before slumping against the floor again, slamming back into reality. His strokes quickened, swift and deep, mouth finding mine again as he cried his release. And I kissed him back, squeezing him in an embrace, wishing for some word, some sign that he was himself again, but only silence greeted me and the slowing beat of his heart against my chest.
He sank into me again and let me hold him, even though I was sure he hadn’t the foggiest clue who the fuck I was.
Chapter Eight
Interruptions
I actually felt like shit for fucking my crazy boyfriend. Maybe a slight conscience meant I was almost like a grownup.
Who knows.
First thing I did was slip on a silk robe and turn off the shower, darting over the broken glass. The bathroom was a mess, shampoo overturned and spilling light blue down the drain, mirror bits and blood everywhere. Then I swiped the blood off the side of my face.
Nate sat quietly on the bed when I brought out towels and draped them over him. Was patient when I bandaged up the cuts on his left hand to give them time to heal. Accepted the pair of clean boxer briefs, sweatpants, and T-shirt I handed him and dressed on his own. Refused another offering of blood and didn’t look at me as I re-manacled him. I almost didn’t because he was compliant and silent and it broke my fucking heart to do, but the next time I saw him, he could be completely different again and I couldn’t risk it.
Couldn’t risk him. Because if he got it in his head that he couldn’t be fixed, he might try to do something to himself. Or do something to make the others do something to him. Knowing there was something wrong, though, seemed like a step in the right direction. Supposedly crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, but I’d never been in a position to test it. Still, I felt a little better.
A little. Despite the horrid guilt.
I stripped and changed in my walk-in closet—with the doors closed because it just seemed weird getting dressed in front of one’s boyfriend when he wasn’t in control of all his faculties, when he wasn’t precisely the man you knew and loved. Fucking someone? Fine. But having them watch you dress afterward—that was intimate and scared me. I threw on new underclothes, yoga pants, and a tank top, yanked my hair out of its now-damp braid and let it fall in kinky waves, and then started tidying up. Jeans in the hamper, torn stuff in the trash. I swept up the glass, wiped down the floor. It felt like years had passed before I finally left the bedroom and padded downstairs.
Nic met my gaze immediately; my hand shot out in warning. “Don’t start.”
“Was not going to say a word.”
Yeah. Right.
Ryann still sat at the coffee table, the light brown skin of her face hued pink; her hand was locked on a pen pressed into the paper, like she knew she should be pretending to write but couldn’t remember what.
Ellie grinned like a moron from his perch on the couch. “So, y’know, maybe you could’ve had them soundproof the room—”
I snapped. “I don’t want to fucking hear—”
Nic’s phone chirped. “It’s Peri,” she announced as she answered. Immediately, she looked at me. “They have Myra.”
Thank fucking god something was going my way.
“Where do you want to meet them?”
The Holiday Inn would be nice but I wasn’t sure what kind of brawl we might end up in. “Go through the property I own here. Find some place that’s empty and quiet. Give them the address.” As Nic moved to do so, I turned to Ellie again. “Get Peter, ask him for suggestions on repressing this witch’s abilities long enough for me to talk to her. Stuff we can do without the assistance of a witch...items, sigils, whatever. I don’t want her frying us while I beat info out of her. Get a list of supplies—Ryann, take said list, and Nic will tell you where to go to pick them up.”
I glanced at the bedroom beyond the stairs. I promise you’ll be okay.
****
Ryann loaded supplies into the back of my white Dodge Challenger while daylight bled away, and I dressed. Black jeans, black knit top with three-quarter length sleeves. Shoulder holster. Black boots with a big chunky heel. I tossed a faux-suede bolero over top; it would be hot in the summer heat, but I had to cover up the gun. I left my hair long and loose, still kinky from the braid, and shut off the closet lights, then stepped back into the bedroom.
Nate was stretched out on the bed, clothing dark against the stark white of the comforter. The chain between the wrought iron bars shifted and rang as he twisted to look at me. I walked to the bed, the beat of my boots loud in the silence, and sat next to him.
He said nothing. Just stared.
“I used to talk to you, you know.”
Still nothing.
“Right here. All the time. Even while you were still buried. I’d have whole conversations with you, wondering what the hell to do. What I’d done. If you’d hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.
Well, that was something. “I used to dream about you all the time. Usually about that night in the cabin. Not the sex we finally had, but everything else. Everything you told me.”
“I dreamed of you too. You were on fire and your flesh melted and I couldn’t help.”
Happy thoughts. Best to change the subject. “I’m going out,” I said, not knowing if he understood. If he cared. My fingers threaded in his hair and he didn’t shrink back, just watched me with glittering eyes. “I’m seeing someone who can help you...be yourself again. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
The chains rattled again and his fingers came up to lace with mine. “There’s a hole where you should be and I can’t get around it.”
“We’ll get you there. I promise.”
“I don’t think you can.”
“I can do anything. I’m magic.”
“I think this will end with a bullet in you or in me.”
“Fuck that—I’m getting my happily ever after even if I have to kill every single person on the continent to get it.”
His thumb dragged over mine, gaze searching my eyes. “I’m a tower now. I’m him. I think things I shouldn’t. Do things I shouldn’t. He hurt my mother. I’m towering too high and I won’t be able to see you. You should put me down.”
No matter how much I heard it, I couldn’t get used to the crazy talk. “I have no idea what that means so I’m just going to promise to be back soon. I’ll bring help. Do you at least remember Peter?”
“He interviewed one for his thesis. I thought he died.”
“He did. But I still talk to him. And he’s helping us. I’ll let you talk to him soon too.”
Nate turned, let go of my hand, and gave me his back. “I think you’re crazy.”
Yeah, you’re not the only one, lover boy.
I rose again and left him. Nic stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for instruction she had to know were coming.
“Don’t let him out of the room and don’t engage him. He’s comfortable and he’s not hungry. You have the tranq gun?”
She nodded and gestured to the weapon on the computer desk.
“Not good enough. It needs to be—wait, why the fuck am I talking to you?” I looked over her shoulder at Ryann and gestured to the gun. “You, Buffy. You’re in charge of the weapon. If there’s trouble, you draw fast and don’t hesitate to knock him out.”
She nodded and her face went red again. Stupid virgin.
I clopped my way to the elevator and headed down for my car. Nic had programmed the address into my GPS: it was a small warehouse I’d bought a few years ago in the northern area of the city, and hadn’t done anything with it. I’d been leaning toward storage—maybe cars. Maybe I’d get a helicopter. Flying lessons had been on my to-do list for that year and I had five months to go—it was still doable to squeeze some time in.
I slipped into my white Challenger—repainted after Nic banged it up last year saving stupid, useless Peri—and pulled through the garage. Myra might not actually be helpful, I knew, but it was something. She’d been around at least a century so she had to be lucid enough to survive—to not go crazy killing everyone. And Nate...was coming along. Like pieces clicking together in his brain. Maybe it would just take time, maybe—
As I pulled out of the garage, a car collided with the right side of my vehicle, glass shattering and metal screeching, thrusting me forward in my seat to whack my forehead on the steering wheel.
Chapter Nine
Pursuit
Horns blared out on the street. I blinked, sat up straight. An engine gunned to my right, car door slammed. The vehicle that hit me was a navy SUV and the outline of the gun in the hand of one of the non-descript persons who exited and started toward my Challenger confirmed they were here for me.
I slammed my foot on the accelerator and flew out onto the road.
Tires squealed as I swerved, avoiding an unfortunate pedestrian who nearly crossed in front of my car. Yeah, sure, he had the right of way, but that doesn’t much matter when I’m behind the wheel of a vintage car chase type vehicle.
Which was damaged again. What the fuck?
I swerved once more, spinning onto oncoming traffic. More horns blasted and I was too busy to flip them off or even mutter something uncomplimentary. The blue SUV was on my ass. My fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles going ashen, keeping the car on its course. Cars moved to give me space as I slipped onto the middle of the road, riding the dotted yellow line.
It’s good when they don’t argue.
I made a left on a red light, jerked the wheel to the side in time to miss a big cable truck about to crash into me. The Challenger groaned, quite displeased with this task, but she held. I burned rubber heading north; I could swerve and try to lose my tail, but I had to get to the meeting. Peri and the others were timing their trip from Quebec so they’d be here shortly after dark, with the vamp bitch in the trunk able to then come out and play. If I wasn’t there with things ready for her, well, it would be up to a former merc and pair of bounty hunters to keep her busy. I needed a live vamp witch, not a dead one.
My gaze flickered to my phone dancing around in the passenger seat, but I declined to grab it. Only assholes participate in high speed chases while on their cells. The gun was a firm lump under my arm, digging into my side. The streets were too busy to bring it out, too many pedestrians and cars and things I could hit, and they’d phone police. No, I’d need a quiet stretch of road for shooting.
I’d done a lot of car chases and gunfights-while-in-car-chases, even in the intervening years, but I missed Nate. He drove well, kept the car pretty steady. Pulled me back in when I started to fall. He’d be helpful but then I wouldn’t be speeding through Macamigon from some random pursuer right now if he was around to help—I’d be curled up in bed with him. Or maybe the Jacuzzi.
I jerked the wheel again, turning th
e car around another corner, and checked my mirror. No one behind me—it was a goddamn Christmas miracle. I eased my foot off the gas and the noise around me died down. My heart still kicked hard in my chest, adrenalin soaking my veins, like it didn’t know the car chase was over
At last I reached for my phone as I turned onto a quiet side street and eased into park, then dialled Nic.
“There already?” she answered immediately.
“Issues. Just chased down by a navy SUV. They were waiting for me outside of the apartment.”
Her chair creaked in the background, as if she sat up straighter. “Who?”
“Don’t know. Partial plate Romeo. Seven. Something. Something. Something that might’ve been a three. Hotel. I missed the rest.”
She repeated what I said, pen scratching paper in the background. “Got it.”
“Since they were outside my apartment, check the security cameras to see if you can get more. Go over exit protocol with Buffy and her boyfriend. And...” I didn’t want to think it—didn’t want to dream it, but had to. “Figure out an exit strategy taking Nate. Just in case.” In case someone knows he’s still alive. I’d “killed” him and confirmed his death, netting me a huge fucking lot of cash. It was my first really big payday when I cleaned up that mess—tens of millions of dollars’ worth. It’s how I built my safe houses, my network of exits in my city; how I got asked every year to participate in VETAs I’d rather go naked than wear fur campaign. It was how I had every base covered so I was prepared for anything, should Nate and I need to run like hell.
It was also how I became such an in demand contract killer. Should any of the anonymous people who paid to ensure his death—and there were a few, as he was the last of his coven’s line—find out he lived, I would be so fucking dead.
Exhumed Page 7