by James Tate
“That, I can do,” he replied, clicking his seat belt on then peering at me. “I’m Hunter, by the way.”
I gave him a smile. He really did have good manners. “Cleo,” I introduced myself and took the hand he offered to shake. “Thank you for stopping to help me, Hunter.”
“Don’t mention it, Cleo,” he replied and almost seemed to purr my name. “My mum would smack me upside the head if she thought I’d left a damsel in distress on the side of the road. That’s a pretty awesome van you’re driving, by the way.”
I grinned, admiring my awesome vehicle as we drove past it and accelerated down the open stretch of road. “Yeah, Jack’s something special. Unfortunately, just not the most reliable engine. Not like this thing.” I drummed my fingertips against the dash of Hunter’s Mustang.
“Ah, true. But temperamental engines just add to the adventure of it all, don’t you think?” He threw me another one of those lopsided smirks, and I officially gave up thinking of him as a serial killer. If he was... well fuck it, he was the prettiest damn serial killer I’d met.
Not that I’d met many killers... or any... Ah fuck, now I was rambling inside my own head. At least it wasn’t out loud?
“You’re still thinking I might be a killer, aren’t you?” Hunter’s smooth, accented voice cut through my slightly manic thoughts, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. It had just been in my head, hadn’t it?
He laughed then, and I swear I’d never heard a sexier laugh in my entire freaking life.
“Don’t worry, you weren’t saying it out loud. You just have a super expressive face.” He glanced at me quickly before returning his gaze to the road. “So Jack? That’s what you call your van?”
Chewing my lip, I turned my gaze out the window while thanking my Egyptian heritage that I didn’t blush easily. “Uh-huh, Candy Jack.”
I didn’t elaborate, but when I glanced back at my sexy savior, he had a small, knowing smile that said he recognized the name as being a pot reference. What could I say, I grew up in Oregon where stores employed bud-tenders, and I might have been a little bit high when I’d named my candy-turquoise colored van.
“I probably wouldn’t count on Gerry actually coming to tow Candy Jack tomorrow,” Hunter said after a pause. “He tends to get three sheets to the wind on a Tuesday evening, and is a bit useless until around Thursday. Sorry.”
This news was just what I fucking needed, and it was only with great effort that I held back my curses in favor of a pained groan instead. “Fantastic,” I seethed. “I’m going to need to arrange other transport in that case. Is there a car rental in town?” I’d done a brief stint working for Enterprise Car Rental and knew they had offices freaking everywhere. But even they had limits and the town we were approaching was small. Real small.
Hunter confirmed my fears with a shake of his head. “I’m sure someone can help you out, though. There are lots of friendly folk here in Edan. Where are you heading in such a hurry, anyway?”
“Texas,” I told him with a grimace. “I volunteer with animal rescues, and there are some kittens due to be killed at the end of the week. I need to get there and pick them up before those bastards gas the poor babies.”
As I spoke I shifted in my seat slightly towards Hunter, so I noticed when his jaw clenched and his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. My mention of the kill shelter in Texas had triggered something in him, that was for sure.
“You okay there, Crocodile Hunter?” I attempted humor, but was also considering my options for how to escape a moving car. We were going pretty fast, but the grass beside the road would cushion my fall if I needed to tuck and roll. Wouldn’t it?
He barked a laugh, and I saw the tension slip back out of him like it’d never been there in the first place. “Funny,” he snickered. “It’s been forever since someone has called me that.”
It took me a moment to realize his name was Hunter, and I’d just made a Crocodile Hunter joke. Wow, I was decently funny without meaning to be.
“Okay, this here is the only accommodation in town. Will you be okay from here?” He slowed his car to a stop outside a dodgy Motel 8. “I actually feel guilty letting you stay here, to be totally honest, Cleo.” He peered through the windshield and crinkled his nose in a stupidly sexy sort of way. “I would try and insist you stay at my place, but I know you’d think that was a serial killer move.”
I laughed this time, running my fingers through my hot pink hair. “Pretty much. Thanks for the ride, Hunter.”
“Anytime, Cleo,” he replied, and there was a heated undertone to his voice that made me look back as I opened my door. Had he intended that to sound like a proposition? Maybe it was the accent messing with my head. “There’s a bar about two blocks down from here; you can’t miss it. They serve pretty decent food, if you’re hungry later.”
“Was that an invitation?” I blurted out before my mental filter could clamp down on that thought. Could anyone really blame me, though? Hunter was like something straight out of a dirty dream.
A broad grin spread over his face, and I had to pinch my own leg to prevent myself from drooling. “It was a recommendation. But if I happen to be there for a drink around eight, then I’d be offended if you didn’t at least say hello.”
“Noted.” I grinned back and tried to ignore the girlish flutters in my belly. “Thanks again, Crocodile Hunter.”
I quickly hopped out of the low car—praying I hadn’t just flashed my lace thong to Hunter—then closed the door behind me. Giving him a wave through the window, I turned and made my way into the little reception office.
Somehow, this day had managed to turn itself around in the most unexpected way. Hunter’s “recommendation” that I check out the local bar for dinner had me all kinds of excited, so much that I barely even flinched at the dirty room the clerk gave me a key for.
Feral Magic, Forgotten Gods Book 1
Available Now
