Kuruk stared at her purse on the ground. She could see it in his eyes; time was running out. He could still kill her outright, but he said she had something he wanted. She had no idea what, but that information could keep her alive.
He could take her with him. He had enough men to do so, but she would fight hard to avoid it and could die in the process or fight long enough for reinforcements to show up. Or he could let her go. Letting her go would irk Kuruk beyond belief. But if he truly needed her alive, it was the only course of action he had.
Her phone vibrated again. Her aunt was starting to panic. Good. Reinforcements would be here soon. She looked at Kuruk and smiled. He glared at her and her grin grew wider. The other Weres looked around in confusion. Whereas Suzette’s minions had some intellect, Kuruk’s goons were all muscle. They had no idea about the silent power struggle between herself and Kuruk.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she ignored the pain that shot through her shoulder. “Time is ticking, Kuruk. You have a decision to make. You can waste time and kill me like you did those other women and never get what you want, or you can wait around for Martin to get here.”
“And who knows who he might have with him.” She smiled again and resisted the temptation to add something about Martin bringing someone from the Council, but decided to use that threat later, if she had to.
Kuruk clenched his fists before visibly forcing himself to relax. “You have the luck of the devil,” he smiled at her, his eyes cold. “But even devils eventually get their due. And you will belong to me, Layla Donovan. You will be mine.”
He stepped over the body of the young pickpocket and walked toward her, his face close as his temper flared again. When you least expect it, I will come. When you step out of your hole, I will be watching. When you take a breath, I will be right there. And I will not stop until I have you in my grasp.”
Layla recoiled from the smell of the blood on his breath and the venom in his words. She was confused as to what he wanted with her. Why he and Suzette seemed so interested in her. Curiosity warred with common sense and she wanted desperately to find the answers she sought, but she was barely escaping as it were and she did not want to piss him off even further. He might kill her simply from spite.
He turned away, then stopped suddenly and she frowned. His head raised, his back stiff and he looked in the direction that Layla had come from less than an hour before. She took a deep breath. Martin. Kuruk was tense; his body well controlled, but tension lurked beneath his easy smile as Martin slipped out of the trees behind one of his goons.
“Kuruk.”
The Were jumped as Martin materialized behind him. He spun around, but the older Were simply grabbed him and wrenched him apart before he could defend himself.
Kuruk sighed and held out a restraining hand to his other goons. “I wish you could have picked someone else to dispose of so callously. He was actually a pretty good fighter,” he said without remorse. “So, you have come for your little lamb. Keeping her away from the wolves, for good measure.” He looked back at Layla and smiled. “We would eat her up.”
Wordlessly, Martin motioned for Layla to walk towards him. She grabbed her purse, moving towards the older Were, as growls and snaps emanated from Kuruk’s men.
“Layla?”
She looked over at Kuruk’s call. He stood in an opening between a few trees, his dark skin shadowed, his eyes glittering in the failing light. Hate radiated off him as he stared at her, his lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. She thrust out her chin.
“Do not forget what we discussed.”
She shivered as he and his men melted into the darkness of the trees and let out a relieved breath.
Martin looked down at her. “We are not safe yet.”
He picked up the crumpled body of the young woman and moved her closer to the woods. Working quickly, he filled her clothing with rocks and used her shoe laces to tie a particularly heavy rock to her body, then moved her towards the edge of the ravine, where he pushed her in.
A loud splash and bubbling were all that remained of the girl as she sank beneath the water. Martin watched for a few minutes to ensure that she was submerged and then pulled Layla toward the trees opposite to where Kuruk had disappeared.
She transformed back, shivering again as the wind whipped through her torn clothing. Her arm throbbed and she winced as it accidentally brushed against a protruding tree branch. Martin stopped and ripped a piece of material from her tattered jacket and even though her arm was on the mend, tied it tightly around her shoulder, forming a temporary sling. She clenched her teeth to avoid crying out and released the pained breath on a slow hiss.
Blood still seeped out of the wound as Martin moved her away from the safe house. They did not need to give Kuruk any more reasons to go near her family. He had already gotten too close as it was. She trudged behind and stopped as they exited the woods into an abandoned gas station. Cracked concrete chocked with weeds stood between them and the warmth and comfort of Martin’s truck. She climbed into the warm cab and pulled out the first aid kit from under the seat before she removed the container of baby wipes from the back seat and cleaned her hands.
“How did they find you?” Martin asked, releasing a tense breath.
Layla bristled at the tone, even though she knew she was probably the weak link in the group. “I don’t know. Maybe they followed me from school.”
Martin nodded as he started the truck. “Yeah. That could be it.” He pulled out into traffic and deliberately drove perpendicular to where the house was located. They couldn’t trust Kuruk not to have followed them, but driving in the opposite direction could also make the house easier to find. Kuruk wasn’t as dumb as his men.
He would send some of his men in the direction they went and send some in the opposite direction. So, perpendicular it was. Martin took a few deep breaths and Layla touched his arm in thanks. It was a good thing she was close to home and had stuck to her regular route. It made it easier for Martin to quickly track her and save her from Kuruk and his horde.
Wiping her bloodied hands with the wet wipes, she grimaced and closed her eyes. The blood was stark against the white of the wet pieces of cloth and a piece of white bone stuck out near her shoulder. Martin looked at her and swore silently, then quickly pulled over ignoring her surprised look.
“Damn it, why did you not tell me that you were hurt this badly?” He leaned over and wretched the bone into place, the severity of the pain and the speed of his actions silencing her. It was like her arm was ripped from her body and the pain was so overwhelming, she could not even scream. It was all she could do not to pass out.
She shook her head weakly as Martin took out the needle and thread. As weak as she was, she could not handle being sewn up now. Her head spun from blood loss and shock, her body shaking as each tremor jarred her shoulder even more. He swore again, grabbed a handful of butterfly adhesive bandages and quickly applied them after wiping away more blood that had seeped through.
“Much better,” he said. “But don’t move around too much. This will have to hold until I can find a place to sew it up or cauterize it.”
Layla’s eyes widened at Martin’s words. Cauterize? Her eyes glazed over as the world started to tilt. The last thing she saw was Martin as he reached for her.
*
Brett sat across from the woman who had given birth to him more than a quarter of a century ago. She looked older, he surmised. And tired. Her once luxurious dark hair had started to gray and her dark eyes were shadowed. In the eight years since he had seen her, she had aged about twenty.
He held the coffee mug tightly in his hands, the warmth of the liquid spreading through his tired limbs as he listened to the howl of the wind outside, the November air especially chilly. It might snow, he thought briefly, although it was unlikely in November, but times were changing and polar vortexes were making their way further south each winter. He cleared his throat, almost apologetic when his m
other jumped at the sound.
“Mom?”
She sighed, her own hands wrapped around a mug similar to his. They trembled and shook when she lifted the mug to take a sip.
“It’s good to see you.” The words fell from Brett’s lips. It was harder than he had thought it would be to speak to her. His mother had always been stubborn, but at least he had been invited into the house. She had even made him a cup of coffee. That was an olive branch if he had ever seen one.
A quick movement of the mouth and the flash of white teeth against darkened lips was all that hinted at a smile. It was gone in an instant. “It’s good to see you too.”
Brett felt torn. There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to apologize to her for being an ass as a teenager; to confess that he was hurt when she had withdrawn after his father’s death. He wanted to tell her about Suzette and Mai-coh and admit that he may have found the one in Layla.
So many thoughts bounced around inside him, he almost burst. Yet, none of the words seemed to want to come. No one wanted to be the first. He took another sip of his coffee as the silence stretched between them and he lowered his eyes.
A slight sound made him look up. Tears were sliding down his mother’s face. Her eyes were swimming with emotion and one fist was clenched tightly and pressed to her mouth to stifle her cries.
He reached across the table and took her free hand in his. Finally, the dam broke and her crying began in earnest. Brett moved around the table and pulled his mother into his arms.
“I’m s-s-sorry!” she sobbed, coating his shirt with wetness as she grasped him to her. “I should have been a better mother.”
Brett shook his head. “It’s okay, mom. It wasn’t you. I should have been a better son.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her, rocking her gently to and fro. “We both should have done things differently but that’s in the past. What’s done is done.”
She nodded her head, her voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “I love you, Brett, I do. I was too stubborn to say that to you all those years ago, but I do.”
He smiled as he held her. “I know, mom.” He leaned back slightly and kissed the top of her head, his hands smoothing down the wiry strands. “I love you too.” She started to calm as he held her close, then pulled back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Look at me. Crying all over you like a baby.” She smiled ruefully.
“No big deal.”
She grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter. “I must look a mess. God. I haven’t done that in a while.”
Brett smiled. “Maybe you needed it.” He moved back to his seat on the other side of the table that held memories; both good and bad. His first kiss with his first crush after school one day, filling out college application forms, the police officer informing them of his father’s death.
His mother looked up as if sensing his thoughts. “We were so lost then.” Her eyes moved past him, back to the night they got the horrible news. “He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He was living out in California. He was safe. He came back and that got him two bullets in the head.” Her eyes welled up again and Brett reached out a soothing hand. “I think he knew he was going to die,” she sniffled. “I saw him that night.”
Brett straightened in the chair, his mind reeling with unspoken questions. “What?”
“He came to see me the night before.” She closed her eyes in memory. “We were arguing about you and instead of leaving, your father held me like he did on our honeymoon. He told me that we had to protect ‘the Hania’. That it was your duty to protect her.”
She laughed. “I had no idea what he was talking about. He had always been so full of secrets. That was one of the problems we had. But he left a journal for you.” She looked up. “He gave me a journal to give to you when it was time, he said. I think it’s time now.”
Brett stared at his mother. She wore a determined look on her face as if she had been waiting all these years for him to return.
“It’s time.”
She pulled a long silver chain from around her neck. A key was attached to one end and she pressed it into his hand.
“This opens a bank safety deposit box. He never told me which bank, he said that if you were truly his son, you would figure it out.” Her hands closed around Brett’s. “I’ve been so afraid, carrying that thing around with me. I just knew someone was going to ask about it and put two bullets in my head like they did your father.” Her eyes filled with tears again.
“He was a good man. You would have loved him.” She pressed the tissue to her eyes, “even with all his faults, he was a good man. He was just so dedicated to his duty, he called it, that it mattered more to him than anything, even more than us, sometimes.”
She stared at Brett. “Your eyes have changed. You used to have my eyes. Now they are like your father’s. Green. I have never noticed that before.” She sniffled again.
Brett swallowed thickly. His eyes had nothing to do with the man who had fathered him. His eyes had changed after Mai-coh had healed him. However, the man he’d thought of as his father, the man he had grown to hate and had blamed for driving a wedge between him and his mother, might have actually done something to help him save Layla.
He stared at the key in his hand; he knew which bank. His father’s Native American heritage would have dictated that he have an account with the Reservation bank and his father had been nothing but a proud Native American. He would visit first thing in the morning and get his father’s journal. Then, he might actually have a way to help Layla.
*
Layla walked into the college warily. Her attack only a few days ago had left her uneasy about being in the open, even though she was felt completely claustrophobic and cooped up. While having the independent research study assignments allowed her to stay at home where it was safe, she looked forward to having to head to campus for her mentoring duties.
She walked into the GT building and headed for the conference room. Ray would be there soon and she would be able to get their session over with. Although she still thought he was really cute, she no longer had the overwhelming urge to jump his bones. Perhaps the phone call from Brett had helped her put things in perspective.
Sure, she was still pissed at him for taking off without saying a word, but learning that he had gone back home to see his mother had gotten rid of a lot of her anger. Hearing him admit that the two had talked about the past and were getting closer felt like something good, at least, was happening instead of just death and disorder. The excitement in his voice made her smile and she looked forward to his return.
Unzipping her jacket as the heat from the building poured through her, she unlocked the door to the office she shared with the other mentors next to the conference room and tossed her purse and jacket into a cabinet before locking it for safety. She looked at her watch. She had about twenty minutes before she met with Ray. That gave her enough time to use the bathroom, get a cup of coffee and get her head in the game before she saw him. She opened the door, determined to get the fastest cup of coffee ever and stopped.
Ray stood outside. He lounged along the wall, his muscular body huge in the small space. Her eyes inadvertently traveled his length; his toned physique covered in snug jeans and a stretchy T-shirt that showed off his muscles to perfection. She swallowed thickly as she imagined those arms wrapped tightly around her waist and heat pooled low in her stomach. Quickly closing her mouth at his smile, she glanced at her watch again. She really did have twenty minutes.
“Sorry, I’m early,” he said smoothly.
Layla shrugged. “No big deal, I just haven’t had my coffee yet.” The scent of his cologne washed over her, stimulating her even more, and she instantly regretted her waspish tone. “You are welcomed to wait here or join me, but I have to get some caffeine in my system.”
He pushed away from the wall, a slow exaggerated movement that brought him considerably closer; her mouth dried as her eyes leveled in on his magnificen
t chest.
“I can follow you,” he smiled. “Like I said before, I like the view.”
Nodding, she walked into the kitchenette in the back of the building. A fresh pot of coffee was already brewed and she quickly poured a cup, offering him one, relieved when he declined. She rolled her shoulders trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up her back as the hair on her nape stood up.
His presence was unnerving and erotic at the same time. Everything about him shouted danger but her nipples tightened under the white T-shirt she wore and she cursed her juvenile response before adding cream and sugar to her brew.
Finally finished, she turned around and found herself almost nose to nose with Ray. She cleared her throat, her eyes refusing to meet his and jumped slightly as his hands came up on either side of her. Holding her cup of coffee in front of her like a shield, she realized with dismay that she was trapped between the counter and his hard body.
“What are you doing?” she whispered nervously.
He smiled and leaned down, inches from her lips. “Kissing you.”
Layla gulped. Holy hell, what was going on? “Why?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
“Because you’re hot and I want to.” Before she could utter another word, his breath fanned across her face as his lips covered hers. The kiss was even hotter than he was. His arms locked around her; his lips moved over hers sensuously and she whimpered as he pressed nearer and opened her mouth wider under his. His mouth was hard and insistent and the danger vibes came back.
She tore her mouth from his, ducked under his arm and faced him, her skin flushed and her lips slightly swollen. The bulge prominently displayed at the front of his pants caught her eye, but she refused the temptation to look longer.
“Okay. Ground rules.” She held up a finger. “One. No kissing. This is a professional setting and we need to maintain that level of professionalism. Two. No kissing. I have a boyfriend. And three,” she paused, her mind reeling, “well, I’ll get back to you on that one, but there is a third rule somewhere in my brain.”
Maikoda: Power of the Moon (Blue Moon Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
