The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3
Page 72
Sal turned to the side, doubled over and threw up.
I sighed and stared down at the water Bran had given to me. Part of me wanted to yell at him some more, but I knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not now. Right now, Sal needed to hydrate and get to bed. He was going to be an even bigger pain in the ass to deal with in the morning if Alex’s hangovers were anything to judge by.
He spat on the ground, braced himself against the hood of the car, and stood. “Come on, then,” I said putting a hand on his back. “Let’s get you home.”
Once I got him in the car, everything got easier. He took the water bottle from me without protest, swished some of it around in his mouth, and then spat it out the open window as we cruised down the highway. I had to remind him twice that he needed to drink the whole bottle before he responded.
“Jesus, Sal. How much did you drink?” My hands ached from how tight I gripped the steering wheel. “I’m just glad Hunter won’t see you like this. That kid worships the ground you walk on, you know that? And if he saw this... Do you know how worried he is about you?” I stole a sideways glance at Sal, but my words had fallen on deaf ears. He’d leaned his head against the window and passed out already. “Dammit, Sal,” I muttered under my breath, and then didn’t speak to him again until I pulled into the driveway.
It took a lot of doing to wake him up enough to get out of the car. I thought about just leaving him out there, but I didn’t want to come back to vomit in my car. Besides, as bad off as he was, I felt like someone needed to stay with him just in case. He came around enough to crawl out of the car and lean on me after I went inside and got some ice and held it against his nose. He was heavy, too heavy for me to manage on my own. Even using a little magick to enhance my strength barely allowed me to support him in this state, so I was glad he’d snapped out of it just a little. We made it up the stairs and through the front door. I’d meant to drop him off on the sofa, but he had other ideas and turned toward his bedroom. I decided it was better just to let him go where he wanted than to waste energy fighting with him in this state.
Sal’s bedroom was a mess, but I never expected anything different from a bachelor. Clothes were piled in one corner, tossed in the other. Books and magazines lined the floor next to the bed, everything from a book on recipes for cancer patients to porn. I kicked several magazines aside as we shuffled through to the unmade bed.
I didn’t so much as lower him to the bed as fall with him. The sudden fall sent a rush of pain shooting through my ribs, and I let out a small hiss of pain and protest. Sal was already asleep again. I could have crawled away and back to my own bed, but I was still worried about him, even if I was angry. I decided I would lay there for a while at least.
His arm draped itself limply over my ribs. I winced at the pain, which struck again every time I took a breath but closed my eyes. I could bear a little pinch in the ribs for him.
~
I woke in the dark in a different position altogether and sweating. My knees were drawn up and arms tucked under my head. Somehow, I’d gotten onto my side facing Sal. When I opened my eyes, he was staring right back at me. The glowing yellow had faded back into the tiny, golden flakes he carried in his irises when he was angry, but he didn’t look angry. He looked... hungry. His eyes were mostly focused, an improvement from the last time. Sweat raced in a bead down the side of his face.
“Sal?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He closed his eyes again and nudged the pillow. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a sleepy tone. “Headache.”
I sat up, stopping to grab at my ribs when they reminded me I’d hurt myself. “Let me get you something for it.”
I’d already thrown my legs over the side of the bed when his hand shot out and closed tightly over my wrist. “No.”
“You can’t just expect me to lie here next to you, helpless. I need to do something.”
“Stay?”
The way it was phrased as a question made any ambition I had to get out of bed and do anything melt away. I climbed back into bed and tucked up against him. He put his arm right over the tender spot in my side and fumbled to pull me in closer.
A hiss of pain escaped from between my teeth. He stopped, his face shifting from exhaustion to concern and then anger. With a guttural growl, he jerked my shirt up and surveyed the damage. Deep red and purple colored my side from about two inches below my armpit all the way down in different sized splotches. His eyes flashed gold and he ground his teeth.
“It’s nothing.” I jerked the fabric of my shirt back down. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own eventually, anyway. I don’t think anything’s broken.”
“Was it Marcus?” The tension in his voice told me he was only barely holding onto himself. The anger was still there, and the hangover settling in wasn’t doing him any favors. If I didn’t get him calmed down, he was likely to do something we’d both regret.
I shrugged and went with snark, hoping he couldn’t pick up the way my heart was racing. “You can barely move, Sal, let alone chase down the thing responsible. What are you going to do, growl at him?”
As if to prove me wrong, he shot up, his chest heaving and teeth bared. Maybe snark wasn’t the best option in that case. “I’ll rip his fucking spine out.”
I tugged on his shoulder. “It wasn’t Marcus. It’s this job I’m working for him. And trust me, you can’t make what did this to me any deader than it already is.”
He blinked, his face drawing up blank as if he’d forgotten something important. “Let me heal you.”
“You need some water, an aspirin, and rest, not to exert yourself over a couple of bruised ribs.”
At least, that’s what I meant to say. I meant to tell him that he should rest, that Nina, Chanter, and everyone in the pack would kill me if I let him over-exert himself and it led to any permanent damage.
Something was off about him. Maybe he’d been pushing too hard. Maybe I had pushed him too far. Sal was normally calm and collected. Once, he’d even let Tindall arrest him and keep him in jail several days on nothing but a promise. The Sal before me now was impulsive, reckless, and in defensive mode. Unpredictable. It would be better if he didn’t use his magick until he was well rested and recovered.
I meant to tell him all of that but...Well, it’s a little hard to talk when a two hundred fifty-pound werewolf is pushing his hand into your bruised rib.
He wrapped his arm around me from behind and moved his hand up under my shirt over the bruising. “Don’t fight.” It was spoken as a whisper, but there was no mistaking the power of magick in his voice. The same magick I had seen him use to keep Hunter in line. The same magick Chanter used to command the whole pack. Alpha werewolf magick.
It wasn’t like the spell Marcus had weaved over me. I didn’t lose any sense of my own will or feel static in my head, but I obeyed just the same, and I hated that I had no choice but to do so.
Healing magick isn’t at all unpleasant, at least in my experience. It reminded me a lot of how a hot tub felt, the way the water draws out the soreness and stiffness in the muscles and makes them go slack. The first time, he’d told me to think of something positive to help the process along, and I conjured up a vision of my own self-confidence. The more and more times he used his magick to heal me (which had been too frequent by my count) the easier it became to slip into a state of comfort and happiness just because of the healing touch. I thought of it as a sort of blanket right after it came out of the dryer. Too hot at first, but enticingly relaxing the longer it lasted.
There’s a very good reason that some people get addicted to having magick used on them. All the positive feedback in the brain lends itself to addiction and makes time feel fuzzy. By the time I realized my body was reacting to more than just the magick, the sharp pain that came with every breath was gone, turned into nothing but a slight tightness. His hand had crept up to find my breast but found fabric there instead. He made a small, angry noise and tried to jerk the bra free.
&
nbsp; “Sal,” I said in the form of mild protest, shrugging my shoulder to move his lips from my neck. “Stop.”
“The rest of you doesn’t want me to stop,” he murmured into the curve of my neck. “You want me. I can smell it.”
“Stop,” I said, this time more insistently, but his lips and hands only grew bolder.
I wriggled away from his hand even as he tried to grip tighter. Even at my best, I was no match for the strength and speed of a werewolf. If he had really wanted to stop me, he could have.
Instead, he sat there on his knees on the bed, frozen. I think he realized what he’d been about to do, what he had done, in the fraction of a second before my open hand connected with his face. The crack echoed through the silence in the room against my labored breathing. He stayed frozen, eyes wide, face red, head moved a good forty-five degrees by the impact.
“Get ahold of yourself,” I shouted, making no effort to control the anger in my voice. “What the hell is wrong with you?
Sal’s head fell forward as if he were bowing, a very, very unusual gesture for such a high-ranking werewolf to make to a human. It was an apology; one I didn’t know if I could accept. Not until I heard the anguish in his voice. “I’m just so tired of being alone. I can’t do it anymore. I’m no good on my own.”
I reached down and took his chin in my hands. Lifting his head took almost no effort. “I told you,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’re stuck with me. Now, you’re going to lay back down and get some sleep. Tomorrow, you’re taking a sick day. I don’t care if the devil himself knocks on your door. You’re to get your rest, do you hear me?”
The suggestion seemed to sit well with him. Sal nodded and all but fell over back into bed. He was back asleep before I got the blankets wrestled up over him. I brushed aside magazines, dirty clothes, and a half empty bottle of Jack’s to clear myself a space on the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Daylight had filtered in through the blinds by the time I opened my eyes again. Outside, the birds sang. The faint sound of a car in need of exhaust work faded as it drove down the road out front. Sal lay spread over the bed on his stomach, face turned to the side, and the blanket thrown off the bed. At some point, one of us had enough sense to get up and turn on the oscillating desk fan. The gentle hum of the plastic guards on it created a steady, calming undertone of noise.
I sat up, peeling a magazine from where spit had glued it to my face and then frowned at the cover. Caliente, it was called, and the cover featured a woman poised on a white bed in black lingerie, seductively posed. I rolled my eyes and tossed it aside. I guessed single life hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be for the poor guy. Still, I made a mental note to ask him to box those things up and get them out of sight before I found them under Hunter’s bed.
My back protested more than my ribs when I stood and stretched, which was a good thing. I could get around just fine without... The thought broke off as I realized I might have overslept. Hunter would be late for school.
I left the room as quietly as I could and went out into the kitchen, relieved to find Hunter dressed and ready to go. He shoved another mouthful of cereal into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before asking, “Is he okay?”
“He’ll live,” I answered and put a palm to my aching head. “He just needs rest. Be quiet, though, kiddo.”
“He’s hung over, isn’t he?”
“You leave him be,” I warned and gave Hunter a serious look. He turned back to his cereal and didn’t speak to me again until after I was sipping my coffee at the table.
“Are you going to marry Sal?”
I almost spit out my coffee. Hunter didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on the last few colored balls of sweetened corn cereal in his bowl.
“What makes you ask that?”
He finally looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Come on, mom. I’m not stupid. I know you guys are together.”
I pursed my lips and studied his face. “Does that bother you?”
Hunter shrugged. “It’s kind of weird. I don’t have to call him dad or sir or anything, do I?”
I laughed. “I think he’d be appalled if you did.”
He took his bowl to the sink. “Just don’t make things too weird, okay?”
“It’s only as weird as you make it, Hunter. But you might practice knocking before just coming through the door from now on, huh? Unless you want things to get really awkward.”
“Ew. Gross.” Hunter made a gagging sound. He shouldered his backpack and I stood. “I think I’m going to walk to school. I’ll see you later.” And Hunter was out the door before I could get my keys.
I sat alone in the kitchen for another two minutes before the unsettling quiet drove me to the sink full of dishes. While my hands worked, I planned my day. Han should have sent Mia’s files over to the station. Not that it mattered as much now. I knew I was dealing with a ghost, and what’s more, that ghost had a name: Emiko Kelley.
I’d never heard of a vampire ghost, but I supposed that dealing with one wouldn’t be too different from every other disembodied spirit I’d encountered. Of course, every other ghost I’d dealt with wasn’t running around making people sick. Something about that nagged at me. It was too similar to ghost sickness for there not to be a coincidence, but ghost sickness usually only affected family members of the deceased. As far as I knew, Mia’s only living relatives were Zoe and Sal. If I counted extended family, I could add Chanter, Nina, and Leo to the list, but none of them were sick. The only relative of theirs that had died was Chanter’s wife and that didn’t fit. I already knew who the perpetrator was. I just had to connect Emiko to Mia. So far, the only thing I had that connected them was the house.
There might be one more person I can ask about Emiko and Mia’s history, I thought as I toweled the dishes dry and stacked them in the cupboards. Reed might know.
Talking to Father Gideon Reed wasn’t something I looked forward to. If he hadn’t stolen Mia away that night in the cave, she might not be in her present state. That fact alone made him guilty. He needed to answer for his actions. Since he seemed so buddy-buddy with Marcus, I supposed maybe he’d know a thing or two about Emiko as well. I stole a glance at the clock and decided I’d throw on some clothes and drive over to the church before going to the station to get Mia’s records. I still didn’t have any clean clothes, so I resorted to another pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. After I left a note for Sal to ask the pack to rescue some of my clothes, I left.
There was only one church in Paint Rock, and it was a big, old-fashioned, white-steepled building downtown. At nine in the morning on a Thursday, I didn’t expect the father to be in. He lived in a small house behind the church, however, so I parked in the church lot and let myself through the gate to knock on his door.
Footsteps approached and Reed jerked open the door. Or, I should say a version of him. I was used to seeing Reed dressed up and clean shaven, every hair in its place. That’s not the face that greeted me. He had enough beard on his face that I don’t think he’d touched a razor in a few days. He was dressed in sweats and a gray robe that he hadn’t bothered to tie. Puffy eyes stared out at me over a steaming cup of tea. “Judah,” he said and his shoulders stiffened.
“You sick, padre?”
“No, no. Just....” He made a quick gesture. “...busy, you know?” A skinny white cat curled around his legs. Reed sat the cup on something beside the door and bent down to pick it up before it could slip outside. When he stood, he met my eyes for the first time. His were bloodshot. “You’re here about Mia.”
I half expected him to slam the door in my face. He’d made it clear before what he thought about BSI taking care of her. Reed didn’t even want me looking for her.
“Marcus told you?”
The priest nodded once. “Marcus sought me out for a consult before he came to you. If you’ve come here looking for my help, I’m afraid I can’t get any further involved, not so long as she’s with Marcus.”
He stood in the doorway, petting his cat for a minute before he reached out to push the door open the rest of the way. “No promises on how helpful what I know will be, but you’re welcome to ask.”
I stepped into Reed’s home. The entry was a narrow space lined on one side by bookshelves and a coat hanger on the other. It was dim because there weren’t any lights on and all the shades were drawn, but the soft lighting filtering through gave the place a homey feel rather than a depressed one.
He closed the door and put his cat down. “Would you like some hot tea? I’m afraid I don’t keep coffee in the house.”
“Tea’s fine.”
He shuffled down the hall, the wood floor creaking under his bare feet, and slid into the first room on the right. I followed and watched as he pulled down a teacup and a box of tea bags from the same cabinet. His kitchen was small but still bigger than mine. Cleaner, too. In fact, everything I’d seen of Reed’s house suggested he was a bit of a clean freak. There wasn’t dust or cat hair anywhere. Odd that his appearance didn’t match. I wondered if I’d woken him, but the mug in his hand hadn’t supported that theory. Maybe he just got up.
He dropped the cup loudly to the counter and then leaned forward on flat palms. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That he would keep her. That Zoe was alive and would come for her. That she was different.” He whirled around, the look in his eyes more fit to be on a madman’s face than Reed’s. “I only saw a child, brought into this world through a series of terrible events. Alone. Poised to be handed off to a government that cared nothing for her safety or the sanctity of her life. Even if BSI had let her survive whatever torment they thought up, what life would she have had being raised in a facility? Would her parents be doctors, her playmates shadows on the wall? At best, she could hope to survive into adulthood, to be trained and sent out to hunt her own kind as you do.”