Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel

by Katie MacAlister

  “What’s a martiya?” Peter heard Kiya ask Gregory.

  He leaned toward her to whisper the answer. Instantly, every hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood on end. Without thought for his plans, or safety, or even common sense, he shoved aside the sagebrush and marched out into the clearing. “Martiya is the word for spirit of the night, Kiya. They are feared by most Travellers.”

  “You dare come here!” William leaped to his feet, his face suffused with color.

  “Peter!” Kiya squealed at the same time, hurriedly shoving her lapful of pugs onto Lenore Faa before dashing over to him.

  “Somehow, I had a feeling you’d show up here and stir things up,” was all Gregory said, but the amusement in his voice had Peter looking closely at him. Just as soon as possible, he’d have a little chat with his cousin.

  “It will be the last time he does so,” Andrew spat, rising to his feet and stalking toward Peter. “We warned you before that there would be no tolerance of your attempts to smear our name.”

  “Don’t you even think of stabbing him again,” Kiya said, standing in front of him and spreading her arms.

  Peter was touched by the gesture. No one had ever tried to protect him, not since the death of his mother some eighty years before. And to think that Kiya, his Kiya, his delightfully quirky, naive little Kiya, should be the first person to do so warmed him to the depths of his being. He wanted to simultaneously kiss her, punch Andrew in the face, and point out to his grandmother that not everyone thought he was an outcast.

  He settled on gently moving Kiya to the side. “No one is going to be stabbed,” he said firmly, sharing a look among all his male relatives.

  “Damn straight you’re not,” Kiya agreed, and before he knew it, the world shifted infinitesimally.

  “It will be the last time he does so,” Andrew spat, rising to his feet. Before he could move toward Peter, Kiya hefted a large pot that contained the remains of spaghetti, and bashed it over the back of Andrew’s head.

  “There. That’ll teach you, you time-stealing bas—” She shot a look toward Lenore Faa. “Er…rat fink.”

  William shouted an obscenity. “Did you see what she did, Mama? She stole time from him!”

  Gregory, looking more than a little surprised, got to his feet and went over to squat next to his cousin.

  Peter sighed. “Kiya, we’ve had the discussion before about the wrongness of stealing time, did we not?”

  “Yes, but this was totally justified. He was going to stab you again. Or worse. I just know he was. I had to stop him.”

  “Regardless, you know full well what can happen when you do it.”

  Kiya’s fingers went to her mouth briefly before her eyes widened. “Oh no, I forgot to pay him. Let me see what I have….” She grabbed a purse that was hung across the back of her chair, and dug through a wallet. “I’ve got a couple of quarters and some dimes…. No, wait, there’s my mad money. Thirteen dollars.” She picked aside strands of spaghetti noodles that were splattered across Andrew’s head and torso, and tucked the bills into the front of his shirt before shooting a worried glance at Peter. “That should be enough, right?”

  He hadn’t the heart to remind her that Travellers always paid such debts in silver. “It is more than enough,” he said, pulling out some silver dollars, and, tossing them onto the still prone form of his cousin, returned the paper money to Kiya. “But I will pay, since you acted in my defense.”

  She beamed at him, and he seriously considered scooping her up in his arms and driving to town with her so that he could make love to her in the bathtub again. And the bed. And possibly the floor if he couldn’t make it to the bed or the tub.

  “Kiya Mortenson.” The voice that spoke the words held a wallop of power in it that Peter knew Kiya would be unable to ignore. He had a difficult time himself not responding to it, but inexperienced as she was with Lenore Faa, and Travellers in general, Kiya would be putty in her hands.

  To his intense pleasure, Kiya twined her fingers through his before turning to face her employer. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I will thank you if, in the future, you can refrain from assaulting my grandsons. Rehor, is he gravely injured?”

  “No,” Gregory answered, taking a napkin to wipe the red spaghetti sauce that dripped with faux gore down Andrew’s face. “He’s just unconscious. I am confused, however, by what just happened. It appears as if Kiya took Andrew’s time, and yet that isn’t possible.” He looked up at Peter. “You must have done it.”

  “I did not.”

  “Then that would mean that Kiya…” Gregory stopped, his gaze speculative on her.

  Without thinking, Peter put an arm around Kiya and pulled her tight against him. Hopefully, the look on his face was enough to warn his cousin about even thinking of upsetting her.

  Gregory appeared to have enough wits about him to read the expression accurately, for other than looking sidelong at his grandmother, he said nothing, just remained kneeling at Andrew’s side.

  William, however, had no such wisdom. He slammed down a bottle of whisky that he’d been hitting pretty hard, and got to his feet, weaving as he did so. With a swagger that was more than half stagger, he shoved out his chin, and started forward. “This is intol—”

  Peter’s fist shot out and sent William flying backward a good eight feet.

  “Don’t say it. I’ll check him,” Gregory told Lenore Faa as he rose and—with an unreadable look at Peter—went over to see what state the now-unconscious William was in.

  “Nice one,” Kiya told him softly.

  Not softly enough, evidently, for Lenore Faa, with a sudden boil of pugs around her feet, got painfully out of her chair, and pointed a finger at him. “You are not welcome here, son of Vilem, yet you continue to blight us. What is it you want?”

  Kiya stiffened against him, but wisely said nothing.

  Peter gave a long look to the woman who once he had hoped would take him in and love him as his mother had. “I’m here to spend the night with Kiya. Do you object?”

  “Holy jebus, Peter, you did not just say that!” Kiya spun around and stared at him with her mouth slightly ajar.

  He put a finger beneath her chin and closed her mouth before bending down and giving her a swift kiss. It was sweet, far sweeter than he remembered, and it took all his strength to not give in and claim her mouth as it begged to be claimed. “I did, you know.”

  “Did what?” she asked breathily, her eyes misty with desire.

  Oh, how he loved that he could distract her so much with just one kiss. He indulged in a little smug satisfaction about that point before her nearness to him demanded that he give in and kiss her once more.

  He was about to do so when Lenore Faa cleared her throat in a meaningful manner, and said, “What Kiya does with her personal time is not any of my business. However, while she stays here, in my charge, I do feel obligated to see to her protection. It is for that reason that I repeat to you that you are not welcome here.”

  Peter looked down at Kiya, who had stopped staring up at him and was now looking in surprise at the old woman.

  “Whoa, now,” she said, taking a step away from Peter. He didn’t like that, and pulled her back to his side. “With all due respect, I’m not in your charge. I’m not in anyone’s charge but my own. My foster mom is very big on people taking responsibility for themselves, and I’m not about to mess up my ego and superego and id just because you have an issue with Peter. Which, I have to say, is just really not right, because he’s a perfectly nice man, and he doesn’t intend on hurting you or anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Do you, Peter?”

  She looked up at him with big eyes filled with trust and admiration, and at that exact moment, all the anger, all the pain, all the decades of anguish for being deprived of a family, melted away into nothing. Kiya wanted reassurance that he wasn’t a vindictive, vengeful monster, and by the gods, he would move the stars themselves in order to justify her belief in him.

  He looke
d over to Lenore Faa. “I am here to find a murderer. Nothing more.”

  “What murderer?”

  With an eye on the two unconscious men, he explained about the trail of murders that had appeared over the course of the last year.

  “That can have nothing to do with us,” Lenore Faa said dismissively when he was finished.

  “I know Travellers when I see them,” he said, giving her a long look. To his surprise, her gaze dropped, her fingers moving restlessly over the material of her dress. “And it was Travellers who were caught on film leaving the building of the latest victim, even if we couldn’t identify them. The DNA I took from the mortal police will prove which one of this family was behind the murders.”

  “Proof that you claim was conveniently stolen,” the old woman muttered.

  “By someone in this camp,” he pointed out.

  “You have no proof of that! Rehor, escort this man out of our camp.”

  Gregory slowly got to his feet. “Puridaj, if he has video of someone in the family—”

  “He cannot. It is impossible. Everyone was here, with me, during the time he mentioned.” The old woman’s jaw set in a manner that indicated she would brook no objection.

  Kiya stirred. “I know it’s hard to hear that someone in your family is doing something so horrible, but I think you should give Peter a chance to prove his points. Maybe if you saw the video, or if you could see the lab report of the DNA—”

  “Be quiet,” Lenore Faa snapped, making Kiya bristle.

  Peter almost smiled watching her try to keep a civil tongue in her head. He knew it had to be a struggle not to tell the old windbag what she thought.

  “I’m proud of you,” he told her sotto voce.

  She slid a glance up at him. “For not telling your grandma that she’s a stubborn old besom?”

  “Yes. And also for using the word ‘besom’ in a sentence. It’s almost, but not quite, as good as ‘death knell.’”

  “I will not have this family torn apart because this mahrime one wishes vengeance against us,” Lenore Faa continued, but was interrupted when Gregory turned to Peter.

  “I’d like to see your proof.”

  “Because you want to destroy it?” Peter couldn’t help but ask.

  “No.” Gregory took a deep breath, and ignored his grandmother’s outraged gasp when he continued. “Because if someone in this family is killing mortals, they must pay for their crime.”

  “Rehor!”

  “We cannot ignore him, puridaj. Peter is with the Watch,” Gregory said, facing Lenore Faa.

  A grim smile twisted her lips. “And you have ever wanted to join them, have you not? I told you a century ago, and I will tell you now—Travellers keep unto themselves. We do not work for others. We have never been lackeys or slaves, and I will not let you degrade us now by becoming just that.”

  “Whoa!” Kiya’s spine stiffened. “Peter isn’t a lackey or a slave just because he’s a woo-woo cop!”

  Lenore Faa blinked, while Gregory, with a puzzled look, asked, “Woo-woo cop?”

  She waggled her fingers at him. “You know, woo-woo like supernatural. ’Cause you guys are not natural. That sort of thing.”

  “There is nothing unnatural about us,” Lenore snapped, giving Kiya a sour look. “And you will stay out of this. It is not a situation that concerns you, your lust for Peter Faa aside.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who told me I’m just like you,” Kiya answered with a blithe disregard that made Peter want to kiss her again.

  “This arguing is doing no good,” Peter said, putting a halt to what would appear to be a useless debate. “Facts are facts, and if you would turn over to me the vial that was stolen from me two nights ago, I will prove my accusations.”

  “I have no vial,” Mrs. Faa said, and looked away.

  “Then you won’t mind if I search the compound,” he said smoothly.

  “I most certainly will mind!” She got shakily to her feet, clearly done with the conversation.

  “Let me talk to her,” Gregory said quietly, watching as his grandmother set down the pugs and snatched up her cane. “I might be able to reason with her. Sometimes I can.”

  Peter considered his cousin a minute, then nodded. “Kiya says you helped her drag me out of here when I was stabbed.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  Gregory gave a little half smile, most of it pointed toward Kiya, which just made Peter’s arm tighten around her. “Let’s just say that I have my own reasons.”

  “Like what?” Kiya asked, but before Gregory could answer, Lenore Faa interrupted them.

  “And the girl?” she asked, gesturing toward Kiya. “What is your interest in her?”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “That, madame, is between us.”

  Kiya gave him an approving smile that sent waves of heat rippling down his body. Once again, he thought seriously of simply scooping her up in his arms and taking her back to his motel room, but the realization that once he got her in his bed, he wouldn’t want to leave for a long time, days, possibly years, had him scrapping that plan.

  “I do appreciate your concern,” Kiya was telling Lenore Faa. “But I assure you—whoa! Peter!”

  He gave in to temptation. He just couldn’t stop himself. He scooped her up into his arms and, with a quelling look at his cousin Gregory, carried her over to her tent, where he stooped and deposited her inside.

  “I don’t expect to be disturbed,” he said loudly over the top of the tent before entering it.

  “OK, you get ten out of ten for playing nice with your grandmother, but that he-man stuff had better be used pretty sparingly from here on out, because I’m not the sort of woman who is a doormat. You can’t make decisions for me about when and where and how we indulge in nooky-time.”

  “How is your head?” he asked, deliberately interrupting her lecture.

  “I don’t mind a little bit of manliness, like you putting your arm around me to let your grandmother know you’re not asking, ‘How high?’ when she says, ‘Jump!’ but that doesn’t mean—hmm? Oh. It’s fine now. It only hurts if I smack it on the roof of my car. Speaking of my head, and the amazing things it can do, where’s your friend?”

  “What does Sunil have to do with your head?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

  “I believed in him. Thus, my id and ego and superego are all clearly balanced.”

  “Ah. Sunil is off doing a little job for me. With luck, he won’t be back until morning.” He stooped down and knelt next to where she was sitting on a flimsy-looking air mattress. “I should tell you that I met with Dalton within the last hour.”

  “The zombie?” she gasped.

  “He’s not a revenant. He’s perfectly fine.” Peter ignored the twinge of doubt regarding the sense of something not being quite right with regard to Dalton. “Which means that someone must have wanted you to think he was dead, and for that purpose either manufactured something that looked like his body or…”

  “Or?” she prodded, blinking owlishly in the gloom at him.

  He turned on one of her camp lights. “Or someone made an actual body resemble him.”

  “The body I saw was definitely real,” she said with a little shudder. “It was squishy. And…ugh. Corpselike. Where did you see Dalton?”

  “At the entrance to this camp, as a matter of fact. He had no idea why someone would want to make you think he was dead. Do you?”

  Kiya shook her head, and patted the air mattress. “This is much more comfy than kneeling on the ground.”

  He looked at the bed. “The sleeping bag smells like a skunk.”

  “I know. I think Andrew did it on purpose. I’ve tried all sorts of deodorizers on it, but it still has a bit of a pong, doesn’t it? You get used to it, though. You do know what everyone thinks is going on in here, don’t you?”

  “Why do you think I let them know I was here?” he asked, moving over to sit on the end of the air mattress. A faint odor of a long-dece
ased skunk wafted to his nose. He ignored it, focusing on the lovely scent that Kiya seemed to produce naturally. It reminded him of a lazy day spent sunning on a rock, surrounded by a cool, deep stream. She smelled fresh, and clean, and like the sun-warmed rocks.

  “That, my good sir, is an excellent question. I don’t know. I thought we were going to be all stealthy and stuff and sneak around trying to see which of your cousins—which I’m sure must be the obnoxious Andrew—is the guilty party. How you can be related to him and William is beyond me.”

  “I assure you that I hold no feelings of fondness, familial or otherwise, toward either of them.”

  “Good, because they are both seriously dillwads. Andrew especially.”

  Peter stopped imagining Kiya naked on a rock next to a stream. “Dillwads?”

  “Yeah. I was going to say asshats, but I didn’t know if you’d be offended by that or not. Are you?”

  “Offended? No. Profanities don’t disturb me.”

  “No, are you going to make love to me before we scout out the cousins for vial-theftage?”

  That certainly had been his plan. In fact, it’s all he had been able to think about ever since he got close to Kiya. But he was a man who was in control of all his natures, base or otherwise, and he wasn’t about to let a need to glory in the delights that she had to offer sway him from the work he knew had to be done.

  “Peter?”

  “No. I admit that I had intended to earlier, because it was all I could think of, but now that Lenore Faa and Gregory Faa think that is exactly what we are doing, I don’t feel in the mood. I dislike being expected to act in a certain manner.”

  “Then I guess you shouldn’t have carried me off to the tent in the best impression I’ve seen in a long time of a man about to ravish a woman,” she said drily. He thought there was a hint of a smile in her voice, but her expression was one of placidity, and nothing more.

  Dammit, he didn’t like her placid. He wanted her all soft and yielding, and with that smoky, misty look to her eyes that told him that he had pleasured her like no one had ever pleasured her before.

  “I did that to make a point,” he said nobly, trying very hard not to look at her. If he could just sit there and think of things that weren’t Kiya, he could make it the two or three hours that would be needed for the family to go to sleep. He simply had to focus on not seeing her, and he’d be fine.