"His name was Joseph Briggs. He vanished in 1927."
Daniel advanced toward her. Victoria held her ground until he leaned into the vehicle and popped the hood. Then, she edged out of the way, retreating to the front end. Her experience with older cars was rudimentary but her father had taught her how to check the oil, so she understood what he was doing.
"Do you know the purpose behind Joseph's visit to Granite Creek or...?" She hesitated. Her assumptions were big and blaring. The man may very well have lived in the town for all she knew.
"Officially, he was on his honeymoon." Daniel had strong, steady hands as he went about working on the innards of the Chevelle. For all the classic muscle car's flashiness, it handled like a land boat and guzzled gas like nobody's business. She had to give him credit for his devotion to the clunker, though. She admired loyalty.
"Unofficially?" Daniel tilted his face toward her and winked. "Dad says the guy was an incurable treasure hunter. Any chance he had to combine a hunt for gold with an investigation..."
"Sounds like your father knew him."
"Not personally. Dad is old—" His face pinched and his scent altered in a way that usually indicated deception but could also simply indicate emotional turbulence.
"So, why hasn't your father dealt with this?" She didn't mean the question as an insult. She asked because it was logical to do so. If a long-term threat existed to the hunters, especially in their own backyard, Jake Barrett would respond. Not only investigate, but track down and obliterate anyone who'd dared harm one of his people.
Daniel grunted. "He has—a couple times. He didn't find anything. My theory is that the thing—whatever it is—is afraid of him."
"Okay, so it's smart too." She nodded, thinking. Not many spirits possessed the good sense and the agency to be wary of a man like the Hunter King. Few barely had the self-awareness necessary to even understand that they were dead. So this hypothetical ghost—if it existed at all—was uncommon.
"You think my father is scary?"
Victoria focused and found him staring at her with unusual intensity. The lines and planes of his face were rigid as though sculpted from stone.
"Hell yeah! Your father is fucking terrifying." What else did you call a man who couldn't be killed?
"Are you afraid of me?" Daniel's tone was harsh.
"No." Victoria answered fast and without thinking.
"I see." He flushed. Chagrin soured his basal scent.
Oh, oops! Crap! She'd been careless with his delicate male ego. No man wanted to think of himself as thoroughly unintimidating. On the other hand, his ability to deal with teasing would prove a good test of his character.
"Would you like me to tell you how terrifying and manly you are?" Victoria coached her tone, deliberately tongue-in-cheek. She fluttered her eyelashes in an outrageous flirtation and adopted the worst Southern belle accent in the history of the world. "Why, Daniel Barrett—I do swear. You send shivers down my spine and quivers through my thighs."
"Uh." His handsome face skewed like an agitated llama about to spit. He pressed his hands to his sides and shook—struggling against the laughter that got him in the end. Finally, he wiped tears from his eyes. "Okay, I guess I had that coming."
"Yes, you did." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry, you just don't scare me."
"It's okay. I think I'll survive." He flashed a big, toothy grin. He caught the back of her head with his hand in a secure grip. Her breath hitched when he leaned in to kiss her. Their mouths touched—his lips were firm and demanding against her own.
Victoria tilted toward him, welcoming his warmth. His amazing vitality. She raised her hands and pressed her fingers to his chest, digging into the firm wall of muscle beneath the soft cotton. He tasted earthy and spicy, like paprika and pepper. And hot like the desert wind on her face. Her insides melted.
He didn't scare her. It was okay—the man still sent shivers down her spine and quivers through her thighs.
Chapter Three
* * * *
No matter how fast he drove, Daniel Barrett always seemed to have things under control. The contrary part of her wanted to suggest he probably wasn't going fast enough because she longed to see him challenged, but she refrained from telling him. The man didn't need any encouragement.
Just prior to seven in the evening, they rolled into downtown Granite Creek, a small town on the outlying edge of the Prescott Metropolitan Area. The speed limit underwent a precipitous drop and Daniel developed a sudden remarkable respect for the posted limits.
Sitting tall, Victoria peered out at the passing downtown which was mostly composed of red brick buildings with bright green awnings. American flags were proudly displayed every fifty feet. The courthouse square had old shade trees and statuary, and the Longhorn Saloon occupied a center spot in the historic Whiskey Row. Amid the overdone Americana, Halloween decorations added conspicuous splashes of orange and black.
They pulled into a slanted parking space in front of a four-story building built from red brick with white trim. A vertical, neon light mounted to the side declared it to be the Hermosa Inn. At ground level, a row of tall windows ran the length of the hotel. Above it, shorter rectangular windows formed neat columns for at least another couple stories. The most striking feature—a tower sporting a conical roof over the lobby entrance.
"This is short term parking," Victoria said even though it was unlikely that Daniel had missed the sign.
"I'll move the car after we check in." He shot her a significant look—it wasn't hard to suss out his intent. The man was a hunter—he must have something conspicuous hidden in the trunk he preferred not to carry through the lobby.
"All right," Victoria released her seat belt and tilted her head back to stare up at the architectural oddity. "That's the bell tower."
"Pretty cool, huh?" Daniel set about putting up the Chevelle's top.
"It's unusual." She didn't actually care for the red brick architectural style that was so common in older Arizona towns. From the outside, the building was blocky. Mundane. However, Victoria supposed she could be charitable. Thanks to the tower, it did possess a certain stately elegance and certainly fit with the surrounding structures in the downtown district.
"Wait until you see the inside. It's cool." He reached into the backseat and snagged his bag—and hers.
Victoria flushed. She strove to smooth her expression even though it was probably too late. Damn, this was embarrassing, but this wasn't how wolves courted. A male werewolf never would've challenged her competence by implying her incapable of lifting a twenty-pound bag. And as a shifter, her strength was superior to any human's, including Daniel's. But, still... She had to be polite.
"Thank you. I've been on my feet all day."
His eyes narrowed. "Am I breaking some seldom-stated werewolf etiquette?"
Damn, he was astute. Her face heated more. "No, of course not. I'm being silly."
"Man, you're a terrible liar." He laughed and she blushed harder.
The entrance had white trim and arched entryway. An engraved metal plaque read: Hermosa Inn—Designed by El Paso architect Henry Trost—Opened April 1927. Daniel held the door for her. Together, they entered the lobby. Victoria stepped onto tan subway tiles, traveled about a yard, but then stopped to stare.
"Okay, this is pretty cool," she said.
"Told you." The man wasn't smug at all—oh, no.
The interior had a decidedly Art Deco feel: red oriental rugs, curved archways, and wrought iron chandeliers. Furnishings consisted of patterned wing chairs with ball feet and end tables supporting brass table lamps. A glossy, brown leather couch was situated in front of a massive fireplace that was six grates wide, surrounded by a red tile hearth. An original telephone machine was on display.
They headed toward the front desk. Halfway there, Daniel stopped. He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, fumbling a bit. "Shoot," he said with a grimace. "I almost forgot."
"Forgot wha
t?" Victoria hesitated, glancing over in question. Well, she'd be damned! Mr. Cool's cheeks had a ruddy hue visible against his tanned complexion. Embarrassment on him smelled like a toasty cinnamon stick.
"When I called, I requested a specific room but it was already booked. So I fabricated a cover story to get the other party moved." He fished a plastic baggie from his front pocket. Drawn in by irresistible curiosity, she bent closer. He shook the contents into his palm—a pair of plain gold rings, a man's and a woman's.
Wedding rings.
"You told them we're married?" Victoria vacillated, torn between amusement and disbelief. On the one hand, she found it oddly flattering the guy was willing to work so hard. On the other, he couldn't possibly think this would help him score points... Could he?
"I wanted the room. It's supposed to be haunted." He shoved the man's band on his left hand. It fit.
"Okay." That made more sense, or so she surmised. "You know most haunted hotels are tourist traps, right?"
"Yeah, well most mediums are charlatans. I'll leave the ghostbusting to you."
"Is this the room Macan was staying in?"
"No, it's a different room." He caught her left wrist and lifted her arm, touching her with the deft attentiveness he showed his car.
Victoria grinned, wondering whether he brought the same concentration to his guns, and pretty much bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from asking.
"Oookay... Where did you get these from? It's more than a little creepy that you've got a matched set of wedding rings, by the way." She didn't want to make a scene, but she couldn't resist giving him a hard time. He wasn't getting off easy.
"I have a stash of props for undercover work." Daniel's face and throat glowed but he persisted, undeterred from his task. He placed the ring onto her finger—and it was about two sizes too big. "Shoot. Your hands are a lot smaller than Cali's."
That name sounded familiar. Victoria pondered, and the vision of a brunette woman in her early thirties sprang to mind.
"Crazy Cali Kinkaid?" The woman had a reputation for being as insane as she was dangerous. Jake Barrett ran an egalitarian organization. Female hunters weren't as common as their male counterparts, but they existed.
"Yeah, we worked a case together last month—" Daniel bit off the explanation. His mouth contorted as though the recollection left a bad taste in his mouth. "Anyway, the hotel has us down as newlyweds. You're just so excited by the possibility of seeing a ghost."
"Oh, boy, talk about irony..." She dragged a hand over her face. If she and everyone else in say, all of Arizona, were lined up in a row in order of eagerness to come face-to-face with a restless spirit, odds were good she'd be dead last.
"Thanks for being such a good sport." Daniel smiled, turning on the boyish charm. For love's sake, the blasted man had a dimple on his cheek.
"Yeah, sure." She rolled her eyes and cultivated a sourpuss tone even though she was sure A) her panties had just melted, and B) she was being played.
They approached the front desk where a fresh-faced young man greeted them with a professional-polite smile. His nametag read: Sam Sanders. While he and Daniel exchanged information, Victoria did her level best to pantomime a vacuous bride with an interest in the supernatural. She ended up staring up, out of uncertainty at first, but then admiration. The hotel's ceilings were gorgeous—exposed wooden beams that had been hand-painted in delicate motifs.
Daniel's elbow jostled her. "I said—isn't that right, sweetie?"
Startled, Victoria latched onto his arm with the tenacity of a determined bulldog. She had no idea what she intended to say, but when she opened her mouth, words burst out. "OH. MY. GOD. That's so totally right, my Danny-Man. I'm just like—sooooo excited. Aren't we excited, sugar bum?"
"Oh boy, that's right. So excited." Daniel kept a straight face but his entire body shook with suppressed mirth. Bright yellow exclamation points streaked his aura. He took another dig at her with his elbow but she had a solid hold.
Victoria smiled ear-to-ear like a hungry shark. She leaned into Daniel, enjoying their camaraderie. Good sense of humor—check. Mentally, she ticked off another box on her list of must-haves in a man. Any guy whose ego couldn't hold up to being ribbed wasn't going to survive Victoria.
The hotel clerk turned away to retrieve their contract from the laser printer behind him. As he picked up the printout, the hotel groaned. The wall behind the front desk billowed outward like a rapidly inflated balloon, and the temperature in the lobby plummeted; a chill draft engulfed them.
Victoria slammed straight from relaxed to readiness. Her wolf surged to the surface. She fought the reflex to shift. She tensed, expecting an attack, while both men remained unaware of the disruption taking place in the Shadowlands.
"What's wrong?" Daniel asked, picking up on her agitation.
"You'll be staying in our Grand Balcony Suite, room 416 on the fourth floor," the clerk was saying, though his voice was far away.
The bulge in the wall assumed the shape of a man cast in plaster, smooth and featureless. His head, shoulders, and extended arms protruded, but the rest of his body disappeared below the waist. His mouth gaped wide as though locked in an eternal scream. With surreal slowness, the apparition reached for Sam Sander's living soul. Those clawed fingers came within inches of the clerk's head—
"Watch out!" Victoria lashed out and grabbed the young man's arm. She yanked him toward her so the ghost's fingers passed through empty air.
Shrieking, the spirit snapped into the wall.
"What—" The desk clerk smacked against the front desk.
"Spider—big, hairy one!" Victoria let go of Sam's arm.
"Wow, you're strong." Sam stared at her and then cast a worried glance about, searching for the fictitious arachnid.
"I work out."
"She does. Victoria is quite the powerlifter." Daniel had to be confused, but he backed her up even though she must've appeared crazy to the poor guy.
"Sorry, I thought it was a brown recluse." Victoria offered a lame smile in apology. "I guess I don't know my own strength."
In a distracted fashion, Sam presented Daniel with the now crumpled room contract. "Brown recluse... aren't those venomous? I'll call the exterminators."
"You should. That was a huge spider." Daniel signed the contract.
"I will. Enjoy your stay with us and have a wonderful honeymoon." Sam fumbled but managed to fork over the keys. "The bellhop will show you the way."
In unison, Victoria and Daniel turned away from the front desk. As soon as they cleared earshot, he leaned toward her and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "What just happened?"
"Let's just say the hotel haunting is genuine." She directed a pointed stare toward the balding middle-aged man coming toward them.
Daniel followed her gaze. "Gotcha. We'll talk later."
They exchanged greetings with the hotel employee. Daniel passed their duffle bags to the bellhop even though the luggage probably weighed less than thirty pounds in total. She perceived no need for assistance but then, they were on their honeymoon.
"I'm going to go repark the car. There are a few things I want to get out of the trunk," Daniel said, touching her elbow.
She nodded to indicate her understanding. With a hunter, things inevitably meant weapons. He probably wanted to handle those items personally, unwilling to trust them to a stranger. No doubt, he preferred to bring them in through an alternative entrance—up a back stairwell, away from prying eyes.
In agreement, they parted ways. Daniel headed back out the front, and Victoria followed the bellhop as he led her to the stairwell with a brief explanation, "I'm sorry, but the elevators don't work."
"It's okay." She preferred to take the stairs anyway since she disliked enclosed spaces. Besides, walking gave her more time to make inquiries.
The bellhop took the lead. As they reached the first turn in the staircase, Victoria chose a conversation opener. "This is a beautiful old building."
H
e clucked his approval. "Thank you. We're quite proud of the stately old gal. She's seen some exciting times."
"I read a bit about the inn's history on the website. Is it true there was a speakeasy in the basement?"
"There sure was! There are hidden rooms and a tunnel that exits through the Longhorn Saloon right across the street. Of course, it's all been barricaded. The hotel only uses the basement for storage nowadays."
The second floor landing marked another turn. "That's a shame," Victoria said, "I'd have loved to see it. Is it true the hotel has a history of fires?"
The bellhop missed a step and tripped. She braced, preparing to catch him, but he made a sluggish recovery. "Most hotels with the Hermosa's history have seen a fire at some point or other," he said, a little too carefully in her opinion. "But you've no need to worry, miss. Our fire suppression system is state of the art. The insurance company requires it."
Victoria considered and then opted to change the topic since the hotel's history of fires was a sensitive topic. She deemed it well worth remembering though. She asked, "Is it true the hotel is haunted?"
The bellhop glanced over his shoulder. "It sure is. Saw the spirit once myself up on the third floor." He resumed climbing, and his voice floated over his shoulder. "She wanders the halls at night—looking for her lost love. Or so they say..."
"She?"
"Yup. Charity. Poor gal was a guest in the inn the year we opened. Stayed in room 416—same room you're stayin' in." He eyeballed her as they swept through the third floor landing. "But then I guess you know that."
"What happened to her?" Victoria stayed right on his heels.
"Charity and her husband checked in on their honeymoon on Halloween Day in 1927. That evening, he went out for cigarettes. She waited three days for him, but he never come back."
"How'd she die?"
"Of a broken heart..."
"No, seriously."
"Heh." He chuckled. "Charity hung herself out on the balcony."
"How sad. Did her husband ever turn up?"
Hunter's Mark: A Star-Crossed Book (Loki's Wolves 0) Page 3
