She clutched the three charms resting against her chest and muttered a prayer low under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
She jerked at the low voice. Her gaze darted toward the bed across from her. Apparently, he did sleep. Or at least he relocated himself to the bed.
Niklas’s eyes gleamed at her through the scant distance between their two beds. He slept shirtless. Her throat constricted at the sight of bare skin. Even in the gloom she could see the hard curve of his shoulder, the warm-looking male flesh, several shades lighter than the darker bedspread.
Her breathing grew tight and raspy, like she’d run a short distance at high speed, sprinting the last half mile on one of her runs. She couldn’t help wondering what else he had on under those covers. Or didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
She inhaled slowly and evenly through her nose. “Nothing,” she replied, her gaze once again darting around the room. Suddenly it seemed like a very good idea to look anywhere other than at him, so close, in that bed.
“Don’t lie. Something’s bothering you,” he insisted.
Drawn against her will, her gaze slid back to him, taken aback at his insight into her—that he should know she was awake at all. How had he known that?
She drew a shuddery breath through her nostrils. Too bad it was the middle of the night … and her circumstances weren’t more conducive. She could handle a run about now to quiet the worries in her head.
Something was bothering her all right. And it was him. Maybe that’s why she was awake—why she felt so restless. It had nothing to do with a visiting demon. Instead it had everything to do with him. He was the different element. Him. His nearness, his proximity, her hunger for him.
“You sense something.” Again, she felt that ripple of surprise that he should guess along those lines. But then she remembered that he would know a thing or two about witches. With his mother—what she was, what she had been—of course, he would understand her behavior.
“Nothing’s wrong. Not really. I just woke abruptly, but I do that some times. Habit, I guess.”
“Do they come to you at night?” he asked, clearly disbelieving her protests.
She said nothing for a long moment, considered pretending that she didn’t even know what he was talking about, but then why bother? He knew. He understood.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Usually,” she whispered, thinking of the slithering shadows that had pursued her over the years. She remembered each of them the moment they revealed themselves to her in their hideous forms. Shadows no more but their true shapes.
“C’mon. Talk to me, Darby.”
And she wanted to. God, but she wanted to. She wanted to unburden herself, unload and share something, anything with another person on this earth. And not just anyone. Niklas.
“At night,” she whispered, her fingers brushing her lips, marveling at how they still tingled from that kiss, how they tingled just because she was around Niklas, talking to him, confiding in him. “That’s when I’m most vulnerable. When they usually come for me.”
“And this is how you survive it?” He motioned with his hand, gesturing to the room, but she knew he meant the frozen, arctic world outside. “You live where they can’t get to you?”
“My mom shot herself when it became too much. The demons appeared to her everywhere, every day. They were tormenting her, driving her mad. At the end, it was all the time. Day and night.” She closed her eyes, almost hearing her mother’s sobs and pleas through the walls again, begging for them to leave her alone. “She couldn’t keep a job because her employers thought she was some freak, jumping at every shadow, talking to empty space. Breaking down in tears. But why am I telling you this? Your mom was one of us.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “She was.”
Was. Darby stared at the hard line of his profile. “Then you understand?”
“It was never that bad for her. She was always happy to be alive. Happy to have me, happy for every day. I never saw her surrender to despair. They could have been bothering her. She just never showed it.”
Darby grimaced. “You were lucky then. Maybe your mother was stronger. Or maybe they just really wanted my mother. She was a unique witch with multiple powers.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Mom was just weak. My aunts are strong. They can ignore demons for the most part.”
He slid her a measuring glance. “You’re strong, too,” he pronounced. “So why are you way out here all alone? Why aren’t you with your aunts?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “My situation is different. I had to leave.”
It felt intimate, almost cozy, both of them whispering to each other in the near dark. In their separate beds, but inches apart. If they stretched out their arms, they could touch hands, graze fingertips. She felt deceptively safe in this moment, as if they were more than two people thrust together out of necessity. As if maybe they wanted to be together.
And maybe that’s why she confessed to him that very thing that had haunted her for so many years. “Once a demon took possession of me while I slept … and I tried to hurt someone. A—a friend—” Her voice broke as she recalled that moment she awoke years ago, holding a pillow over Sorcha’s face. In that moment she’d known she had to go. Had to flee all her family and friends and live a life of isolation where she would never harm someone she cared about again. Since then, she’d never lived anywhere where water didn’t freeze.
He cursed low. “Has it happened since then?”
She shook her head. “No. But I don’t exactly surround myself with people. I can’t risk it again.”
“Maybe it was a one-time thing.” There was no mistaking the ring of hope in his voice, and it warmed her heart that he would even care.
“Maybe. Or just living where it’s so cold a demon won’t visit for very long has kept them away.” She sighed. Hope was a hard thing for her to manage. She hadn’t felt hope in years. “Good thing I don’t mind cold weather too much. I’d rather ski than surf any day.”
His lips tipped in a teasing grin. “Well, then, nothing to cry about. It’s no hardship.”
She smiled. “Not at all. I live in a winter wonderland year round.” Her smile slipped then. Except for the loneliness. Except for keeping everyone at arm’s length.
“What are you going to do once you kill Cyprian?” she asked before she could consider how it sounded … how she sounded. As if maybe his future mattered to her because she wanted to be a part of it. She winced, hoping she didn’t come off that needy or desperate. She hoped that he didn’t think she was getting any ideas about them. They were both alone in the world, after all. Alike in many ways. It could be natural for the two of them …
His voice cut in, thankfully breaking her troubling thoughts. “I don’t know. Haven’t given much thought to anything beyond this.” The bed rustled and she could make out in the gloom that he’d rolled onto his back. His chest rose and fell on a deep exhalation. “I guess I’ll just continue to hunt other lycans.”
She frowned. “Don’t you ever want to try for a normal life?”
He snorted. “Normal isn’t a word you could ever apply to me.”
“But what about friends? Family? Don’t you want any of that?”
Again, there was a long pause and she thought he wasn’t going to answer when he said, “I had all that once.”
She guessed he meant when his mother had been around. She slid a hand between her cheek and the pillow. “And you don’t want it again?”
“It’s hard to imagine ever going back to that. Having that. Not when I’m this.” She caught the motion of his hand in the dark.
“What?” she asked, the challenge ringing in her voice. “You’re a lycan with a soul. Free will.” She snorted. “You have control. Does that even make you a lycan? At least you’re not limited to geography in order to maintain control over yourself—”
“You don’t get it. You have demons taunting you to take a wrong turn. My de
mon is inside me.”
And then she understood. That’s why he’d never stop, never quit even after he’d killed Cyprian. He couldn’t kill the beast inside him, but he could destroy others.
Suddenly the prospect of his continuing on after he killed Cyprian, traveling the world and hunting other lycans, living for nothing more than that, made her feel sad and hollow inside.
He watched her, his eyes narrowing, and she wondered if he could see her pity for him in her face.
Aimee made a small mewling noise in her sleep, sweet as a kitten. Darby rolled over and snuggled against the girl. The girl snuggled back, curving her little arm around Darby’s waist. Her heart squeezed to have this, another soul close and receptive. She almost wished she could keep her and didn’t have to hand her over to her grandmother. But that would be selfish. Darby firmed her jaw. She’d be fine.
Unlike Niklas, when this was all over, she would open herself to life again—to friends, to family. She couldn’t keep living the way she had been. And she wouldn’t think about him anymore. She wouldn’t worry about him or feel sorry for him, wasting his life away, his heart cold and closed to love.
EIGHTEEN
It was dark the following day when they reached Edmonton, so they went straight to the hotel. It was late and no one thought anything of Darby carrying a sleeping child through the lobby and to the elevator.
Aimee had woken earlier that afternoon. It had been difficult to calm her. There had been no avoiding telling her some bare facts. She was smart and had lots of questions. It had to come out. At least an abbreviated version of what was going on. It was difficult for her to accept, but she’d seen those monsters, remembered the agony of her attack. She’d cried until no tears were left, her small body shuddering against Darby. Darby held her, rubbing her back, stroking her hair, assuring her that she wasn’t alone.
I’m here. I’m here and not going to leave you. You’re going to be okay.
Niklas and I are going to make everything right and get you to your grandmother. I promise, baby, we’re not going to let anything else happen to you.
You’re going to be all right.
As she’d uttered the words, she felt Niklas’s stare on her through the rearview mirror. She felt those eyes, cold and penetrating, but she didn’t meet his gaze—didn’t dare look at him, guessing at the recriminations she would see there. She’d made a promise on his behalf. He didn’t need to say anything for her to know that he didn’t approve or appreciate the fact.
The suite Niklas procured for them was far more elegant than anywhere she’d ever stayed. On her wages it wasn’t even a consideration.
“Why don’t I order room service?” he asked after Darby tucked Aimee into bed in the second room. She closed the door quietly behind her and joined him in the lounging area, marveling how sitting in a car for hours could make her feel so weary.
She nodded. “Sounds good.”
He scanned the menu. “Burgers okay?”
She nodded, flipping on the television, eager to do something—anything to occupy her hands. Anywhere to stare but at him. Hours in the car and he’d barely spoken two words to her.
She’d flipped through countless channels when he finally asked, “Are you going to settle on anything? You’ve passed every channel at least three times.”
She lowered the remote to the sofa and shot him a glance. It was all he needed to begin.
“Don’t speak for me again.”
She knew instantly what he was referring to—knew why his jaw was set with tension. She’d pissed him off with that promise to Aimee.
“Would you rather I had not reassured her? Would you prefer I’d let her panic in the backseat of the car? I’m sure it would be an easy thing to travel with a hysterical child on our hands.”
“Make all the promises you want, just leave me out of it.”
She clenched her hands at her sides. “You can’t just pretend … you can’t just—just …” She waved her hands, fighting for words to express her frustration with him.
He arched a dark eyebrow.
She blew out a heavy breath. “You can’t just disengage from us. You can’t act like we’re not here.”
He looked her up and down, his gaze blistering. “Oh, I’m very aware that you are around. And the child—”
“Aimee!” She shoved to her feet and stamped her foot down. “You can’t keep pretending that—”
He rose and moved on her in a blur of movement, his arm seizing hold of her arm and reminding her immediately of who she was dealing with. “Stop telling me what I can’t do. You’re here because I agreed to bring you along. I haven’t had to answer to anyone since I was sixteen. I’m not about to start now.”
“Fine,” she bit out, twisting her arm free of his searing fingers but holding her ground—not backing down from his looming nearness. “Keep being an asshole,” she blurted. The moment the words were out, she gasped at her boldness.
His lips quirked, which only made her angrier.
She pulled back her shoulders. “I don’t like you very much.”
He shrugged. “Why should you?”
“Don’t mock me,” she snapped.
“Who’s mocking? We’re not friends here. We’re united in purpose. We have one mission here and once that’s finished, we’ll go our separate ways.”
She shook her head. Her anger was still there, but buried beneath it was hurt, too. “Can’t wait,” she replied, giving each word a smack of decided relish.
He pressed his lips into a thin line. She felt a surge of satisfaction that he didn’t look quite so ready to smile anymore.
An uneasy silence fell between them. She glanced around the room, sliding her palms along the thighs of her jeans. Finally, when she couldn’t handle the tension anymore, she said, “I’m going to see if I can find an ice machine and soda. You want anything?”
She held her breath, forcing herself not to flinch beneath his regard, all the while fighting the memory of them together. Now, alone, Aimee no longer a comforting shield, she couldn’t fight it. That kiss was there, a boulder in the room she couldn’t ignore. And not just the kiss, but also that dream of them together. Yes, a dream. She had decided it had to be a dream. No way could it have been a vision. No way would his icy reserve thaw so that he took her to bed.
He stared at her coolly before shaking his head. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
With a single nod, she grabbed one of the extra key cards and left the room.
She instantly breathed easier free of his proximity. Her steps fell silently down the carpeted corridor. As she passed one room, a man and woman’s laughter floated on the air. For some reason, the sound made her feel only worse.
She didn’t want to fight with Niklas. She wanted him the way he was before he knew what she was—before Cyprian and Aimee. When she was just a waitress … when he would watch her, talk to her, even smile a little—without mockery. And, yes. Kiss her. He liked her then. She was sure of it. Now he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
She came to the end of the hall with no sight of an ice or soda machine. She blew out a breath. For all she knew, this floor didn’t even have one. Not that it really mattered. She mostly needed an excuse to get away and clear her head.
She started to turn, hardly paying any attention to the fancy double doors of an executive suite to her left. Until one door opened and a man stepped out into the hall. Impossibly tall, broad of shoulder and lean-hipped, he commanded attention.
She stopped cold when her gaze met his. When she locked eyes with ice-cold pewter. Her chest tightened.
Another lycan.
She quickly told herself to act normal. He wouldn’t expect her to recognize him for what he was. And he’d have no reason to harm her now, days after the full moon. Not when he was no longer in full shift and driven by hunger.
Still, her gaze must have lingered too long. She gave something away.
He arched a dark eyebrow and asked in a deep voice that struck h
er at once as refined and cultured, “Can I help you?” A faint accent clung to his words that she couldn’t place.
She shook her head perhaps too fiercely. “No. I just got turned around, I guess … looking for a soda machine.”
He stared at her in an intense way that made her want to run. It brought to mind all the terror she and Aimee had endured, and she started to tremble.
With a curt nod for the dark-haired lycan, she turned and strode quickly down the long length of hall to their room. She pulled her key card from her pocket and fumbled to slide it inside the slot. She didn’t look over her shoulder, didn’t dare. But she felt him there. A great ominous force at her back, watching her flee. Her only thought was to reach Niklas and alert him to the lycan mere feet away.
She finally got the door open and shut. She fell back against the door, still shaking from coming face-to-face with a lycan. Here, several rooms down from them. As the reality of that washed over her, bile surged in her throat.
“Darby? What is it?” Niklas unfolded his lean frame from the sofa.
She pushed off the door and motioned behind her. “A lycan. Out there.”
“What? Cyprian—”
“No.” She shook her head, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. “Some other guy.”
Niklas strode to a chair where he had tossed some of his gear. “This is no coincidence, I’m sure. If this bastard is here, I’ll bet Cyprian isn’t far.” He slammed a fresh clip into a gun as he pronounced this.
“What are you doing?”
“Going out there to introduce myself,” he said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
He tucked the gun into his waistband, letting his sweater fall over the weapon.
She blocked him as he moved toward the door. “You’re just going to walk right out there? And what? Start shooting?”
“Let me pass,” he commanded, his voice hard.
“You need to think this through. You have more to consider than yourself here.”
Night Falls on the Wicked Page 14
