by Billi Jean
* * * *
The weight of salt shifted around Jaxon and he suddenly surged awake, scenting blood. He needed blood. He needed to get the hell out of this damn salt burial. And more than anything, he needed Joey—to see her, touch her, know she was safe and his and with him.
A strangled sound broke free, startling him with the animalistic quality to it.
Easy, man, easy. Joey doesn’t need you going batshit crazy.
When the salt mine had collapsed on top of him, he had tried shifting and when that proved impossible, he’d dug at the salt until the white stained bright red from his blood. At first, he heard someone calling his name, but the muffled, distant sound had been too faint and far away for him to make himself heard above the ton of salt crushing him.
Ten rising and fallings of the sun he thought had past while he lay buried. The rising and setting of the sun had burned through his vampire until he’d been forced to seek the deepest sleep of his kind, simply to survive the crushing emptiness. Now small sounds filled his entire world.
Joey. She’d have left my home by now. He somehow doubted she’d left after seven days. The wildcat would have stayed longer. He knew it with a certainty that gave him hope through the torture of his solitary existence.
A voice suddenly broke through the silence.
“Jaxon! Jaxon, are you here, man?” Ranger. Bless his big Lykae heart. “Shit, man, come on make some sound, do something!” More scrambling and cursing. “Baby, I am trying here, he’s been here too long. Here, let me.” Ranger cursed again, and suddenly the ton of salt crushing Jax’s chest eased up enough for him to call out.
“Here!” He sounded fucking pathetic, like weaker than shit. But after only a second more, he heard Star’s excited yell.
“He’s here, oh, gods, Jaxon, we’re here, we’re here.” She sounded like she was crying, and when he heard Ranger mutter for her to calm down, the fears he’d tried to keep down rushed to the surface. Too many days of not being able to move abruptly hit him, and he struggled in a panic, too out of it to stop until, with a growl, he broke his arm through the surface. A hand grabbed hold, clasping his hand tightly.
“We have you, man, we have you. Shit, you fucking scared the hell out of us. Here, come on, try with me, hold on.”
More salt loosened around him, and suddenly he was free. He gasped in a lungful of air. Before he’d fully broken out of his tomb, Star handed him a bag of blood. He broke into it, even as he shoved his body upward and crawled free. The liquid power rushed his cells, filling his body with a pounding, painful flash of life.
Around him, he sensed only Ranger and Star, but farther on he could sense the presence of other immortals. He tore into the second bag within seconds. Star handed him another and Ranger swore.
“Shit, man, you look like jerky.”
“Ranger!” Star sounded scolding, but Jaxon felt just like salted and dried jerky.
“Sorry, buddy, but damn, drink that and we have two more. You’re gonna scare everyone with how fucking emaciated you look.”
“Fuck you,” he managed, and rolled to his back, then gingerly sat. He was still weak, but emaciated? No fucking way would ten days make him this weak. Unless he’d sent himself into too deep of a sleep and slept longer.
“Give me the other.” He drank it, the flood of blood hitting his muscles and renewing his energy instantly while he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Not the best meal, but for now the blood would repair the damage caused to his internal organs and bones. The last of the broken ribs knitted together. He threw the empty bag aside and speared the concerned pair with a frown. “I was the only one down here?”
They nodded. Both crouched on their haunches, worry clear on their faces. Star swung her braid over her shoulder and glanced at Ranger’s formidable expression. The wolf looked pissed off. For one, he scanned the area as if danger still lurked nearby.
“What’s wrong?” Jax demanded, beyond being polite.
Finally, Ranger exhaled and nodded to the bag of remaining blood. “You took the brunt of it because you shoved Torque and Beauty the hell out the way. They thought you shifted, but when we couldn’t find you, we realised you must have been left behind.”
“We didn’t leave you down here, Jaxon,” Ranger said. “We’ve been fighting this cell constantly, trying to reach you. Star couldn’t shift through the salt, and Aidan claimed the same. He’s worried over you, but when we finally broke the cell, we headed here first thing.”
“I know, I get it, don’t stress over it, man,” he assured Ranger. “Look I want to head home—”
“No one is there,” Star whispered. “I went by, worried about your female, but no one was there, Jaxon.”
He tried not to snarl at her for going near his home, and for even knowing where his home was located. No one should know that, but Star stared over at him, worry clearly outlined on her soft features. He swallowed his anger and managed to ask, “How long?”
“Have you been down here?” Star asked, sounding as if she dodged the question.
Jaxon frowned. “No, I’ve been here ten days, how long has—” He broke off when both immortals looked away uncomfortably. “What?” he demanded.
Star looked at Ranger, but the Lykae shook his head and turned to him, his eyes flashing light silver with his wolf. A chill settled over Jax at the look.
“Man, you’ve been here a bit longer. The fight has raged for—well, shit, for months. We tried to get to you, really, man, we did.”
Jax stopped listening. Months. He’d survived in deep sleep for months.
Could Joey survive months without him? Had she? Had she been hurt? Was she still alive? Shit.
He stood, too swiftly, because his head swam with the suddenness of it, but he kept his feet under him. “I have to go.”
Chapter Eight
Joey struggled with the load of firewood, unsteady on her feet on the icy, snow-packed pathway from the barn to the small farmhouse. Slipping, but catching herself from an all-out fall on her butt, she sucked in a cold breath and managed to recover from the fright. She did drop several pieces of wood, though.
“Dammit.” Juggling the armful of wood, she nudged the back door open wide enough to get in, nearly tripped over Snowball, recovered and, with a gusty sigh, dropped her armload next to the wood-burning stove and straightened her aching back.
God, her back hurt. Being immortal, one would think back pain would be non-existent. Snowball rubbed against her leg. The small cat was content to sit in front of the stove all day until it came time to bring the wood in, then the infuriating kitten liked to weave between her feet.
Death by cat stalking. Interesting idea.
She picked the cat up and rubbed her little white head, loving the way she immediately purred as if the world revolved around her. She petted the cat once more and set her on the back of the couch. The small bundle of fur had made her grandfather’s last days full of laughter—for that, she’d love Snowball like he had.
“Well, guess what, kiddo? Life does not revolve around you. I have work to do, so you need to behave. Go eat or something.”
Joey tossed her hair out of her eyes and contemplated what to do next. She had work, but she also needed to check on the house’s pipes. The latest storm had blasted through the mountains hard enough and cold enough to knock her electricity out. If the pipes froze, she’d have a hard time flushing the toilet, let alone getting any drinking water. And ew, Porta-Potties did not appeal.
The shrill ring of her phone made her pause halfway out of her Carhartt. No one really had this number. In fact, she frowned, not able to remember the last time her cell phone had rung.
Flipping it open, she frowned to see the hospital on the ID. Her shift at the morgue didn’t start until nearly ten pm. She’d made sure of that when she’d taken the job as a medical examiner. “Hello?”
“Hey, Joey, sorry to call, but we have a bit of an emergency.”
“An emergency?” Of dead people? Sh
e kept the thought to herself though, and asked: “What’s up?”
“Roy’s been taken to Seattle, his heart gave out, and we need you in early. There’s been a murder.”
“A murder?”
“Yeah, listen, Joey, I know you’ve not been the same since you came back, but, well, it’s Evan.”
Holy shit. Evan. An image of her first and best friend, Evan, with his sandy hair and easy smile, flowed through her mind as if she’d seen him yesterday, not over four years ago.
“I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
She stood for a long moment staring at the phone. Evan dead. How could something like this happen? He’d been so solid, dependable, so…there.
And Roy. The old medical examiner was old, but she’d never have guessed his heart was so weak. He’d seemed so full of life. With him gone, though, things could get complicated for her. Things like why she only worked night shifts. Things like why she lived so far out that it took her an hour to drive to the hospital. And why, after four years away from home, she’d come back, but never went into town during the day.
Sighing, she flipped the phone closed and went to get her duffle bag and see to those pipes before leaving.
* * * *
Jax shifted to Joey’s flat, found it empty, without even a hint of her perfume, and slammed his fist into the drywall. She’d left—gone where? To the States, but what the fuck had he been thinking telling her to go there? Go there where? He knew she’d come here straight from LA, but he’d got the impression that California wasn’t her home.
What the fuck was he going to do?
Why didn’t I drink from her? Force her to drink from me?
He knew why. He’d never do that to Joey. Never take her choices away. Every molecule of his body wanted her to want him—want him so damn badly she’d overlook the bad and focus on what was left of his good. And take him, exchange blood and bond with him for the rest of eternity.
“Shit, damn, fuck!” He hit the wall again, only feeling worse because he’d now punched two holes in her apartment.
Something shimmered in the dimness of a corner. He walked over slowly, only gradually making out the outlines of an earring she’d often worn—a silver hoop, plain, elegant, simple. He bent and picked it up carefully, sensing her on the silver. Did she leave in a hurry? Is someone after her? Even now, is she in trouble?
Fuck! Gripping the small piece of jewellery like a lifeline, he shifted home hoping to find some clue of where she could have gone. A note, anything.
His home smelt like her. More so in his bedroom, and even more powerfully in his bed. She’d made it, cleaned his room, and he noticed she’d even stacked his books on his worktable. She was gone, though.
He swallowed hard and settled his heartbeat to normal before heading to his hidden chamber. Inside, he scented her—pain and something like tears radiated from the place, as if she’d stayed in here and cried. Was she hurt? Did someone break in?
His wards were still strong. Nothing could have tampered with them enough to come in and leave. He spotted a piece of parchment and nearly knocked over a chair to get to his desk.
Jaxon,
I’ve waited and didn’t know what else to do but go home. Come to me if you can. My thoughts are with you, hoping you are safe and unharmed.
Love,
Joey.
“Fuck! Joey! Where, where did you go, baby?” Didn’t she know he didn’t know where in the US she lived?
He fisted his hand around the paper, then freaked and smoothed it back out again. He brought it to his nose. It smelt like her. So little to say, but the essence floored him. She cared. She truly did. But why such a short note? Had he pissed her off again? He could see her railing at him, ranting and swearing at him for leaving—for taking too long to get back—but this note didn’t convey anything beyond concern.
She had to be safe. He just needed to find her. Go to LA. Start there. Maybe. How could she get there? Had she learned to shift?
Confused, frustrated and needing to hit something, he stalked from the room, already planning his next move. First go to the coffee shop here, then go to LA. If she was there—
He growled and tossed everything from his worktable, watching the neat piles of books land on the floor and knock into the trash bin, spilling its contents.
Did she want him? What did she mean leaving him such a short note for fuck’s sakes? Where was the passion, the fury at him he’d witnessed before? Had he blown everything by leaving her alone? She’d barely been able to drink bagged blood with his help each time. What if she hadn’t been able to drink without him?
He kicked the trash bin on his way to the fridge, stumbled and landed on his face. “Shit!” One of the crumpled papers from the trash rolled near him. He immediately recognising Joey’s flowing script and reached for it.
Damn it! I waited and waited for you Jaxon! I am so pissed at you. How could you do this? Rip out my heart again! Wasn’t it enough the first time, you jerk?
She did love him. She did. Holy hell, did she love him.
Relief shot down his body, making him weaker than when he’d dug himself out of that salt tomb. He fell back on the stone floor with his arms wide, then rolled over and crawled to where he’d scattered more balled-up pieces of paper. He found ten more scratched-out notes, all in different degrees of cussing him out or crying over him being hurt and her unable to come to him.
Shit. He stumbled to his feet, slipped on the paper, hit his knee on the floor, but jumped back up, already racing to his closet. He had to go. He had to find her. Grinning like a crazy man, he flattened each note, folded them neatly and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He’d find her. Oh, man, would he find her. Fighting was over for him, at least for a while. At least until he trained her to stand by his side. He shoved his hair off his eyes and scanned the room. She belonged here, with him.
Soon, soon, baby, I’m going to find you and damn, I’m going to enjoy making this up to you.
Chapter Nine
Joey stared at Evan’s pale, almost blue face. The song by The Fray, Never Say Never, played on the radio, making this harder than it already was for her.
Evan had always been so full of happiness. His easy smile and laughing eyes had always been there for her when life had just been too hard. His warm personality and intelligence had aided her through some rough times. Odd that when she’d returned home to Washington, she’d not sought him out.
Maybe because this was just a pit stop. Not a full return. How could it be? She shouldn’t have come. She should have never come.
Now, Evan was dead.
Would she have missed this? This new pain? First Jaxon, then her granddad and now Evan. There was no one else. Not one person she could call or go to and know they understood her, let alone cared enough to drop whatever they were doing and be there for her.
No one ever had.
She brushed his blond hair off his forehead. He’d always done that—shoved his hair off his brow—if he’d not been wearing his cowboy hat. An image of him, smiling at her from a fence, popped into her mind. They’d been at a rodeo. She’d run barrels, he’d ridden a bull. She’d been terrified and excited for him in equal measure. He’d won first place, and she’d hugged him tight afterwards. She could even remember his warm, safe heartbeat against her. The moment somehow must have etched itself into her being. She knew why. That hug reminded her of sunshine. So warm and comforting she’d only to think on it and recall it all over again. Happiness. That was what his hug had been.
An image of Jaxon, big and strong, flooded her mind, his strong face constricted in passion as he pushed inside her body. He’d made her feel alive—so much so that she’d been unable to attend to anything but thoughts of him the whole trip back to the States. Her grandfather’s home had been dark, cool and soothing, except nothing had eased the pain of losing Jaxon. In their brief time together, he’d filled her world—now, without him it was if someone had used a s
calpel to remove something essential from her body.
Was he dead? Such a thing seemed impossible to imagine, but what else would have kept him away? He’d been so clear on that—almost like he was promising her a whole lot more than his ‘no matter what, I’ll be back—nothing, nothing will keep me away, Joey’.
“He was your friend, wasn’t he?”
She spun to see Sarah Travis standing in the doorway of the morgue, looking pretty and sweet in her pink nurse’s scrubs and little white tennis shoes. Joey settled her heartbeat and nodded. For some reason, Sarah irked her.
“Yes, he was.”
“You shouldn’t do an autopsy on a friend. I don’t think it’s allowed.” Setting down a chart, she turned and left without another word.
Well, maybe you irked her too, Joey. Still, the woman didn’t like her to a degree that pissed Joey off. What had she done, except come home to work in the same hospital with the stupid girl?
Didn’t matter, no one was cutting Evan up but her.
Freezing, she fisted her hand, her stomach bottoming out.
Fuck, cutting Evan up?
Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she walked over and picked up the chart. The dim lights of the morgue were a sad, sad affair. The fluorescents overhead were so old she doubted they even made the correct wattage bulb any longer. Dark and dim worked for CSI: NY, but this wasn’t Hollywood. She had to walk back over to Evan to read his report.
Possible gunshot wound to the chest. Glancing up from the report on Evan, she tried to make sense of why anyone would kill him. No one even disliked him, let alone hated him enough to do this.
Disgusted, she set the lab report aside and pushed the blue sheet down his chest, spotting the large fist-sized burn mark on his chest. Gunshot? It looked more like a cannon ball.
She put on a pair of gloves, then lifted Evan’s shoulder and rolled him to the side. His back showed the same mark—as if he’d got too close to a fire. There wasn’t an exit wound that she could see. Gently lowering him, she sighed then began to examine his chest more closely. Pulling the overhead lamp down with one hand, she bent as soon as she could see clearly and inspected the wound. She saw no entry. No hole. No blood. Nothing to suggest a bullet had entered him.
