by Chelsea Fine
“Mother of Pearl,” she muttered, fighting with the belt.
She jiggled. She jaggled. Then she groaned in frustration and dropped her head against the seat.
Tristan waited a beat. “Are you done now?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
He held out in his hand in the dark car. “Give me the seatbelt.”
She yanked the belt across her body and handed it to Tristan with a huff, careful not to touch him. He had to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile. She was just as stubborn as the seatbelt.
He eased the seatbelt into the broken latch and it clicked effortlessly.
She rolled her eyes as he started the car. “So where should we start with Raven?”
“We could find out where she lives?” Nate suggested.
Tristan shook his head. “She wouldn’t take Gabriel and Heather to her house. And she wouldn’t leave any clues as to where she was taking them at her house either.”
Nate frowned. “What makes you so sure?”
He shrugged. “Because I wouldn’t do those things if I was going to kidnap someone.”
Nate blinked at him. “Sometimes I worry about you.”
“If I were to kidnap someone,” Scarlet mused, “I would probably take them someplace nearby to cut down on travel. And it would probably be someplace in the middle of nowhere where Ashmen could come and go without drawing too much attention.”
Nate stared at them. “Now I’m worried about both of you.”
Scarlet continued. “Maybe Raven rented a house or a car—
“Or a dungeon,” Nate said.
“If we could see where she’s spent her money in the past few months, we might have a better idea of where Gabriel and Heather are,” Tristan said. “But we’d need access to Raven’s financial records.”
“Ooh! There’s an app for that,” Nate said cheerily, reaching into his pocket.
Tristan and Scarlet turned to stare at him.
“Just kidding.” He grinned as he pulled out his phone. “But I can probably hack into Clare’s bank accounts.”
“You can?”
Nate shrugged as he started tapping things into his phone. “You can do anything with hacking software these days. You can even figure out the code for beating the water demon in the new Warrior Vikings game.” He tapped a few more buttons. “So jj514hero can suck it.”
Scarlet wrinkled her nose. “Who’s jj514hero?”
“My arch nemesis in the gaming world who claims to live in Tokyo, but I tracked his user ID back to San Francisco.” He muttered, “Little liar.”
More button pushing and soon Nate held up his phone and smiled. “Tada. The Avalon bank account of a Ms. Clare Blackbird. Clever last name.” He scoffed. “Not.”
“Let me see that.” Scarlet took the phone and started reading through the charges. She sighed. “There’s nothing unusual in her purchase history.”
Nate took back the phone. “So we’ll start looking through other Clare Blackbird things.” He shook his head. “Seriously. Worst name ever.”
When they reached the cabin, they went inside and Nate immediately headed upstairs. “I’m just going to take a quick shower to rinse all the ash and blood off my skin and then we’ll start our Raven investigation.”
Scarlet looked down at her dirty shirt and hands as Tristan walked to the kitchen.
He pulled off his coat and threw it on a barstool, grimacing at the sharp aches in his back and chest where his Bluestone cuts were. Knowing it was probably going to be a long night of research and nothingness, Tristan started making coffee.
A quiet gasp—almost too quiet to hear—came from the stairs and he frowned. Who was—
Dammit.
He rushed to the stairs and found Scarlet halfway to the second floor, eyes squeezed shut and a hand braced against the wall. At his nearness, she opened her eyes and leaned against the wall in a casual way. Like she hadn’t just been in excruciating pain.
“What’s up?” she said pleasantly.
He glared at her. “You’re supposed to stay by me.”
“Don’t scold me,” she snapped.
He pursed his lips. “I can’t feel you anymore, Scar. There’s no way for me to know if you’re in pain unless you tell me.”
“It’s not your job to keep me out of pain. And I should certainly be able to be a few rooms away from you without being in agony. Agh.” She shook out her hands. “Is this what it was like for you?”
He looked at her sympathetically. “No. The pain might be the same, but I was never as bound to your proximity as you are to mine. Why are you going upstairs?”
“To take a shower.”
He lifted an angry brow. “In Gabriel’s bathroom?”
She put a hand on her hip. “The main floor bathroom doesn’t have a shower.”
Tristan tried not to clench his jaw. “The basement does.”
“Yes. But the basement is yours. And since I’m like your own personal Grim Reaper, I thought it would be smarter if I showered upstairs.”
He crossed his arms. “Well it’s not smarter. It’s painful. Come back downstairs.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes in with a groan. “I couldn’t tell you what to do even if I tried. Which I have.” He dropped his hands and gave her a hard look. “Many, many times.”
She smiled tightly. “And yet you’re still ordering me around.”
He jutted his jaw. “Would you stop arguing and come down the stairs? You can take a shower in my bathroom and I’ll stay in the basement so you’re not thrashing about in pain. Come on.”
She didn’t move.
God, she was stubborn. And wonderful.
“Please?” he said.
With a drawn-out exhale, she stepped down the stairs. Their eyes briefly met as she moved past him and she darted them away just as fast.
Tristan felt the uneasiness in his chest return as he followed her to the basement. He watched her fingers trail down the handrail as she descended the stairs.
“Why are you standing so close behind me?” she said.
“Why are you hiding things from me?” he countered as they reached the basement floor.
She flipped around, her long hair brushing his dirty shirt as she faced him with blue eyes filled with determination. “I’m not.”
He stared at her until she took a step back and met the wall, her eyes just as hard as his.
He closed the distance between them and rested his forearms against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in as he brought his face close to hers.
“I don’t have to feel you,” his said with a low voice, “to know when you’re lying.”
He watched her hard eyes flicker with something—pain, maybe? Sadness?—before falling to his mouth.
His heart stopped beating.
Bad idea. He was way too close to her. Close enough to feel her hot breath feather across his chin as she exhaled. Close enough to see the beating pulse at the base of her throat.
Close enough to touch her…
Her eyes shot back to his with renewed hardness and she ducked underneath his left arm. “Let it go, Tristan.” She marched to his room.
“No.” He pushed off the wall and followed her to his bedroom.
Another poorly thought-out idea.
He crossed his arms and focused on the situation at hand. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She glowered at him. “Nothing is going on. I’m just nervous about Heather. And Gabriel. And Raven and everything.”
“Right.”
Her eyes flared. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m worried about you.”
She threw her arms in the air. “There’s nothing to worry about!”
“Bullshit.” He moved past her in into his master bathroom and turned on the shower so the water would warm up. “I can’t protect you if you won’t be honest with me—
�
�I don’t need your protection!”
He shook his head with an angry smile as he left the bathroom and walked to the dresser by his bed. “That’s right. Scarlet doesn’t need anything.” He pulled out a soft T-shirt and a pair of running pants. “Scarlet can do whatever she wants and keep all her little secrets to herself and run away and die.” He gave a jerky shrug as he turned to face her. “Because who cares who you hurt in the process of all your deception? It’s all about Scarlet, after all.”
“You should talk.” She narrowed her eyes at him across the bed. “Just last year, you tried to kill yourself—“
“To save you!”
“I don’t need you to save me, Tristan! I need you to trust me!”
“Trust you? The last time I trusted you, you disappeared and died!” His voice nearly cracked. “You died alone and terrified and there was nothing I could do about it.” Fear clogged up his veins as he threw the T-shirt and pants on the bed. “I don’t want to trust you, Scar. I want to keep you alive!”
“What are those?” She pointed at the clothes.
“Your pajamas!” He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
***************
Gabriel regained consciousness and rolled his neck as his bones mended themselves. Now he was pissed.
He opened his eyes and found Heather still hanging across from him, her eyes squeezed shut as she muttered something about ponies.
“Why are you chanting about horses?”
Her eyes flew open. “Gabriel! Oh, thank God! I thought you were almost dead or something.”
“Nope.” He felt his neck finally crack back into place and winced at the last sharp pain of healing. “Still alive.”
“I can’t believe Raven did that to you. What a beast. When we get rescued by a crew of hot SWAT guys—because that’s how it goes down in my head; a shirtless SWAT team will rescue us—”
“A SWAT team is not going to rescue us—“
“A shirtless SWAT team,” she raised her voice, “will rappel into the warehouse and rescue me and my pink shoes—but not you, because you don’t believe in shirtless SWAT teams—and when they do, I’m totally going to slap Raven The Beast with a piece of this sandpaper rope.” She jostled her arm restraints.
“Yeah. That’ll show her.”
“B-T-W,” Heather said. “What’s with the death wish?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about provoking the wicked witch of the west. You look old? Are you trying to get us both killed?”
“She does look old. Or at least, older than she used to.”
“It doesn’t matter! Two things you never comment on when it comes to girls: their age and their weight. That’s male survival 101. Come on!”
Gabriel rolled his eyes and tuned her out as he started wrestling with the ties around his wrists again, twisting and yanking in the hopes they might snap under the tension and free him.
“That’s right,” Heather said dryly, watching him with bored eyes. “Just keep jiggling the ropes. Maybe they’ll magically untie themselves this time.”
He growled. “I have to try. I don’t like being Raven’s plaything.”
“You mean you don’t like being her plaything when it’s not consensual.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe you slept with her, Gabriel. That’s so gross.”
“It was five hundred years ago.”
“Still gross.”
He concentrated on the ropes around his body. He was going to kill Raven. No. First he was going to break her neck—again. Then he was going to kill her.
He struggled a minute longer before falling back against the pillar in annoyance. They hung in silence, but every few minutes Heather would sigh heavily or make a throaty noise.
He looked her over for a minute. Her blond hair hung in matted curls around her head and the pink dress she wore led down to a pair of bare feet with matching pink toenails, making her look like a large, dirty baby doll.
She made another throat noise.
Gabriel stared at her. “Must you huff and puff every two minutes? Can’t you just hang in bitterness and betrayal like me without making throaty sounds?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are my throaty sounds bothering you? I’ll be sure to zip them right up so your stay at the Hostage Hotel from Hell is more enjoyable,” she said. “I’m dirty and tired and I’m pretty sure I’m starting to hallucinate because, a second ago, I saw a cup of coffee hovering above your head. So I’ll huff and puff if I want to!”
“Wow.” He nodded. “Your coffee habit is ridiculous.”
“Shut up.”
He looked around with a sigh. “Why do you think Raven kidnapped us?”
“She wants the map to the Fountain of Youth. I think Scarlet is supposed to hand the map over to Raven in return for our lives. Or at least, my life. I have no idea why Raven kidnapped you—other than to take off your clothes and feel you up.”
“Hello children,” called a deceptively friendly voice from the other side of the warehouse. Raven stepped into sight and winked at Gabriel. “Hanging in there?”
He sneered at her.
“Don’t do that, lover.” She tsked. “It distorts that handsome face of yours.” She looked at his neck. “Looks like you’re all better. Now we’re even.”
Not even close, whack job.
She skimmed his neck with her fingers.
“Stop touching me,” he said.
She gripped his throat and squeezed for a moment, her sharp nails sinking into his skin as she cut off his oxygen.
“Be nice, Gabriel,” she said with a smile as he choked. Then she released him.
Walking over to the table, Raven picked up the needle and tubing she’d used on him before and injected the needle into him again. Soon a steady stream of red flowed from his neck into a second plastic blood bag.
He tilted his head to better watch her. “What are you going to do with my blood?”
“Get my every wish.”
Cryptic.
Awesome.
Finished with his blood, Raven undid the needle and tubing from Gabriel’s body and glanced at the door. “Guards!”
Five Ashmen entered the room and obediently stood guard in a circle around Heather and Gabriel.
“Nighty-night,” Raven said before exiting the room.
Heather’s mouth hung open. “She’s leaving us here all night?”
Gabriel pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure that’s how the whole kidnap/ransom thing works.”
Heather wrinkled her nose at the nearest Ashman. “Well this sucks.”
A few minutes of silence passed before Heather made a throaty noise.
Gabriel blinked at her. “Seriously?”
“Shut up,” she huffed.
It was going to be a long night.
***************
Scarlet’s body was clean, but her conscience felt dirty.
Very dirty.
Tristan knew. Well, he didn’t know, but he knew. And Scarlet didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep his curious eyes from diving into her soul and coaxing out her secret.
Judging by how very much she’d enjoyed the Tristan tent he’d trapped her in when they’d been in the basement hallway, not long.
They were in the office now, with Nate sitting at the desk staring at a computer screen and Scarlet and Tristan standing behind him on either side. They’d been trying to pinpoint possible Raven locations for the past hour.
Tristan stood with his arms crossed. He’d showered after her and was now wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans, and his dark hair was still wet and fell around his head in a tousled way that was too sexy for his own good.
Scarlet wanted to run her hands through it—but oh wait. That could kill him.
Definitely too sexy for his own good.
He looked up at her with his green don’t-lie-to-me-woman eyes and Scarlet dropped her guilty gaze to the mahogany desktop, searching around until she
found a paperweight shaped like a pyramid to stare at.
“I’ll keep looking,” Nate said. “But it might be a good idea to head to Laura’s house tomorrow and ransack the place looking for any clues as to where Raven might hole up with an immortal guy and an overdressed, blond barista.”
Scarlet could still feel Tristan’s eyes boring into her.
Paperweights were so interesting.
Nate sighed and looked at the time. “It’s only three hours until morning and we haven’t really made any progress, so I think it’s best if we all try to get some rest so we’re not completely useless tomorrow.”
Scarlet blinked away from the pyramid.
Right.
Like she was going to get any sleep knowing her best friend was probably in the trunk of Raven’s car. At least Gabriel was with her, probably, so Heather wasn’t facing the crazy witch alone.
As everyone exited the office, Scarlet headed for the stairs. She’d had to roll over the waistband of Tristan’s pajama pants four times to keep them from falling off her small hips, but still they dragged on the floor.
And his shirt—his shirt. It smelled like him and wrapped around her body like warm hands gliding over her skin, swishing as she walked. It was all she could do not to shove the material into her nose and inhale like a crazy person.
Why did he have to smell so good? Why couldn’t he smell like burnt toast or nail polish remover? It would be a lot easier to keep from shoving the shirt up her nostrils if it smelled like rubbing alcohol.
But this leather smell...
This nostalgic I live in the wild and hunt in my free time and bathe in rushing rivers smell was going to kill her. It was literally going to waft into her lungs and kill her with want and need and lack of oxygen.
She yanked at the large shirt, pulling it as far down from her nose as she could as she walked down the hallway and descended the stairs to the basement.
Tristan followed so close behind her she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. Again.
“Ten foot rule,” called Nate.
“Bite me!” Tristan hollered back, more hot breath caressing her skin with his words.
A wonderful shiver ran through her body.
Damn him and his beautiful mouth and hot breath and his leather-smelling shirt.
