She flipped on the water, driving her hands under the hard stream and scrubbing at them furiously, knocking the bottle of sanitizing soap over as she blindly grabbed for it.
Liam ran for the door, poking his head out into the silence of the night and scanning her small front lawn before shutting it and bolting the latch.
Her thoughts were mired in chaos and anxiety—he smelled her emotions, one after the other, racing through her only to be discarded for another.
Gripping her shoulders, he shook her, pulling her from the sink. “Freya! Stop! I need you to listen to me. Listen,” he ordered, pulling her close until her trembling body was flush with his. “You’re experiencing another one of those hyper-sensitive moments I told you about. Everything is magnified. Slow down, honey. Teach your body to slow down by forcing it to listen to your mind.”
As he rubbed circles on her back, he noted she smelled like the woods; pine and wisps of maple lingered in her hair. The knees of her sweats were wet and dirty, and her hair had all manner of crumbled, wet leaves in it.
Forcing himself not to pummel her with questions, he kept rubbing her back, whispering words of encouragement. “Relax now. Let your muscles ease and release. Focus on each part of your body, force your mind to control its actions.”
Slowly, her shoulders sagged and her fists loosened. When she buried her face in his chest, he had to fight to keep from sweeping her off somewhere far away. Fight the insane need to show his possessive streak by way of protecting her.
He’d done this. Fuck all, he’d done this. Drug or no drug, she was going through hell because of him. Regret stung his gut like a hot poker.
When she finally lifted her head, he smiled down at her. “Better?”
Freya nodded, still clinging to him. “I think so.”
Liam took her by the hand and led her down the hallway to the bedroom, his steps slow, his mind racing. Sitting her on the small, puffy chair she had in the corner—with yet another quilt draped over it—he went to her closet and pulled out some clean clothes.
She let him change her without a word, lifting her arms and bending to his will as he navigated his way. Now that her mind had cleared, she was in that dull, hazy place newbs went when they came down from thea rush of adrenaline.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, she stopped him when he got to her feet, preparing to slip some socks onto them. “What did I do?” she whispered, the horror and revulsion on her face painfully evident.
He looked her directly in the eye, cupping her chin. He had to keep things as honest as possible without scaring the hell out of her. “I don’t know, Freya. Do you remember where you’ve been?”
The shake of her head was slow, her beautiful blue eyes wide again. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up at the end of my driveway covered in dirt and snow and…”
Blood.
Shit.
He finished slipping her socks on. “For now, let’s just concentrate on staying calm. We’ll figure the rest of it out later when you’re more focused.”
Someone pounded on the front door, making Liam shoot upright. They looked at each other before there was another heavy thudding.
“Freya! Where the hell are you?”
“Claire?” she murmured.
Damn.
The Freya he knew was back in action when she hopped up off the chair and hissed, “Hide!”
But it was too late, Claire was already unlocking the front door and yelling Freya’s name. The panic in her voice was crystal clear. “Freya! What the hell is going on?”
As Claire rounded the corner of the bedroom, she stopped dead, catching sight of Liam’s sad attempt at making himself very small in the corner of the room under a stack of multiple pillows from the bed.
Claire’s mouth fell open then closed as she processed the scene before her. When she finally spoke, it was from tight lips. “What the hell is he doing here, Freya?”
Freya was instant motion and sound. She rose on her tiptoes and jammed her face in Claire’s. “Oh, don’t say he like Liam’s the devil, Claire. It’s none of your business what he’s doing here! What are you doing here and why are you screaming?”
Claire pushed her flaming red hair from her face and cornered her best friend, her expression grim. “You have to come with me, and come with me now!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. What’s going on, Claire?”
And then Claire stopped her full-throttle attack, her nostrils flaring. “Hold up. What am I smelling here?”
“Sin?” Freya offered, suddenly docile.
Claire pushed her nose to the air near Freya and gasped. “No, no, no. Aside from the sex you’re having with a vampire.”
Shit. They’d forgotten about that. Liam pushed his way from the pillows and moved to stand near Freya, putting a possessive hand on her waist.
It was then that Claire put it all together, realized what she smelled, and her beautiful face showed it. She grabbed Freya’s arm and scanned her pale skin. “Oh, Jesus on a pogo stick! Freya! What the hell have you done?”
The mixture of disbelief and condemnation clearly riled Freya. “I’m sorry, Ms. I Love Irish So Much I Want To Be A Bloodsucker, is that right only reserved for you?”
Claire grabbed Freya’s arm, her eyes wide with shock. “Freya! Oh my God. No. Why would you do this?”
“I—”
Liam pushed Freya behind him, holding her to his back. “She didn’t do this. I did this.”
Claire opened her mouth again, her eyes on fire. “You turned her against her will? Have you lost your bloody mind, Liam?”
But Freya wasn’t going to let Liam take the blame for something he had no control over. She pushed her way back around him. “It wasn’t against my will, Claire. It was an accident—”
Loud shouting and a multitude of voices coming from outside her house interrupted her defense. “Get the bitch!” someone shouted, swiftly followed by roars of laughter and cheering.
Freya’s eyes instantly went to Claire’s in question.
Claire’s face was full of panic, but her words were an order. “The two of you get the hell out of here now, you hear me? Run! Take her, Liam, and run as far and as fast as you can!”
His gut sank. Jesus. What now? “What the hell is going on, Claire?”
As the voices outside grew closer and the chanting for Freya’s head began, Claire explained in a tumble of frenetic words. “Ethan Dempsey is dead, Liam—savaged. As in, torn from limb to limb, somewhere out in the woods.”
Ethan? The meek werewolf who was at the bar the other night?
Fuck. No. No. No.
“But what does that have to do with me?” Freya ordered, gripping Claire’s arm.
Claire grabbed a handful of Freya’s sweatshirt. “They found your jacket and scarf next to his body, Freya—covered in his blood. Now do as I say and get the hell out of here! Go now!”
~ Part 3: Fugitives ~
~ ~ ~
Chapter 8
Freya’s mind reeled. Ethan Dempsey was dead and they thought she’d killed him? Horror washed over her in cold wave after wave. “Me?” she squeaked out. “They think I killed Ethan? That’s insane!”
Claire grabbed her by the shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Your scarf and jacket were there, Freya—in the woods, covered in blood! The same scarf and jacket you always wear. Of course they think it was you. The entire town’s in an uproar over it. Now get your ass in gear and get the hell out of here!”
Then realization hit her, hard, in her gut like a cannonball.
She’d gone somewhere tonight. Somewhere she couldn’t remember. She’d had blood all over her hands when she’d returned.
Oh, God. Oh, God no.
Freya’s eyes met Liam’s over Claire’s head, and she saw it. She saw his doubt. Saw he was remembering exactly what she was remembering.
Had she killed Ethan? In one of these uncontrollable bursts of emotion Liam talked about?
Never in a million years would she have believed she had it in her to kill someone until late yesterday afternoon, when Courtland had come calling. The image in her mind of her fist ramming into his face had been vivid. And she’d wanted it. She’d wanted him dead for claiming her as his mate, for daring to show up at her door as though he owned her.
Her mouth fell open as her legs began to tremble, making Claire grip her upper arms harder. “Freya? Don’t say anything else. Stop putting this all together in your head. Now isn’t the time to think things through. Get your ass out of here and we’ll figure the rest out later!”
The rise of Claire’s voice, the panicked urgency of it, and the vigilante-style pounding on her front door made everything else secondary.
The screams of “burn the bitch” weren’t helping matters either.
Liam called Clarence to his side and hurriedly scooped up the bloody clothes he’d just peeled off her.
Claire threw Freya’s purse and phone at her and grabbed a tote, lobbing it at Liam.
He shoved Freya’s bloodied clothes in the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder then headed for her bedroom window.
Claire motioned to Freya to move it, giving her a shove. “Hurry! Go with Liam. I’ll stall them and keep their attention on the front door. You go out the back and through the woods,” she directed.
Liam nodded, throwing her bedroom window open and pointing to it. “Go, Clarence!”
Clarence did exactly as he was told, his brown eyes never once leaving Liam’s face until he jumped through the window and out of sight.
Liam hesitated only for a moment, his eyes locking with Claire’s in question.
“Just go!” she ordered again with a hiss and a flash of her fangs.
Liam pushed Freya to the edge of the window and ordered her to jump, following right behind her, taking the small leap to the ground with the grace of a cat.
The crunch of snow beneath her feet snapped Freya out of the crazy, sluggish haze that kept settling over her brain. She looked up at Liam’s chiseled features, shadowed by the play of light from the waning moon. “It’s going to be daylight soon. Where to?”
He held out his hand as the voices from the front of her house grew louder, angrier. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”
“What does that entail? Does it mean I have to give something else up in order to do it? Do I have anything left to give? I think all that’s left is my soul.”
Liam’s eyes twinkled under the starry sky. “If you listen to some, you’ve already given that up just by virtue of being a vampire.”
She gave him her best courtroom stare. The one that said all witty repartee was unacceptable.
He didn’t respond to her death by glare. Instead he held out his hand again. “You’ve got two choices, Freya. Trust me or face the firing squad.”
As Courtland’s voice sliced through the cold air, she realized he was right. Latching onto his fingers, she gripped them tight and nodded her consent.
With that, he scooped Clarence up, tucking him close to his waist, and they took off at what felt like warp speed, with the screams for her swinging from the rafters ringing in her ears.
Chapter 9
Liam stopped at the base of a cabin deep in the woods, somewhere she was sure was far away from Rock Cove, but at the speed they’d traveled, she had no concept of distance.
Wait. This wasn’t a cabin. It was a shack. With a tin roof and a crooked front porch so rickety she was afraid to stand on it.
Not that her digs mattered much. This rundown dump beat swinging from a flagpole, her dead body flapping in time with the cold wind of Maine after being strung up by a bunch of her pack members.
Which, from the sounds of it, was what her pack’s intent was. There was no way anyone was going to believe she didn’t kill Ethan if her clothing was at the scene.
In fact, she wasn’t even sure she hadn’t killed Ethan. Fear, remorse and disgust all took a shot at running through her veins at the very thought. Where had she gone after she and Liam had made love?
Ethan was a nice, meek, mostly invisible guy—a really nice, meek, invisible guy who had been an optometrist back in his former life before the government takeover, and he was afraid of his own shadow. So why would she kill him—why would anyone kill him?
Her hands trembled, making her reach out for the nearest tree to steady herself.
The surroundings were beautiful. Tall trees were covered in snow, with thick icicles hanging from their barren branches. The air was crisp and sharp, bringing with it strange new scents. The sky, velvety black and purple, began to cast the eerie bluish glow of the coming dawn. “Where are we?”
Liam set Clarence down beside him, scratching his ears before answering. “Home sweet home.”
Freya frowned, her eyes scanning the middle of nowhere and the thicket of trees cradling Liam’s “house”.
“This is where you live?”
“Yep.”
She frowned again, pushing off the tree to stand up straight, noting only now that she hadn’t even bothered to put some shoes on. “Why?”
He shrugged, stomping his feet up the semi-rotted steps. “Because there was no other housing available when Irish stripped me of my patch. So I found this and made it home. Now let’s move it. You need to get inside since you have no tolerance for sunlight at this point, and the sun’ll be up soon.”
She began to follow him up the steps, kicking the snow from her soggy socks as she went, but his mention of losing his patch was something she couldn’t pass up. “Speaking of your patch—”
“We’re not talking about anything that has to do with Irish.” He turned to face her, his gaze steadfast and guarded.
She threw her hands up in the air with a roll of her eyes. “Okay. No Irish. For now. But eventually, you’re going to have to fess up about what’s going on with you two, mate. So where exactly are we in terms of Rock Cove?”
“We’re about a mile outside the Zone,” he offered, as casually as if he’d just told her they were bunking down in Chernobyl.
The Zone was bad news. Every degenerate who didn’t want to abide by the new laws dwelled there. Including, upon last report, Angus Sweeten. When Claire had told her she’d gone to the Zone in search of Angus, Freya had given her a rash of shit.
It was one of the most dangerous places in the country since the government crackdown.
Pushing her hair from her face, she squeezed her temples and cocked her ear to be sure she’d heard right. “The Zone-Zone? Where all the people who don’t want to live by the new government rules have taken up residence? You know, the drug dealers, prostitutes, and veritable scum of the universe?”
He nodded, his grin lopsided. “Yep. That’s the Zone-Zone I mean.” Popping the door open, he dropped the tote inside and motioned her in, tapping Clarence’s nose to catch his attention and pointing in the direction of the interior of the cabin.
As the door swung open, her jaw unhinged. If the outside looked like it belonged on the set of the movie Deliverance, the inside resembled a swanky lodge nestled in Jackson Hole. She took hesitant steps, afraid to drip on the gleaming hardwood floors—floors so shiny she could probably see her reflection.
Well, if she still had one.
Oh, Jesus. Did she still have a reflection?
Did it matter? She hadn’t cared much what she looked like in five years. Why care now?
Because you like Liam and you want him to think you’re pretty?
Slow your roll, Libido. A man’s opinion isn’t what defines you.
“I’ll make a fire for Clarence and then show you around,” Liam offered, cutting off any more thought about her appearance.
As her eyes scanned the small kitchen with shiny appliances Liam likely didn’t use and gorgeous gray-and-black marbled granite countertops, it occurred to her that even if he wasn’t exactly always pleasant, he was kind to animals. Clarence was now the only one in their trio who felt the cold, and Liam had off
ered to build him a fire. That said something about someone so surly. Clarence certainly liked him, judging by his quick responses to Liam’s commands.
She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move while she watched Liam’s incredible grace as he gathered firewood from a big copper bucket and stacked it in the enormous stone fireplace. He left her knees weak—so weak, she had to look away.
Before long, he had a roaring blaze going, and Clarence settled in on the maroon-and-green braided rug in front of it, stretching before curling into a ball and falling fast asleep.
When he came to stand by her, he smiled and pointed to the throw rug her socks were dripping on. “You are allowed to come all the way inside.”
“It’s so damn pretty, I’m afraid to make a mess.” And it was pretty. The walls made of logs glistened under the glow of the firelight, the overstuffed furniture in beige and tan was inviting.
“Mi casa es su casa. Like literally, mate,” he joked as he grabbed the tote he’d dropped by the door when they’d entered.
She looked down at her toes. All this talk of mating made her uncomfortable. “About that. It’s ridiculous. Surely we can’t be saddled with each other forever? There must be some allowances for mistakes, right? This was a mistake. I don’t know how it happened, but you didn’t do it intentionally. Your clan will see that, won’t they?”
Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. “You wanna convince the council of that or should I give it a go?”
That was fair. The council wasn’t going to believe a word they said. Not one. Not after Claire and Irish. If they got word someone else in Rock Cove had been turned, they were going to dub it an epidemic, or at the very least, a device used to get out of mating with someone you didn’t want to mate with.
If they took one look at Courtland, they’d know no one wanted to mate with him. Well, except Petra, and her desire to hook up with Courtland for the possibility of a little power amongst the other weres remained somewhat a mystery to Freya. Mating with someone like Courtland wasn’t worth the bit of leeway she might be granted.
Outlaw Alpha Page 8
