by Nancy Gideon
“Not yet.” He was shifting restlessly, his breath coming quick and shallow. His fingers clenched about hers.
“What is it, Max? Why haven’t you thrown it off?”
“I can’t,” he panted softly. “I don’t know why.”
“I do.”
Cee Cee looked up to see Rollo in the doorway. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked. Then, as he drew closer, she got a good look at him. At the blood on his torn clothes. And she knew who Max had been protecting.
What she didn’t know was why.
Thirteen
ROLLO KNELT BESIDE the couch, brushing Cee Cee aside as inconsequential. He put a hand on Max’s brow.
“Listen to me, boy. Are you listening?”
Max gave a jerky nod of his head, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. He was panting in quick, restless snatches.
“Remember when I told you about the silver, about how it couldn’t hurt me? Remember that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because I built up an immunity to it by ingesting larger and larger doses of it. At first I thought it would kill me, but it didn’t. It’s in my system, Max, and it transferred to you through that bite. That’s why the wound won’t heal. That’s why you feel so sick. You’re going to have to ride it out. It won’t be easy, but you’ll make it. Don’t fight it. It’s easier if you relax and let it run its course. Do you understand?”
Again, the fitful nod.
“You’ll be all right.” His voice pitched slightly lower as his blood-encrusted knuckles rubbed down the side of Max’s face. “You got the better of me, boy. No one’s ever done that before. You surprised me.” Lower still. “You pleased me. We’ll talk when you’re stronger. Get your questions ready.”
He stood, regarding Cee Cee with a mixture of suspicion and mild contempt. “So, you’re back.”
“I am.”
“For how long this time?”
“For as long as he needs me.” For as long as he wants me.
“He doesn’t need you, human.”
“Then why did he come to me?” That was true in a roundabout way. He had to know Dovion would contact her. And he’d been sure enough of her to trust her to come for him.
Rollo smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant one. “Keep him quiet. He may try to hurt himself. Don’t let him. He may try to hurt you. It’s the silver. It makes us go a little mad.”
“I’ll keep him safe.”
“You do that.” He stared at her for a long silent moment, studying her distastefully. Then he shrugged and left the room.
Cee Cee turned back to Max, touching his fevered cheek, and repeated, “I’ll keep you safe.”
Easier said than done, she discovered, as his system reacted violently to the invading toxin over the long hours leading to night. He alternately thrashed with fever, then was taken by fierce chills. He didn’t know her. He didn’t respond to her voice as he twisted and fought through the darkness of his delirium.
She sponged his face and chest with the cool water Helen provided and bundled him up in blankets, her arms around him, to warm him through the worst of his shivering. She tried to keep him still, but he was so strong. He began an awful wailing, that strange howling sound that was both mournful and terrifying, pounding his fists against his head until she had to shout for Giles to help her restrain him.
She leaned close, clutching his face between her hands, to say low and steady by his ear, “Max, stop it. Stop. Stop.”
He must have heard her on some level, because his body went limp and he lay still except for the hurried panting.
She rocked back on her heels, closing her eyes, perilously close to weeping. How much more could he take? How much more could she watch him endure?
“Detective, get some air.”
“I’m fine, Giles.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion. I’ll sit with him. Go on.”
Reluctantly Cee Cee went out onto the side porch. She was surprised by how dark it had gotten, by how much time had passed. As she leaned against the rail, looking out into the peaceful shadows, shock and exhaustion began to shake through her. She took out a cigarette, but the hand holding the match was too unsteady to light it before the flame went out. After two more abortive attempts, she gave up.
“Coffee, detective?”
She gave Helen a faint smile. “That would nice.” She watched as the older woman set the service down on the wicker table where Jimmy Legere used to have his breakfast and read the financial news. Where Max Savoie would stand motionlessly at his back, watchful and silent during her many visits to the sprawling antebellum home, his eyes on her, smoldering.
Helen filled two cups with a thick, fragrant chicory, then laced both with a liberal dash of brandy. Cee Cee took the cup, brow raised in surprise as the woman joined her at the rail to sip the calming brew.
“Have you been here a long time, Helen?”
“Most of my life. My husband worked for Jimmy. Jasmine is my daughter.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Jimmy always took care of his people, like family. Max learned that from him.”
Cee Cee took another sip and studied the woman’s profile with interest. She was a handsome woman, large, rawboned, and capable. And more than a little imposing. Her blunt-cut black hair was unlined by gray, her steely eyes stern and clear. She dressed casually, neatly, like she was waiting to tee up at a country club with collared shirt, walking shorts, and shoelaces that matched the piping on her crisp piqué outfit. She was the only strong female influence in a house of rough, brutal men, and she ran it with an iron fist. Admiration snuck in uninvited.
Taking advantage of their tentative truce, she asked, “You were here when Jimmy brought Max home?”
A soft, sad sound. “Such a pitiful little thing, nothing but filth and bones and those big eyes. So timid and silent. You never even knew he was in the house, except when the nightmares came. Poor little boy. It broke the heart to hear him. His mother was shot, you know.”
“I know.”
“And he killed them, the two men that took the mother and son out into the swamps. He was just a little boy. A child. My Sam was with Mr. Legere when they found him. He’d torn them to pieces. That’s all that was left. Pieces.”
Cee Cee hadn’t known that.
“Such terrible dreams. He’d wake the whole house. Jimmy sat with him. He wouldn’t let me do it. Night after night, for almost the entire first year, even after Max started sleeping through the night. Just in case the boy woke up, so he wouldn’t be alone in the dark. He loved that child.”
“I know,” Cee Cee whispered.
“Such a solemn, strange boy. He’d never let anyone touch him or hold him. Just Jimmy. He never smiled, never laughed, rarely spoke, not for years and years. Not until you.” Helen looked at her then, catching Cee Cee’s surprise.
“Something about you brought him to life. It was like a light came on inside him every time you were here. It drove Jimmy crazy. He was so afraid of you, afraid you were going to hurt him, break his heart; afraid you were going to take Max away from him.”
Cee Cee swallowed a wad of emotion that went down like broken glass. “I did. That’s exactly what I did.”
There was no accusation in the other woman’s expression this time. “I don’t think Max could have survived Jimmy’s death if you hadn’t been here for him.”
Tears scalded Cee Cee’s cheeks. “But I wasn’t. I wasn’t here for him. I’ve never been here for him, and he’s always been there for me, every time I needed him. I did hurt him, Helen. I broke his heart. I’ve been such a selfish bitch.”
“If you say so, detective.” But she was smiling wryly in agreement. “He likes that about you, you know. He likes the fact that you’re tough, and independent, and don’t mind going nose to nose. That’s the way it was with me and my Sam. They love a good fight when they know you’re not afraid of them. When they trust you to love them, no matter what. Men with that much power can become hard
and heartless when they don’t have someone to keep them humble. Like Mr. Legere.
She chuckled. “Being tossed out on the front steps was quite a humbling experience for Max. I think that’s when I started liking you.”
“But I am afraid of him, Helen. He scares me to death. I’m just a coward.”
Helen took the empty cup from her. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here with him, would you?”
When Cee Cee went back into the office, Giles looked up at her in relief.
“See, Max. Here she is. I told you she was here.”
Wide green eyes flashed up and fixed on her with a desperation. “You are here. I thought I’d imagined it.” He lifted his hand and she laced her fingers between his, letting him draw her down to him. She settled on her knees next to the couch, nodding a dismissal to Giles. Then she combed the fingers of her other hand through Max’s sticky hair.
“How are you feeling, baby? Any better?”
He groaned. “I feel like gum on the bottom of football cleats. It hurts to think.”
“Then don’t think about anything. Just close your eyes.”
They slipped shut for a moment, then snapped back open. “Don’t go.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“Promise you’ll be here when I open my eyes.”
“All night. I promise. I’ll be right here with you.”
“Thank you,” he muttered, eyes closing again.
“Happy to do it for you,” she told him quietly, holding his hand, resting her head upon his chest, letting her own eyes close.
When Max’s restless movements woke her some hours later, it took a minute to realize where she was. The room was dark, the house quiet. Moonlight made a silvery path across the center of the floor, where old bloodstains gleamed black upon the wood. She sat up slowly—stiff, sore, and groggy—until a low, anxious sound from Max woke her completely.
His cheek was warm to the touch, wet near the corners of his closed eyes. He was dreaming. The feel of her hand on his face quickened his agitation. His head tossed fretfully.
“No. Don’t,” he said.
“Shhh. It’s all right.”
“Don’t. Don’t hurt me.”
“It’s all right, Max.”
“Jimmy, please. Please.” His anguished words were barely a whisper. “Jimmy, please. Don’t let them hurt me. Don’t let them hurt me. I’ll do anything. Don’t let them find me. Don’t let them hurt me.”
Torn between the need to comfort him and the desire to discover more about his past, she stroked his brow and asked, “Who’s trying to hurt you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Hide. Hide. Hide so he won’t find you.” His voice got higher, sounding younger. Scared. Terrified.
“Who, Max?”
“My fault. It’s my fault. I wasn’t supposed to. Wasn’t supposed to. Please. Please don’t. I didn’t know, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Mama. Don’t make me. Don’t. Don’t make me.” His voice trailed off into a plaintive whimper.
“Make you what, Max?”
“Red shoes. Red shoes.” His breathing stopped, then started up again, slow, deep, and shuddering. His eyes opened, glowing, sightless. “I took care of it. I took care of it, Mama. I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. Please. Jimmy, please.”
She soothed the dampness from his face and leaned up to kiss his eyes closed. After a few shaky breaths, he was back to sleep.
“He wasn’t even four years old.”
The sound of Rollo’s voice gave Cee Cee a nasty start. She hadn’t been aware of him, and now saw the faint glow of his cigarette where he stood just inside the open French doors.
“Amazing kid. Shifted at four and killed his first man. I couldn’t change form until I was thirteen. Amazing. Without anyone to show him how. Just instinct. Pure instinct. No wonder they wanted him so bad.”
“Who?”
“His people. His family. They were offering a fortune for him. I sold him to Legere, him and his mother. Jimmy was supposed to keep them safe. I should have stayed long enough to make sure, but I wanted to lead his people off.
“But the men I hired must have gotten wind that there was more money to be made. They only wanted Max; Marie was just in the way. He killed them, too, those two greedy fools.” A low grim chuckled. “They must have been so surprised.”
“Who are you?” Cee Cee demanded. “What do you want with Max?”
“I want him to be ready. I want him to be strong and prepared. He didn’t have anyone to teach him, and now there’s so little time.”
“Before what?”
“Before they kill him. They’ll have to, now. He’s too much of a threat. He’s powerful and he’s smart, but he’s just not ready. And you, detective, are going to get him killed.”
Alarmed spiked. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s soft where you’re concerned, and he can’t afford to be. He has to be fearless. He has to be invincible. He cares for you. They’ll find that out and they’ll use you to trick him, to trap him.”
“I won’t let them.”
He chuckled again at her bold claim. “What are you going to do? You don’t know who or what they are. You don’t know what he is, what he’s capable of becoming. But he won’t, because of you. He won’t save his own life, because he’s afraid of what you’ll think of him.”
“That’s such total crap.” Was that true?
“Oh, yeah. You’ve got the hots for him when he’s on his hind legs, but what about what he really is? You’re not going to want any part of that. You don’t know anything about what we are, what we need.”
“What does he need that I can’t give him?”
She saw the flash of Rollo’s teeth. “How can I put this delicately? Our kind can only procreate in our natural form. There’ll come a time when he’ll have to. It’s bred in us, that need to mate. It becomes an obsession. Until he does, he’ll be one unpleasantly dangerous and aggressive fella.
“Now, our females don’t enjoy it much. Sometimes they don’t even survive it, which is why the lines have become so diluted by human stock. But Max, being what he is, who he is, won’t have any trouble finding a dozen who’ll be willing.”
“Let’s say I’m willing.” Her tone held a low, possessive fierceness.
He laughed at her. “Let’s say . . . let’s say you don’t find the idea of mating outside your species repellent or the actual act distasteful, and can actually survive it. It’s quite violent, you see. Then there’s the bonding.”
“Bonding?”
“You know we can sense one another. Mates have a deeper, more intense link. We only take one mate and the bond is for life. It requires the male to bite right here.” He tapped the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “The marks never fade. Like a brand.”
“Marking territory,” she concluded.
“Exactly. Crude and painful, but an efficient way to protect one’s mate.”
“And that bond can’t be broken?”
“Only by death. So you see, detective, you have no future with him. It’s not a matter of if but when that urge is going to take him. It won’t be a matter of choice for him. And I can’t see you letting him roam to scratch that particular itch with someone else.”
She was silent for a moment, picturing Max and the voluptuous woman dancing at the club. Her long fingers sliding up into his hair. “Can your kind bond with a human?”
Rollo took a long drag on his cigarette, the smoke clouding his silhouette. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it being done. That would require a great deal more courage than I’ve ever seen in you Uprights.”
Her thoughts flew ahead—quick, practical, un-
flinching. “If Max and I were bonded, I would know if he was in danger and I could protect him.”
“Theoretically. If he didn’t kill you in the process. I’d give it some serious thought if I were you. Good night, detective.”
HOURS LATER, CEE CEE s
tirred, reluctant to give up the sense of comfort. Sunlight was bright on the inside of her eyelids and she blinked, looking about in confusion.
Jimmy Legere’s office. She was stretched out on his leather couch, curled up in a blanket. Alone.
“Max?”
She sat up, squinting at her watch. Seven o’clock. She got to her feet, stretching the kinks out of her back.
“Good morning. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”
Cee Cee blinked at Helen, who smiled.
“He’s upstairs. He asked me not to wake you. He’s all right.”
But she had to see for herself. She took the stairs two at a time.
The shower was running. He slumped under the spray, hands on the tiles, head down, letting the water beat on the back of his neck and shoulders. A low, indescribably content sound escaped him as her hands slipped around him to begin lathering his chest. More than willing to place himself in her capable care, he stood motionless while she shampooed his thick black hair and eased over his upper arm, where there were scars but no longer open wounds. Then she soaped and gently scrubbed him, working her way down the strong, lean line of him, kneading, stroking, soothing until he was relaxed and limp. Well, almost all of him. One part of him pressed hard and insistent against her belly when he turned.
She shut off the water. “All clean,” she announced.
“But my mind is still dirty.”
She laughed and pulled open the curtain. “Out.”
He had to hold on to her for balance stepping from the tub, evidence of lingering weakness. She didn’t mind, liking the feel of him all slick and naked and provokingly aroused against her.
“Are you going to dry me?” he asked.
“Part of the service.”
He stood with eyes closed, almost dozing, as she blotted off the moisture, then gave him a push toward the bedroom. He trudged obediently to the bed and sat down heavily on its edge.
“Are you going to dress me too?”
“No. I prefer you like this.”
He looked up to have her frame his face in her hands. The playful mood was gone between them.
“When I saw you lying on that table, I thought I’d lost you.” Her voice cracked painfully. “And I wanted to die, too.”
