Jedrik stopped in mid-swig. Interesting.
She shook her head, and her messy red hair fell forward, covering her right eye. She pushed it aside with one finger. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted—” He snorted again. “The woman Liam is seeing, Delara, well, she wasn’t at the club a few nights ago and Liam was mingling with his patrons more than usual. I was in a rather pissy mood. Well, to be honest I’ve been pissed off a lot recently, and drinking more than perhaps I should.”
Oh, God, here it comes.
“The mind’s a little fuzzy, but I can remember being at Liam’s table, and he kept serving me drinks and—”
“Guess you also didn’t learn to 'never get wasted' around a vamp. Did you fail all your classes?”
“Guess so, not one for listening,” she retorted. “He kissed me. I was mad about—I was just pissed off, okay? And I’m having an all-around crappy couple months. He was tempting and—”
“He’s a bloody vampire, of course he’s friggin’ tempting. That’s his goddamn job,” Jedrik shouted.
She shrugged. “Yeah, guess so.”
“This isn’t about kissing a vamp, is it? What else?” Jedrik asked, knowing there was more to this story than merely a woman kissing a vampire.
“I drank his blood.”
“Kick me up the ass, Abby.” That was the first time he said her name, and it was because he was rip-roaring mad at how foolish, stupid, and brainless this young chick could be. “Why the bloody hell would you do that?”
She took a deep breath and, without meeting his eyes, she said. “It was bad timing.”
“Bad timing? ” Jedrik said. “Are you for real?”
She tensed, eyes narrowing. “Listen, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I was—”
“What the frig does that mean?”
She avoided his eyes. “Fine. I was plastered and screwed up. Happy?”
“Do you know what happens?” Jedrik said, slamming his beer down. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He began pacing. All this crap in his life because of the same asshole. As if he didn’t have enough crap with Kilter moving in to the Toronto house being all possessive over the friggin’ compound chick. Then Delara screwing Liam, and now . . .
Frig, he should call Keir and let him deal with this way-too-young dim-witted witch, but first he had to give her a refresher course. “Do you realize what one drop can do? You begin to crave blood. Thirst for it. Starve for it. Then, when you can’t deny the thirst any longer—and trust me, you can’t—you consume blood for a second time, and you die.” Chick obviously didn’t pay attention in class. Did she know nothing about vamps? “But then, lucky you comes back to life and joins the bloodsuckers, hunting humans, being hunted by us when you kill someone—you know, the joys of being a fucker of the living dead. Oh, but that’s not all—Liam becomes your master. You, his pet puppy. He calls. You come. He says fetch, you go fetch. He says spread your legs—”
She turned away from him and swigged the rest of the beer.
“Frig, Abby. I’m being a dick.” He reached for her and this time when his hand touched her shoulder, he let the witch beacon run through him. It was kind of a handy warning, letting a Senses know the person was a witch. “Abby, shit, that was Kilter mean. I don’t know what got into me . . .” Three beers and a bottle of anger, maybe. “It’s just . . . frig, Abby you don’t want that life. I don’t think vamps want that life.”
She stepped away from his touch and walked over to Balen’s portrait. “I heard about him. Balen. He drank from a vamp and fought the poison.”
Could she fight it like Balen had? Was it possible? Doubtful, but maybe. “I don’t know. It was one Senses. One, Abby. Since the beginning of our existence we’ve had one Senses try this after consuming vampire blood. And you’re a witch, not a Senses. You’re not an ancient like Balen or immortal. I can’t even begin to guess if you’re capable of fighting the cravings of blood.”
She faced him, and he was surprised to see hardness in her eyes. He expected fear or sadness. Perhaps she was hiding her apprehension. Shit, she’d grown up with Trinity, who was hard-ass of the century. “I won’t become a vampire if I do this, right?”
Be honest. Don’t give her false hope. “No. Not if you can survive it. But we’d have to find an isolated place for you to hide and someone to stay with you while you go through it.” Crap, what was Liam’s deal? He’d been pretty well behaved as of late. No human deaths linked to him, left the Senses alone, didn’t team up with any CWOs. Why bring manure down on his own head for one slip of a witch chick?
Her shoulders straightened, and her eyes averted. “There is one snag,” she said.
Oh frig, here we go again. Jedrik took out his cell and flipped it open. “I should call Waler—”
She grabbed the phone and closed it. “No. Don’t call him. Waleron finds out, he’ll tell Trinity and she’ll inform Mariana, which will lead to the Wraiths.” He didn’t want to point out the fact that she’d be hunted by her coven, Senses, and Wraiths if she became a vampire. “If they don’t kill me, they’ll lock me away.”
He shoved his cell back in his jean pocket. A delay in the transfer of info—that was all he was doing because no way could he keep this shit from the Big Guy. “What else?”
She bit her lower lip and it was the most sensuous sight he’d ever beheld. Frig, stop it. There was nothing sensuous about this woman. He needed a full-size reminder plastered on her head—Witch. “It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it, sugar.”
“Fine. I’m pregnant.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jedrik shouted. “Frig, woman, are you trying to give me a coronary?”
Holy mother of God, this had to be the worst possible scenario. Yeah, going through detox pregnant—so not going to work, and yet transitioning into a vamp pregnant would kill both mother and child. Friggin’ hell, Miss Sugar Lips, you really stepped into a boiling pot of tar. “Wait a sec. Vampires are incapable of—”
“Of course it’s not Liam’s. I told you I never slept with him. I didn’t know when I drank his blood that I was pregnant.”
Now comes the complicated, he thought. And he did what was expected and asked, “Whose is it?”
“Damien’s.”
Did he hear that right? She couldn’t have said Damien. No, must be some human she was referring to.
“He’s a Senses from—”
“Florida. Yeah, I friggin’ know who he is damn it.” Damien the Women-hater; Damien the virgin king; Damien the full-of-himself-out-of-control crass Tracker Visionary who had already been sent to Rest for killing someone. Rumor was it was an accident, but Jedrik had his doubts. “Did he rape you?”
Her jaw dropped open in horror and her perfect white teeth flashed. “Of course not. He doesn’t know, okay? And I don’t want him to know either. It was a one-night thing two months ago and it meant nothing.”
Why had she come to him? Why come knocking on his door? Actually, why had she? “Why me?”
“Delara.” Okay, she couldn’t know Delara through Trinity because the two women would kill each other before being in the same room together. “I met her a few times at Liam’s club, and she’s mentioned you. She told me you’re a womanizer with a great big heart. Also, said she whips your ass at pool.” He snorted. “I knew if Delara trusted you, I could.”
“And why didn’t you just talk to Delara about all this? Why follow me?”
She gave him an “Are you an idiot?” look with her little nose scrunched up. “Liam is a vamp.” She paused, and he shrugged a so what? “Well, he can read thoughts. If I spoke to Delara and Liam read her—”
“—thoughts,” he finished. “Why on earth, sugar cakes, did you ever kiss that big-toe-for-brains Liam? Frig, a vamp. You’re a witch. They don’t mesh, girl.”
“Drunk?” she half-assed answered.
He rolled his eyes.
“Fine. Drunk and stupid.” She shrugged. “Listen, I didn’t know I was pregnant at the ti
me. Otherwise, it would have never happened this way. I screwed up big time. Let’s just leave it at that and forget it.”
Something just didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was too nonchalant, as if she didn’t care that she was most likely going to die. Although growing up with witch bitch Trinity, he’d probably choose death too. One thing was for certain, Abby was foolish and now she was going to pay for it with her life.
He grabbed the empty beer bottle and tossed it under the counter into the recycling bin. “Abby, you’ve hit me with some heavy shit here. I need to figure this out.”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, hey, I just dumped my life in your lap and asked you to save it.”
She was beautiful, no wonder Damien slept with the witch. Young though, particularly to his one hundred and sixty-odd years.
“I guess I better disappear for a while.”
“Not a while. Too long, you’ll be craving blood, probably are already. You will have to meet Liam like he asked. Don’t need him suspecting anything. I need to contact a couple of people, get things set up. But whatever you do, don’t friggin’ drink anymore blood.”
“No Waleron?” Abby asked.
“At the moment, no. Liam is on his shit list and we don’t need a friggin’ war right now.”
She nodded and turned, heading for the door, long fawnlike strides with the steady click of her heels. With her hand on the knob, she said, without turning around, “If you can’t . . . I mean, if it means risking your life, don’t do it. I can ask for help when I know I need it, but I did this, I made the mistake, so I will figure it out if need be. ”
He wanted to laugh, but his charm emerged, and he produced his most dazzling smile. “A damsel in distress is my specialty, buttercup.”
“Oh, I’m not in distress. I’m just pregnant with some guy’s baby I’ve said five words to, and facing something called detox or Transitioning into a bloodsucking vampire, both of which might kill me. I’d call it death pounding on my door, and I opened it and let it waltz right in.”
Chapter 8
She woke to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. Instantly awake, she clenched the sheets up to her neck and sat up. She relaxed the moment she recognized Kilter’s shadow.
He approached the bed, eyes looking tired, circles beneath, hair tussled as if he’d had a rough night’s sleep. He smelled of denim and soap again, the familiar scent making her feel calm.
“There’s fruit, a protein shake and oatmeal in the kitchen.” She recognized the pattern, putting food in front of her, hoping she’d suddenly gorge herself. “I need you to eat.”
He stood at the foot of the bed, the muscles in his jaw pulsing, his eyes focused in on her. He appeared as if he was going to say something else then thought better of it, yet he remained where he was. His expression looked conflicted, brows lowered over his eyes, lips pursed and curving downwards in the corners. It was his hands clenching and unclenching that showed his unease. Was he waiting for her to reply?
“I know,” she replied, hoping that was enough.
He gave a curt nod, half-turned, then ran a hand over his day-old stubble. “They think you should be in a rehabilitation center.”
Oh, God. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding with trepidation.
“Your weight.” A frustrated growl came from his throat. “I will fight them on this, Rayne. You need help, but I can find another way.”
She heard the determination in his voice, the resolve. But the fear escalated to panic, pins and needles crawling up and down her limbs like tiny spiders, heart pounding erratically. Her evil twin was bearing down on her with shackles, ready to trap her in the bottomless pit of apprehension.
Kilter strode over to the side of the bed. She saw a flicker of anguish in his eyes then it was gone, replaced by his glower. “I won’t let them take you. I’ll convince them. You know that, don’t you?”
But he couldn’t stop them, could he? They were Senses. He was just one. She suspected Kilter could and would take on ten of them if he chose, but odds were against him.
He reached forward and pushed a stray strand of hair back from her cheek to rest behind her ear. It was a slow, deliberate touch and she found herself taking a deep breath to try to calm the nerves jolting through her body.
“Rayne?”
She looked up at him.
“I’ll get you help, you need help, but for you, that isn’t the way.”
She nodded and lowered her eyes from his intensity. Keeping her shields in place and trying to keep her balance with Kilter was difficult at best. His strange need to protect. Her strange need to trust him.
He put his hand under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “I need you to trust me, Rayne. Can you do that?”
She did, but she didn’t trust his friends. A shiver coursed through her body at the thought of being locked up again. No. Not again.
Kilter’s thumb rubbed over her chin as he raised his brows. “I need a response.”
“I . . . I am trying,” she replied.
He hesitated several seconds, then gave a curt nod as if satisfied. “I’ll be in the gym if you need me.”
She watched him go, wishing she could trust his words, but knowing it was safer to stay hidden.
****
Kilter closed the door to the gym and walked to the treadmill. She was screwing with his head with those soulful eyes and magnetic inner sweetness. It was there hidden behind that shield she put around her, and he couldn’t blame her. No, she had every right to build a cement fortress with a moat.
Maybe it was that he liked her deep hazel eyes. Well, that was the only damn thing about her that wasn’t too skinny. Anstice and Keir were right; she was in desperate need of help. Therapy. Intense. And fast. Danielle was a Reflection, maybe she could get inside her head? She could read emotions like a newspaper. The problem was that Rayne’s mind was the Great Wall of China, and Danielle was new to the Senses and would have to find a way to take it down in order to help.
Maybe Xamien could come from Europe? He was a Taldeburu and a Reflection. Powerful.
He set the treadmill on high speed and began to run. Running was always a sure-as-shit way to rid frustration from his body. Exhaust it, numb out these unbearable emotions. He’d learned how to use exercise over the past hundred years, when he’d been living in his own black void of self-despair. Fuckin’ friends. Yeah, right. Friends were a fallacy. They didn’t exist. They pretended to be for their own benefit, then when it suited them, they’d stab you in the heart or back, whichever was closer.
“You run on that thing any faster and smoke will come out of your ass.”
Kilter glanced at the door to see Delara with a towel around her shoulders and wearing black yoga pants and a skintight white yoga top. Her short-cropped hair hung in disarray across her head in jagged strands. A little too violent looking for his taste.
“What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously. Delara was living at Danielle’s gallery, so showing up at the house at seven in the morning made him wary.
She stretched her limbs, muscles flexing then relaxing again. “Waleron called a meeting this morning. I’m early, so thought I’d piss you off and join you.”
He grunted and raised the incline on the treadmill. He rarely conversed with anyone when in the gym; it was his domain. A place where he drove out emotions until they bled through his sweat.
“Care for a quick grapple?” Delara asked raising her thin arched brows.
Kilter scowled. “You’re a woman.”
She threw her towel, hitting him in the face. “And you’re such a chauvinist.” She headed for the door.
Kilter jumped off the treadmill and grabbed her arm. “Why did you come, Delara? Did Keir tell you to pacify old Kilter’s rage problems before he annihilates poor Rayne with his fists? Do you think I’m that much of a dick?” He released her arm as if it was on fire, shaking his head as he walked back to the treadmill and grabbed his towel.
>
“Yes, actually I do, but surprisingly, that isn’t why. It’s pretty simple. I didn’t sleep, haven’t been home yet. Waleron asked me to meet him here. To stay awake, I decided to work out. Nothing as complicated as you seem to think in that demented mind of yours. I’m out of here.” Delara yanked open the door.
“Best three of five,” Kilter said while shutting down the treadmill and walking over to the matted area. He avoided looking up to see if she was coming or not, didn’t want her to think he cared if she took him up on the offer or not. The chick wanted to rustle and show her shit, then fine, he’d show her why women and men never competed against one another.
The door shut. Footsteps came towards him. He took his stance.
“Trained by the best, you know,” Delara said. “Pez.”
“Impressive,” Kilter said. “But still a woman.”
She didn’t take his bait as expected. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”
“There is nothing I want you could possibly give me,” Kilter said.
Delara smiled while taking her stance. “I need . . .”
Kilter huffed. “I don’t fuck on bets.”
“Oh, get over yourself.” She held up her hand when he went to say something. “I need someone to teach me how to cook, and I heard you were the best. I win, you give me five lessons, you win . . . well, you tell me. What do you want?”
“For you to shut up,” Kilter said.
Delara huffed. “Fine, I won’t talk to you for an entire week.”
Kilter grunted back a laugh. “Ready to call mercy?”
Delara crouched, stance wide. “I so can’t wait to see you in an apron.”
****
Kilter needed an ice-cold drink after Delara nearly kicked his butt. He gave credit when it was due, and she was one hell of a grappler. Shit, she’d landed him on his ass two times before he’d had enough and taken her down.
He walked up the stairs and into the kitchen, sweat running down his chest and across his brow. He stopped dead. His feet became thousand-pound lead weights, as soon as he saw the men standing as if . . . his eyes narrowed, and his heart skipped a beat. What the fuck was going on?
STEP (The Senses) Page 8
