by Kallysten
“You won’t get your revenge if you get yourself locked up again!” she said, now getting annoyed.
The engine suddenly roared and the bike leaped forward. Violet tightened her arms around him. A little ahead of them, the divider wall that separated the westward lanes from the eastward ones was open, the gap meant for police and emergency vehicles. Idris made a U-turn so sharp that Violet gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t gasp, or worse, cry out.
In the sparse traffic, Idris seemed to have no trouble remaining away from cars and trucks whose drivers could not see them. He kept a fast pace, above the speed limit. Good; Violet wouldn’t be able to hide them like this until they reached their destination. When the strain became too much, she checked that there was no one close enough to have a good look at them and, little by little, retracted her feathers until they covered only her.
Now, he was a lone rider on a bike, while the authorities would be looking for two riders. It wasn’t much, but it might help. What would also help was getting off the highway, and at the first opportunity she signaled it to Idris by tapping his arm and pointing at an exit sign. It would take more time on local roads than on the highway, but the farther they went, the deeper into the countryside they were… and the less people they would cross paths with.
After another couple of hours, Idris needed to stop to fill up the tank. Even at a lower speed, they’d made good progress.
“How far are we going?” he asked as he returned from paying inside the small station. His lips barely moved and he didn’t look in her direction—not that he’d be able to see her if he tried as she continued to conceal herself.
“We’re halfway there,” she assured him quietly. “We’ll be able to get food, rest, spend the night. Discuss our options on where to go next.”
Judging from his light frown, he didn’t think much of that last idea. Clearly he still wanted to go south and get his revenge. He didn’t say as much however, and instead asked, “At the diner. Why didn’t you kill them?”
She considered him for a while. So much hatred in his words… But after five months in hell, wasn’t that to be expected?
“Because they were wearing helmets and body armor. I doubt my bullets would have done much damage. But shooting up their wrists? They won’t be able to hold a weapon for months, if not more.”
He was done with the pump and gave a slight nod as he climbed back onto the bike.
“That was some nice shooting,” he said as he started up the engine again.
Surely this small compliment shouldn’t have made her blush like a schoolgirl.
Onward they went. After another hour, Violet couldn’t sustain her camouflage trick any longer. She allowed her feathers to take the familiar form of jeans and t-shirt, and, resting her head against Idris’ shoulder, closed her eyes. She couldn’t sleep like this, but she could rest.
After a long while, she opened her eyes and got her bearings. They were getting close. Twenty minutes later, they were rolling into the courtyard of a small farm that had long ago been converted into a bed and breakfast. She directed Idris toward the barn, jumping off the bike when he stopped in front of it so she could open the door for him. He parked the bike inside, next to a car old enough to qualify as ‘collectible.’
“What is this place?” he asked, looking around with obvious wariness.
“Somewhere we can be safe,” she assured him, guiding him out again and lowering the latch of the barn.
He’d pocketed the bike key on its leather cord again, and she didn’t fight him for it. There was no reason for her to object right now.
“Is this that ‘Sanctuary’ place you were all talking about?”
She couldn’t help but smile at that, a pang of nostalgia sweeping through her. She loved her home, and she couldn’t wait to go back… but she couldn’t spend her entire life sheltered.
“It’s a sanctuary, but no, it’s not Sanctuary. That’s days away by road. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Before they could reach the door of the sprawling farm, however, an old woman came out. Her tan skin proudly showed every wrinkle she’d earned through the years, although her hair remained jet black. Her short stature was draped in a cotton dress over which she’d tied one of her perennial aprons. As far back as she could remember, Violet could only recall a handful of occasions when she’d seen Linda without an apron at her waist. And she could think of even fewer instances when said apron had been anything other than spotless, proving just how unneeded it was.
“Aunt Linda!” she called out, opening her arms already for a heartfelt hug. “It’s been too long!”
Linda might look frail, but she returned the hug with vigor.
“Too long indeed, girl! Your mother said you were in the region, but you never even called me!”
Stepping back, Violet gave her an apologetic smile.
“Work kept me busy,” was all she said.
Linda turned a shrewd gaze to Idris, looking him up and down before asking him, “And who would you be, young man? If I were to guess I’d say you’re ‘Work.’”
Idris barked out a laugh that felt warmer than the late afternoon sun.
“James Watson, ma’am,” he said, offering her his hand. “And yes, I suppose I met your niece through work.”
Linda took his hand, enveloping it within both of hers as she peered at him with hawk eyes.
“That’s not your name,” she said after a few seconds, “but that’s all right. I didn’t always call myself Linda either.”
He hurriedly pulled his hand free, his laugh forgotten as he frowned at her then at Violet.
“Are you—”
“Let’s go inside,” Linda said over him. “I was just about to start preparing supper. You two can clean up while I get everything ready. I don’t have any guests at the moment so you can have your pick of rooms.”
She ambled back inside the farm. Violet started following, but Idris stopped her with a hand on her arm. She couldn’t quite suppress a wince and pulled out of his grip.
“Is she a telepath?” he blurted out, then, noticing her reaction, added, “What’s wrong?”
“Not a telepath, just a good judge of people. And I was shot. Grazed, really. I’ll be fine.”
“Shot?” His eyes grew wide enough to show white all around his irises. “When?”
She led him inside, starting toward the back of the house where the guest bedrooms were lined up.
“At the diner. When I went to the bathroom, a man and a woman followed me. They pulled guns on me, tried to get me to come out to the parking lot with them. I don’t take well to people giving me orders.”
She pushed a door open and tilted her head toward the rustic interior.
“Here’s yours. The bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll let you have first run at the hot water.”
He looked in, then down the hall at the open door of the shared bathroom, then frowned at her.
“No, you go. Clean up that wound. It’s been hours, you should have said something earlier.”
“It’s nothing bad, really,” she insisted, but Idris wouldn’t hear of it.
Stopping in the next bedroom only long enough to retrieve the complimentary bathrobe and toiletries Linda put out for all her guests, she walked over to the bathroom and took a short shower. A longer one would have been heavenly, or even a bath, but she knew from experience during her last stay that the hot water supply was limited. She couldn’t in good conscience use all of it when Idris had probably not had a chance to enjoy hot water in a long while.
She’d met him less than a day ago and already she was what her sister Rose would have called ‘mate-whipped.’ Unlike Violet, Rose had never showed much interest in meeting her mate, and she thought the whole concept was a joke.
Hopefully Idris didn’t think so as well.
Standing in front of the mirror and combing her hair back with her fingers, she gave a better look to her shoulder. She’d wrapped her feathers tightly around the wound w
hile on the bike to stop the bleeding, but it had started again while she was in the shower. Like she’d told Idris, it was just a graze, not a through and through, but it was still as long as her pinkie finger, the edge of the wound ragged. She pressed a washcloth to it for now to stop the bleeding again, but she’d need to ask Linda for the first aid kit.
She used a feather to keep the washcloth in place while she slipped the bathrobe on. She started toward Idris’ room to let him know the shower was all his, but stopped on the threshold of her own room when she realized the door was open. Looking in, she was startled to find Idris sitting at the foot of the bed. He’d taken off his shoes and jacket, and had the first aid kit at his side, various supplies already spread out on the coverlet.
“Let’s have a look at that wound,” he said when he saw her there, gesturing for her to join him.
“I can do it,” she offered as a weak protest, but he merely raised an impatient eyebrow, and she walked in the room to come sit by him.
“Show me,” he demanded a little gruffly.
She’d never been shy a day in her life, so why did it suddenly seem like her face would burst into flames at the thought that she was next to him wearing no more than a bathrobe, and about to show some skin to him? She hadn’t worn anything more than her feathers all day, and yet she suddenly felt very exposed.
She wove her feathers close to her skin in a simple white bra, then slipped her arm out of the bathrobe, keeping the garment draped around her. The washcloth fell off when she retracted the feather. Idris caught it and whistled softly.
“Nothing bad, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “How often do you get shot to think this is nothing?”
“Just once before.” She hissed when he touched a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic to the edges of the wound. “I heal pretty fast.”
He considered her thoughtfully.
“And by ‘pretty fast’, do you mean overnight or…”
“A few days. Maybe a couple of weeks for something like this.”
He nodded at her answer, although it seemed to be more for himself than for her. With sharp, practiced gestures, he tore a package of sterile gauze and set it over the wound, holding it there with two fingers as he secured a bandage over it.
Every time his fingertips brushed against her skin, more goose bumps erupted in their wake. She thought at first the elusive touches were accidental, but she soon noticed the little smile he sported, and how every caress—since it now seemed obvious that was what they were—was a little longer than the last.
“You’ve done this before,” she said, and couldn’t quite prevent her voice from shaking a little.
His smile turned positively devious as he finished securing the bandage.
“Made a woman blush and get goose bumps? Oh yeah. I’ve done a lot more than that, too.”
On the last words, he leaned a little closer so that his mouth was just a breath away from Violet’s. She didn’t know whether to look at his mouth or his eyes. Reflexively, she licked her lips. At the same moment, he pressed forward and covered her mouth.
It was just as unexpected as the kiss he’d offered her back in the diner, but she reacted the same way she had then. She kissed him back, and felt him grin against her mouth.
He cupped the back of her head and guided her down onto the bed. He laid against her, careful not to jostle the shoulder he’d just treated. Abandoning her lips, he kissed the corner of her mouth then her chin on his way to her neck.
“Is this part of you?” he murmured, pushing the robe down her shoulder. “Like, your feathers or something?”
“Not the robe, no.”
She raked her fingers over his head. As short as his hair was, it still felt like silk under her fingertips, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like once it grew back.
Heat radiated from his lips everywhere they touched her skin. She sighed deeply and allowed him to explore as he wished, going from her shoulder to her neck, then down to her cleavage. She wasn’t usually so passive, but this felt new. If he’d known like she did that they were destined by fate, the gods, or whatever else to be together, would he have acted any differently?
“What about this?” he asked, and now his lips were brushing against the strap of her bra. “It doesn’t feel like fabric.”
Few people could tell the difference… not that she let many people that close to begin with.
“Part of me,” she confirmed, and just because she could she transformed the feathers so that the bra turned black, so thin and translucent it was see-through.
Idris made a little appreciative noise.
“Pretty. Very pretty. But I’d rather see it come off. How do I do that?”
He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and she shivered at the fiery heat she saw there. He looked like he wanted to consume her alive… and who was she to protest, really? She gave him the sultriest look she could manage in that moment… but damn if it wasn’t hard when she was so nervous about being with her mate for the first time.
Nervous! Her! She couldn’t recall being nervous ever before. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her?
“You could just ask,” she said, almost proud when her voice didn’t waver. “A simple ‘please’ does wonders.”
He licked his lips and chuckled, the sound so low it seemed to reverberate down to the very core of Violet’s belly.
“I don’t beg, sweetheart. But you—”
He didn’t get to finish. A pointed cough from just outside the room caused them both to freeze. They turned their heads in unison to find Linda there, next to the door Violet had neglected to close when she’d come in.
“Dinner is served,” Linda said deadpan, looking straight at them with no trace of embarrassment. “Come now before it gets cold.”
She waited a second longer, as though to make it clear she wouldn’t tolerate lateness, then walked away.
Violet and Idris looked at each other, and in the same instant burst out laughing.
“Rain check?” Idris asked as he stood and offered her a hand to help her get up.
“We’ll see,” she replied, playing coy, but even she could hear the resounding ‘yes’ in her own words.
CHAPTER NINE
Idris let Ladybird go ahead to the kitchen while he stopped by the bathroom. In there, he washed his hands and splashed water over his face. He needed to cool down. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t been with a woman in so long, or because Ladybird was different from anyone he’d ever known, but everything felt heightened suddenly.
When he touched her, the fire within him roared and struggled to get free, the way it used to do, back when he was too young to be able to control it. Back then, strong emotions had often meant accidental fires, or inflicting burns on people he touched. The first girl he’d ever loved had received second degree burns to the face during their first kiss, and he could still hear her shouts in his mind whenever he thought of her.
In time, he’d learned to control the fire—learned to control his emotions, and keep himself on a tight leash. His relationships with women had been shallow, based on sex and little else, simply because he couldn’t allow it to be anything else.
The last time he’d had a girlfriend, his feelings had grown deep enough that his control had started to slip. On the last night they’d spent together, he’d left red marks on her thighs where he was touching her. She’d laughed it off, saying she’d been sunburned worse than that while on the beach and that her shifter abilities would take care of it within a couple of days. Wolves healed fast. Everyone knew that; they were the paras whose abilities were best known—they’d been the first ones to be ‘discovered’ and studied. But Idris hadn’t wanted to risk it. He’d broken up with her the next day. And he’d been taken in by UIPP forces before he could even leave town.
Suddenly realizing he’d been staring at the cold water running into his cupped hands for at least a couple of minutes, Idris shook himself off. He’d known Ivy
for two years before he’d started losing control. Surely it wouldn’t happen the first time he took Ladybird to bed. And he did intend to take her tonight. Why hesitate when she seemed more than willing? He was just being silly, thinking back about the past like that.
His thoughts calmer now, he followed the delicious smell of food all the way to the kitchen, finding Ladybird and her aunt seated at a rustic wooden table. Behind them, a window opened onto a courtyard bathed in the golden evening light. A pot of steaming soup was set in the center of the table, a round loaf of bread nestled in a kitchen towel in a basket next to it.
His stomach rumbled loudly at the sight, and Ladybird threw him a smile. She was back to wearing jeans and t-shirt, and he suddenly realized what he’d known unconsciously for a while: she was, for all intents and purposes, naked. Every stitch of clothing she wore was actually her feathers—part of her.
“Stop staring and sit, boy,” Linda said dryly. “Your food’s getting cold.”
But the generous helping of soup she ladled into the bowl in front of him was anything but cold, as was the thick slice of bread Ladybird cut for him. He thanked each of them and started slathering butter onto his bread. As he took a bite of the bread, it occurred to him that this was essentially the same meal he’d had just last night in jail. Bread and soup. And yet, it couldn’t have been more different.
Fresh bread, obviously handmade, straight from the oven. Thick soup, heavy with large chunks of chicken and vegetables of all colors, full of flavor. A well lit, brightly decorated, warm kitchen.
And company. An old woman across from him who looked nothing like his mother and yet reminded him of her. A woman on his right whom he’d held in his arms just minutes earlier, and with whom he’d probably spend the night—a woman who was barely taking her eyes off him as she ate, the gleam in her eyes warming him even better than the food.
“Well?” Linda asked. “Dinner’s not to your liking?”
“Dinner’s excellent,” Idris assured her, eating another spoonful of hot soup as though to prove he meant it. “The best meal I’ve had in a long time, believe me.”
