by Inez Kelley
“Apparently his followers think you have the power to restore the soul.”
“What?” She hadn’t meant to screech but Erik winced at her harpy-shrill. “That’s stupid.”
“Hey, did I say it was smart or made sense?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Religious nuts are still nuts.”
Her mind sputtered trying to process. “Paul Alvarez, the firefighter who helped me. Are they after him, too?”
“No, he was doing chest compressions, you did the breathing. You’re who they want.”
“My sister.” Her throat constricted painfully. “What if they hurt Annie?”
“They might. That’s why I wanted to stay.”
“Why would he try to hurt us? I tried to help him. I thought church people were supposed to be kind and nice.”
His shoulders hunched and he tucked his fingers into his pockets. “They aren’t a real church like you think of it, more like…a cult, a deadly, murderous cult. There’s no understanding that logic.”
All the strength sucked out of her and her knees started shaking. “Were you watching me? Is that why you got to the parking lot so fast?”
“Yeah.” His voice was soft, gentle, slightly guilty. “I’d been watching you a few days.”
The coffee table was hard under her butt as she sat, her forehead clammy against her palm. She was a big frickin’ fool. She’d thought he was flirting. He was doing a job, had been doing it for days. “Who’s paying you?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Denim scuffed as he crouched in front of her. “Lacy, I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”
A quiver started in her chin but she firmed it, refusing to give into pointless tears. She raked a hand through her stiffened hair and winced, her fingers pulling at her stitches. Okay, so Erik wasn’t interested in her except as some assignment. She could deal with that. He’d saved her life and was still here, standing guard. She owed him for that. Nothing said thank you like a home-cooked meal.
Reaching for the familiar, she gave him a shaky smile. “Are you hungry?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I have frozen lasagna, but it’s homemade. It won’t take long to reheat. The least I can do for my hero is feed him.”
Vike never understood why women carried half the shit around in their purses they did. He dug through a layer of pens, crumpled tissues and folded receipts until he found her wallet. The running water was his marker and he paced himself, snapping cell phone pictures of her license, credit card and social security card. He sent those to Myth then dialed.
“Damn, Vike, give me time to download the shit,” Myth grumbled.
“Five minutes. She’s in the shower.” He blew out a loud exhale. “This charming shit is exhausting.”
“You’re a big boy, you can handle it. Okay, running. What else you got?”
Vike hadn’t spotted a desk anywhere and was hesitant to enter the bedrooms with Lacy in the bathroom. Still, a basket of mail sat on the counter. Thumbing through some, he read off banking information.
“Got it.” The clacking of computer keys was muted through the phone line. “All clear. She’s clean, no record, has less than two grand in the bank and likes Amazon a little too much. Books, mostly, and kitchen crap. She’s got a taste for English teas and gets some flavors shipped monthly from London. Give me more.”
Her cell had powered up so Vike checked the call log, the incoming and outgoing, capturing and sending both pictures. “Cell stats on their way plus a couple pictures. Cake has a sister named Annie.” He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a small glass vial. “Annette, actually, but she’s safe. There’s insulin in the fridge with her name on it.”
“Nice. The Third doesn’t like the diabetic ones.”
“Yeah. Also, I had to tell a story about why the Third is after her. There was a guy, a preacher of some kind, who had a heart attack in the diner last week. The Cake did CPR on him. I told her the preacher was a kook cult leader who thought she had the power to breathe life into people. She bought it.”
“You are such a liar. You told her a preacher was after her rather than Satan.” A low chuckled vibrated the phone. “No worries. If you need me to, I can plant a few false records to cover your tracks.”
Vike closed the fridge and went through the cabinets. If Myth covered his tracks, not even a bloodhound would discover them. His people had invented writing and that expertise carried throughout time and into computer codes and motherboards.
Myth hummed while he worked then burst out laughing. “Get this. Last text sent. ‘A, man-candy alert. Hero showed up - taking me home. Wish bruises were sexy. Call if you’re slow. I’ll describe. You’ll drool.’ She thinks you’re hot, Vike. Called you a hero.”
A hungry growl filled his belly that had zero to do with food. “Hero, my ass.”
“Dude, she wants you. You should tap that. I would.”
Vike shook his head. Myth was a pussy hound — a classy, upper crust, debonair pussy hound. He’d once claimed every hymen in the land belonged to him and taken every new bride to his bed. He might have given up on deflowering virgins but he wouldn’t pass up a willing woman now.
“Get your mind out of her pants and get the shit we need.”
“You should get into her pants and I’m trying. She calls her sister a lot, the diner some, a few other names, all local. Incoming from the same except two from… ah never mind, those damned political recordings. Girl’s boring as toast.”
Vike peeked over his shoulder even though the water hadn’t stopped. The trashcan snagged his attention, her hospital ID bracelet face down on some paper towels. He read the information out loud.
Myth laughed. “HIPAA’s a joke. Okay, she’s healthy enough minus her Leech run-in. B positive blood. Hold on, damn, what kind of slow server is that hospital using?”
“Don’t know or care.” The water shut off. Vike shoved her wallet and cell back in her purse before yanking the zipper closed. “Hurry up. I’m almost out of time.”
“I’m in. Nothing. Not a damn thing remarkable about her. She’s got multiple bruises, a concussion and seven stitches in her head. No signs of sexual molestation. No alcohol or drugs present. No appendix, but she’s got her tonsils. Last check up was over two years ago, all normal. Of course, they aren’t checking for Scion blood, so Nomad’ll have to do his own look-see. Get me her IP. I want to look around her computer.”
“How the fuck do I get that?”
“Forget it. She pays her bills by electronic debit monthly. I’ll trace her through the server, hack in the backdoor and play peek-a-boo. That’ll take some time, an hour or two. You sit tight. And remember, be charming.” That knowing chuckle rubbed against Vike like steel wool. He grumbled an unintelligible noise and started to hit Off. “Hey, Vike.”
He yanked the phone back to his ear. “What?”
Myth chuckled. “FYI, she’s not on birth control, so wrap your willy.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck her. Damn, Viking, do you need a manual here?”
Vike punched the Off button and shoved the phone into his pocket. The robust fragrance of warming Italian spices filled the kitchen. The bathroom door creaked open. Wiping all traces of duplicity away, he lunged into a chair and looked up with a smile. An invisible fist punched into his gut.
Lacy wore some kind of fuzzy pants with pastel rabbits on them and a tank top. Ugly bruises peppered her upper arms, vibrant against the pale pink of her shirt. Those marks incited him and his blood boiled. It surged for a different reason when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples stood out like two buttons. He forced his eyes up to her face, which seemed like a good move but backfired.
Her skin was rosy from the water, her cheeks freshly scrubbed and shining, bruises now livid and dark. A scrape along her temple peeked from the towel wrapped around her hair. The delicate cords of her neck stood out. He licked his lips, wanting to bury his face there and nibble along her pulse line, let
the life rushing through her veins pound against his mouth.
“Clean.” She reached into the cabinet, pulling out two heavy green mugs. Water rushed as she filled a bright blue kettle. “A cup of tea and I might start to feel human. Would you prefer coffee?”
“Tea’s fine.”
Idle small talk filled the time until the kettle whistled. Plopping a tea bag in the mug, she pulled creamer and some lemon wedges from the fridge before sliding a cup in front of him. The long line of her arm passed his face and the sweet scent of her soap teased his nose. The side of her breast was inches from his mouth. If he turned just a bit…
“Do you need sugar?”
He fixed his most charming smile into place. “I’m fairly simple. I prefer my tea unsweetened and my coffee black.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind black and blue. I thought about putting some make-up on, but figured you’ve seen me at my worst so why bother.”
He hated make-up. It tasted disgusting and hid what nature had intended. He’d rather have her bruised than painted, but the marks on her face stirred a deep masculine place inside him. He’d dusted those bastards who’d hurt her, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to eradicate every Leech out there.
Instead, he drank tea. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, still a little woozy. I don’t like those drugs.”
Those medicines were saving her life in more than one way right now. The Third only craved and took pure souls, those young and strong. Any serious injury, sickness, alcohol or drugs were like Kryptonite to them. As long as she had medication in her system, they wouldn’t touch her. It was what had saved her this morning in the hospital.
But the hidden Scion element was something they wanted badly. She was in more danger than she could possibly imagine.
She chattered, talking about her job as he focused on the known, the concrete. Although very pretty, Lacy wasn’t beautiful. His wife had been prettier. His mistress, too. Neither had made him feel like this. He’d been married for decades, but had never felt as comfortable with a woman as he did just sitting across from Lacy, listening to her speak.
Not that she sat still all that long. She was up and down, always seeming to find one more thing to do. She wiped the sink, watered a plant in the windowsill and plucked a few sprouts from a container herb garden. She checked their heating meal and tossed a salad before storing it in the fridge. Then she refilled his half-full cup and arranged three types of cookies on a plate in front of him.
Tenderness slipped under his guard like fog. Lacy was a homemaker in every sense of the word. He felt welcomed in this little room. That was a hazardous feeling. Vike clamped his lips tight and turned back to his tea. He needed to get his head out of his ass and start guarding hers. Lacy wasn’t only in danger, she was a danger. To him.
Chapter Four
The towel fell away and she rubbed at her hair, avoiding her crown. Her hair was lighter than he thought, more honey than brown. She dropped the damp towel on the table and sat across from him. “So tell me about this cult thing?”
They’re a mix of de-souled humans and cursed heavenly beings who thrive on chaos and death. They answer to Samael. Oh, you’d call him Satan.
“Not much I can tell you really, just that they are dangerous.”
“I feel weird not paying you, not that I could afford a private security firm.”
“I told you, forget that. We’ve already been contracted for this job. You just get to reap the free benefits.”
A frown thinned her lips. Charity didn’t settle well with her apparently. He liked it better when in the past all he had to do was say that honor demand he protect her and a woman would accept it at face value. Modern women weren’t that gullible though.
“What’s your job? I mean, what do you do?”
Prevent Armageddon. “Whatever I’m told. I go wherever I’m sent.”
“And they sent you to West Virginia?” The skepticism made her voice higher with a hint of laughter. He suddenly wanted to keep her talking just to listen.
“Sort of. My team has a base station not far from here in the mountains. It’s actually pretty convenient. Quiet, out of the way and still within airspace of where I need to be.”
West Virginia was quiet. It made it easy to hide in the mountains and was far enough away from metropolitan areas that they could come and go with relative anonymity. This location was only the latest in a series of places, countries and continents. They never stayed more than a hundred years or so.
“Airspace? Do you fly?”
The snort erupted before he could catch it. “Not me. I sail when I can, but flying, no, I’m no pilot. I prefer both feet firmly on the ground. Or on a boat deck.”
Why did she bite her bottom lip, as if holding back an intriguing thought? He didn’t want her to hold back anything. He wanted to know everything, to hear her dreams and her nightmares, her fears and her fascinations. She hid a secret smile behind her cup. He resented the mug and wanted to take it away, to see the curve of her mouth.
“I’m going to go dry my hair. Go on in the living room. Remote’s on the end table.”
Rabbits became his new favorite animal as he watched her ass go down the hall. He scrubbed his face with his hands. It was no effort for her to reheat the pasta, but to him it meant more. In his time, an unmarried woman offering to feed a solitary man was more than good manners. It carried an implication of intimacy. That she’d made the food with her own hands deepened the gesture almost to foreplay. His eyes closed. No woman had offered to cook for him since he’d died.
Cup in hand, he went and found the remote, clicking the flat screen on. Local news, he could stomach that. The furniture was done in a nubby blue fabric. The couch was too perilous a place because when she came out, he’d want her beside him. He took the chair and glanced out the window.
Evil eyes stared back. Seated in a bland sedan, a young woman waved at him, taunting him to come and play. A forked tongue darted out. In the back of the house, the hair dryer whined. He didn’t glance at his phone as he hit the screen.
“Vike, you have the patience of —”
“Galina’s watching the house. Bitch waved at me.”
“Can you pop her?”
“I’ll have to leave Lacy. She’s got meds on board so she should be okay.”
Silence pulsed for a tense moment. “Don’t leave her. She’s got a forty-day expiration label and you’re just a road block. And it’s Lacy now?”
“What do you want me to call her, Fido?”
“You were calling her Cake.”
His teeth snapped together, spiraling tension through his head. He had been but it didn’t seem fitting now. She wasn’t a nameless Leech delicacy. She was…Lacy. “Part of my Prince Charming act.”
“An Oscar worthy performance then. Any sign of the Pussy Patrol?”
“Nope, haven’t seen a single Righteous.”
“Figures.”
The line went dead, but Vike kept the phone pressed to his ear for a long moment. A raw need rolled through him, the thirst for death and dust. The narcotics would keep Lacy safe for a while. He should go out and dust the Minion. Anger rushed in a blaze of red and he jumped to his feet. The car sped away before his foot touched the porch.
Murderous. That’s the only word she could think of to describe Erik’s face when she’d come into the living room. Then he’d turned and his smile erased all those ugly thoughts. A dog had been in her yard, he’d said. Knowing the neighbor’s schnauzer was an escape artist, she just shrugged and settled on the couch.
Her heart beat a little faster when he joined her. The television droned in the background as she fell under his spell. Sitting beside him, talking about music and food and nothing at all, he entranced her. All those trivial facts of getting to know a stranger clicked into place. He dodged most of her questions about his job, but it never felt he was being overly evasive, just cautious. Still, some of his exploits made her laugh.
“You’ve mentioned Gen a few times. He’s a friend?”
His cheeks went taut and he shifted, angling his body away from hers. “Yeah, he was.”
“Was?”
“He died not long ago.”
“I’m so sorry. What happened?” She reached for his hand.
Strong fingers tightened around hers. “It was stupid. Surprise assignment that we hadn’t planned on. It ended pretty well but… I should’ve had his back.”
“You can’t blame yourself for something like that.”
“Yeah, Lacy, I can.”
“You’re only human, Erik. Your friend died doing something he believed in, right?”
Knotted over his eyes, his dark gold brows were a mix of shades; tan, gold and yellow. He studied her for a long moment then nodded. “We were trying to save someone’s life.”
“And did you?”
His hand squeezed hers. “Yes.”
“Then his death wasn’t in vain. Sometimes the bad guys win. It’s not fair and it hurts, but you can’t let that stop you. The next time someone needs help, you’ll be there.”
Drawing his hand away, he stared at her with his lips parted. “God, you really do think I’m some kind of hero.”
“To me, you are.”
The laugh track on a sitcom rang loud in the room but they ignored it. Something thick and warm flowed between them. Her lips grew dry and when she licked across them, his focus dropped to her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t just a job to him after all.
The oven timer pinged and they returned to the kitchen. Not even the reheated meal slowed their conversation. He didn’t touch her again intentionally, but he was a big guy. Their knees bumped under the table and, okay, maybe she might have let that happen a few extra times. The sun sank early, dipping the room into darkness, and she wanted to bathe in his voice, letting the day fade away.
A sharp knock burst into their soft-focused world. Lacy excused herself and went to the front door. A brawny State Trooper touched his hat brim. The late fall dusk was still bright enough that she had no need for the porch light but his face was shadowy.
