"That won't be necessary," Dare told her. "A gargoyle's sense of direction is very accurate."
"Damn accurate," I corrected him. I knew where north was and I knew what angle to head away from north. And I had the tracking app to keep me on course if I did lose my bearings. So when I took off from the deck in front of our rental, I headed straight across country for that lake at the top of the pass.
The traveling sucked. I'd never flown in such crap conditions and never in the dark. I was warm enough, except for my nose and chin, but my wings kept icing up. The heavy accumulation slowed me down and wore me out.
There's a gargoyle workaround for ice buildup on wings. You can stretch your muscles beneath the ice so that the frozen slabs break off. But the buildup was so thick at times that it didn't work; I couldn't stretch my muscles. That meant I had to stop to de-ice every now and again.
Landing on the ground was out of the question because the snow was too deep and I was afraid I'd never get in the air again. So, I'd look for a telephone pole or a broken treetop and I'd balance on one foot, clapping my wings together and running my hands down my spines to clean them off. I was just glad the pack wasn't around to see me. They'd have laughed their asses off.
To make things worse, I was flying blind most of the time, depending solely on my gargoyle GPS. But it got me there and when I finally reached the top of the pass, I ripped the goggles off so I could take a look around.
There was nothing there. Nothing. Feeling sick beneath a sudden wave of exhaustion, I dug the phone from my pocket and made sure I was in the right place. Then I got out my flashlight and swooped across the open space, searching for any sign of Whitney's little green car. She had to be there. Mac's magic couldn't have been wrong.
On my third sweep of the area, I almost missed it, again—a slight bump near the edge of a snow-filled expanse that I guessed was the frozen lake we'd picked out earlier on the map. I hovered in the air over the slight mound and saw about two inches of antenna sticking out of the snow. It was her…or someone like her who probably needed help. I just hoped it was Whitney.
Wafting my wings, I brushed at the hump of snow until I saw a gleam of bright green. It was her. It was Whitney. I dropped to the ground beside the car, letting my legs sink into the soft fluffy stuff, which almost reached my armpits.
I folded my wings loosely around my upper body and tried the door, relieved to find that it wasn't locked. But it took some effort to open it against the wall of snow surrounding the car. I fought my way in, my breath creating a white fog as I squeezed into the dark interior and called Whitney's name.
She was asleep. At least I hoped she was asleep. I preferred that to being unconscious or worse. "Whitney," I called her name softly as I slid into the passenger seat and patted her cheek, setting my flashlight on the dashboard. The light spilled over her powder blue skiwear that covered her from head to foot. "Whit, wake up."
Her lashes fluttered and she came around, muttering nonsense as her gaze slowly found mine. "'Fiyance," she slurred softly. Then her mouth turned downward. "Oh, God. Now I'm delusional. It's the cold, isn't it?" She started babbling. "Hypothermia will do that. It'll make you hallucinate and see things that aren't there."
I pulled off my gloves and caught her face in my hands. "You're not delusional and I'm not a hallucination," I said gently and put a kiss on her cold lips. "I'm here."
"D-Defiance," she stammered. "Are your really here? I'm so cold."
I rubbed my hands down her arms. "Why is your clothing wet?"
"I ran the engine for a while, to keep warm. But the snow piled up and I was afraid the car might fill with carbon monoxide. So I went outside a couple of times to try and clear the snow away from the tailpipe. I g-guess that was dumb."
"No," I told her. "No, that was smart. And running the car probably helped keep you warmer longer." But I needed to get her out of there. There was nothing down at the southern base of the pass. No town. Not even a gas station. So the closest help was at the north side of the pass. "We need to get down to Georgetown," I told her.
She shook her head and looked at the window, buried in snow. "We can't walk in snow this deep. J-Just hold me, 'Fiyance. Let's just stay here and you can hold me."
"I wasn't thinking of walking," I told her.
She frowned at me. "Are you thinking of t-trying to ski out of here? Because I don't have my cross countries with me. Just my downhills. And it's too flat up here to get started. D-Did you bring skis?"
"I brought something just as good," I told her gently.
It took a long while for her to respond, which scared me. Because it seemed as if the cold was starting to affect her thinking process. Finally, she asked, "What do you mean?"
"Do you trust me, Whitney?"
Her blue eyes were solemn as she nodded her trembling chin.
"Brave lass," I said. "Now, I'm going to come around to your door and pull you out of the car. Then I'm going to get you to Georgetown."
"'Fiyance," she said suddenly, grabbing my arm as I turned away. "Don't leave."
"I'm not leaving," I told her softly. "I'd never leave you, thaerling. I'm just going around to the other side of the car."
Her gaze jumped erratically around the car's interior and finally settled on the hat I was wearing. Her eyes filled with panic. "Why are you wearing Havoc's hat?"
I tugged on one of the earflaps. "It's terrible, isn't it?"
I expected her to tell me that it didn't suit me. Because it doesn't. But she just stared at me like she had to be crazy if I was wearing Havoc's hat. "But how did you get here?" she asked, tugging at the edge of her hood and looking more confused than ever.
I rubbed a hand over my eyes. "Well, you see now, Whitney. That's where you're just gonna have to trust me."
But she wouldn't let go of me so I held her face in both hands again and gave her a long kiss, moving my mouth over hers until her lips were finally warmer than mine, which wasn't saying much. Then I murmured, "Would a guy who kisses you like that go off and leave you?"
"No," she said in a tiny voice.
"Wait right here," I told her and pulled her bag from the floor, draping it over her shoulder. "I'll open your door in a minute."
Finally, she let go of me. And after I spread my wings, I worked her door open. I pulled her loose hood down low over her face and lifted her from the car. Then I stroked my wings enough to lift me from the ground, angled them, and we glided away about a foot above the snow. I followed the white road-cut through the trees all the way down to Georgetown.
About a mile outside of town, I saw lights at a distance and found an illuminated sign that appeared to say motel. At least one of the words on the sign started with the letter M and ended with an L. And there was a T in the middle. I sounded the word out in my head. It seemed like motel to me. Outside the front of the building, someone had shoveled a small space around the main door as well as a narrow path that ran down in front of several more doors, but the area was deserted. I landed and pushed Whitney through the glass doors. "Tell them you're wet and cold and need a room," I told her, pulling off my upper body clothing and folding down my wings while she was inside.
I was afraid all the rooms would be taken by other travelers who'd been stranded by the storm, so as soon as my hoodie was back on, I slung the shell over my arm and opened the door to follow Whitney inside. But she was already walking back across the lobby toward me. Her step was stiff and shaky but she had a card clutched between her cold-reddened fingers.
"You got a room?" I asked, amazed but relieved.
"Th-The lady tried to tell me they were full. Then she ch-changed her mind when she saw my lips."
I looked down at her mouth. Her lips were more blue than pink.
"She d-decided I could have a room they're remodeling. She said there's no carpet…but the heater works and there's plenty of hot water."
"Thank God," I murmured as I picked her up outside the door, carrying her down the path shoveled into
the snow.
"Room 108," she told me.
Inside the small motel room, our footsteps echoed on the bare floor as we checked the heating unit on the wall beneath the window. It appeared to be turned on and working. Then, after I'd started a bath, I peeled out of my clothes, down to my jeans. After that, I went to work on Whitney, taking off her wet ski clothing and hanging it on the chair I'd dragged out from beneath the desk and moved in front of the heater. I hesitated before pulling off her turtleneck then decided whatever she was wearing underneath wouldn't look much different than a bikini. And modern girls aren't shy about being seen in bathing suits.
Still, I was relieved when I saw the pink and turquoise set she was wearing. It was cute as hell and looked like it would pass for a modest bikini any day of the week. Lifting her into my arms, I carried her to the bath and lowered her into the warm water. She was still shaking and her lips were still blue. I knelt beside the tub and gave her a long kiss to warm them up. She wasn't all that responsive but I put that down to hypothermia and shock.
I smoothed a hand over her hair and tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. "I'm going to call MacKenzie and let her know you're safe. Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?"
It took a while for her eyes to focus on my face. Her answering nod was tremulous but solemn. "'Fiyance," she called out as I headed through the bathroom door.
I turned to give her a questioning look.
"Thanks," she whispered.
Chapter Sixteen
Leaving Whitney to soak in the tub of warm water, I just smiled and got to work, calling Mac to find out what else I could do to treat hypothermia. She suggested getting Whitney something sweet, like an orange. I dragged the leftover snacks from the pockets of my shell but all I had left was some beef jerky and peanut butter pretzels. I pulled the drab curtains aside and looked through the window past the banked snow, out into the blizzard. I couldn't see a nearby convenience store and I didn't want to leave Whitney, anyhow. "An orange might be hard to find in a small town in the middle of a snow storm," I pointed out, worried.
"Is there a coffee maker in the room?" MacKenzie asked. "Maybe you could fix her some coffee or tea and load it up with sugar."
I stepped across the room to the glass coffee pot sitting on the dressing table, and sorted through the stuff tucked into the plastic container beside it. One of the square envelopes showed a cup topped with a mound of white stuff. I didn't need to sound out the letters to read what was printed on the packaging. Chocolate was one word the entire pack could identify without any trouble. "Will hot chocolate do?"
"Yeah! That should help."
"Thanks," I told her, my throat suddenly tight. "Thanks, Mac. Thanks for finding her. She was right where your app said she'd be. And really cold. I…don't think she'd have made it if…" My voice trailed away. I didn't know how to express the emotions that were playing havoc with my heartstrings.
"What about her family?" Mac asked, gracefully filling the awkward silence. "Should I call and let them know Whitney's okay? I could say that one of my texts got through to her and she answered it."
That made me wonder why Whitney hadn't been in touch with her parents, and I thought we'd better hold off on contacting them until I found out what was going on. "I'll get Whitney to call them," I assured her.
"Okay, but don't wait too long before you call. I hate to think of her mom and dad sitting at home, worrying."
"I'll get her to make the call right away," I promised.
I knew how to get hot water out of a coffee maker; we had one at home that Havoc had picked up in a thrift store. So I filled the pot from the sink in the bathroom, and checked on Whitney while I was there. I was relieved to see that her lips were pink again. Remarkably pink. And glossy. And irresistible. But somehow I managed to keep my focus and got to work on the hot drink.
When it was ready, I carried the cup of steaming chocolate into Whitney, who looked much better. I put the paper cup carefully in her hands and sat down on the edge of the tub, letting my gaze slide down her body. Her long, silky hair floated on the water above her shoulders but it didn't hide much. I swear she could have been one of those classy underwear models.
I lifted an eyebrow as I checked her out. "Did you get those knickers at Victoria's Secret?" I asked, deliberately using the British word for underwear because—let's face it—it's a lot cuter than panties.
She didn't blush. I didn't expect her too. She's too cool and collected. At least, she was now that she was feeling better again. She grinned and said, "Something tells me you've seen a girl in her knickers before."
I gave her a sharp smile. "That I have. But none so lovely as you. Nor knickers so skimpy."
Pretending she was shocked, she pushed a handful of water at me. When I splashed her back, it turned into a bit of a wrestling match that almost ended with me on top of her in the tub. But someone had to keep his head. And someone had to stay dry.
"You need to call your family," I told her as I ran a towel over my hair and shoulders. "Where's your phone?"
"My phone," she moaned, sinking a little lower into the tub. "I lost it in the cafeteria at the ski area. I left it in the pocket of my shell when I went to refill my water bottle. And when I got back, the jacket was gone, along with my phone."
"Somebody stole it?" I asked, a little surprised.
She gave me a wry look. "Why do you seem so shocked?"
I shrugged. "Poor people don't ski. So why would anybody…"
"Whoever stole it probably didn't need it," she grumbled. "But a teenager could sell it online and make a few bucks to spend on music for his phone."
I tilted my head toward the bathroom door. "I brought a phone with me. Do you want to use it?"
"No," she answered swiftly. "No, I'd better use the motel phone. Otherwise, my parents will know I'm with someone. And they'll want to know who."
"Come on then," I said. I took the empty cup from her fingers and set it on the sink then held the towel open for her, determined to make sure she called her family like I'd promised MacKenzie.
Rising from the water like a sleek Aphrodite, Whitney stepped from the tub and I wasted no time wrapping her up in the thick, fluffy white cotton. "You don't have to carry me," she said softly as I picked her up.
"I know," I answered with a low chuckle. "Believe me, I'm not carrying you because I have to, Whitney. I'm doing it because I want to."
I lowered her to the edge of the closest bed, near the motel phone. While she dialed, I stripped the navy blue quilt from the other bed and draped it over her shoulders. She called her folks and told them she was safe, explaining that she'd lost her cell phone, and hadn't been able to contact them. She told them she'd been forced to abandon her car when it got stuck in the snow on top of Guanella Pass, and had walked into Georgetown.
When she gave them the name of the motel we were staying at, her dad said he'd pick her up at noon the next day and they'd see what they could do about her car after they had lunch together. I planned to be long gone by the time he got there. I called Mac and asked her to pick me up first thing in the morning.
In the meantime, we had the entire night to ourselves. I checked out her damp clothing and turned it over, then grabbed her up and snuggled into the deep leather chair in the corner of the room. "God, it feels good to be with you," I murmured against her ear.
"I know," she agreed. "Sometimes…"
"What?" I asked her.
She gave me one of her elegant smiles, which made my heart pound like a blacksmith's hammer. Her nose wrinkled as she said, "I don't want you to think I'm being territorial or anything like that."
"Go ahead," I told her. "Be territorial."
She laughed softly. "'Kay, I'll try. But I don't know how to say this. Only, sometimes it just seems like…we belong together."
I wound a long strand of her hair around my finger. "I know what you mean," I answered, brushing my mouth over her cheekbone then tilting her chin up so I could reach he
r lips. I touched my mouth against hers and an explosion of taste hit my nerve endings like a load of stone blocks. Completely forgetting my line of thought, I explored the warm petal-soft texture of her mouth, her tongue flicking tentatively against my lips, mine responding a lot more aggressively. My hand shaped around the back of her head, threading through her hair as I held her into the kiss, which deepened with each rough breath I took.
A heavy ache shot beneath my knuckles, reminding me of what I was and the direction my urges were taking me. I pulled away from the sweet pull of her mouth, knowing that I had to exert some self-control while I still could. Needing something to do, I tucked her hair behind her ear.
"I just wish…" she started.
"What?" I murmured, sweeping my hand over her shoulder and letting the quilt fall down to her waist. Her long legs were folded against her chest, and I trailed my fingers beneath the towel, down her thigh.
"I wish my parents could meet you, spend some time with you. I'm sure they'd like you if they gave you a chance."
I rubbed my palm into her skin and avoided commenting. I wasn't very confident about my chances with her parents.
Her chin tilted upward at a stubborn angle. "I'm going to talk to them. I'm going to tell them how you pulled Romeo off me that day in the arena."
I studied her determined face. "Do you think that'll work?"
"I'll make it work," she insisted. "I'll make them listen to me. I'll tell them you saved my life! Then they'll have to accept you."
"I hope so," I answered, though I wasn't too sure about any of that. But I was glad she was going to tell her folks about Romeo so they'd know how dangerous he was.
"You'd better hope so," she declared, letting the quilt slide away, down to the floor. "Because we need to make this work." She straddled my lap and sat back on my thighs.
My eyes roamed down her sleek form. Gog and Magog, she was beautifully built. I cased my hands above her knees and slid them up her thighs, my thumbs riding the delicate skin on the inside of her legs. "Don't get too tempting," I warned her.
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