"Why not?" she asked mischievously.
"Because I'm not strong enough for both of us. You're gonna have to help, Whitney."
"And why should I help?" she teased.
I pushed out a rough sigh, wanting to remind her she was only sixteen, even though she always seemed older. "Do you want your father to like me? One day?"
"Yes," she answered.
"That's why," I said flatly and pulled her back across my lap, dragging the quilt up from the floor and tugging it around her shoulders again.
She looked disappointed but settled her head against my chest, hiding a small yawn behind her hand.
"Am I keeping you up?" I murmured on a rumble of laughter.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "But almost freezing to death takes a lot out of a girl."
I stroked her hair and spoke quietly. "Go to sleep, thaerling."
Her eyes shaded to soft blue as she looked up at me. "Thaerling?"
I shrugged. "It's just an old British endearment."
"I've never heard it before."
I didn't want to make a big deal about it. I didn't tell her it was what my father had called my mother. "It's something I heard a long time ago."
She shook her head and reached up with one hand to cup my jaw. "Well, now that I'm alone with you, I'm not going to waste my time sleeping. I've waited too long for this."
And somehow she managed to stay up the entire night. I'd have been happy just to hold her while she slept, but it was wonderful spending those hours with her awake in my arms. Talking. Touching. Kissing. When our mouths met, it was like a taste of heaven dipped in sin. But holding her and touching her was even better. Her long legs were bare beneath the quilt and I rubbed my hand into her satiny soft skin, loving the way it felt against my palm.
Somehow I got through the night without my barbs extending, only allowing myself the briefest tastes of what it would be like when we were finally together…when she was older. But there were a few things Whitney needed to know about me before we took this thing any further. And as the sky got lighter, I realized we were running out of time. Mac would be there soon to pick me up and I didn't know when we'd get another chance to talk privately.
I'd avoided this conversation like the plague but it was time to take Victor's advice—for Whitney's sake—and for the sake of my own heart. So I pulled in a deep breath and braced myself. "I need to tell you that…I'm not like the rest of the guys you know," I started.
"No kidding," she murmured and snuggled against me, pressing her lips to the hollow at the base of my neck.
She wasn't making it easy. There were a lot of things I'd rather be doing than talking. But I knew how important it was to get the talking out of the way. "I'm not like the guys you know who play sports, flirt with girls and drive fast cars," I said, wondering how to tell her I wasn't that innocent. I wasn't that…normal. And scared to death she wouldn't feel the same about me when she knew what I was.
Her smile was impish as she looked up at me. "What kind of guy are you?"
I guided her hair behind her ear and took a few seconds to enjoy the silky feel of the fine, pale strands, hoping I didn't screw this up, hoping she didn't pull away, hoping it wouldn't be the last time I got to stroke her hair and hold her in my arms. "I'm the kind of guy who's killed three men," I said.
Chapter Seventeen
Whitney's expression turned suddenly solemn but she didn't flinch. "Was it an accident?"
I held her gaze. "Far from it."
"Well, if you killed someone, I'm thinking they probably deserved it," she said after a quiet pause.
I hid a short sigh of relief and smiled softly. "That's not the point, Whitney."
Her gaze never wavered as she searched my eyes. "What is the point?"
"Your father isn't far wrong about me. I'm not a safe person to be around."
"I don't doubt that for a minute," she said. "I also know that you'd never hurt me, and that you'd do anything in your power to protect me if I was in danger."
"You don't understand."
"Explain it to me. I'm here. I'm listening. I'm all frickin' ears," she teased me gently.
"Alright." I shifted her off my lap and settled her in the chair, tucking the quilt around her as I stood up. If she was going to pull away from me after I started my explanation, I didn't want to be close enough to feel it. So I stepped across the room and braced my arm beside the window.
I couldn't see much outside, the light above the door glowing down on the deep snow with a yellow wash of color. But focusing on the scene outside the window saved me from looking at her face. I was afraid of what I might see there. But she needed to know. And I needed to face my past as well as accept a future that I hoped would include her. So I took a deep breath and got started, my voice echoing in the room with an eerie quality, like I was confessing my sins to an empty stadium with no witnesses except for Whitney and the ghosts of three men.
"When I was fourteen, my family helped rescue a young girl. It cost us our fathers' lives but we managed to bring the girl home. In fact, I was the one who carried her to safety—to her family. And put her in their arms. But as the girl grew older, she became…infatuated with me. And by the time she was fourteen, she was hanging around everywhere I went, trying to catch my eye. She wanted me to like her back but I didn't feel that way about her. At all. And I let her know I wasn't interested. She struck back in anger."
"What did she do?" Whitney asked in a whisper.
"She told…stories about me. And five men from her family decided to confront my kin. But instead of facing me, they attacked my mother. Brutally. She took two of them with her before she died. I took out the last three."
"You must have been mad with grief," Whitney said, making excuses for me right away.
I shook my head. "I know what you're thinking. My family was worried about the same thing. They were afraid I'd rage over to the men's homes and attack them as soon as I found out. They knew about my vicious streak. But they didn't know how cold that streak was. I didn't kill those men in the heat of anger, Whitney."
"What happened?" she asked like she was holding her breath.
I stared at the scene outside the window. "Over the next year, each of the surviving men involved in my mother's death disappeared, one by one. I won't tell you what happened to them but their remains aren't likely to be found before they dig up the foundations of a rather old bridge in England."
"What about the authorities?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern. "Are they looking for you?"
I shook my head. "If anyone suspected me, they never acted on those suspicions. Maybe because they didn't like the men who killed my mother. Maybe because they were afraid of me and the rest of my family."
She was silent a moment then finally asked, "What did the girl tell them, 'Fiyance?"
I snorted and turned to face her, lifting my face to the ceiling and blinking back the moisture in the corners of my eyes. "What did she tell them? What was the great crime for which my mother was killed?" I lowered my head and held her blue gaze. "That I was different."
"How?" she asked quietly. "How are you different?"
"Just…different," I muttered, losing my nerve even though I knew I should finish the story and tell her I was a gargoyle. But I was afraid it would be too much for her to take in all at once. I was afraid she'd freak. It was bad enough that I was a killer…without being a killer with wings and barbs and poison and everything else that comes with being a gargoyle from an ancient culture.
I'd used my venom to finish those men. I'd turned them to stone and buried them. And when the last one was laid to rest, the pack installed the foundation for a new bridge on top of their grave. "Just different," I repeated in a growl.
Whitney pulled in a long, slow breath of air. "Why won't you tell me the rest?"
"The rest?" I questioned her, my heart drumming out a guilty beat I was sure she could hear from the chair.
"Uh-huh," she nodded, and moved gracef
ully to her feet. With the quilt trailing from her shoulders down to the floor, she touched her finger to the neckline of my dark leather "vest". "Why don't you tell me why you and the rest of your family always wear these black leather vests under your clothing? And where Reason really went when he disappeared for two months. And how you pulled Romeo off me that day in the arena?"
I snorted and lifted my hand dismissively. "I was just angry at your horse. It gave me an extra surge of energy."
She cocked her eyebrow and gave me a disbelieving look.
"People are always doing stuff like that in emergencies," I pointed out in a reasonable tone. "People have been known to lift tractors and cars to save those they…care about."
Whitney's face was unreadable. "So you care about me."
"Of course," I answered, and rolled my eyes.
"But you don't trust me. You don't trust me enough to tell me about the other stuff."
I turned away from her. If I was going to lie to her, I couldn't look her in the eye. "There is no other stuff," I scoffed. "What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about?" she echoed, a trace of anger sharpening her words. "I'm talking about you and your family and the strange things that have happened ever since you got here. I want to know what those spikes were that I saw on Valor's knuckles on Halloween night. And what's with the blue symbols you guys all wear on your necks? Or how about this one, Defiance? How did we get from my car on the pass down here to Georgetown, without once touching the ground?"
I turned back to face her, ready to tell as many lies as I had to. But before I could get started, we were interrupted by the vibrating hum of MacKenzie's cell phone. Glad for the diversion, I dug the phone from the pocket of my shell. It was a text from Mac with three small words she knew I could read. "On our way."
"Mac will be here soon to pick me up," I muttered. "I'd better get a quick shower." I hadn't showered after my long flight the day before. And I really did need to clean up, even if I was using it as an excuse to delay this conversation with Whitney.
The elegant blond gave me a long look, which I tried to ignore on my way to the bathroom door. "Okay," she said coolly. "I'll get dressed while you're in the shower. But I'll still be here when you get out and I'll still have the same questions."
Yeah, needless to say, I took my time in the shower, hoping Mac would get there before I finished, and trying to work out how I'd answer Whitney's questions if she didn't. The shower's pounding rain of water surrounded me with a cushion of soft noise that separated me from those questions and drowned out any sound from the motel room. And I was feeling more relaxed as I stepped from the tub and dried off my wings. On the other side of the bathroom door, I heard Whitney talking to someone and I assumed MacKenzie had arrived with at least some of the pack. I was talking when I stepped from the bathroom a few minutes later, rubbing a towel over my wet hair as I reminded Whitney to talk to her father about Romeo.
"What about Romeo?" demanded a deep male voice.
My head jerked around as the towel slid from my fingers and pooled on the floor. Whitney was dressed in her dry ski clothes and hovering near the door like she had been working on an escape plan before I walked in and screwed everything up. Her father was standing in the middle of the room, glaring at me.
Dr. Anders cut an accusing look back at his daughter. "You told your mother and I that you were skiing alone."
"I was," Whitney argued, her eyes flashing with indignation. "I did."
"Then how did he get here? Why is he in your room? And what's he doing, spending the night with you in this room?"
My gaze traveled from the rumpled bed on one side of the room to the untouched bed near the window. Seriously, it looked like Whit and I had spent the night together in bed. "Dr. Anders, it's not what you think," I said swiftly. "Whit and I just sat together in the chair all night."
He gave me a hard look. I knew what he was thinking. You could do the same thing in a chair that you could do in a bed. I felt a wave of heat crawl up my neck and spread behind my ears. "I wouldn't do that," I rasped. "I would never…she's only sixteen."
"Gather your things, Whitney," was all he said. "We'll go home for now and come back for your car when the pass is open."
"Daddy, just listen," she begged, moving back toward her father. "Nothing happened. Defiance helped me get down here from the pass. That's all."
"If he hadn't been with you, you might not have been up on that damn pass!"
"That's not true!" she exclaimed. "He wasn't even with me when I…" Her voice trailed away as she realized she couldn't explain how I got to her car on Guanella Pass to help her.
"Now, Whitney!" he barked.
I followed them out to the car, along the narrow pathway cut into the snow, trying to explain myself even though I hated to grovel. But when I came to Whitney, I was in full-grovel mode. Out in front of the motel, Dr. Anders opened the big SUV's door. He pinned me with a blunt stare and said, "I'm not interested in anything you have to say."
So I gave up. I quit groveling. In fact, I got angry and lost my temper. I figured I had like five seconds to talk to him and I'd probably never get another chance to speak to him for the rest of my life. So I told him the most important thing he needed to know. "If you love your daughter, get her a safer horse," I snarled. "Romeo's dangerous."
End of story. I spun away and slammed back into the motel room to wait for my ride.
Chapter Eighteen
So, I was feeling pretty grim when MacKenzie pulled up about a half hour later, angry at Whitney's father and angry at myself. I should have been more careful. I should have suspected he might get there early. I should have gotten out of the room sooner and waited for the pack in the motel lobby. Now there was like zero chance of him ever trusting me again.
Silent and sullen, I stared out the Jeep's window on the way down I-70. The sun was out and the snowplows had worked all night to clear the roads so traffic was moving at a steady pace. I watched the cars flash by in the opposite lane while Victor and Valor tried to keep a lighthearted conversation going for my benefit. Their efforts were wasted. I was feeling too dark to pay attention and I blocked them out. But if I hadn't been staring out the window, I'd never have seen the large complex of buildings on the north side of the valley.
"Did you see that?" I muttered, craning my head to look back down the highway.
Val turned around in the passenger seat and gave me a curious look. "See what?"
I was still staring back over my shoulder. "There's a building back there…with a red roof. There are some words on the roof."
"Words?" MacKenzie questioned.
"Well, letters. Big white letters. Like B and O. Followed by an N. Then a few more letters that I didn't catch."
"Oh, that's the old Bonanza Mine. They do tours during the summer—" MacKenzie stopped suddenly as she started thinking the same thing I was thinking. "Mim's dream!"
I turned back around to face her and leaned toward the front seats. "She said she saw a rusting red roof with the letters O and N painted on it."
"Of course!" Mac exclaimed, getting all excited. "Idaho Springs was a huge mining area at the turn of the century. I'll pull off at the next exit and go back."
"No!" I shouted in unison with the other two gargoyles in the car. "Nay, keep driving."
MacKenzie's brow crinkled into a puzzled frown as she steered down the highway. "Why?"
"Because the harpy might pick up our scent," Valor explained quickly.
"Don't you see?" I explained. "According to Mim's dream, Chaos is around here somewhere…and so is the harpy."
"Sorry, guys," Mac apologized. "I forgot about the harpy being able to scent you. But couldn't we go back and just—"
"We don't need to go back," Victor pointed out before she could get started. "We can ask Mim to check out the…satellite images on the computer to see if she recognizes them. That'll work, won't it?"
"That'll work," MacKenzie agreed and got on the p
hone to Mim, asking her to look at the satellite map of Idaho Springs. Sure enough, she identified the Bonanza Mine as the roof she'd seen in her dreams.
Then Mac handed the phone back to me so I could call Peggy. It was Sunday and I was supposed to be at work so I had to apologize for not making it in. I offered to come in late but she said I could make up the day tomorrow, which actually worked out better for me. Because as soon as we walked into house, Mim brought Dare home and Mac got Reason and Elaina hooked up on skype so we could have a meeting and discuss our next steps.
We assumed Chaos was holed up in one of the mines with the harpy. The bad news was, there were a lot of old mines around Idaho Springs. But we assumed we could find the right one since it was probably located directly across from the Bonanza complex.
Needless to say, we were super amped and wanted to get started right away. But we needed a solid plan this time. So after we'd texted our news to Torrie, we got to work.
"I've had a lot of time to think about what our first step should be now that we've located Chaos," Victor started up the meeting. "And I think our best option is to arrange an exchange."
I choked back a groan. I'd been afraid of this all along and I wasn't going to let it happen. I was not going to let Victor sacrifice himself for his brother. Naturally, the rest of the pack felt the same way.
"What?" Reason questioned him from the tablet's screen.
"The quickest way to get Chaos back is by offering Vilschka something better," Victor reasoned calmly.
"Something better?" I leaned forward in my seat and pinned him with a sharp stare. "Are you serious?"
"I'm the best choice," Victor continued, determined to have his say.
"And why's that?" I demanded.
A slash of color spread across his cheekbones. "Because I'm the, uh…"
"Best looking," Havoc supplied matter-of-factly.
"Thank you," he told Havoc, looking relieved that he didn't have to point out the obvious.
"It won't work," I told him flatly.
"Why not?" he challenged me.
The Greystone Bundle (Books 1-4) Page 68
