by Lisa Medley
“I’ll be back.”
Air, he needed some damned air. Now.
Stumbling from the bedroom like a drunk, he staggered to the back door, desperate for the sweet relief of the late September afternoon…and his trailer.
* * *
Olivia realized she was not afraid. Perplexed? Concerned? Confused? Yes, but not afraid.
Her hero was intense, but there was something reassuring about him nonetheless, betraying his harsh exterior. She was more concerned with finding out who had undressed her and where her things were.
It was so quiet here…wherever here was. And why was she in a hospital bed hooked up to machinery when this clearly wasn’t a hospital or hospice center? It was all so disconcerting. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned her last day at the homeless shelter.
One by one, she’d been ticking off the items on her bucket list. She was down to the last fourteen. Of course, they were the most frightening ones, which was exactly why they were last. Cooking at a homeless shelter was nothing compared to #53 and #58: get drunk and have a one-night stand.
She shuddered.
The idea of a bucket list had seemed so wonderful at first. Essential even. As she’d ticked her way through the list, she was surprised by how easy most of them were to achieve. Of course, her wishes weren’t too exotic. No running with the bulls in Pamplona, swimming with sharks in South Africa, or other such craziness. And she had no intention of leaving a trail of unpaid debt behind despite her former coworker’s suggestion that she charge everything to a credit card, Visa be damned. Her parents would have been so disappointed with her if she’d even considered such a thing. In preparing for her death, she’d proceeded as cautiously as she always had in life, with the notable exception of # 53 and #58.
She’d never been drunk. Ever. Not even one drink. She’d always felt the need to be the responsible one. And so she had. But it looked like so much fun! As for the other thing, well, sex was fun, but there were always complications.
She was proud that she’d managed to accomplish so many tasks in such a short time. Her focus had crystallized after the initial diagnosis, even though it hadn’t come as a surprise. Both of her parents had already passed—her mother from the same rare genetic form of cancer, her father from heart disease. Her fate had been all but sealed years ago. Twenty-six years ago, to be exact.
Expecting her life to be short from the beginning had instilled her with a maturity and intensity that had set her apart from most of her peers. Then again, she didn’t consider anyone her age to be a real peer. She’d always gravitated toward older mentors and acquaintances. None were close friends, but that was okay. In fact, it rather pleased her that she wouldn’t be leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake. Having never experienced true love was her one regret, but her current situation wasn’t in any way conducive to that. Her life was a done deal. Well, almost. There were still a few loose ends to tie up.
Fourteen of them.
Olivia pulled herself back to the present.
He hadn’t answered any of her questions. And where had he run off to?
Scrutinizing the room, she tried to imagine its inhabitants and the reason for the odd setup and unusual furnishings. She could form no reasonable explanation except that someone with a severe handicap or in need of long-term care must have resided here at some point. How odd that she’d ended up here. She was grateful for the rescue—that young man had been attacking her, hadn’t he?—but it was all so bizarre.
Her own hospice plan had been established long ago, but she wasn’t ready for it yet. Especially right now!
She stretched her arms above her head and leaned back, luxuriating in the complete lack of pain. Ever since her doctor had muttered the words “metastatic Ewing’s sarcoma in your bone marrow,” she’d known nothing but pain and nausea.
She knew the drill. Her mother had suffered through the disease, dying a slow and painful death. Olivia had refused treatment with the understanding that she’d be lucky to see the beginning of fall. Well, she was a few short days away from September 22, the equinox and the first day of fall, and at the moment, she felt wonderful. Who knew why? She just wanted to take a few moments to enjoy it.
At first, she’d planned to shoot for a top-one-hundred bucket list, but ultimately she’d settled for sixty. Sixty gave her one task to complete every other day. A few she’d even stretched out for a bit longer, like her work at the homeless shelter. Cooking there was so rewarding—her favorite thing in the world if she had to pick.
She doubted she could actually complete the list now; she was nearly out of money and almost certainly out of time.
She smoothed her hand across the satin covering her hips, feeling the sharp, protruding bones there. She looked anorexic. No matter how much she ate, she continued to waste away. At this rate, her metabolism would kill her before the cancer did. She needed to get out of this place—wherever it was—and try to make a final effort to finish her list.
The list!
Where was it? Panic bloomed behind her ribs and burned its way up her throat. Her heart thundered against her chest as she scanned for her clothes. The list was in her jeans pocket.
Flipping back the covers, she let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, her feet still hovering several inches above the floor. With care, she let herself slide from the bed until her soles landed flat on the cool wooden floor. She gingerly tested her balance, and then began to shuffle around the edge of the bed, the IV pulling at her hand. She reached up to turn off the drip before peeling back the tape and removing the needle. She frowned; she was determined it would be the last time she was hooked up to anything.
Free at last, she extended her arms, trying to regain her balance as she shambled her way to the bathroom to search for her clothes.
She needed to find that list.
Tears stung her eyes at the unfairness of losing it so close to her goal. The last fourteen tasks were burned into her memory, but the list itself was still a tangible talisman.
Her lifeline.
She knew—knew—she wouldn’t die until she’d marked off the last item. Without it, she felt herself losing control of her destiny. Illogical, perhaps, but who said a dying person needed to make sense?
An eternity later, she made it to the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom.
No clothes. Where could they be?
She caught her reflection in the mirror and gasped.
Her formerly auburn hair was pure white. Still soft and straight but shockingly white. She ran her hands through it, not comprehending the sudden, severe change.
Did he dye my hair?
A trickle of fear passed through her but dissipated just as quick. If he’d meant her harm, he wouldn’t have rescued her and cared for her. Right?
Unless he plans to keep you as a pet, a voice inside chided.
She shook her head, not willing to consider it. Somehow, she managed to relieve herself without passing out, which was a small miracle considering the pounding of her heart.
Where did he go?
She needed help, dammit. If she didn’t find her clothes, her list, and a ride home in the next ten minutes, there was a very high probability her sudden healthy glow was going to be wasted on a full-scale meltdown.
She peeked around the frame of the bedroom door. She searched for him, taking in all the details of the small living room. Catching movement to her left, she realized that the back door was swinging gently in the breeze. She crossed through the kitchen area, passed through a small mudroom and stepped through the open door.
Pausing to orient herself, she peered around the house’s backyard. An old Lincoln Continental and a newer Honda Accord sat in the open-front garage behind the house at the edge of the woods. A camping trailer was parked beside it. The afternoon sunlight dappled through the treetops, and the huge globe of the sun sat perched on top of an impossibly tall pine tree like a lollipop. The house was surrounded by forest.
Someth
ing scurried in the undergrowth at the edge of the woods, just beyond the camper. Thinking it might be her captor, she picked her way through the tall grass and pushed her way toward the movement. Two sleek black cats, their eyes glinting green in the sunlight, were nosing around in the pine needles beyond the trailer.
Oh! They’re beautiful!
Forgetting her anxiety, she continued to approach them, bending low and extending her hand in a gentle greeting.
“Here kitty, kitty,” she coaxed, but they wouldn’t come any closer.
She eased her way toward them, moving farther into the woods. Pleased that they didn’t seem frightened of her, she closed the distance between them, murmuring soft reassurances. When she was within arm’s reach, she squatted on the soft bed of pine needles behind the camper and settled back on her heels, waiting for them to come to her of their own free will.
Which they did. Both of them.
“Good kitties!” She smiled. Another task she could mark off her list: #50 have a pet. She was going to have to be a bit more flexible with the rules at this late date. She knew there wasn’t much time left. Playing with two cats definitely counted as “having a pet” at this point.
The cats purred and rubbed their silky heads against her hands, nudging her for more petting.
Oh, they’re so soft!
They couldn’t be strays. Their coats were much too slick, healthy looking and luscious for them to be feral. She longed to know their names. Two toms from the looks of them. She laughed. It figured—they were charmers.
If they were hers, she’d name them Lucky and Charm.
How perfect!
They purred, loud and aggressive in their affection and desire for attention, their entire bodies vibrating with their happiness. Either they didn’t normally get much attention, or they were playing her. She relished their easy company, wishing for the millionth time that things could be different, that she had time to fulfill her bucket list the right way if nothing else.
She should have adopted a pet long ago. A pet might have helped ease some of her loneliness. It would have given her someone to curl up with each night. Now it was much too late to get a pet. Poor thing wouldn’t even have a chance to settle in before it would have to go somewhere else.
She liked caring for others—and especially liked feeding them. That’s why she’d put the gourmet-cooking seminar and the baking classes toward the top of her list. Before starting the classes, she took an indefinite leave of absence from her job at the newspaper. Only a couple of coworkers knew she was ill, and only one knew she was terminal—the one who’d suggested the list and the Visa ditch.
One of the cats climbed into Olivia’s lap. Smiling, she settled down on the forest floor, making a more comfortable bed for it across her thighs as it circled and pawed around before curling into a ball. The other cat climbed in next to it.
They were so lovely, and she felt indescribably peaceful sitting there snuggling with them.
Gazing up into the cerulean-blue sky, she closed her eyes as the sun dappled through the canopy of loblolly pines and settled against her face. It felt like heaven.
Maybe she was already there.
Chapter Ten
“What the hell are you doing, Olivia?”
Olivia yelped and jumped, scaring the imps from their lap nap. One bared its long fangs, hissing to show its displeasure as it slid from her lap. Its eyes blinked, closing in a vertical slash. The other scrambled out of Olivia’s reach.
Kylen tore across the gap between them, grabbed Olivia under the shoulders, and wrenched her back inside the circle of protection, well away from the two imps. He lost his balance, and she landed on top of him with a huff.
“What’s wrong? My God, I was only playing with the cats!” She pushed off him and stood, dusting pine needles and dirt off of her suddenly ridiculously revealing nightgown. Her pert little breasts pushed against the material and her nipples rounded like two perfect pearls beneath the fabric as she tugged the hem down, hopelessly trying to recover her modesty.
No amount of tugging was going to make that gown any longer.
Things stirred in him. Low. Things he didn’t want to think about. He reached for anger instead. Hell, he left her alone for twenty minutes, and she was out here playing with imps?
“Those aren’t cats, Olivia.” He extended a hand in front of him, indicating that she should return to the house. Her eyes crinkled and a tiny fan of frown lines spread between her dark brows as she stared at him like he was a slow child.
How much should he tell her? He knew the answer to that—he shouldn’t tell her anything. He should take her home. Wherever that was, and let her…die? Could he do that? Of course he could. What was with this sudden flare of conscience?
Jesus, he was getting soft in the head. Okay, softer. His eggs were way scrambled already and now it seemed like they were being served up with a side of toast.
Fantastic.
“Where were you?” she asked. “I came looking for you. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want my clothes, I want my list and I want to go home!” Her voice cracked on that last demand, but it was the only sign of weakness she allowed—her eyes flared, her mouth set in a tight line, her hands perched on her too-bony hips.
The girl needed to eat.
No sooner did he think it than her stomach growled loudly.
Confirmed. She was hungry.
Instead of hiding in the trailer, he should have been feeding her. He felt like someone had left a helpless newborn on his doorstep, and he had no idea what to do with it. He was so not nurturing material.
He groaned. “Come inside. You need to eat. I’ll look for your clothes.”
She didn’t budge. Hands still on her hips, her vulnerability vanished, replaced with utter defiance.
“Where were you?” she asked again.
“In the trailer,” he answered, confused by how the balance of power had shifted so suddenly and why she was so damn bossy.
“Why exactly am I here? And what were you doing in there?”
His heart did a little flip-flop, and he staggered back from her. He wasn’t used to answering to anyone, let alone a pushy little hundred-pound vixen.
“I needed to do something,” he said, the answer sounding weak even to him.
“What?”
Damn but she was persistent. “Something personal.”
“Oh.” Her hands slid off her hips and ran smoothly along her gown on either side of her thighs, her cheeks pinking in embarrassment. His eyes tracked every slippery twitch of her fingers as they started worrying at her hem.
She lowered her eyes, resigned, and walked barefooted back across the grass to the back steps. Kylen spared a sneer for the imps, which were all but rolling drunk with their small victory on the soft earth in the fading evening light, baring their teeth at him in mockery.
The fiends were getting bold. Too bold.
The circle of protection Nate had cast prevented them from coming any closer. It kept supernatural entities out unless they were excluded from the spell, like the four of them were. It didn’t do shit to keep humans in or out.
Nate was a powerful witch, and Kylen didn’t discount his usefulness, only his lack of experience with the hidden supernatural world. Unfortunately, Nate still couldn’t see most creatures’ true forms, like Ruth and every other true reaper could. He wouldn’t have seen the imps for what they were, either.
Imps had the perfect camouflage as cats. Because of their superior attitudes, independence and general pissyness, humans didn’t even question their behavior when they went all medieval on someone or something. If Olivia could see what they really looked like, she sure as hell wouldn’t have been cuddling with them.
He shuddered at the thought of the imps clearing the bodies in the alley. They could have turned on Olivia in a heartbeat. She could have been shredded on that forest floor while he was sulking in his trailer.
He couldn’t let her out of his sight again.
That much was clear.
She turned as she ascended the top step and pulled open the back door. “What’s your name?”
Stunned, he nearly tumbled into her.
“Kylen.”
She nodded and turned her back to him, her sweet ass flouncing under the satin as she walked toward the kitchen.
Sitting at the table, she folded her hands primly in her lap.
“My clothes? Or at least a robe?” When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she sighed. “Please, Kylen. I need to know what’s going on, but I don’t feel comfortable wearing this.”
That one word—his name—was his undoing.
Defeated already, he walked past her, scooting along the small bank of cabinets and the refrigerator to give her a wide berth. He’d seen Ruth wear some sort of fluffy robe thing from time to time. Maybe it was in the bathroom she shared with Deacon? Who knew where women kept things like that?
Stomping toward the bedroom, he hesitated inside the doorway. He’d never been in their bedroom before, let alone their bathroom. A quick sweep around the room revealed no fluffy garments. He was not digging through any drawers. God knew what he’d discover in there. The room was neat, and a fat overstuffed comforter covered the king-sized bed they’d dragged home a few weeks ago.
The place was downright nauseating.
Thank God for Craigslist. Dragging his trailer home with a rented truck was the one thing he’d done right over the past few months. It made him feel a little more like his own man rather than one of Deacon and Ruth’s pets. The piece of shit would only be better if it had a motor, and he could drive it away. Like right now for starters.
Either that or fall into a giant hole somewhere because his thoughts were spiraling out of control. One minute he was ready to take her home and drop her off, and the next he was admiring her ass? Misfiring brain circuits was his only explanation. He had one mission. Hunt and destroy the demons. All the rest of this? Not important.
Frustrated, he thrust his head into the bathroom doorway. He heaved a sigh of relief. The fluffy monstrosity was hanging on a hook beside the shower. He snatched it up and carried it back to the kitchen like it was on fire.
