Blazing Bedtime Stories

by Kimberly Raye, Leslie Kelly

  He smiled and extended his hand. “I so enjoyed our chat.”

  She really didn’t want to touch him again, but courtesy demanded it. Slowly reaching out, she braced for more of that strange reaction—not revulsion, in any way, despite his appearance. On the contrary, she expected—and got—more of that strange, sizzling energy.

  Then, with a tip of his hat and a tiny smile, he was gone.

  The feeling, however, didn’t go away. The intensity increased. Her back pain was gone, any fatigue forgotten. Even the rainy weather didn’t bother her. She merely flipped up the hood of her trendy red raincoat and walked to a local shop for the latest rag sheets and junk food.

  Armed and ready to meet even Granny’s exacting standards, she got into her car for the drive out of New Orleans. Night had definitely fallen, and she had second thoughts about driving that route after dark. The trip was a surprise, so Granny wasn’t expecting her, and she could easily have waited until morning.

  But the darkness didn’t intimidate her. Instead, she whistled as she drove, tapping her fingers on the padded leather steering wheel of her convertible.

  Stray from the path…stray…

  The strange words whispered into her subconscious for some reason, though she tried to focus on Granny’s delight at seeing her, her next book, on not killing that reporter for asking her about Valentine’s Day.

  She almost missed the road sign. Dark green with sloping cursive lettering, unlike any sign she’d ever seen; it appeared a good five miles before the exit she normally took. She couldn’t remember ever having noticed it before. It listed the name of the town closest to Granny’s—Hastings.

  Well, sort of. “Hastings Towen?” she mused.

  Somebody needed to fire their sign painter.

  She considered exiting. The sign claimed the distance to be much shorter than the route she usually took. Fewer miles through the swamp was a good thing. But it seemed so strange that she hadn’t seen the marker before, and her senses went on alert, telling her not to.

  The exit wasn’t so much an off-ramp as a quick veering away from the highway. She almost drove past it. Almost listened to her sixth sense and continued on her way, not comfortable with trying out an unfamiliar road at night.

  Stray.

  At the last possible moment, though, she veered. The car’s tires skidded on the gravelled surface but quickly regained traction as the highway became a pitted road. Ahead of her lay a winding, narrow thoroughfare overhung with sagging willows and skeletons of dead trees looped with tangled Spanish moss. It was dark and deep and unfamiliar.

  In her stories, when the heroine was confronted with two paths, one bright and sunny and the other scary and full of mystery, she always went to the dark side.

  Too bad Scarlett wasn’t one of her heroines.

  She decided to swerve right back out onto the highway, because, though lined with marsh on either side, the regular route was still a solid, well-maintained river of blacktop. Unlike this version of hell’s Yellow Brick Road.

  Stray.

  She intended to go back. Really. But instead, she kept driving. And driving. Straight into the woods, almost into another world, a primeval one far from civilization. Soon the haunted trees seemed to close in behind her and she lost sight of the lights from the highway.

  The curved canopy of trees nearly blocked out the sky, obscuring the bright, full moon overhead. The forest—it suddenly felt like a dense wilderness more than a typical marsh—crept closer to the road, until it seemed to hug her car in its green embrace. The throughway narrowed to the width of her single vehicle, meant for only her to drive.

  A voice kept telling her to turn around. A louder one—stray—refused to allow it.

  The electric tension that had driven her out of the store earlier didn’t diminish. Instead, with each mile she drove, it built, making her heart beat faster and her breathing more ragged.

  “What is happening to me?” she asked, wondering where the sensible, no-nonsense, no-romance Scarlett had gotten to. Why was she so excited? Why hadn’t she turned around while she still had the chance? Why didn’t she care?

  There was no time to answer. Not even in her own head, because suddenly, in the trees a few yards ahead of her, she saw something. She had an impression of movement, then a shadow splitting the night.

  The shadow took physical form as it sprang out of the woods, leaping directly into her path.

  Jet-black hair. Feral, almost reddish eyes. Ripples of muscle across a powerful torso.

  Impossible!

  She screamed and swerved.

  And crashed.

  2

  HUNTER THIBODAUX had been following his quarry for nearly a month. He’d picked up the trail soon after the suspect had arrived in New Orleans, followed him to Houston, then Arizona. Now he was back where he’d started, in the swampy marshlands of southeastern Louisiana.

  He could have saved himself the effort and just waited here for four weeks, because Hunter had known the prey he sought would return to this place with the next full moon.

  In that time, however, two policemen had lost their lives. Hunter had been too late to stop the murders. But suspecting who the third target would be, and staying close to his quarry, he’d managed to prevent that last murder from taking place. The heat he’d provided had stopped Lucas Wolf—the suspected killer Hunter was chasing—from carrying out his deadly mission of vengeance.

  If, indeed, he was guilty. Something Hunter just didn’t know yet, despite the circumstantial evidence.

  That Hunter hated the man whose life he’d protected didn’t change the fact that he’d done the right thing. Preventing a murder made the weeks of stalking, tracking and lying in wait worth it. Even if he had come up empty-handed.

  Not anymore, though. This cat-and-mouse game was coming to an end. He’d catch Lucas—on this side or on the other. He was experienced in both. Licensed to carry a weapon in both. A successful bounty hunter in both. And since he was no longer a cop, he was even able to skirt the edges of the law occasionally to get his man.

  He’d just never imagined that he’d ever need to hunt this particular man. And part of him wondered if he’d even been able to do it.

  “Are you guilty, Lucas?” he whispered into the near silence, the words barely touching his lips. “Could you be that ruthless, even with good reason?”

  It was possible. Even probable. Lucas had been in a bloody, vengeful mood after the murder of his younger half-sister Ciara. Just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, she’d seen something she shouldn’t have and had paid for it with her life.

  Hell, maybe Hunter would have done the same thing in Lucas’s shoes. He didn’t have a sister, but he knew the pain had to be almost unbearable. Especially for someone like Lucas Wolf: someone whose senses were especially…heightened.

  Hunter needed the truth. For his own sake, for his mother’s. Hell, even for Lucas’s. Because Hunter being the one to take him in could mean the difference between Lucas Wolf’s life and his death. No matter what, Hunter didn’t want the man killed by an angry cop who’d rather take Lucas down than take him in.

  He wanted to do it here. Tonight. Because if he missed Wolf here and was forced to go traveling, his schedule would get a whole lot tighter. He’d have tonight to get to his destination. One—two at most—to hunt. And one to get back. Or else he’d be stuck there for weeks until the moon completed its eternal cycle and began to swell again. The veil of mist between the lands became sheer enough to slip through only when the moon was either full, or nearly so.

  He had been waiting near that mysterious border all week. Leaving his truck parked miles away to avoid detection, he had hiked in. He’d camped in the woods, living in silence, lighting no fire that might betray his presence in the dark night. Lucas might expect him to be here and would be wary. Strong and dangerous at any time, Lucas would be especially formidable now, so Hunter had done all he could to melt into the bayou, to disappear from sight, from
scent, from sound.

  He lived like a wraith. Waiting.

  Then that patience paid off. He sensed movement in the trees, felt the air part as someone moved through it. Heard the cries of the night animals disappear as if extinguished—on alert because of the predator in their midst.

  There. A shadow. Time to end this.

  It’s over, Lucas. Your vigilante days are done.

  But suddenly, he was almost blinded by bright lights that seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “No!” he snapped, catching only a glimpse of the dark-haired man as he leapt across the road. The shadowy form was silhouetted against the lights, then it disappeared, racing with animalistic speed toward the border.

  Cursing, knowing the advantage would change over there, Hunter began to give chase. But he stopped abruptly at the jarring, horrific sound of brakes screaming and metal slamming. Glass shattered and the night air seemed ruptured with the violence of the unfamiliar noise.

  The car that had so shockingly wandered into this nowhere that existed at the edge of two worlds had just crashed.

  “You fool,” he snapped, turning to glare at the car, which hung off the edge of the road. Its front end hugged a massive oak. Its back had swung around, nearly sliding off the gravel altogether. It clung to a narrow patch of soft earth just a few inches above a swampy mess of muck. “Damned fool.”

  Because only someone with no common sense would drive out here on this trail impersonating a street. It had no lights, no signs, no painted lines and no civilization within miles. That the driver had even found the path amazed him.

  Unless the car was being driven by another traveler.

  Leave him. Hunter’s inner voice tempted him to simply abandon the stranger to his fate, and pursue the far greater danger.

  Something inside him, however, couldn’t do it.

  Shoving his weapon into its holster, Hunter darted toward the car. The rear tires were losing their grip on the soft ground, sliding slowly toward a quick descent into the swamp. He had no idea how deep the water was, if the car would sink and the occupant drown. He only knew he didn’t want to find out. Given the slithery sounds and the croaking, he had no doubt the water moccasins and ’gators were licking their chops in anticipation.

  Still cursing the crazy occupant, he ran for the driver’s-side door. He yanked at it, but it didn’t budge. Looking inside, he saw only a sea of red, and at first, he thought the driver had to be dead given the amount of blood. But he soon realized he was looking at a billowing coat.

  He noted one more thing. The lock stood upright. Meaning the crash had bent the frame and jammed the door shut.

  “Hold on,” he yelled. “And stay down.”

  The windshield was crackled and shattered into a thousand spiderwebs, but still held together in its frame. He considered smashing it in, and might have to if there was no other option. But showering the driver with glass wasn’t his first choice.

  He quickly assessed those options. Hunter couldn’t get around to the other door, there wasn’t enough ground to walk on. Even if there were, he couldn’t risk the driver shifting his weight onto that side to get out.

  It had to be the top.

  Pulling his broad hunting knife from its sheath, he stabbed through the soft convertible top. The back tires slid another inch. “One minute, just give me one minute…”

  He hated to add his own weight to the mangled wreckage, but there was no other way. Carefully, he climbed onto the hood, feeling the shift and sway of the metal beneath his knees. Hoping his added weight on the front end would help keep the vehicle up, he knelt over the windshield and finished cutting through the soft top.

  Thrusting the thick fabric out of the way, he peered inside. The dim dashboard lights remained on, illuminating the driver, who was slumped over the wheel, against the already deflated airbag. The driver with the long blond hair.

  “A woman,” he muttered, wondering why he was so surprised. Maybe because he just couldn’t imagine why any woman would be out there alone. And she was alone, a quick glance confirmed that.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing. Damn. More careful than he’d ever been, Hunter stretched further, hearing the crackle and snap of the windshield glass. “I’m trying to get you out. Stay still, okay?”

  Knowing he couldn’t reach her seatbelt buckle, he slid his knife under the belt and sawed through the thing. The back of the car lurched, not just an inch this time, but several before it paused again. He was out of time, out of options. “No choice, cher,” he murmured. “Keep your head down and your eyes closed.”

  Tugging the hood of the woman’s raincoat over her head and face, he hoped it would be enough protection. Then, using the blunt end of his huge knife, he punched the broken windshield. The glass burst inward, showering the interior of the tiny car.

  The blow had knocked the vehicle even further, but the slow slide didn’t halt this time. He actually felt it when the back passenger tire left the earth and slid out into nothingness before the rear lurched downward.

  Operating on pure adrenaline, Hunter knelt on the broken glass, reached down and grasped the woman beneath the arms. Hoping like hell that her legs weren’t caught beneath the dashboard, he yanked with all his might.

  She groaned. Alive. But she didn’t come off the seat.

  The car picked up speed. The second tire was heading over. He nearly fell off the hood. He had one more shot at it. “Come on, woman, I’m not going into that water for you.”

  Getting a moment of resistance from the seatbelt he’d cut, he feared they were both about to go for a swim. But with one more surge of strength, he heaved and watched the cut ends of the belt slid through the fasteners, freeing her at last.

  She came out of the driver’s seat like a rag doll, almost weightless, sending both of them flying. They hit the ground hard mere seconds before the convertible slide down the embankment into the swamp.

  It was completely submerged in the water in under a minute.

  The still-working headlights sent twin beams of weak, muddy illumination from beneath the surface. Through them, he spotted the heads of two alligators. Then the lights flickered out and it was gone. The car had disappeared as if it had never existed.

  Disappearing. Huh. That wasn’t such a rarity around here.

  Hunter lay panting on the ground for a full minute, willing his heart to stop racing. Beside him, the woman softly groaned, and he rolled toward her. The moon reflected brilliant sparkles on her coat…glass. “Sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, reaching to push the long strands of blond hair off her bloodied face.

  He plucked a few errant bits of glass from her cheeks, then spread her unbuttoned coat to look her over, from top to bottom. Her brow was bloodied and a lump had already started forming; she’d obviously banged her head in the crash.

  Carefully running his hands over her shoulders, limbs and midriff, he checked for broken bones. And because he was a half-decent guy and she was unconscious, he managed not to notice how attractive she was, or that her body was enough to make a man howl at the moon—if one was into that sort of thing.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” he told her. Because other than the lump and the cuts from the glass, she appeared intact. She’d been wearing her seatbelt, and the airbag had deployed, so her shoulder, chest and collarbones would probably be sore as hell when she woke up. But, nothing appeared broken.

  If he hadn’t been here, though, he imagined her situation would have been very dire indeed. She would have gone into that water unconscious. The only question was whether she’d have drowned before the alligators paid a visit. Or after.

  “What am I going to do with you now?” he whispered.

  The reality of his situation was just starting to sink in. He was on the ground with an injured, unconscious woman, deep in the bayou, far from any help.

  His truck was parked five miles away. He could carry her, but it would take a while. And even then, they would still face a long drive
to anything resembling civilization.

  One thing was certain. He would never make it back here before dawn. Not with the way time operated in these parts.

  There was only one alternative. He could take her somewhere close. Very close. Somewhere safe and warm where swamp became stream and the bayou a welcoming green forest. He knew of a place just like that, less than a mile through the veil. In it were bandages, medicine, clean water and comfort. Safety.

  If she’d been badly injured, he wouldn’t risk it. But she didn’t appear to be. He’d had enough accidents and mishaps of his own to recognize a simple concussion and a cut that might require a stitch or two at most.

  So…take her to a hospital? Or take her over there?

  One way would send him far off course and put him a full day behind his quarry. The other risked exposure of something this woman could never possibly understand.

  She doesn’t have to know.

  Right. She never had to know. A hunter’s cottage looked much the same on either side. He’d take care of her, leave her to recover, and go finish his job tomorrow night. Then he’d bring her back here after it was all over, being very careful to limit where she went and the things she saw in the meantime.

  And if she did see anything she shouldn’t?

  “It’ll be a dream, darlin’,” he whispered. “Just a dream.”

  3

  SCARLETT was having the nicest dream.

  She dreamt, oddly enough, about being in bed. She was tucked into the most comfortable one she’d ever felt, covered by a blanket of pure softness. It gently caressed every inch of her, rubbing against her naked skin, silky and smooth.

  And she wasn’t alone. A man with big, strong hands and a deep voice was with her. He touched her, stroked her, each movement tender, as if she might break if he was too rough. There was no sexual element in the contact, yet with every brush of his fingertips on her brow or his palm on her shoulder, the drugging, sensual awareness increased.