The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1)

by Anna Abner

  The witch growled through her nose. “You picked the wrong day to mess with me, princess.” She elbowed Ali in the ribs.

  Her side screamed in pain. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “I can’t stand your foul, sweaty—”

  “My sweaty—”

  Ali bolted from her seat and scrambled over Connor, intending to switch spots. But he didn’t get the memo because he stayed put. Her knee slipped and—plop—she landed in his lap. For a long moment she didn’t move, too stunned by his heat and the scent of his skin to reverse her trajectory. She wet her lips, and her nose bumped his.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her. His free hand roamed her thigh, as if not sure where to lay it. He finally settled on her knee.

  “Can you scoot over?” she whispered, forgetting all about being angry with Roz. The hard, muscled thigh under her bottom was much more fascinating. “I want to change seats.”

  “I sit by the window so I can shoot the bad guys,” he whispered.

  “Oh.” Her thoughts crawled in slow motion. He smelled good, masculine. Like earth and trees and sky.

  Oh Lord, he was so not good for her. Dangerous didn’t begin to cover it.

  “Shit.” Roz slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and the Ford lurched forward. The force plastered Ali against Connor’s chest like a wet blanket.

  “What the hell?”

  Roz eyed the side mirror. “There’s a tow truck coming up fast behind us.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ali whipped her head around, searching for the vehicle chasing them.

  In London, fast vehicles were not cause for alarm. Typically. In the Nevada desert along the desolate Highway 215 north of Vegas, they were terrifying. There could be anyone or anything chasing them, and Ali just wanted to go home. She wanted to feel safe again.

  “Is it the tow truck from the satellite photos?” Connor asked, and then not waiting for an answer, he barked, “Take us out of the city. Steer them away from civilians.”

  Agreeing silently, Roz turned north onto a strip of barely maintained asphalt leading nowhere.

  Connor shoved Ali away, nearly tossing her into Roz’s lap. She grabbed the back of the seat for dear life as he slithered his upper body through the hinged back window.

  “What is it?” Please, please don’t say vampires. She couldn’t take any more vampires.

  “Tow truck,” he called out. “Roz, keep your speed up, but don’t roll us, you hear me?” Without waiting for an answer, he fell into the bed of the Ford.

  The vampires from St. Peter’s Hospital had finally caught up. The ones everyone thought were after her. She reached for the seat belt, but her hands got all clumsy. Stupid stress. She couldn’t get it to buckle.

  She finally snapped it into place, and then peered through the rear window. She caught glimpses of endless desert fields, blue sky, a big truck, and the back of Connor’s T-shirt. The tow truck was gaining.

  Ali took off her buckle. It was too confining.

  “What do they want?” she asked Roz.

  “My guess, princess, is they want you.”

  What could they possibly want with her? Absurd. Even if she was Anya from Nadvirna, she wasn’t going to do anything about it.

  Two shots sounded, and she screamed, couldn’t help it. At least three more rounds pinged against the Ford. A bullet cracked the rear windshield.

  The whole truck vibrated as Roz pushed it past seventy-five on the long stretch of gray highway. She hit a gully, and they went airborne for a good two seconds before crashing down and punishing the shocks.

  Ali braced herself on the dash. “Can we outrun them?”

  “We can try.” The witch gripped the wheel so tight her arms quivered.

  The tow truck slammed into the Ford’s rear bumper. They fishtailed, but Roz muscled the red beauty back on the road. Through the cracked rear window, Ali saw a sandy-haired prick in a dirty golf shirt, his face a snarl of barely controlled rage.

  More pinging as Connor made a running jump onto the tow truck’s hood. He slammed his fist into the windshield, shattering it. And then he levered himself into the cab beside a very pissed off infected.

  “Connor’s…” She didn’t know what to say. Out of his fucking mind?

  “Hold on,” Roz shouted.

  The vampire rammed them again, this time with a lot more force. Roz spun the wheel, but too late. The front end hit the low roadside berm like it was a concrete barrier, and Ali bounced so hard her teeth jarred. The top of her head smacked against the interior light, and warm, thick fluid dribbled down into her hair. Ow.

  They crashed through a sand dune and rolled to a stop, the engine dying. She couldn’t move right away, in shock that she wasn’t dead, that they hadn’t flipped the truck and burst into flames.

  Roz wiggled through the back window. “Stay in the truck!”

  Screw that. Ali opened the door and tumbled out. She needed a gun, some kind of weapon. Where was the Ruger Connor had given her?

  She crunched through sticker bushes and stumbled into shallow animal burrows. She couldn’t get her mind around what was happening.

  With a roar like a jet plane, the tow truck flew past, swerved to the right, overcorrected and rolled. The immense monster of a vehicle plowed through a field, blowing sand and sagebrush into the air like a bomb going off. It landed belly up, its massive black tires still spinning.

  “Connor.” A human boy wouldn’t survive that, but he wasn’t completely human anymore. He was something more. Please let it be enough to save him.

  Ali wrenched open the Ford’s glove box, grabbed her loaded Ruger, and ran after him. She didn’t stop to worry about what she was doing, just propelled herself forward. Because a nasty, tow truck-driving vampire needed killing—promptly.

  Twenty feet from the truck, Ali heard movement and held her weapon straight out in front of her with both hands.

  Two men climbed, crawled, and dragged themselves out. She recognized Connor, though he was covered in blood and dirt, mixing to form a disgusting muddy paste in his hair and up his arms. The other man caught sight of her, growled like a wolf, like he recognized her, and charged. Stunned, she fired once, but her hands shook. She missed.

  Connor moved fast. Faster than she could track. He tackled the infected, and they crashed to the earth, rolling and wrestling. She didn’t dare fire her gun again. She backed up a step, bumping into Roz, who’d called her power and was speaking spells.

  “Make Connor faster,” Roz said in super speed. “Make Connor stronger.”

  The two men rained down blows so quickly, Ali couldn’t tell who was winning. The infected got his foot up between them and kicked Connor, sending him hurtling through the air. He slid across gritty earth for half a dozen feet before popping up and sprinting back toward the hissing, spitting infected. Connor leapt, slamming into him and forcing him down into the dirt. He raised his right arm and punched through the man’s chest, breaking ribs and tearing muscle, before pulling out a wet, sloppy human heart. He pitched it across the road like a fastball.

  Game over.

  Connor rose, a little unsteadily, and faced her, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent. Deeply. Her blood scent.

  The beast in him flickered out from behind his eyes. She covered her wound with her hand, trying to conceal it. He growled, low in his chest.

  Ali fought the overwhelming instinct to retreat. But, as with an animal, it was best to stand her ground and never, ever run. No. If she ran, he’d chase her.

  Needing to reach the reasonable, human part of him, Ali quietly called, “Connor?”

  He blinked, his face draining of all color. “You’re bleeding. I…” He faltered a step. “I don’t— …Roz!”

  The witch startled, her spells fading. “What’s wrong?”

  “Blood. I don’t know if I can—” He shook his head, backing away even further. “Fix it.” He took off running at a speed she’d never witnessed before. Track sta
r kind of fast. Soon he was just a speck on the road.

  Ali swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly desert dry. Good God. He’d stared at her like he wanted to eat her.

  “Is he okay?” she asked Roz.

  “Let’s take a look at your head.”

  “I’m serious,” Ali said, tripping over jagged stones and a crushed cactus on her way back to their truck, trying not to look too closely at the mutilated corpse on the ground. “Is he?”

  Roz yanked the tailgate of the Ford down with unnecessary force. “He’s fine. He’s adjusting.” So why did her voice quiver? “Now lie down so I can bandage your head. We need to get out of here before the highway patrol shows up.”

  “The wound’s not serious.” She crawled up among the bags and bundles, stretching out and aiming the top of her head at the witch. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  Roz grunted, probing her scalp with her sharp little nails. “No big deal.” She rummaged through two backpacks for medical supplies and bottled water.

  “Think it needs stitches?” Roz wasn’t exactly Florence Nightingale when it came to sutures. Ali didn’t need any more, thank you.

  Roz poured tepid water over the wound. “Nah. Should be fine.” She roughly massaged shampoo through her hair and onto her scalp. It might as well have been made with lemon juice and salt crystals.

  “He looked like a vampire just now,” Ali blurted out, tensing in pain. “Did you notice?”

  Roz finished by dousing her with bottled water.

  “Did you?” Ali pressed.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She set the bottle aside. “Here, you finish up. Then get rid of your shirt. There’s blood on it.”

  Ali climbed down from the truck and tossed her shirt. She ran soap and water over her neck, shoulders, and face. There was more blood than she’d realized. She dried off, her hands hardly shaking at all, and pulled on a clean shirt. One of Roz’s. A ruby-colored cropped top Ali wouldn’t have worn in her previous life for a million pounds sterling. It barely covered her body at all.

  “What if he goes dark side?” she asked quietly, pulling at the top in a vain hope it would grow in size.

  Roz didn’t answer right away. Ali wasn’t certain she would.

  “I think about it all the time,” she finally admitted.

  #

  Running helped. Not the sissy, speed-walking, wiggle your hips kind of running. No, all out sprinting. Full tilt. It ate up Connor’s excess energy and calmed his thoughts. He’d been half a second from losing it back there. Ali’s natural scent mixed with blood? Knee buckling deliciousness. It had taken every ounce of strength in him to keep from licking the blood from her scalp, from sucking every last particle of it from her hair.

  His stomach soured, so he ran faster. If he tripped in a gopher hole, he’d face plant so hard. Didn’t matter. He pushed the muscles in his legs and core past the point of pain. Then his calves spasmed, and he flew for a sec before eating dirt. He rolled onto his back and laid there, chest heaving, muscles aching, but his head cleared. Finally.

  If he didn’t get his shit together, Roz would end him. She may have hesitated at the clinic, but that was before he showed any violent tendencies. Without a doubt, if he got worse, she’d put him down. Because the mission was more important than either one of them. She wouldn’t allow him to roam the country tearing up innocent people.

  He retraced his steps and found the girls sitting in companionable silence on the tailgate of the Ford. Ali’s blonde hair was clean and braided down her back. Each girl held a gun in her lap. Because of him.

  “Will the truck start?” he called, avoiding eye contact. What did they think of him? What did Ali think of him since she’d glimpsed the animal within? Not that it mattered. Tied for first priority: keep everyone safe and then kill Oleksander. Somewhere further down the list laid: talk to Ali about her fears, hopes, and dreams.

  “No.”

  Connor popped the hood and did a quick visual inspection. The battery had been badly jostled. He tightened the bolts with his bare fingers. When he hopped into the driver’s seat and cranked it, the old girl started right up.

  “We need to regroup,” he said, slamming the hood into place. “Forget the hospital. Forget UNLV. Get us back to the hotel.”

  The girls climbed into the truck, and he followed Ali with his eyes, couldn’t help himself. He fought the urge to take a deep breath through his nose to see how her scent had changed. Nope. Normal men did not sniff girls that way.

  She held the passenger door, waiting for him to join her inside the cab. Impossible. After the blood and violence, Connor couldn’t trust himself to be so close to her and not do something criminal. Or at the very least something creepy.

  Her lower lip quivered. “Are you all right, or not?”

  He wanted to lie. But she would figure it out. Hell, she already had. “I don’t know yet.”

  He’d lost his sanity when the infected had spotted Ali. Connor had wanted to destroy him, and not just kill him. No, he’d wanted to smash him to greasy bits until nothing human remained. Because he’d looked at Ali.

  He shoved the door closed, and she winced. “I’ll ride in the back this time.”

  “What? You never do that,” Roz said.

  Connor gave her a look through the window, an I need this kind of look. She snapped her mouth closed.

  He hopped into the truck bed, moved some stuff around, and sat with his back against the cab. Roz took off, and he instantly regretted his seating choice. There wasn’t really a barrier between him and Ali’s intoxicating scent. The only thing separating them was a shattered window. Not to mention the copious amount of blood drying on his arms and clothes. And the wind whipping around the truck further stirred things up.

  “Son of a bitch.” He ended up hugging the tailgate all the way into Las Vegas.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Their suite on the Las Vegas Strip looked and smelled better than ever, like a freshly opened toy, but Connor couldn’t focus on the room. Beneath the hoodie he’d thrown on as a cover, he was bathed in blood. Rich, crimson blood. Though Ali had washed her hair and changed clothes, he still smelled the metallic twang on her, too. He dropped his bags and made a beeline for the bathroom.

  “I’m taking the first shower,” he announced.

  “Why do you get it?” Ali squeaked.

  He pushed his way into the bathroom. “Because I have blood on me.”

  “Are you hurt?” she questioned.

  “No.” Just traumatized.

  He turned on the hot water in the shower, and steam curled into the air, collecting against the dark marble tiles. He slipped out of his shirt and stared at the piece of fabric, tracing the edges of every dark bloodstain. He could tear it into strips and eat it like jerky. He could soak it in the sink and lap up the red water like a rabid dog. Who cared if it was infected? Would it make a difference? Could he be double infected?

  He tossed the shirt and stepped out of his jeans. He was not an animal, and he wouldn’t behave like one. Because if he gave in to the hunger gnawing at his insides he didn’t know if he could control the downward slide. He’d be a monster forever.

  Connor stepped into the shower and braced his hands on the tiled wall. Scalding water streamed over his neck and shoulders, turning pink as it circled the drain. He considered drinking that, too, and it was getting harder to deny what he needed, what nagged at him every minute of the day.

  He scrubbed his body raw with a square of towel and a bar of soap, removing every bit of blood, even the muddy gunk from under his fingernails. He watched it disappear down the plumbing, and felt worse than ever. His bones ached. His muscles cramped. His mouth was an arid void.

  When he couldn’t stand still for another second, he turned off the water and stepped out. He reached for a folded towel, and his hand shook. Like an addict in withdrawal. He grabbed the towel anyway and dried off with unusual roughness.

  It didn’t matter, at this point, how he got the b
lood. Only important that he get it. And fast. Outside the door, moving around the hotel room, were pints and pints of it pulsing through two trusting females. He wouldn’t have to take much. A small cut on the inside of an elbow. Some sucking. He could feel it, warm and thick, sliding down his throat. He wouldn’t steal enough to injure them, just enough to ease the ache.

  Connor growled at his reflection in the mirror. “I won’t hurt them,” he said between gritted teeth. And when the idea didn’t go away, he slammed his fist into the wall beside the sink. Tile and grout crumbled. The pain helped. His mind cleared a little. So, he punched the wall again. Harder.

  Slightly calmer, he re-entered the main room with a towel wrapped around his waist, feeling the girls’ eyes on him. Especially Ali’s. Her gaze sizzled over his exposed skin, as if she could read his every foul thought.

  “I’m next,” she said, popping off her chair.

  “I don’t think so.” Roz beat her to it, blocking the way.

  His friend expected him to stand in an ever-shrinking room with Ali, blood in her hair, on the back of her neck, on her clothes? No. Fucking. Way.

  “Roz,” Connor said, louder than he’d intended. Both girls paused in mid-scuffle. “Ali gets the next shower.”

  “Yes.” Ali rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “Seriously?” Roz turned on him, hurt feelings practically written across her face. “Why,” she spat, “because she’s blonde and has perfect tits?” She looked suspiciously close to crying. He couldn’t deal with the blood issue—he still smelled it—and Roz’s tears, too. Not today.

  “Don’t do this.” He stomped into the first bedroom and yanked on a pair of boxers and some jeans under the towel.

  She put her hands on her hips. A bad sign. “Is this so you two can be out here, alone and squeaky clean, while I’m in the bathroom? You gonna make your move?” She said it like it was a bad thing.

  So what if he did? Why was he on trial with her all the time? If he wanted to seduce Ali, what was the damned issue? He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake.

  Not that Connor would. Because blood, with a capital B, was seducing him. Everything, all of a sudden, was about the blood. He couldn’t even think about making moves, not when he was starving. God, romance was so low on his list of priorities.