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

by Anna Abner

  She couldn’t get his expression out of her mind. The sad, scared one. He was on some kind of suicide mission, carrying the fate of the world and all that martyr garbage, crumbling beneath the weight. He actually wanted to fight Oleksander again, despite how close he’d come to dying the first time. No wonder Roz stuck around in an impossible situation. What person could look at him and not want to help?

  The box springs squeaked. Someone shifted beside her. Roz. They’d agreed, reluctantly, to share Connor’s bed rather than isolate themselves in separate rooms. Roz explained it was easier to defend a single door than two. But they’d sworn to keep to their sides. No accidental leg kicking or hands touching rear ends in the middle of the night. If Roz was this close, then she—

  It wasn’t Roz fluffing the pillow beside her.

  Ali had half expected him not to return to the room at all, or at the very least to sleep in the bathroom. He was so careful about protecting them.

  Connor stretched out his long, lean body centimeters from her backside. She lay very still for a moment, every nerve standing at attention.

  Yeah, she needed to get home and take care of some stuff, but not today. Not even the next. She could afford to stick around a little longer. Help out. Maybe convince him he didn’t have to put his own life at risk to reach his goal. If someone didn’t stop him, he’d be dead soon. Permanently, forever dead. And that was unacceptable.

  Inhaling deeply, Ali leaned into him until her sleeve brushed his elbow. His arm came over her like an iron manacle snapping into place. Rather than frighten her, his weight and his heat made her feel safe for the first time in days, and she slept.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Connor watched the sun rise through the early morning haze from the hotel room’s wide balcony. He perched on the railing, facing out, his feet dangling fifty stories above the parking lot. Four hundred feet. If he jumped, he would never survive.

  He didn’t jump. He thought about it, but he didn’t do it. The girls needed him present and accounted for. She needed him.

  Ali woke up and got out of bed. He couldn’t see her, but he heard her footsteps. He knew it wasn’t Rozlyn because she walked quieter, like a ninja, and took longer strides. He listened to Ali’s noisy, rapid footsteps cross the room, from one corner to the other, from the bathroom to the bed.

  It occurred to him that she might be packing in a hurry and escaping. His insides twisted. If she left, he’d chase her down. He’d search every bus stop, every airport terminal. He would search from here to Los Angeles and beyond.

  The curtain moved, and Ali joined him on the balcony wearing his friend’s clothes. “I was looking for you.” She glanced at the concrete far below. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Peachy.” Even Connor had to admit his tone lacked a certain friendliness.

  But she didn’t run away. She leaned over the rail, fully investigating the height, and looking radiant in the early morning light.

  Roz’s old clothes had never looked so sexy. It was like he hadn’t seen that average tank top a dozen times in the last three months. On Ali, it was a whole new top. His new favorite.

  “I don’t think it’d kill you,” Ali surmised. “Just hurt you really bad.”

  “If I was going to kill myself, it’d be for keeps.”

  Finally, her face registered concern. “Don’t talk like that,” she said quietly. “It’s not funny.”

  Connor had woken that morning with her curled beside him, his arm around her waist, his leg crossed over hers. Her scent and her heat had overridden all else, a jolt to his senses. Everything from his ears to his toes had zinged in awareness. He’d gotten out of the room fast. He still didn’t understand why she’d snuggled up with the mean old vampire, and right then he didn’t want to know.

  He’d stared down at Miss Innocent coiled up in his arms like a lost kitten, all soft and sweet. Monster that he was, he hadn’t immediately extricated himself. Instead, he’d stayed very still, absorbing every sensory cue possible. Peaches and strawberries and warm, silky skin. He felt so old beside her, like a dried out husk of a human being. And he’d only been in Nevada three months. It felt like thirty.

  In all those months, Roz had never flashed him pretty, feminine eyes. She never patted his back or made him feel like a big man. She ran over vampires with trucks, shot a .357, and set his broken bones, but she never made his stomach twist or his breath stick in his throat.

  He did not need any warm and fuzzy feelings. Distractions, that’s what they were.

  If he were a normal person, he’d have pursued Ali. He’d pursue the hell out of her. But Connor had a destiny bigger than either of them. He’d have to settle for being near her for as long as he could.

  “I’m not going to jump.” No, he had one thing to do before he died. If he lived past that, he’d re-evaluate.

  Through the curtain, he heard Roz emerge from the bathroom and rustle around in her dresser drawers, probably gathering clothes and toiletries.

  Ali must have heard her, too, because she glanced at the curtain and lowered her voice. “Have you, you know, drank anything today? Do you want to walk to that restaurant again?”

  Her sweet little face was so earnest, he felt a twang of shame. “No. Not yet.” She frowned, confused maybe. Hell, he was confused, too. “In a bit,” he said.

  “What’s it like?” Her eyebrows drew together. “The blood.”

  The jars of it last night had been beyond great, but since he’d woken up infected, he’d spent a lot of time considering every source of blood possible. Animal, human, synthetic, cloned, living, and bagged. Without a doubt, the human route haunted him more than the others. He fantasized about slicing a wrist or a finger or biting into an artery. He’d never hurt the girls. But with Ali standing there talking about blood, he saw what it would be like. A flash of his head bowed over her hand. Or maybe her femoral artery, the one high on her thigh. He wondered what she’d taste like.

  He blinked. “Thick,” he answered with the first thing that popped into his head. “And cold. Kind of metallic.”

  She didn’t freak out, which he rather expected, and the words tumbled out uncensored. “It tastes like dead animals. But the things it does to me.” Ecstasy. “I feel like a superhero. I feel invincible. It’s like pure morphine. Everything inside me calms down. I can think straight. I’m not in pain anymore. It’s,” he grinned at her, “amazing.”

  She wasn’t showing disgust yet, but she wasn’t jumping for joy, either. Connor’s smile faded. He’d said too much. “God, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about this.” He swung off the railing and planted both feet on the balcony.

  “No.” Ali touched his forearm with the tips of her fingers. Four tiny firebrands. “It’s not that. I’m trying to imagine it.” She finally smiled, and her hand retracted. “I’m so glad you drank. You’re much more at ease.”

  “It’s nice to talk to someone about it.” He gazed at her hand now safely resting on the balcony rail. He wished she’d touch him again. He wished he could touch her, but he couldn’t figure out how to without coming off like a filthy monster.

  Maybe it was luck Roz had interrupted their near kiss. Maybe Ali deserved better than him.

  But the urge to possess her was becoming stronger than the warning bells in his head.

  “You can talk to Roz,” she said.

  Did he imagine a jealous spark in her eyes? Did she think he had secret yearnings for his best friend? Hardly. His feelings for Rozlyn were out in the open for all to see. Friendship. That’s what it had always been, and that’s where it would stay. End of story.

  “No,” Connor said. “Not about this stuff.” No need to over analyze. He just didn’t want to scare Roz. But it was different with Ali. He wasn’t worried about scaring her, not really.

  “Well.” Ali turned and faced the view of the Caribbean-themed hotel across the street. “You can talk to me about anything.” She swallowed, and he knew the hammer was about to fall. “Like w
hy you think you need to kill the Destroyer.”

  “I’m the only one who can.”

  “Not true. A military drone could do it. Or a bomb. Or literally a thousand other weapons.”

  “Yeah,” he snorted, “but no one is offering. I’m here, and I’m willing to do it.”

  “Have you petitioned anyone? Written a letter to the army? Or your president?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good.”

  “I think we could brainstorm different options.” She physically vibrated with frustration. “Killing human beings is not the way to solve this. It cannot be the only answer. There might be a cure—”

  “Morning.” Roz poked her head through the curtain and actually startled him. He’d been so distracted, he hadn’t even heard her approach.

  The balcony seemed to collapse to the size of a playing card. Hardly room to breathe.

  #

  Ali watched Connor, maybe a little too frequently, maybe a little too closely, but she couldn’t help herself. He was fascinating. Was it her imagination or had he actually grown in height since the infection?

  “I need a shower,” Connor said, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. “Then I’m taking Ali shopping.” Without further explanation, he passed her on the way to the bathroom to use all her hot water and shampoo.

  “But I was—” A crazy, ridiculous thought crossed Ali’s mind. They could share the shower, together. It would save time and water. She could scrub his back, and he could wash her hair. She could practically feel the steam and smell the soap. Her skin tingled, inside and out. Sweet Jesus. If only.

  “Huh?” Connor asked, pausing with one hand on the bathroom knob.

  She laughed for no apparent reason. “Never mind.” Coffee. She needed pots of it and fast.

  By the time everyone finished their showers, separately, Ali had consumed enough coffee to fuel a race car, and Roz had settled on the sofa with her phone in her hands. While Ali tied on a borrowed pair of trainers, the cell rang with an incoming call.

  “It’s Natasha,” Roz announced. A young woman with black librarian glasses perched on an oversized nose appeared on a video call.

  “Hi,” Natasha greeted, smiling wide. “After everything you told me,” she said, “I really feel like I need to be there. I’m worried about you and Connor. Anton’s beside himself.”

  Trying to be inconspicuous, Ali rounded the sofa and pretended to peruse the bottled drinks in the fully stocked refrigerator, but she was more than curious about the New Zealand heiress and her brother.

  “It’s not safe,” Roz said. “You know better than anyone how unsafe it is.”

  “But I want to see what’s happening in real time,” Natasha complained in a nasally half-whine. “I watch the videos and the photos, but you know it’s on my bucket list to see a vampire in person.”

  “You can do what you want,” Roz said. “It’s your money, your life, but I’d wait if I were you. Connor isn’t completely in control of himself,” she cast a sidelong glance at the man skulking in the darkened hallway. “And the leadership of the horde has been out murdering entire families. Maybe you can visit in a few months,” she said, “when things calm down.”

  “It’s so hard to wait,” she complained, sighing audibly. “Is Connor there?”

  “I’m here.” Connor emerged from the shadows to bend over Roz’s shoulder and smile tightly at the screen. “Hello, Natasha.”

  “Connor?” A man’s face appeared beside Natasha’s. He shared her oversized nose, but had short spiky hair and no glasses over a pair of green eyes. “Is that you? I’ve been worried about you, man.”

  “Anton,” Connor acknowledged. “Nothing to worry about. I’m doing okay.”

  “I can’t believe you’re infected,” Natasha exclaimed. “I cried when Roz told me.” Then, suddenly all business, she asked, “Can you list your symptoms?”

  Connor glanced briefly at Ali. “I don’t really want to talk about this.”

  “Come on,” Natasha pressed. “This is what we’ve been waiting for—firsthand accounts. Just give me three. I’m taking notes as we speak.”

  Clearly uncomfortable, Connor shifted against the sofa and said, “Heightened senses. Speed. Strength.” Then, with those vague and not very enlightening descriptors, he said, “I’m taking Ali shopping. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Guys?” Roz broke in, slipping off the couch with her phone and disappearing into her room. “We were attacked yesterday.” Her voice slowly faded until it became inaudible.

  “Ready?” Connor asked Ali, finishing off his jeans and T-shirt look by concealing a handgun. Playing along, she tucked her Ruger in her pocket and headed for the door.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  They rode downstairs to the palatial hotel lobby, weaving in and out of French statuary and classical landscapes hanging from every wall. The Le Sort had spared no expense in decorating every inch of their hotel complex with the most extravagant styles. Every surface dripped wealth and grandeur. Beyond the casino floor was a promenade lined with shops catering to designers Ali had only dreamed of. Chanel. Gucci. Versace. So many she couldn’t sort them all.

  “You need some clothes of your own,” Connor said, already eyeballing day dresses. “Stuff you like. And some decent shoes.”

  The laugh of surprised joy died down. “It’s too much,” she said, turning from the most beautiful clothing she’d ever seen. “I can’t accept it. Your investors don’t owe me anything.”

  “Anton’s not buying this,” he said, pulling her between tables piled with folded cashmere and denim. “I am.”

  At her skeptical look, he added, “My grandfather helped raise me, and when he passed away everything he owned went into a trust for me.”

  “A small trust?” she guessed. Because she still wasn’t going to blow his grandpa’s life savings on designer shoes.

  “A large trust,” he said, lifting a cotton top so soft it rippled like silk. “A very large trust, so large I’d need a lifetime to spend it all.” He set the top down and leaned over a basket of lace panties. “What looks good to you?”

  Before she could answer, a shopgirl not much different than Ali in her normal life strolled over to help.

  Connor spoke up first. “She needs three or four outfits that she can run in and get dirty. Things that’ll keep her cool in the heat. Plus shoes, underwear, pajamas, and whatever else she wants.”

  “Of course.” The woman eyed Ali up and down. “I’ll start pulling some pieces while you look around.”

  “This is too kind of you,” Ali said as he drew blouses out of drawers. Sleeveless blouses. “I’ll pay you back when I get home.” She still wasn’t comfortable spending his money, no matter how much he might have.

  “No, you won’t.” He handed her a skirt. “Do you like it?”

  Her hesitation must have been obvious because he squinted in confusion, and she explained, “My father was very conservative. I wasn’t allowed to wear stuff like that when I was growing up.”

  Connor held the skirt up to her hips. “That’s a shame because you have amazing legs.”

  The shopgirl returned, saving Ali from having to stutter some inane reply. “I have a room set up for you.” She led the way to a beautifully adorned dressing room full of clothes, shoes, and underwear. “I guessed your size,” the woman said. “Let me know if you need anything.” She closed the door, shutting out Connor and the rest of the world.

  For a moment, Ali stared at the pieces of clothing, too overwhelmed to move. Finally, the designs, patterns, and fabrics drew her in, and she stripped in order to try on a maxi dress that fit her perfectly. But her legs got tangled in the voluminous skirt, so she set it aside and tried on shorts that somehow made her rear end look better than it ever had before, sleeveless blouses so soft they made her skin sing, and skirts that showed off her legs.

  Caught up in the thrill of so many amazing choices, she picked out a couple outfits to last the next two days and a couple more for the t
rip home. She also scooped up an armload of silk panties, a pair of ballet flats, and a pair of cross-trainers in case she had to run through the sand again.

  She emerged slightly out of breath, but flushed with excitement.

  “Let me take those for you,” the shopgirl said, relieving Ali of her burden. “I’ll meet you at the register.”

  Ali glanced up at Connor who watched her with an inscrutable expression on his handsome face. She flushed even deeper.

  “You look so happy,” he said. “That makes me happy too.” He reached for her hand, and she gladly accepted it.

  At the register, Connor paid for her new clothing and ordered it to be delivered to their suite.

  “One more quick stop,” he said, leading her along the promenade back the way they’d come.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, still bouncing a little. “You have no idea how much I appreciate having my own things so I don’t have to wear Roz’s clothes.”

  Smiling crookedly, he gestured for her to precede him into a brightly lit pharmacy with a row of slot machines next to the entrance.

  The first aisle Connor turned into offered alcohol, floor to ceiling, in every conceivable brand and potency.

  “Do you drink?” he asked, inspecting a gallon-sized bottle of tequila.

  “No.” Good God, that much alcohol would put her into a coma.

  He set the tequila back on the shelf. “Too bad. I’d love to see you loose and out of control.”

  Ali’s stomach fluttered. She didn’t object to loosening up, it’s what everyone she’d ever met had advised her to do, but she couldn’t afford to. Losing control was playing with fire.

  “I don’t do out of control.”

  “Yeah, me neither. Not anymore. I might forget my manners and kill somebody.” Though he laughed in a self-deprecating way, she wasn’t amused. They turned a corner into the contraception section. Ali stood face to face with a display for flavored condoms.

  Mango, cherry, grape…