Once she stood beside it, she paused, unsure of what to do next. There were cops out front, most likely put there by Daniel with instructions not to let her leave the house. If she allowed them to stop her or let them follow her, Tabitha would be dead. She knew that with every fiber of her being. No cops. It was why she hadn’t called Daniel. Cole had no reason to be forgiving.
She bit her lip. Well, at least that was one thing that a Harley Davidson motorcycle was notoriously good at. Outrunning the law.
But she had to time this right.
On the wall beside the light switch was another switch for the garage door.
She pulled off the sweater she’d taken from Daniel’s closet and threw it onto the hood of the truck. She didn’t want its bulkiness encumbering her movements. Then she ran to the garage door switch and flicked it up. The door began to slide noisily upward. Hurriedly, she mounted the bike from the left side, hiking her dress up to the thighs of her long legs. Offhandedly, she swore she would never wear another summer dress again. She didn’t care how friggin’ hot it got, she was going to traipse around wearing jeans and motorcycle boots and full leather body armor twenty-four seven, for the rest of her life.
She put the key in the ignition, turned it, and waited for the lights. She kicked the gear shift all the way down, then half a click up and put the bike in neutral. Then she pressed the red start button. The bike roared to life and she went through the motions, thanking whatever lucky star it had been that had given her a boyfriend with a motorcycle for two semesters in college. He’d taught her to ride and she’d even used his bike to get to and from class twice a week. Everything was coming back to her now; it was like second nature.
The garage door had opened about three quarters of the way and Lily could make out the legs of the police officers as they made their way across the street toward the house. She figured they would do that as soon as the garage door started opening.
She waited another few seconds, eased the bike forward a little, looked left and right for cars, and then, just as the men’s faces became visible behind the rising white door, she kicked the bike into first, twisted the throttle, and rocketed past them.
Behind her, the garage door finished opening, and Officer Jennings and Officer Mayfield stood in the driveway of their chief’s house, staring slack-jawed at the disappearing image of a woman in a dress riding off on a Harley Davidson.
Jennings pulled the radio off of his belt and pressed a button. “Uh, someone might wanna tell Chief Kane that his girl’s gone rabbit,” he said, as he spun around and he and Mayfield headed back toward their car. “And she’s on his bike.”
“Copy that. Do not pursue. I repeat, do not pursue.”
“Ten-four.” Jennings glanced at Mayfield questioningly. Mayfield shrugged. “He probably left the order ‘cuz he doesn’t want her to get killed tryin’ to outrun us.”
Jennings nodded once. They each opened their doors and slid into their seats. Jennings put the radio to his mouth again. “Dispatch, get ready to copy a BOLO to all units. Suspect is white female, late twenties, blonde hair, brown eyes, last seen on Fairhaven, headed East. Vehicle make Harley Davidson motorcycle, color black, license plate…” he trailed off. He hadn’t had a chance to catch the plate. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Well, it’s the chief’s bike,” he added, a little mystified. “He’ll know.”
* * * *
Lily knew she was breaking about a thousand laws at that moment. She was speeding, she was crossing double lines, and she had barely paused to make sure no one was coming when she stormed through a red light. Or three.
The traffic was unbelievable. It hadn’t been like this ten years ago. Tabitha must have been right about the population tripling. It certainly seemed like it at the moment. She’d passed a few police vehicles, but much to her astonishment, none of them had popped their sirens and taken chase. She wondered at that, but in her world of worries it took a back seat to the bigger ones. She didn’t have a watch and had no idea how many minutes had passed since Cole had called her cell phone. And she was terrified.
Thoughts flitted about in her brain, hari-kari and scattered. She noticed the general lack of huge, ancient oaks where they used to lord over the streets, their branches draped in Spanish moss, blocking out the sun. She noticed the new developments everywhere – it seemed Wal-Mart had purchased the city, bulldozed it to the ground, and then gone into business with chain restaurants to rebuild over the leveled culture and history that was once Baton Rouge.
Lily hadn’t really had a chance to explore much since she’d been back into town. Now, the newness of the place – the vast, sweeping reconstruction – was throwing her for a loop. It was, to a large extent, unrecognizable. She began to fear that she wouldn’t remember which street was where. Jefferson didn’t look like Jefferson any longer. It had always been busy, but now it went from being identifiable to extraordinary, as entire new neighborhoods cropped up and buildings she thought she remembered were no longer there.
When she turned off of Jefferson to Bluebonnet, she gunned the bike and took up residence on the slim and patently dangerous shoulder of the road. Potholes threatened and vegetation had forced cracks in the asphalt that played Russian Roulette with the motorcycle’s wheels.
But Lily kept her eyes forward, her head straight, her right hand and foot ready on the breaks, and her left hand choked on the throttle.
Cars honked and men whistled. She weaved, desperately, around orange construction barrels on the corner of Bluebonnet and Perkins and an old African American woman at the Circle K cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at her, “You crazy, honey! Slow down!”
The world had become a circus of industry around Lily, but all that she could really think about was how much time had passed. All she wanted was Tabitha’s wellbeing. If she could just get her friend out of this mess alive…. Well, that would be good enough.
Lily figured that she, herself, was as good as done for. What could she do against a werewolf? And especially one as supposedly powerful as Malcolm Cole? Not a damned thing. There came a point in any battle when you had to admit that you’d lost. Surrendering before any more of your people were killed was the very best thing you could hope to do. And that’s exactly what Lily intended. If it would save Tabitha, then so be it.
It seemed like forever before Lily was finally roaring toward the newest housing areas. The homes became larger and less densely packed down here, with bigger yards that, as of yet, consisted of nothing much but grass. The trees were new and skinny, held by string and yard stick, and hadn’t yet had a chance to age to their full Louisiana splendor. It would take decades.
Lily followed the newly paved roads, slowing down so that she could read each of the street signs.
At last, she came to one that read “Hillmont.” Four houses waited on the intersection corners. Which one was Cole’s?
Lily pulled the bike further over on the shoulder and put her left foot down, keeping her right on the break. She scanned the expanse of neighborhood around her as her heart beat hard against her chest and her ears strained to catch even the slightest, familiar sound. Someone calling her name, maybe. Anything.
A flash of silver caught her eye and Lily turned in the saddle as a silver sedan with black tinted windows pulled up at the stop sign perpendicular to hers. It edged to the shoulder, just as she had done, and then idled. Waiting.
Lily’s heart skipped. Her gut clenched. She narrowed her gaze and looked closer.
Somehow, she just knew that car was there for her. With a sickened resignation, Lily turned off the bike and kicked down the stand. She took the key in her hand and began walking quickly across the streets in front of her, heading toward the waiting silver sedan.
When she was within about twenty feet, the back door on the opposite side of the sedan opened and a giant black man stepped out. Sammy, Alex’s big brother, had nothing on this guy. His biceps seemed like they would rip right through the fabric of his gra
y t-shirt. He was bald and wore mirrored sunglasses.
Lily stopped in her tracks, now so full of fear that there was literally no room in her body for any other emotion. She eyed the man and he took off his glasses. He nodded to her once.
“Miss St.Claire?” He called across the short distance.
“Yes.” Lily nodded.
“We work for Mr. Cole. Please come with us.”
Lily took a shaky breath and continued across the pavement. When she was close enough, the other back door of the silver sedan opened and a second man stepped out of the car. He was not as burly as the black man, but he was tall and well built, dressed in a black t-shirt and black dress pants with black dress shoes. A wicked scar ran down his left arm from his shoulder to the inside of his elbow. A second, thin scar graced his left cheek, barely missing his eye. Those eyes were as silver gray as the sedan. His black hair was streaked with gray at the temples and his lips had a slightly sensuous fullness to them. He was a handsome man; the scar seemed to only accentuate his attractiveness. It made it seem a bit more… dangerous.
Those sensuous lips curled up at the edges as Lily approached.
He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to climb in. “After you, Miss St. Claire.”
Lily ducked down and crawled into the back seat. There was a black sports coat draped over the side nearest to her and she figured that belonged to the scarred man. She managed not to touch it and sat in the middle of the long seat, hugging herself tightly. Almost at once, the black man lowered himself onto the seat next to her, closing the door. He smelled of expensive European cologne. The car smelled of new leather.
On her other side, the man with the scars reached in and retrieved his sports coat, pulling it smoothly over his body. Then he, too, got in beside Lily, effectively trapping her. Luckily, the car was quite large and there was ample room for the three of them.
Immediately the car pulled out into traffic once more and Lily tried to get a look at the driver. All she could see was the back of a head of blonde hair and an earring in one ear. There was no one seated beside the driver.
They were all in the back with her. She was so lucky.
Once they’d driven through the intersection, gone South on Bluebonnet a ways, and turned onto Nicholson, the black man leaned forward and pressed a button on the storage compartment between the two front seats. It slid open and presented a bottle of some kind of liquor and a single glass.
“Mr. Cole would like you to have a drink, Miss St. Claire.” The man pulled the bottle out of the box and retrieved the bottle opener behind it. He expertly popped the cork, picked up the glass, and smoothly poured the clear liquid into the crystal goblet.
“I don’t want any,” Lily found the strength to say.
From beside her, the man with the scars spoke. “There is no negotiating this, Miss St. Claire.” His voice was deep and a touch gravelly. She turned to face him. He smiled, flashing fangs. “Drink the wine.”
Lily gasped and jumped back, bumping up against the black man’s hard-as-steel body. She whirled around instinctively and the large man held the full glass out in front of her face. “Bottoms up,” he said and smiled. He, too, had fangs. And something strange glowed in the recesses of his brown eyes, causing them to turn to amber.
Lily’s heart felt as if it would literally burst through her rib cage. She put her hand to her chest. It was beginning to hurt.
“You two are scaring the hell out of her. I can smell her fear, for chrissake. You’re gonna give her a heart attack.” The driver shook his head as he turned a corner. His earring flashed in the sunlight. He had a younger voice; maybe in his late teens or early twenties.
The giant black man laughed a deep, genuine laugh. “Can’t help it,” he said. “She smells really, really good.”
“A Dormant,” the other man beside her agreed. Lily noticed that his eyes, too, had a strange glow to them now, making them shine like silver in the moonlight. “It’s been decades since I’ve scented one.”
“Calm down, Miss St. Claire. We’re not going to hurt you,” the black man told her, his tone at once a practiced calm. He lightly placed his hand against her shoulder and though she jerked at the sudden contact, he was gently persistent. He softly pushed her back against the seat. “Just breathe and try to relax.”
She looked from him to the other man and then to the driver, whose eyes she could now see in the rear-view mirror. They were gray as well, though not as stark as the scarred man’s.
“Breathe, Miss St. Claire,” the black man repeated.
She realized, then, that she had been holding her breath and her right hand had been squeezing Daniel’s motorcycle key so tightly that it left an outline in her palm. With effort, she opened her palm all the way and dropped the key on the seat. Then she released what was left of her breath and inhaled deeply. Her lungs expanded painfully and spots swam in her vision. She closed her eyes against them.
“That’s it.”
She took a few more deep breaths like this and found herself relaxing, ever-so-slightly, into the leather of the seat. Then she opened her eyes.
The black man smiled a pleased smile, his fangs still prominent. “Now, you do have to drink the wine; you have no choice in the matter.” He captured her gaze in his and held it. “But it will help settle your nerves.”
Lily really did not want to drink the wine. She was a light weight and there was a lot of wine in that glass. Wine always worked too fast on her. It went straight to her head and she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. If she downed the contents of that glass, she would be hammered before they reached wherever they were going. Without her faculties, how would she at least be able to make certain that Tabitha was okay?
“Please –” she started to say, but the scarred man cut her off.
“Drink it, sweetheart,” he told her, turning toward her so that her side was against his broad chest. “Your resistance is really only fueling the desire of every wolf in this car.” He tenderly brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek and she flinched when it sent a strange and not entirely unpleasant spark through her. “Is that what you want?” he asked, leaning forward so that his words brushed across her skin.
Lily shivered violently and took the glass, placing it to her lips. She swallowed and the wine burned down her throat. Warmth immediately spread across her chest.
The black man laughed. “You really know how to talk to a lady, James.”
“James” hadn’t taken his eyes off of Lily. She could tell because they seemed to burn into her. She took another big drink of the wine and resigned herself to her fate. In a few minutes, she’d managed to knock back nearly all of the glass and warmth and numbness were spreading like an analgesic fire through her middle. She felt its fingers slide inexorably lower, inching their way toward a growing moistness between her legs. Wine always did that to her. It was another reason she hadn’t wanted to drink it.
When she felt it take full effect, she couldn’t help the very soft moan that escaped her lips. She let her head drop back against the leather seat and ran her hands across her stomach to her legs. There, her fingers clutched at her dress as she pressed her legs tightly together.
“Shit,” the black man said. “Get us there quick, Isaac.” His voice had grown strangely husky and animalistic. “I don’t want to die today.”
Lily barely noticed his discomfort, and what she did notice, she didn’t care about. She was too high. She let her head roll slightly to the side, where he cheek pressed against James’s shoulder.
She blinked slowly. “Sorry,” she said, looking up at him. But she didn’t try to move.
He smiled. “It’s no problem, sweetheart. I don’t mind.”
All inhibition went flying out the window when she then asked, in a soft, conversational tone, “How old are you, James?”
His smile broadened. “How old do I look?” His molten gray eyes flashed and shimmered.
“You look about forty. Maybe forty-five.
But you’re a werewolf.” She blinked again and bit her lip. His gaze flicked down and then back to her eyes. “So, you’re a lot older than that. Right?” Her speech was slowing, growing encumbered.
“I’m one hundred and twenty-eight years old,” he told her softly.
“Wow,” she said, and closed her eyes against a wave of intoxicated pleasure. When she re-opened them, she saw a muscle tick along James’s jaw. “You have, like, a whole century on me.” She laughed then, as this seemed very funny for some reason. And then she became all seriousness. “Do you have a mate, James?”
James waited several long, quiet moments before answering. Then he inclined his head once. “She died in 1956, in a fire.”
Sadness swept over Lily. She suddenly imagined herself standing outside of a burning building, everything she had ever loved stuck inside, dying while she could do nothing to save it. It hurt. She’d always been too empathic. Too sensitive to other people’s pain. And now was no different, despite the fact that the people were werewolves and that she was utterly sloshed.
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” She told him, gently placing her hand to his cheek. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Something curious flashed in the depths of his silver gaze – there one second, and gone in the next.
Lily moaned again and let her arm drop. She writhed in the seat, the heat and moisture between her legs becoming uncomfortably demanding.
“I think you gave her too much, Thomas,” Isaac called back from the front seat. “She’s blitzed. Was that really the plan?”
Thomas, who was obviously the black man, seemed to consider her for a moment and then he sighed. “You might be right. It’s hard for me to judge these kinds of things.”
“That’s because you weigh as much as an elephant, dude,” Isaac replied. “She’s a slip of a thing. And she’s not a werewolf. And she’s just been marked. She’s weak. She’s going to cum and pass out before we even get there.”
The Heat Page 8
