Matters of the Blood

by Maria Lima

  It wasn't easy, but I took a stab at forcing myself to stare straight ahead and not let my mind wander there ... or to the other question in my muddled brain: “boxers or briefs?” I stole another glance. Silk boxers ... if anything at all. He was definitely not the tightie whitie type.

  His arm brushed my hand as he folded his body into the front passenger seat, grace in motion, contained energy in action, smooth, fluid, and elegant, but with a hint of controlled power hovering just below the surface. Almost like a shapeshifter. If Carlton was comfortable in his own skin, Adam was poetry in his. Poetry and a little music besides.

  "Where can I drop you?” I said, my subconscious taking over and spouting the expected pleasantries. Thank goodness for social conventions or I might find myself babbling like an idiot.

  "If it's not too far out of your way, could you take me to the Wild Moon?"

  Somehow that figured. A fancy exclusive resort would be just the place for Adam Walker. But I was a little surprised he'd come all this way to vacation. I'd always pictured him in places like Marbella or Monte Carlo, not B.F.E. Texas.

  "So what brings you all the way out here?"

  "I came to talk to the undertaker, but the building was locked. Since my driver had left, I walked around the back to see if someone was here. Then the rain caught me."

  "Why? Did someone die?"

  Stupid questions. Embarrassing. I'd be happy to not totally turn into an idiot child before I could get him back to the ranch.

  "No, nothing like that. I just needed ... well, it's kind of personal, actually. Kind of a family obligation."

  He hesitated a moment. “Were you here for...?” He gestured, indicating the hearse.

  "No, not me,” I said quickly. “Just ... you can say it was a family obligation, too. I'm sure he'll be back later. I can give you the number.” I reached around to grab my backpack, meaning to get out one of Marty's business cards.

  Adam put his hand on my arm, stopping my movement and sending another flash of heat through me.

  "Thanks anyway, but I have his number. Now how about that ride?” His eyes crinkled as he smiled, briefly showing his white teeth.

  I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

  "Sure. Coming right up. Chauffeur service."

  I turned to face front and started the car, promising myself to pay attention to my driving. I had to stop thinking about him, or I'd end up in a wreck. Nothing like a rampaging herd of hormones to ruin your concentration.

  * * * *

  I kept my attention on the road, not saying much on the trip out to the ranch. Normally, I loved driving in the quiet shadows of the Hill Country, alone with my thoughts, wrapping the velvet darkness around me like a warm cloak, or a lover's voice. Tonight wasn't quite so silent. In addition to the unnerving presence of my passenger, whom I could feel so very solidly next to me despite my strong shields, the dark was full of the memory of the vision I'd had in the prep room.

  These visions unsettled me. I couldn't let myself believe they were all true second sight. As much as I disliked Marty, I didn't want him dead. Not to mention the fact I was afraid that my talent would end up being true clairvoyance. No, not just afraid. I was scared—bone deep scared. The power exhibited during changing didn't necessarily have anything to do with our primary talent, but I was terrified of having to spend the rest of my prolonged life not being able to ever touch others, frightened of what I'd see, of the nightmares that could be generated by a single contact. The worst part was that I had no choice. Talent was inherited, like blue eyes or red hair. I could be fatalistic about it and hope my personal genetic symphony would be kind and the finale would be something I could live with, like shapeshifting or healing, but this particular overture wasn't at all comforting.

  "We're almost to the gate."

  His voice, still smooth, interrupted my train of thought.

  My headlights flashed on a small square of wood hung from one of the horizontal posts that punctuated the fence lining the road. No lettering on the sign, just a stylized red circle cut by what looked like wisps of cloud.

  "Nice logo,” I said. “Not exactly obvious, though. Guess they're not much into advertising."

  "You haven't come out here before?” He sounded surprised.

  "Not exactly,” I answered, not wanting to get into the whole happy clan hunting-ground scenario. “The place was abandoned for so long, we all trespassed on the Point at one time or another, but this part is a little out of my way. Out of most people's way, actually. I imagine that's why the owner bought it. No point in a private exclusive resort if you're in the middle of town."

  "Touch?."

  Unlike most Hill Country dude ranches, the Wild Moon didn't have the usual arrogant wrought iron sign straddling the gate, proclaiming its status as a possession of someone with more money than sense. If I hadn't been watching for the entrance, I might have missed it. A single lamp illuminated the simple opening, throwing a weak pool of light over the road. I turned the wheel, steering the car up to what looked to be a state-of-the-art electronic gate. A keypad was mounted on the left, about driver's eye level.

  I looked over at Adam who smiled, then pulled out a small remote control unit from his pocket and pointed it forward. The gate slid open and I pulled through. Handy. Don't make your guests have to remember anything as mundane as a password. Instead, give them a remote control.

  Steadily increasing pools of water on the surface of the caliche road reflected the feeble light. Rain drummed on the roof of the Rover and showed no signs of slowing. In fact, it had gotten heavier over the last few minutes. I could barely see the path in front of me. It was like driving in some sort of weird otherworld, my headlights barely piercing the near-absolute darkness.

  "Not so much into lighting around here, are they?"

  "Guests pay for privacy here,” Adam answered. “I give them what they want. At least most of the time."

  "What do you mean ‘you'?” I asked. “I thought you were here on holiday."

  "Not exactly,” Adam said. “Actually, I own the ranch."

  A flash of something cut in front of us. I stomped on the brake and wrestled with the steering as we began to skid off the gravel. The rain-slick caliche didn't make it any easier to maneuver, but I managed to keep control as we slid to a stop bare inches from a cluster of live oaks. I could barely breathe. That had been way too close for comfort.

  "Was it something I said?” Adam sounded amused.

  I looked at my passenger, my hands still gripping the steering wheel. At first I couldn't speak, my brain warring with the hammering in my chest.

  "Sorry,” I breathed. “Something ran out in front of us. I almost hit it."

  I peered through the windshield, but I couldn't see very far. My night vision was excellent, but tonight it was useless; it was much too dark and the rain completely obscured any view. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn I'd seen a creature that ran by on two legs, then four; a shapeshifter, one of my own clan. But it couldn't be.

  "Did you see what it was?” Adam spoke quickly.

  "It went by too fast,” I answered quickly. “It looked pretty big, though, whatever it was. Maybe a wildcat. I'm not sure. I don't think it ran like a deer."

  I wasn't quite lying. It hadn't run like a deer. It had run like a wolf ... one that spent part of its life on two legs instead of four. But there aren't any wolves in Texas. Right? Not even were—at least not any more, not that I knew of. At least not in the Hill Country. Maybe. Shit. I didn't really know. My family had cleared out, but that didn't mean someone else hadn't moved in without telling me. If that was the case, someone was going to be in for a world of hurt. This was still my family's acknowledged territory. As long as I was here, no other clan family could move in without permission. I almost smiled at the thought of having the chance to kick some supernatural booty. Playing Marty's babysitter for two years meant no opportunity to practice the fighting skills I'd learned. Even though I'd kept up my
training, sparring at a dojo with a human who could get hurt was no substitute for a good confrontation.

  Adam leaned forward and peered out into the rain-slashed darkness. “Is there something out there?” he asked. “Next to the road?"

  I leaned forward and wiped the glass, trying to see. He was right, I couldn't see what, but something was just off the road, near a clump of mesquite bushes, a few yards away.

  Oh, crap. I had to go look. As I opened the driver's door, a sudden gust of wind brought more than the smell of rain to my nose. Whatever was there was dead. Freshly dead. Predator, all right. But what kind?

  "What is it?” His voice was terse, abrupt.

  "I'm not sure."

  Damn it, I needed to see what it was, whether or not it was another deer. If I could catch a sense of its killer, I might be able to figure out what was roaming around. I didn't think it would be dangerous out there. I'd put down some pretty serious odds that the predator had just crossed in front of my car, but I still didn't want to drag Adam into this. This may be his legal turf, but it was still my home turf. And someone was most definitely trespassing. Until I got closer, I wouldn't be able to identify it.

  "Something's dead in those bushes,” I finally said. “Stay here, I'm going in to check.” I stepped out into the rain, ignoring the fact that I was going to get soaked again.

  Seconds later, a movement immediately to my right startled me. Adam appeared at my side, not a foot away. He must have gotten out when I did. I must not have been paying attention. I'd thought he was still sitting in the car.

  "You didn't have to come out and get wet, too."

  His answer was quiet, but forceful. “It's my land. I need to look. Although, it's probably just a dead armadillo or something.” His nose wrinkled as if in distaste.

  I shrugged. “If it's a dead armadillo it can stay there,” I said. “But if it could be ... something else."

  "Human?"

  His question startled me.

  "What? No—I mean, it's too small."

  I knew it wasn't a person. The smell was wrong, although I couldn't tell him that's how I knew.

  I grabbed my Maglite from behind my car seat, shut the door and was already walking up the road, my hiking boots gripping the wet rocks. Adam walked to my left, his steps surprisingly sure and solid for a man walking in smooth-soled shoes on a slick gravel road.

  The headlight beams didn't quite penetrate this far, so I snapped on the flashlight as I neared the clump of bushes. Lucky for me Mother Nature decided to cooperate just about then and turned off the overhead faucet. I blinked the last of the raindrops from my face.

  Shit, I'd almost stepped on its head.

  It wasn't a deer.

  Glazed eyes stared up at the sky, a gash in the animal's neck spilled over with red-tinted water, washing out the blood that was once there. Orange-striped fur peaked in wet clumps around its body. Its mouth gaped open, exposing its pitiful little fangs. No match for whatever had killed it.

  "A cat.” Adam's voice had lost its previous warmth.

  I nodded and looked at him as he stepped around me to stand on the other side of the carcass, carefully avoiding the animal's tail. It was a house cat. A big one, maybe eighteen, twenty pounds, but still, once somebody's pet. There was even a blue leather collar around its torn neck.

  I braced myself and took a deep breath, trying to sort out particular scents underneath the reek of blood, death and wet ground. A few things came through, a touch of cedar, a hint of Mexican oregano as if the cat had brushed against a bush or two in its wanderings. The sharp bitterness of its maleness. An unneutered tom. Great. Some bozo hadn't bothered to fix his cat and it had either run off or had been dumped out here in the boonies, only to become prey for something bigger and nastier. Then suddenly, a scent I recognized. Shit. It couldn't be. We never hunted pets. I needed to get out of here and make a phone call.

  "Do you recognize it?” I asked Adam, hoping it wasn't his cat.

  "No.” The once rich voice was brusque and flat. “We have a lot of strays abandoned around here. You really didn't see what ran past?"

  "It went by too quickly. But from the looks of it, it could have been a bigger cat or other natural predator.” I was lying, but I couldn't explain to Adam what I suspected. I could see where sharp teeth had shredded the cat's neck.

  "Damn.” The soft word spilled out almost in a whisper.

  "Yeah,” I said. “Not much like those deer."

  Adam's head snapped up, eyes blazing green fire in the glow of the flashlight. For a split second, a trick of the light made it seem as if there was a real flame behind them.

  "How did you know about that?” His voice rose, clipping the syllables.

  "Hey, take it easy there, Adam,” I said, backing up. “Everyone knows."

  "Everyone?"

  "It's a small town. Things like that get around. Look, there's no point in staying out here in the wet. Let's go back."

  "I'm sorry,” he said, calming down. “It really bothers me that someone could come poach on my land and hurt the animals that I spend so much time rescuing."

  "Rescuing?"

  "Most of our exotic stock comes from defunct hunting ranches,” he said, ducking under a particularly vicious mesquite branch. “I couldn't let them go to another trophy-hunting place."

  "Good for you.” I meant it. I hated those places.

  "You don't believe in hunting?"

  "It's not that,” I said. “Real hunting's fine as long as you eat what you kill.” Okay, so the way I meant it wasn't exactly the traditional shoot, skin and butcher, but it was true. “I just want the prey to have a fighting chance. Not like these places that treat the game like pets, putting out feed and acclimating them to humans, then ‘too bad, so sad'—it's now somebody's future wall-hanging."

  I opened the back door of the Land Rover, and pulled out a couple of towels I kept in a gym bag in the back. I didn't explain that I mostly used them to wipe down the car. I'd just washed them and they were clean.

  "Here,” I said, and tossed him a towel.

  He smiled as he swabbed the water from his skin, trying to sop up the worst of it. “That's better, thank you."

  "You're welcome,” I said and continued to mop water from my hair. A losing proposition. My hair was still braided; in order to really dry it, I'd have to undo the braid and spend a good hour or two with at least two thick towels. That would have to wait until I got home. I peeled off my soaking flannel shirt, leaving me in a thin cotton tank top that was just as wet. But it was more comfortable than the sopping flannel.

  Adam looked like he was a candidate for a centerfold, the kind where the model is posing in a pool of water, hair slicked back and clothes clinging to every muscle. He passed the towel over his hair and squeezed the ends.

  I looked away, trying to maintain some semblance of control. I wrapped the towel around me and climbed into the car.

  "Are you cold?” he asked, climbing in on the passenger's side, his voice once again full of the rich warmth.

  "Not really,” I answered, fumbling with the keys. It wasn't cold that made me shiver. I'd covered myself because I didn't want him to see how he was affecting me. At this point, idiot child was rapidly becoming slut puppy—and I was not happy with the whole idea.

  "Let me start the car and see if I can get back on the road or we may never get out of here. It's all over mud."

  As I put the Rover back into gear and inched until I felt gravel beneath the wheels, Mother Nature pulled another nasty trick. A boom of thunder heralded another downpour, this one stronger than before. I stopped the car and threw it in neutral, then turned off the motor and fastened the parking brake. It was impossible to see more than three feet in front of the hood. I wasn't going to try to drive anywhere again until it let up. The dash lights offered some illumination, so I left them on after turning off the headlights. I wasn't too worried about other traffic. From the looks of this road, not even the guests traveled it very ofte
n.

  "It looks like we're going to have to wait this out.” I said. “Hope you don't have any major plans.” As I said that, a little ping of memory registered in my tired brain. Shit. Bea.

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  CHAPTER SIX

  I dialed her mobile, not sure where she'd be. She answered on the second ring.

  "Hola, chica, what's shaking?” I could hear the sound of music in the background.

  "Hey, girl, there's been a slight alteration in plans."

  "What's up, Keira?"

  "Well, I'm sort of stuck.” I didn't quite know how to tell her what was happening. I didn't really want to get into all the gory and not-so-gory details until I could sort everything out. “Are you at my house yet?"

  "Yep, just got here. I'm starting to fix some nachos."

  "Great, but I'm going to be a little while yet.” I glanced over at Adam, who, to his credit, was trying to pretend he wasn't listening to my conversation. I could see his head turned toward the front of the car.

  "I'm giving someone a ride to the Wild Moon,” I explained. “But the rain's coming down too hard and I can't see to drive. We're going to wait it out for a little while."

  "Cool beans,” she answered, mumbling over her chewing. “Who's the lucky passenger?"

  "His name is Adam Walker. He was stranded out by the funeral home.” I glanced over. He was still staring off into the dark.

  I could hear Bea's gasp even over the rain pounding on the Rover. “No way, really? Adam Walker?"

  "What do you mean?” I turned my head away from Adam and lowered my voice. He probably could hear me anyway, but I could at least pretend my conversation was private.

  "Woo hoo, m'hija; you are so way lucky!” I could hear the grin in her voice. I started to flush again.

  "What did you just say?” I wasn't sure if I'd heard her right.

  "He's the owner of the ranch. Mm-mm, gorgeous and rich—two strikes for, I'd say."

  I was startled. “You know him?"

  "Sure,” she said. “Well, not really know him. But I've seen him.” She crunched in my ear. A nacho.