She took in a hissing breath when she turned the corner to see Davis still hovering by the staircase. He knelt by the littered pieces of banister, his brown hair falling forward across his forehead. He glanced up when he heard her step into the room and frowned.
"Where are you going?” He stood to his full height, eye to eye with her.
Alana, in her best Nola mode, shrugged and smiled wistfully. “Just wanted to go out, enjoy the weather,” she managed to answer in a smooth voice.
Davis blinked his grey eyes a few times and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared her down with a stern gaze.
Alana refrained from taking the knife from her ankle sheath and slitting his throat with it. Instead, she smiled. “You can join me, if you want."
"I'd rather not,” he answered dryly. His gaze shifted down, toward the floor. He kicked at one of the broken spokes, rolling it beneath his boot.
"Is something wrong?” she asked, but when his eyes flashed back to her with a hint of wolfen yellow, she knew it had been the wrong question to ask.
"Rose almost fucking died, and you want to go out and enjoy the weather?” Davis scoffed, shaking his head. “That's unbelievable."
"What's unbelievable? That I want to get out of this house for a while, away from the chaos?” Alana thought she did a good job when she sounded chagrined enough. She even made her lower lip tremble.
Davis wasn't buying it.
"Yeah, right,” he answered, unfolding his arms and kneeling to the floor. His fingertip touched and drew away quickly. “You see that?” he asked, holding it up so she could see the faint dust on his fingers. “It's sawdust. Someone cut these spokes to make them break and I have a pretty good idea who it was."
"What?” Alana felt a wave of panic hit her. She willed it away with a few deep breaths. Davis's accusatory gaze never left her for a second. “You think I did it?"
His silence and heated stare were enough of an answer to confirm it.
Alana's mouth dropped open in dutiful surprise and she widened her eyes for effect. “You can't possibly think I'm responsible for this?"
"All signs point to yes.” Davis made a wide, sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Where were you when this was happening?"
"I was in the bathroom."
"Hiding?"
"No!"
Davis stopped the interrogation and closed his eyes. “For some reason, I don't believe you."
Alana feigned ignorance. “I don't know what you're talking about. I just learned of the accident a little bit ago. I was in the bathroom when she fell. I swear it!” Her voice held just a touch of pleading, enough to seem sincere.
But judging from the look Davis’ face, he still didn't believe her. He opened his eyes to look at her coolly. “You know, for someone who had nothing to do with it, you're trying awfully hard to prove something."
"I didn't do it,” she pleaded again, this time bringing coached tears to her eyes as she looked to Davis for sympathy.
But the half-blood wasn't about to give in. He shook his head.
"Why are you suspecting me? Is it just because I wasn't there? Why are you accusing me?” She asked her questions in a broken voice. She took a step toward him, but Davis moved back.
"I have my reasons,” he said in the same cool voice. He looked her up and down.
Alana was quickly growing tired of this game. She realized, ruefully, that she wouldn't be able to change his mind about it. He was solid and stubborn. She sighed at his cryptic answer and blinked back her fake tears. She composed herself, clenching her fists at her side.
There was a change in Davis's eyes that made her aware that something had changed on her face as well. Alana knew she was crossing into dangerous waters with what she was about to say, but she could no longer hold it in. Her entire demeanor and attitude changed in zero seconds flat. She was no longer Nola Anderson, but herself once again.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is, but get off my back, all right? I didn't do a goddamn thing so stop acting like I did,” she started in a low voice. She closed the distance between them and stared at him eye to eye. “Just because I'm the new girl doesn't mean I'm the suspect."
Davis swallowed hard. She could smell a slight bit of fear from him, but not much. Her lips curled into a smirk. The intimidation factor was at work again, just like with Aurora earlier. She decided to use it to her benefit, but carefully.
"I wasn't there,” she said in a softer voice that oozed malice. “And even if I was there, you wouldn't be able to prove it. You couldn't smell my scent if you tried. You're only a half-blood."
"You're one to talk,” Davis cut in. “You're a changed-blood."
"My point exactly. You wouldn't be able to smell me, if I had been the culprit.” She stepped back from him, glancing wistfully at the broken place in the banister. “Besides, there are so many other weres here, too many to sniff through to find out just who's been loitering near the staircase."
Davis started, moving back quickly so they were no longer as close. “You little bitch,” he said hatefully. “You do know something, don't you?"
"If I did, you wouldn't be able to prove it,” she answered in a mocking tone. Her smirk remained on her face. Gauging his reaction, she found it infuriated him. That gave her some satisfaction.
Davis clenched his hands at his side. Alana wasn't sure if he would hit her or not, but she was prepared to move quickly if he lunged at her.
"I'll prove it,” he said darkly, standing his ground. “If you were the one who caused this, I'll prove it."
She laughed. “How? Sniffing around? I think not."
His face blanched. She knew from his expression he found himself cornered. “No, I think not,” she said again. “You can't prove anything on me. I didn't do it."
She smiled, brightly and begrudgingly slipped back into her Nola persona. “I'm innocent."
"Bullshit.” Davis muttered under his breath.
Alana beamed at him. It was true what she had said, and they both knew it. He wasn't going to prove anything on her. She was in the free and clear.
Davis seemed to realize this and clenched his teeth together. Alana watched his temples throb and her smile turned into a knowing smirk. If he wanted to prove anything, he was going to have to try a lot harder.
Intimidation was not his strongest point. “I'll find out the truth. I'll prove it,” he said, uselessly.
Alana said nothing. With a flip of her head that tossed her dark hair behind her, she sauntered toward the door. One look over her shoulder with that knowing smirk still glued to her face was all the answer she needed to give.
As far as she was concerned, this conversation was over. She had places to go and people to see...
And more importantly, people to kill.
She left the PRDI quickly and hailed a cab down the street. She had some time before she had to meet Miguel at the hotel. She hoped it would be enough time for him to come up with a plan.
* * * *
* * * *
Miguel Rodriguez stood by the window in his hotel suite, hidden from outside view by the thick rose colored curtains. The sun warmed the curtains and he pressed his bearded cheek against them as he waited. Alana was due any moment.
He tried to convince himself he wasn't worried as he ran a calloused hand along the raised etchings of the flowered wallpaper. Alana was a capable girl, if a little too hot headed. All she needed was to keep her cool.
Having thought of that, he really was worried about her now. Miguel let the curtains flutter closed and pushed away from the wall. He knew Alana well enough to know she wouldn't stand by and do nothing when she was pissed.
He couldn't help it and he smirked at the thought. She was a hot tamal for sure, a fiery pistol waiting to explode and while it proved useful in some situations, it was a deadly curse for her.
Miguel endured her angry phone calls with clenched teeth. He had wanted to reach through the phone and smack some sense into the bitch.
/> How many times did he have to tell her before it got into her thick skull? She needed to be patient. She needed to be smart. He couldn't pretend to know the hatred she felt for this man and woman, but emotions left unchecked meant dangerous business, and in his line of work it could mean death.
He wanted her to figure it out for herself, to stop relying on him. If she was what she said she was, then it would be no problem for her. He still didn't understand why she needed him in the first place. It all seemed so pointless, considering she had all the ideas and he was just the support.
And now she had turned it all around, probably to save her own ass. Miguel was undoubtedly upset by this, but he never backed out of a mission, no matter the circumstances. He knew what he had to do to help her, given she wouldn't help herself this time. He only hoped she could cool down long enough to do it right.
He heard the rumble of an engine and turned back toward the window. Peeling the curtain back a fraction of an inch, he peered out. A yellow cab had just pulled up and the door slammed when a lithe figure stepped out. He recognized the thin frame, the dark hair and soft expression on her face. It was Alana in her best Nola getup.
Her dark brown hair hung loosely down her back, falling in waves over her ear as she leaned in the window to pay the driver. She thrust a wad of bills at him then straightened, her gaze flying upwards toward his window.
He didn't acknowledge he was there, which, judging by the look on her face, infuriated Alana. She quickly jumped the curb as the cab pulled away, and entered the hotel lobby.
Miguel stepped away from the window and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the night stand. He lit one and blew the smoke out through his nose. He sat on the love seat in the room and reclined. Alana would be there any second.
Sure enough, he heard loud footfalls outside the door and the quick snick of the key card in the lock. The door flew open a moment later, a very flustered and angry looking Alana crossing the threshold.
"I have had it, Miguel.” She slammed the door, jarring a framed copy of the hotel's rules and procedures. “I have fucking had it."
"Keep your voice down, chica,” he drawled lazily from where he lay, his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the huge cushion. “These walls are paper thin."
"Like I give a flying fuck. The bitch was supposed to die."
"I know, I know.” He kept his voice calm, watching her as she stormed across the room then paced back to him.
"What's your plan?” she asked him suddenly, jutting her hip out and putting a hand haughtily on it. Miguel looked up at her slowly.
"I don't know. Maybe I don't have one,” he answered, with just enough of an aloof attitude to further aggravate her.
It worked. The look on her face could only be described as infuriated shock. Her mouth dropped open and she made an ugly noise in her throat.
"You can't be fucking serious ... you said over the phone you had a plan."
"I always have a plan,” Miguel repeated what he had told her earlier, this time adding a bit of a shrug. “But I told you it's up to you this time. I'm not here to piece it all together, only here to help."
"Oh, not this shit again.” Alana rolled her eyes. In a flash, she grabbed a handful of his long black hair and jerked. Miguel was quick to retaliate, grabbing her wrist and pulling it back painfully. Immediately, she released his hair and let out a cry.
He could've easily snapped her wrist, but he didn't. Instead, he rose from the couch to face her. He was taller than she was by several inches so he towered over her, making himself an intimidating presence.
"I know you're strong,” he said in a voice heavy with warning. “But you know better than to fuck with me. I can kill you like that.” He snapped his fingers in her face and Alana jumped.
Her pained look quickly returned to anger. “Let go of me, Miguel.” She gave a warning of her own, looking up at him. “You don't know what I am or what I can do."
"Show me.” His dark eyes never left hers.
She jerked her arm back from him, breaking his hold. “Don't tempt me."
Miguel was tempted, but he bit his tongue and stepped back.
Alana continued to glare at him for a long while before she discovered her voice again. “You said you had a plan. You said you were going to help me."
Miguel sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I have a plan, but I wish you wouldn't use it."
"Why?"
"I have my reasons."
"Miguel, stop being so damn cryptic. I'm getting fed up with your bullshit."
"I was hoping you would figure something out on your own. If your desire for revenge is so strong, you would've done it, but it seems you need someone to rely on."
"Oh, fuck that.” Alana threw up her arms and turned from him. “That is not true. I can take care of this myself."
"But you won't,” Miguel answered knowingly.
Alana stopped and turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means exactly what it means, you won't do it. You want someone else to do it. You're scared."
"Like hell I'm scared. I want that motherfucker and his bitch both dead for what they did."
"Then why not kill them already? Why are you playing this game? Why are you trying to get so close to them, befriend them?"
Alana let out a harsh laugh and plopped herself down on the love seat. She was silent for a moment, as if Miguel's words stung.
He watched her, the tattoo of the Blessed Virgin flexing on his bicep as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Don't you know this game?” she asked her voice soft. “It's one of the oldest ones in the book."
Miguel brought his eyebrows together as he tried to comprehend her meaning.
She sighed and recited. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
He nodded, finally understanding. It made sense now. Get close to them, earn their trust and then the killing blow would be even more tragic. A classic tale of betrayal.
"I see,” he said after a few moments.
Alana watched him as he crossed the floor to the closet. “I guess—” she began to say, but stopped, hesitating. “I guess I am scared, in a way. I'm scared I'll fuck it up, again. I've come so close before, but that staircase incident was almost it. I messed that up. I don't want to mess up again."
Miguel withdrew a heavy looking piece of luggage from the closet and set it on the floor with a loud thunk. She looked almost vulnerable on the love-seat, pouring her fears out. Her eyes were wide. He knew better. She was a vicious woman and she would get what she wanted, one way or another. Why he felt obligated to follow through with his plan and help her was beyond him.
"I know, chica,” he said, “I'll help you."
A grin spread over her face. “I knew you'd give in.” She pushed her lithe frame from the love-seat and made her way to him.
"Don't make a habit of it. I won't do it again. That's a promise."
"Oh, I won't need any more help after this. This time, I'm doing it right."
"I know you will.” Miguel sank to his knees in front of the luggage and opened it. “Especially after you use this."
Alana dropped her mouth open when she saw what it contained. She dropped to the floor, pushing hair out of her face to get a better look. “Is that—?"
"Yes, it is. I'm sure you can figure it out. There's a diagram. Just follow it and you'll be done."
"Oh, Miguel.” She barely breathed the words as she touched it. “It's perfect. That bitch will really feel this and then her mate will come running back. It's perfect.” She turned her eyes to Miguel, a pleased grin on her face.
"Use it wisely,” he said, closing the case and snapping it shut. His gaze met hers again. She was giving him that look again, the one he recognized as her horny look.
She moved closer to him, her orange smelling perfume strong around him. He could see the deep cleavage and the swell of her breasts from the plunging neckline of her shirt as she cr
awled to him. He was instantly aroused.
"How can I ever thank you?” she whispered seductively, almost purring in his ear. Her hand started to travel up his leg.
Miguel leaned back with a wide grin.
"Oh, I'm sure you can think of something..."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Ten
Cheyenne waited for Rose to sit up before she passed her the glass of water.
"It's from the bathroom tap, so it didn't get really cool,” she answered. It was barely lukewarm. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Rose while Glen hovered nearby, a worried expression creasing his forehead with premature aging lines.
"It's fine,” Rose answered. She set the glass on the bedside table and leaned back against the pillows. She looked so tired and drawn. Cheyenne wondered if she had healed at all. She had fallen asleep under Dr. Nesbitt's healing hands, but she had awakened once she reached her own room and Glen placed her in bed.
"I'm fine, really,” she said, for about the millionth time. Cheyenne frowned a bit, not believing her. “I'll be all right."
Glen wasn't reassured either. He crossed the floor to her and knelt by her bed.
"You gave us a big scare, Rose. We thought you had almost lost the baby."
"You're damn lucky you didn't.” Cheyenne shook her head.
"I'm not that lucky. If I was, I probably wouldn't have had the accident in the first place,” Rose answered. She looked down at her pregnant mound of belly and let out a deep breath.
"It wasn't an accident,” Glen said and immediately Cheyenne closed her eyes. She didn't want Rose knowing there was suspicion surrounding her fall. In her pregnant condition, she didn't need the added stress. Cheyenne contained her anger and reopened her eyes to find Rose looking at Glen, confusion lining her face
"What?"
Glen glanced over at Cheyenne, but she only narrowed her eyes and mildly shook her head. It was not a good idea, but it was too late to deny it. Rose was already looking at them expectantly.
Cheyenne turned her gaze to Rose. “The banister broke when you leaned against,” she started, keeping her voice even. Rose's gaze met hers, unwavering. “We're still not sure why it happened, or how it happened—"
Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4] Page 12
