He started the car, adjusting the wheel before he put his hand on the gearshift.
“We need to call the police.” Since attempting to use his phone had landed her in a hot situation moments ago, she bent to feel around at her feet for hers.
A tight grip on her wrist jerked her upright. The worried look on Tristan’s face made her stomach roll. “What?” She followed his gaze to the black mark on top of her hand.
“Where the hell…” Kennedy rubbed at the ink stain that reminded her of a spider web. The mark didn’t fade no matter how hard she rubbed it. “I don’t know where this came from.”
“Did you let someone draw this on you?”
“Yeah. In between the wet T-shirt contest and my pole dance.” She snorted. “You saw how busy we were. I think I’d remember someone playing Picasso on my hand.”
He didn’t comment, and his silence made it harder not to be seriously creeped out by the flawless design she couldn’t explain. She tried rubbing it off on her shorts, but he pulled her hand up to his face for closer inspection.
“What did you see tonight?”
“Not much. One minute you were jumping into the car and the next you were out cold. I didn’t see anyone, but then I didn’t exactly sit there and bask in my surroundings.” She’d no doubt broken a few speed records getting out of there.
Releasing her hand, Tristan leaned forward, and she could have sworn he…smelled her. “You’re afraid.”
“Can’t say the experience was typical for me.”
He shook his head. “I mean now. You’re afraid now.”
“Let’s see you hallucinate and wind up with a weird mark on your body and not panic a little.”
“Hallucinate?”
Kennedy closed her eyes. “My imagination just ran away with me when I played Indy 500.” Or so she’d thought. She glanced at her hand, damn sure she wasn’t imagining the black mark.
“Tell me what you saw.”
The deadly serious tone had her focusing all of her attention on Tristan for the first time since she’d scrambled off his lap. The same tension from earlier radiated from him, and she half expected another dart to come sailing through the darkness and embed itself in his neck.
“Could we put the top up now?” They might be miles away from the quiet street where she’d parked her car, but the longer they sat there, the more vulnerable and exposed she felt.
“Kennedy,” he prompted after the roof rose with the press of a button, sealing them in.
She let out a breath. “I saw myself, but not. I looked in the mirror, but I had black eyes. Bleeding black eyes.” She shuddered. “Definitely not the CoverGirl look I was going for with my mascara tonight.”
“Do you have to be a smartass all the time?”
“It’s sarcasm or rock quietly in the corner. Forgive me for picking the option that doesn’t involve a strait jacket.”
“Where were you when you saw it?”
It, not yourself. The distinction felt important somehow, and Kennedy searched his face wondering why he sounded so reasonable. Shouldn’t he be looking at her like she was one signature short of being admitted for a full psychiatric work-up?
“A couple miles from my car. It was there one moment and gone the next.” And still freaky as hell to recall. She curbed the impulse to look in the back seat again. Barely.
Tristan shifted the car into drive, leaving the harbor behind.
“Are we going to the police?” Not that they could offer much in the way of descriptions of the assailant.
“No. Cale’s.” Seeing as Tristan favored his lair in Avalon more than their home here, he tended to consider the house as Cale’s.
“Your brother’s? Don’t you think we need to report what happened? The guy who shot you could have hurt someone else by now.”
“What makes you think it’s a guy?”
She shrugged. “Pendragon’s does attract a wild crowd. I suppose you could have pissed off the wrong woman tonight.” Enough of them had spent the evening checking him out.
He scowled at her. “I think the mark on your hand proves that this isn’t about me.”
She watched the speedometer rise as he cruised through the next green light. “That’s working under the assumption that it’s connected to my crippled car and our mystery dart shooter.”
“Don’t forget your hallucination.”
Like that was possible. “There’s no way all those things are connected.” Not unless someone had slipped something a hell of a lot stronger than a roofie into her water tonight and she was actually passed out somewhere dreaming all this up.
“Anything is possible.”
Kennedy stared at him. “I think I liked it better when you ignored me.” At least her life was a whole lot less surreal then.
“I don’t ignore you.”
“Yeah, you’re Mr. Sociable whenever you get within ten feet of the bar,” she quipped.
He shot her an impatient look. “I just got back into town.”
“Please. You chatted up every waitress in the place tonight. Bouncers too.” And if she didn’t change the subject, he’d know exactly how closely she’d followed his every move. She didn’t want to think about how that made her look, let alone coupled with how she hadn’t been in a rush to stop his roaming hands earlier.
“So how will going to Cale’s help?” she asked when they fell into a strained silence.
He didn’t answer her.
Turning in her seat to face him, she cocked her head. “What was it that you said about not ignoring me?”
—
The throbbing in the back of Tristan’s head intensified—until she shifted in her seat and her sweet scent enveloped him.
Ignore her? Not likely. Not when he couldn’t draw a breath without taking her in. Had he really been so long without a female that every whisper of movement on the seat next to him could so thoroughly snare his attention? He was pretty sure she could fall asleep and he’d find it as equally fascinating as watching her nibble on her bottom lip. The same plump lip he’d sucked into his mouth earlier.
Cale was going to kick his ass. By now his scent was all over Kennedy and no “roadside assistance” explanation was going to justify that. Certainly not when he could barely get his lust, let alone his hard-on, under control.
Avoiding her questions wasn’t completely intentional. It took far too much concentration to keep his hands off her, and even more to figure out why she’d been marked by a wraith.
Like the gargoyle clans, the former Knights of the Round Table had also been punished for Arthur’s fall. Forced to drink blood to survive, wraiths were bound to fulfill the terms of any pact made with Rhiannon for their services. The elusive mercenaries were usually contracted to take out immortals. Tristan had never heard of them targeting a human before. They rarely posed a serious enough threat.
So who wanted Kennedy dead?
He chanced a quick glance in her direction. She stared out the passenger window, idly rubbing at the symbol on her hand. He knew the bartender rarely backed down from a confrontation, a trait he’d been convinced would come back to bite her in the ass when Cale had hired her. So who the hell had she pissed off without him or Cale hearing about it? Or had they both been too preoccupied with tracking down the dagger?
It didn’t make any sense. It would take a serious offense for an immortal to use a wraith instead of handling it themselves. Unless they didn’t want to be linked to her death.
His chest constricted, and he shoved thoughts of the wraith’s success out of his mind. Cale would know how to handle it. He’d hired her, making Kennedy and her problem Cale’s responsibility.
The cat growled in protest.
“I still don’t see why we’re not going to the police first.” Kennedy studied him, confusion lingering in her pretty brown eyes.
He jerked the wheel to the right, swerving at the last second to avoid a pothole he would have noticed if he hadn’t been staring at her again. “We�
�re closer to Cale’s.”
A few minutes later he stopped in front of the gate that kept unwanted visitors— mainly humans—off the property. He frowned at the security console. The number sequence that would open the gate jumbled together in his mind, and the harder he tried to recall the code, the harder his head pounded.
“Problem?”
Not compared to the spider web on her hand, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he shook his head and hit the intercom button. Whatever the wraith had used in the darts was still screwing with his head. The mercenary couldn’t have been expecting Tristan would show up to give Kennedy a ride or the darts would have been loaded with something a lot more potent.
Cursing his sister, who should have answered, he stabbed the intercom again. Another minute ticked off, and he gave up, digging out his cell phone this time. When Briana still didn’t answer, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. Reversing back onto the street, he parked the car and climbed out. Kennedy followed suit, glancing around.
“It’s safe.”
She cast him a dubious glance, trailing after him as he walked the front perimeter of the stone wall bordering the property. “This is Cale’s place, right?”
“Last time I checked.” He spotted the tree towering above the wall on the corner of the lot. “Stay right here.”
Her spine snapped straight. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll just be a few seconds. You’re safe. Promise.” Until the wraith tracked her here, but that was one more certainty he didn’t plan on sharing. “I’ll be right back.”
Ducking around the corner, he sprang up—high enough Kennedy would have asked questions—and grabbed the top of the stone wall, pulling himself over. From there he jumped easily into the tree and then back to the front of the wall overlooking the street.
“Give me your hand.”
Kennedy peered up at him. “How did you get up there?”
“Footholds on the other side.”
She stared at his outstretched hand. “I’m sure I can climb it too.”
“This is faster. Unless you’re scared of heights,” he taunted, grinning when she planted one foot on the wall and pushed off, catching his hand.
A burst of warmth exploded up his arm, the sensation tunneling straight to his groin. He tightened his grip and hauled her up the wall.
She grabbed ahold of him when she reached the top to steady herself. “Work out much?”
His grin widened as he savored the feel of her body tucked close to his. Her hand drifted down his arm, but the narrow wall didn’t leave her much room to back away.
“Do you do everything the hard way?”
“This coming from the woman who relies on water hoses to settle disputes at a crowded bar.”
A reluctant smile drew his attention straight to her mouth. He spanned his fingers across her lower back, preventing her from edging away from him. He’d let her go in just a minute, first indulging the cat’s need to touch her. The man, however, wanted a whole lot more. Hours more. Days.
Kennedy shivered. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”
He shook his head. “But I can’t promise I won’t retaliate the next time.” Because the need to lower his head and run his mouth along the slender curve of her neck threatened to overwhelm him, he nodded to the thick branch extending from the tree. “Ladies first.”
Easing out of reach, she stepped gingerly onto the branch, clinging to the overhead limbs for balance. When she reached the trunk, she moved to another branch and waited for him to climb down first.
The cat wanted to climb higher in the tree and wait for the wraith to make another appearance, but he needed to get her inside first. His feet hit the ground and he reached up to help her down.
“Crap,” she hissed, skidding down the tree.
He should have caught her easily and kept them both upright. Maybe it was the drugs slowing his reflexes, or maybe he wanted to feel her sprawled across his chest when the impact knocked them both to the ground.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes widened and she tried sliding off him.
He anchored one arm across her back, keeping her still. “Not really.” He probably wouldn’t be okay for a long time. The closer she got, the more he wanted her there, proving his attraction to Kennedy ran much deeper than he’d imagined.
“You’re bleeding.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, wincing in sympathy.
“Just a scratch.” He barely registered the scrape on his cheek from connecting with the tree bark during the fall. Barely registered anything but all the places she was nestled against him. The only thing better than having her draped across him, would be her draped across him naked.
She stared in the direction of the main house, exposing the tempting curve of her throat.
Tristan didn’t think about it, he lifted his head and closed his mouth over her skin.
Kennedy moaned, and he ran his lips higher, sliding one hand into her hair and coaxing her down. Her thigh slipped between his legs, rubbing his arousal. The friction unleashed a groan in his chest, and he grazed her with his teeth before sucking her harder between his lips.
Why did she feel so good, taste so good? Attempting to wrap his mind around it didn’t matter to the animal basking in the feel of her fingers threading the ends of his hair, dragging him closer.
In the distance a lone howl, then a series of barks echoed through the night, and he tried to remember why that was important.
Fuck. The dogs.
“Oh, shit.” Kennedy scrambled off him, and he rolled to his feet as a pack of Dobermans tore across the grass toward them.
Chapter Three
“Run!” Tristan laced his fingers through hers, pulling her after him.
“Can’t you call them off?”
“No.”
If the dogs were actually real, he would have made the effort. The Dobermans, however, were nothing more than an elaborate glamour Briana bargained with a Fae for. Tristan knew they weren’t real, but there was no way to convince Kennedy of that with the pack bearing down on them. As long as she believed they could hurt her, damage could be done.
Shifting was a last resort as far as he was concerned. She had enough questions without witnessing him shift into a large black cat, and he didn’t need her running from him too.
“They’re too close.”
Only a few dozen meters to the house. “Don’t look—” The rest of the order lodged in his throat when the ground rushed up to meet him. The fall dragged Kennedy down with him, giving the dogs time to rapidly close the distance.
He rolled, pinning her beneath him. “Don’t move.”
Her chest contracted with every sharp breath she sucked in. “Somehow I don’t think running helped things.”
Tristan glared at the snarling animals circling them. He shot a quick glance at the house, hoping Briana had returned with dawn approaching and heard her favorite new toys getting on his last nerve.
Kennedy stared up at him with wide eyes, then turned her head to follow the lead dog as it stalked closer. The fingers she fisted in his shirt twisted tighter. “I always liked dogs.”
When the lead Doberman got too close, the need to shift rippled beneath Tristan’s skin. The cat prowled the edges of his mind, ready to break free. He kept his gaze locked on the threat, growling in warning.
Kennedy went motionless beneath him, but he didn’t take his eyes off the dog. Where the fuck was Briana?
“Tristan.” Her fingers dug into his skin.
“It’s okay.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t want her to pay any closer attention to his eyes. At least if the Doberman had been real it would have noticed Tristan’s eyes now reflected the light from the house, would have caught the scent of a predator and backed the fuck off.
The muscles under the dog’s fur bunched in preparation for attack. Tristan’s claws burst from his fingers, and he ducked his h
ead, shielding Kennedy.
Silence.
The padding of impatient feet no longer treaded the ground. The menacing snarls evaporated on the night air.
He lifted his head, relieved to find the dogs had vanished.
“Where did they go?” Some of the tension drained from Kennedy’s body, but she didn’t let go of him.
Tristan was saved from answering by the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Briana rounded the hedge leading back to the garage.
“Aren’t you a little old for wrestling like a cub?”
Scowling at his baby sister, Tristan pushed to his feet and helped Kennedy up.
Briana’s gaze flickered to the woman next to him, surprise blinking across her face. “Hey, Kennedy.” Her attention darted back to Tristan. “Where’s your car?”
“I couldn’t remember the secret password,” he snapped, motioning for Kennedy to precede him to the house.
“What happened to your shirt?”
He followed Briana’s gaze to the jagged rip on the back of Kennedy’s shirt. One more tug would probably tear the fabric in two.
Kennedy looked over her shoulder to check the damage. “My night keeps getting better and better.”
“A little rough, weren’t you?” Briana snickered.
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “It wasn’t me.” He glanced at Kennedy for confirmation, second-guessing himself the moment the words left his mouth. It wouldn’t have been that big of a stretch if things had gotten out of hand in the car. He’d damn well wanted her enough to tear through layers of clothing to reach bare skin.
“I think it snagged on a branch when I fell out of the tree.”
“I see you still know how to show a girl a good time,” Briana mocked, opening the door and heading inside.
“Did you call off the dogs?” Kennedy asked.
“Yeah.” Briana shot him a questioning look.
“A little bloodthirsty, aren’t they? Or have you guys had a problem with break-ins?”
Briana shrugged, nodding to the room on the left. “You look like you could sit down and I need to borrow my brother for a second.”
Kennedy hesitated.
Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1 Page 3
