Bitter Night: A Horngate Witches Book

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Alexander sat up. “But’”

  “But what?”

  “It is just that you are so strong. I thought you surely must be older than that.”

  “I’m a fifty-year-old child wonder. If my family could only see me now.”

  That did it. Her expression went cold and once again she started withdrawing inside herself. Alexander could feel the stillness settling around her like armor. He scrambled for something’anything’to keep her from going away. The only guaranteed route he could think of was to go running straight out into the obvious minefield.

  “Where is your family?” he asked. “You are so young’surely they must still be alive.”

  She twitched and jerked her head to look at him. Her eyes had turned nearly black. They looked like black holes. Alexander stiffened, more than a little expecting her to reach out and try to rip his head off. Her hand on the steering wheel tightened and the other flexed in her lap. His gaze slid to the knives strapped to her forearms beneath her pushed-up sleeves, and he wondered if he should be reaching for his.

  “They live near Sacramento.”

  He was so shocked that she had actually replied that for long moments he had nothing to say. Finally: “Do you see them? Do they know?”

  She shook her head. “I just disappeared one night and they never saw me again. Papers said I’d been taken by a drifter, and a big manhunt ensued, but of course they didn’t find me. Couple of years after that I made sure the cops found evidence of my death. I didn’t want them to keep hoping. It was killing them. They left Iowa and went to the Sacramento Valley and grew cherries and peaches. They’ve retired and moved to a place called Del Webb’it’s a retirement community. My brother still runs the orchard. My sister owns a bakery.”

  Her voice was expressionless, as if the words had nothing to do with her. Alexander did not know what to say. He had never known what to say to new Shadowblades who had to give up their families and friends’their entire lives. Selange made the choice easier. She promised that she would kill the families and friends of any Spears or Blades who came into contact with someone from their past’even accidentally. No one doubted that she would follow through.

  He was scrabbling for something to keep her talking when she shocked him again.

  “So what about you? Did you leave someone special behind in San Diego?”

  Alexander thought of Thor. “One. A friend.”

  “Not saying much for a man of your advanced years. You must be a real ass. Or maybe you just have really bad breath. Which is it?”

  He was pleased to hear the humor. She was climbing out of her own personal abyss by sheer strength of will. He had no right, but Alexander was proud of her. “Perhaps I just have discriminating taste,” he said drily.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me about this friend of yours.”

  Now it was Alexander’s turn to be swallowed by shadows, guilt, and sorrow. He felt himself tensing. He wanted to brush away the question, but if he did, he knew that the deadly silence would return and the delicate bridge building between them would collapse in rubble. If he wanted trust from her, he was going to have to give it. That meant sharing his painful secrets, as she had inexplicably shared hers.

  “It is not a pretty story. I did not really know he was my friend until it was too late. Like you, he defied his witch for me.” He told her how Thor had helped him escape, how Alexander had shot him, then cut through his spine and left him bound with the others in the van.

  “I hope it’s worth it,” she said when he was done. Blunting the tartness of her words, she reached out and clasped his hand before pulling back.

  “It was,” he said quietly. He shook off the dark mood that felt a little too much like self-pity. “Besides, it is really only self-preservation. Imagine what Niko, Akemi, and Tyler would do if I let anything happen to you. Not to mention Giselle.”

  She grimaced. “It isn’t your job to look after me.”

  “I do not see it that way. And neither do the others.” He paused. “You risk yourself too much.”

  “Do I? How much is too much?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know. But I worry about you,” he added, speaking more honestly than he wanted.

  “You and me both,” she muttered, then shook her head. “Get over it. I can handle myself just fine, and pain is just pain. It goes away eventually.”

  “Unless you die first,” he pointed out.

  She shrugged. “Still goes away.” She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I haven’t adjusted well to being a Shadowblade. I have some anger issues.”

  “Really? I am shocked.”

  She grinned unrepentantly at his sarcasm. “For a long time my goal was to see Giselle dead. I didn’t really care what happened to me as long as I got to kill her first.”

  “And now?”

  She sobered. “There’s going to be a war, and like it or not, we’re in the middle of it. It’s time to give up the revenge fantasy and get on with doing my job.”

  “Somehow I doubt that will make you behave any more carefully,” Alexander observed. “Not after you nearly died getting me out of the Conclave. I was a stranger and an enemy. What would you do for your covenstead?”

  Max tapped a finger against her lips, then glanced at him. Her eyes were hot and hard. “The real question is what wouldn’t I do. But you’re in luck. There’s a really good chance you might find out soon.”

  17

  MAX DROVE LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL THROUGH Idaho and up into Montana. She got a ticket just north of Pocatello, accepting it from the cop without argument and driving sedately away. Ten minutes later she was doing a hundred miles an hour again.

  Alexander’s persistent conversation had eased her compulsion spells slightly. She knew what he was up to and forced herself to let him help her. All she could think of was the silence at Horngate and Magpie’s cryptic warning before the Conclave. The words ran over and over through her mind, prodding at her to hurry faster. No safety there, not for anyone. Not until you return. Only you can make it safe.

  They spent the day in Dillon, less than two hundred miles from Horngate. There wasn’t much open that early but for a local dive that served as both a bar and restaurant for railroad workers. They managed to get a greasy breakfast before they had to hunker down in a hotel, but Max was too wound up to sleep. She paced the room as Alexander watched. At last he stood and guided her to the edge of the bed and pushed her down. Then he knelt behind her and rubbed the tense muscles in her shoulders. It was all Max could do not to flinch away from him.

  His hands were warm and soothing. But she didn’t want soothing. She needed to hit something, to yell and swear. Her stomach knotted with helplessness. The pain of her compulsion spells throbbed and chewed, and Max was grateful for them. The moment they faded was the moment Giselle died, and probably Horngate, too. Her body seized with fear. She wasn’t thinking about revenge anymore; Max was praying to whatever gods were listening that Giselle had made her a strong enough weapon to save Horngate. Because if Magpie was right, then Max was their only hope.

  At last Alexander gave up on the shoulder rub and straddled her from behind, pulling her back against his chest and holding her loosely.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, starting to lever away.

  “You are not alone in this. I am here and I am worth five Shadowblades’I was Prime, after all. You can use me however you need me.”

  “I don’t want to use you,” Max spat, leaping to her feet and spinning around. “I don’t fucking want to use anyone.”

  “But you have to. That is what you are now. You are Shadowblade Prime of Horngate, and you protect your witch and your covenstead. You use the weapons you have at hand, and I am one of them. Or is it that you still do not trust me?”

  Max went still. Trust was a leap of faith. She’d made it once with him when she let him choose to serve Giselle or leave. And then he’d betrayed her. Or not’she still wasn’t entirely sure. But if
he was acting, he deserved an Oscar. The problem wasn’t with him. The last time she’d really trusted anyone had been thirty years ago, and Giselle had shattered that trust. Max wasn’t sure she was really capable of it anymore.

  And yet she wanted to trust Alexander. Whenever she looked at him, she saw his bone-deep understanding of what it meant to risk her people, to want to guard them, to need to keep their pain to a minimum. And though she’d only known him a few days, he already knew more about her than anyone else except Giselle. Plus she enjoyed his company. Those hours outside the Conclave before the challenge had been so ...normal. Like real people living lives where they didn’t go around getting tortured and cutting throats.

  He was waiting for her answer, his gaze heavy, his expression growing harder with each passing second. She opened her mouth but words failed her. Even the smartass ones. “I need a shower.”

  She fled to the bathroom and stayed there until the water ran cold. It was not until she stepped out that she realized she hadn’t brought a change of clothes inside with her. “Terrific,” she muttered. Being naked that close to Alexander was like waving red meat in front of a starving pit bill’where she was the pit bull. “Down, girl,” she told herself, then resolutely opened the door.

  He was sitting on the end of the bed flipping through the channels on the television. He looked at her, his expression remote, but his eyes were like coals. His anger filled the room and made it hard to breathe. Shit. Max hesitated, holding the towel tight. His gaze slid downward to her feet and back up slowly until he met her eyes again. She swallowed. The anger had changed into something else. Something far more dangerous and just as hot.

  “I need my clothes,” she said pointlessly in a strangled voice, grabbing her gym bag and disappearing back into the bathroom. For a moment she contemplated a cold shower. Not that it would work. She yanked on her clothes and scrubbed her hair dry with a towel, combing it with stiff fingers. When she returned, Alexander had not moved.

  “Look,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat. “Look, I don’t know what to think about you. I want to trust you. And maybe eventually I will. But it’s not going to happen today.”

  His expression relaxed fractionally. “And will you give me the chance to prove myself?”

  “What do you think you’re doing right now?” she asked in exasperation. “We’re in a hotel and I’m sleeping in the same room with you. At any time you can stick a knife in my head like you did that faery. The fact that I’m not sitting in the corner with my gun on you all day long must mean I trust you a little, right?”

  His smile surprised her. It was that slow, lean smile that made her toes curl and her blood bubble. Oh. Damn. And here she was in a hotel room sleeping no more than five feet away and no way out. “You might just be reckless and suicidal. Remember? That is not the same as trust,” he pointed out.

  If she looked into those eyes anymore, she was going to do unspeakable things to him. She plopped down on the bed a couple of feet away and stared at the TV. “Could be. Looks like you’re in for a wild ride either way. Call me the Roller Coaster of Death. So what do you want to do now? Got a deck of cards?”

  They ended up sitting on Alexander’s bed and watching an old black-and-white flick called A Comedy of Terrors. Though Max wasn’t into movies or TV, she had to admit it was funny. She liked that it had nothing to do with anything relating to witches or wars. At some point she fell asleep. When she woke, her head was on his shoulder, one arm resting on his chest. He was inches away, watching her. To her utmost humiliation, she blushed. Then she realized what time it was.

  In the blink of an eye she was on her feet. Urgency prodded her. She strapped on her weapons, checking her .45 and leaving the safety off. She went to the sink and rinsed her face and combed her hair. Turning around, she found that Alexander was equally ready to go.

  “It’s still early,” he said. “We’ve got a good fifteen minutes.”

  Max didn’t know what to do with herself. She began to pace aimlessly, flipping the truck keys around her thumb. Alexander leaned against a wall, watching her.

  “Thanks for’” Sleeping with me. Could we do it again sometime soon? Maybe with fewer clothes and a little more action? “Thanks,” she said finally, the red returning to her cheeks.

  “My pleasure.”

  She eyed him. “One hopes you’ve had more interesting days with a woman in your bed than that.”

  “More interesting? Possibly. More pleasurable?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “You must bring home some real corpses if me falling asleep on you lands at the top of the list.”

  He smiled. “You underestimate yourself.”

  “I snore.”

  “Not loudly. And you will be glad to know that you did not drool.”

  Max shook her head. “You didn’t have much of a life, outside of being Prime, did you?”

  “Do you?”

  She grimaced. “True enough.” Curiosity prodded her. “All right, I’ll bite. What was so special about last night?”

  “And if I say that you made it special?”

  Max rolled her eyes. “Then I would say again that you’re a couple of clowns short of a circus.”

  “You do not believe me.”

  “Yeah, because I was born yesterday and then fell off a turnip truck.”

  That smile again. Crap. He had to stop doing that. “I can explain, if you are interested.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’m always up for a good joke and we’ve got a few minutes left.”

  He looked serious. “First and most importantly, you did not talk during the film.”

  “Snoring doesn’t count?”

  His lips twitched but he held off his smile. “No.”

  “Well, at least you have standards. What is second? No, wait, let me guess. It had to be a really high hurdle. Maybe ...the fact that I was in the same room with you?”

  He shrugged, a slight flush staining his cheeks as he looked down. He turned unexpectedly serious. “Something like that.” His chest lifted and fell as he drew a heavy breath and blew it out. He spoke softly, “The truth is that when I am with a woman, it is not usually in that way.”

  “You’re saying that you usually get laid?” Max was delighting in his discomfort. In this, if nothing else, he was as nervous as an eight-year-old boy. And he blushed. She was glad not to be the only one.

  He looked at her, his gaze unflinching. “That is it in a nutshell. My relationships with women consist of either sex or nothing. No friends, no one to lie on a bed with and share my love of movies with. But you know exactly how it is; that is what it means when you are Prime. You cannot afford to be close to anyone. That is why last night was so remarkable. Sex is easy. Time with someone who understands’really understands’that is a treasure beyond price.”

  “Well,” Max said, taken aback. The unexpected honesty that had grown between them in the last couple of days was starting to make her feel like her skin had been peeled off and acid poured all over her. It was too much, too soon. Or maybe too much ever. It was like a drug’it made her high and completely sick all at once. She wasn’t sure she was ready to lose her safe cage of isolation. “Good thing I didn’t drool, then,” she said lamely at last. “C’mon. It’s time.”

  She started for the door, but suddenly he was standing in front of her, not quite touching. She looked up warily. His face was set, his eyes thick with emotions she could not read. Max felt the feathery brush of his breath on her cheeks and heard the quick beat of his heart. It sounded loud, as if it were trying to hammer its way out of his chest. Her stomach clenched, though whether it was from anticipation or flat-out fear of what he might say, she couldn’t tell.

  “Do not get me wrong. If you gave me an invitation, nothing could keep me out of your bed.” He paused, then said deliberately, “I would very much like to get an invitation.”

  Max’s eyes widened and her face heated. Her mouth started working before her brain. “
Why so shy? Say what you mean, why don’t you?” Inside she quailed. Oh, no no no. Do not tempt me.

  His lips quirked, then the humor leached away as she sobered. “I don’t mess around with the men in the coven, especially my Shadowblades,” she said with quiet finality. Flirting was one thing, but anything more’it was a mistake of epic proportions.

  His eyes narrowed and he gave a slow shake of his head. “That is all right then. Because I want so much more than just to mess around.”

  He slid his hands over her hips, holding her gently. Slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, he bent to kiss her. His lips were butterfly soft as he touched hers experimentally. When Max did not pull away, Alexander slid his hands up, curving them around the back of her head. He leaned back a moment, looking a question at Max. This was such a bad idea. And yet’She licked the taste of him from her lips. It was all he needed. With a guttural sound, he kissed her again. This time his mouth was hungry and demanding. His head slanted and he pulled her closer.

  Heat unfurled in lazy curls through Max, and her body flared with desire. Her lips opened. She stroked her tongue delicately over his. He sucked on it gently, then delved past, deepening the kiss. Alexander didn’t rush and neither did Max. If she was going to be stupid, she was going to savor every moment. It wasn’t like it was ever going to happen again.

  He pulled away too soon, still holding her, his fingers rubbing the back of her neck lightly. Max’s mouth tingled deliciously. Heavy heat settled low in her stomach. She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. He followed the slight movement with his eyes and swallowed. He stepped back, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

  “We should go.”

  Max nodded. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she wanted to say except to beg for more, and that was a road she wasn’t willing to walk, even if they had the time. Just at the moment, however, she didn’t have the willpower to resist. She wanted to know what the rest of him tasted like. She wanted to be skin on skin with him.

  Abruptly she shoved past to the door and yanked it open. She was a moron. Worse’she was the village idiot in a city of idiots. His voice halted her on the threshold.