“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He moved to the couch and dropped onto it. Deja grinned and followed him. She sat near his feet with her arm resting on his legs. He watched her eat her potato salad and nibble her chicken. Her argument made sense, and under normal circumstances, he would call himself an idiot for entertaining Tate’s story. There was only one problem with that, something he never shared with Deja. Tate taught him to remain calm, to channel his anger out of his body with mental exercises because when he didn’t, the medicine’s effectiveness diminished, and he exhibited symptoms that were distinctly not human.
Chapter Six
Heath rubbed his forehead without thinking, and Deja scooped up his pills to hand to him. He muttered his thanks. Even if his experience didn’t convince him Tate’s letter was true, there was still the missing information regarding the medicine. He had never had a cold, never had a fever, or any of the childhood diseases most kids got. His single issue was the headaches and the dreams. Yet, somehow, Tate managed to prescribe—no, develop—a medicine for him without a doctor’s involvement. The practice had gone on for thirty-five years, and he hadn’t questioned it. All he cared about at the time was quelling the symptoms. Now that he considered it, he realized his issues came with a certain amount of fear, as if not taking it would lead to worse problems he didn’t care to face.
He recalled one such incident when he turned fifteen and he got into a fight at school. He had been so angry with the guy who thought he could bully him because he hadn’t yet put on the muscle he had now. His mood had plummeted to the toilet that morning because he’d forgotten his medicine, and Tate embarrassed him in front of Deja about it. He’d pretended to swallow the pills and then spit them out on the walk to school. Deja chided him, but he wanted to prove he wasn’t so weak as to need the meds. What a mistake. By that afternoon, his headache was explosive, and his mood, worse. Mental exercises were the furthest thing from his mind.
“You think you’re so special because you’re on the basket ball team?” the kid had taunted. He shoved Heath and swung without warning, his fist connecting with Heath’s jaw. Heath dropped to the ground and spit out blood. “Aw, are you going to cry, little baby? Come on. Get up. Let’s see what you got.”
“Leave him alone,” Deja had shouted, trying to block his advance on Heath, but Heath pushed her aside. No way in hell would he allow her to stand up for him. Besides, she might get hurt, and he couldn’t live with that.
He landed on his ass a few more times, and then something came over him. A switch flipped in his head. He smelled the kid’s sweat under the hot Oklahoma sun, even the beef and ketchup on his breath, which he’d had for lunch. A whiff of Deja’s orange blossom honey lotion she liked to wear teased his nose, and he shook his head, thinking it odd he would focus in on those scents at a time like this. They were not all, though. He heard the bully’s heartbeat and Deja’s too. His own filled his ears, along with a hundred other sounds all around him.
Heath rose up on his sneakered feet, crouching with his hands in the dirt. He clenched his fingers, and something sharp sliced his palm. That’s when he saw the claws, thick and curved, deadly if he did what instinct seemed to tell him to do at that moment—rake them across that kid’s throat. Two seconds from acting on impulse, he sighed in relief when a teacher broke up the fight. In the end, he landed an unfair suspension, and his bully was expelled because that incident was the last of too many. Heath confessed to Tate later what had happened to him, and Tate’s expression showed his worry, but he brushed the experience off as Heath’s imagination. The change that had come over him that day was the most severe, but it wasn’t the last. Heath learned to control his anger, and he welcomed Deja’s constant humor as a soothing balm over the years. Now, it looked like he couldn’t run and hide from the truth. He had to face it and know once and for all what sort of beast lurked inside.
“Hey, dreamy.”
Heath shook himself and focused on Deja’s beautiful face. He almost allowed himself to touch her, but drew back in time. “What?”
“Penny for your thoughts.” She rested her chin on his knee, and his cock tightened. Those soft, sweet lips had wrapped around his cock the night they made love. He craved them there again.
Heath moved, careful not to hurt her, and stood. “My thoughts are priceless. What makes you think you can afford them?” He strolled to the window to look out, attempting casualness, but knowing his stance came off stiff. She knew him better than anyone, and she would soon recognize Tate’s letter occupied his thoughts. Try as he might, he could never hide from Deja.
“Oh it’s like that?” she called out from the couch.
He peered back at her and froze. She’d lowered the zipper on her dress, revealing the beginning swell of those luscious breasts. He whipped around to face the window and pressed his forehead on the glass. Fuck, she plays dirty.
“Heath, I know you’re not going to ignore me.”
Movement in the darkness caught his attention. A light flashed out near the fencing, but then it disappeared. He squinted. “I think someone’s out there.”
“Huh?” He heard her stand. “What is it, Heath? You’re probably paranoid after that crazy letter from your dad, all that talk about some spider company.”
“The Spiderweb organization,” he corrected. As hard as he searched the night, he saw no more movement. He walked over to the door and opened it to step out onto the porch. The night stood silent, all but a few moos from the cattle a short way off. Overhead, a million stars twinkled in the sky and straight ahead, fields and the dirt road. The closest neighbor lived a mile and a half off, and the town where Deja worked, a bit farther. He ran a hand over his neck and rubbed hard. The long day and his imagination, he concluded. Tiredness overwhelmed him. He went back inside. “I think I’m going to turn in early. Stay the night?”
As much as he told himself everything was fine, he wanted Deja close. She moved into his arms and rested her head on his chest. He kissed her hair. Her small stature made him protective of her. He knew he would kill to keep her safe.
“Yeah, I can see you’re beat. No nookie, I guess.” Her lips curved in a pout, and he kissed them. Damn, the woman knew how to get to him.
“Give me a couple hours sleep, and I will have you begging me to stop,” he promised.
She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, okay, Mr. Dreamy. To bed with you.”
They both turned in for the night. Heath yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it on a chair. He switched out his sweatpants for boxers and lay on his back watching Deja undress. She wore white bikini panties and a matching bra under her minidress. He took in her curves, including those amazing breasts and that round ass. His cock twitched, but he ignored it. She climbed on the bed and nestled into his side, and he stroked her hair, listening to her breathing until she slept. Resting himself took more time despite the weariness of his mind and body. He shut his eyes and tried a few breathing techniques. After what felt like hours, he dozed.
* * * *
Heath’s throat hurt, and he swallowed to try wetting it, but nothing helped. A coughing spell woke him, and he peered into the darkness of his room. Heavy black smoke filled the air, and the temperature had risen several degrees since they’d gone to bed. With the constant ache in his skull, it took him a moment to process the meaning of the flickering light beneath the closed bedroom door. The house was on fire.
“Deja, wake up! We have to get out of here.” He shook her, but she didn’t respond. Panic seized the muscles in Heath’s stomach. He tossed the covers aside and leaped to the floor. “Deja, come on, baby, open your eyes.”
He raced to the door and gingerly touched the doorknob. When the metal didn’t burn, he figured the fire hadn’t spread their way yet, but it would be safer to go out the window and assess the damage afterward. He unlocked the window and raised it then went back for Deja. She moaned when he lifted her into his arms. Again, he called out her name, but she didn’t respond. A cough
ing fit racked her small body and then nothing. If he didn’t get her to fresh air, she would die.
Heath sat her in a chair and then dragged the furniture to the window. He climbed through the opening and then leaned in to pull her out. Just when he got a grip beneath her arms, a twig snapped behind him. If the situation weren’t dire, he might have questioned his ability to hear and sense someone behind him over the roar of the burning fire. Unfortunately, neither prepared him for the blow to the back of the head. Pain exploded across his skull, and Deja slipped from his fingers. He went down hard to one knee. Thinking of Deja stuck in the house unconscious gave him strength even as blackness played with the edges of his vision.
He flattened a palm against his fist and used it to drive his elbow backward into his assailant’s gut. The man grunted, but he didn’t lose his balance. Heath jumped to his feet and went for the window again. The man grabbed him and dragged him back, then thrust him on the ground. A boot slammed into his chest, driving the wind from his lungs.
Heath’s lungs burned, and the air he dragged in scraped across his raw throat. “Stop this. I have to get Deja.”
His answer was a snarl and a right hook to the jaw. The blow drove him back to the past when the bully attacked without regard for the fact that he had no wish to fight. Then, he hadn’t reacted. Tonight, Deja lay in real trouble. When the blow came again, he deflected it with a punch to the joint in the man’s arm. The shatter of bone resounded in his ears. He rolled to his feet and threw another punch, connecting with a jaw this time. The man went down to the ground. Heath followed with several more blows until his attacker stopped moving, and then he spun to the window.
Fire consumed the dresser near the door and raced across the ceiling. Embers rained down, coming too close to where Deja lay unmoving. He didn’t pause but hoisted himself into the opening and grabbed Deja. In seconds, he carried her across the yard toward the road. When he laid her down, he checked her pulse then listened to her chest. Nothing.
“Damn it, Deja, don’t die on me, honey. Please.”
Heath tilted her head back and raised her chin. Pinching her nose, he blew twice into her mouth and then checked her breathing again. When she didn’t respond, he interlocked the fingers of both hands over her chest and began compressing her heart. Over and over he continued the training he’d learned just six months ago when he attended a class for first aid with Deja. She’d wanted to go “just because,” as she’d told him. He prayed he did everything right and that she’d respond. The small rise of her chest nearly brought him to tears of relief.
“You should have stayed in the house and let this end the easy way.”
Heath glanced up in time to block a blow to his head, but he didn’t see the knife until it sank into his side. He growled in pain and grabbed the man’s wrist still holding the knife hilt and gave it a sharp twist. At the same time, he rolled, driving his opponent to the ground, and landed with a knee on his back. Heath paused a second to suck in an agonizing breath and pulled the knife free of his wound. He tossed it away as the man struggled under him. Heath had the advantage with his strength and size, but he knew if he moved, neither he nor Deja would be safe.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.
The man didn’t answer. Heath wrenched his arm, and the man cried out.
Heath leaned closer to his ear and snarled. “One chance.” He didn’t recognize the deep timbre of his own voice, but didn’t bother questioning it. “Answer me.”
“You can’t escape Spiderweb. They’re all around. Look at Tate. You think his death was an accident? He was a fool to think he could lie to us forever.” A tiger’s roar split the night, and Heath snapped the man’s neck.
“Heath?”
He narrowed his eyes on her and curled his clawed fingers into his palms. In silence, he backed away, but she sat up and reached out to him. He shook his head. No, this isn’t right. It’s not who I am.
Sirens blared in the distance, and Heath sniffed the air. The smoke burned his nostrils and his eyes. He backed farther into the darkness.
“Heath!”
He battled to calm down and get control of himself. Before he reached that place, she was in his arms, pressing close and shaking from head to toe. He crushed her to him and stroked her hair. They sank together to the ground because he could no longer stand or hold her up. He had no idea where the people came from, but they dotted his property. Firemen aimed water hoses at the house, but one didn’t have to be a professional to see the irreparable damage.
An EMT took Deja from his arms, and when he would have protested, another placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. “It’s okay. We’re only going to get her some good air coming in. We’ll have to get you both treated for smoke inhalation. Are there any other injuries?”
Heath turned so she didn’t see the blood on his clothes. He took the mask off. “I’m fine. I didn’t take much in. Take care of Deja, please.”
“Are you refusing treatment?” she asked.
He knew he had the right to, but he needed to make it plain so they wouldn’t be liable. “Yes, I’m refusing treatment. Now focus on Deja.”
The derision in the EMT’s expression rolled off of him. They were the least of his worries. He couldn’t go to the hospital and risk exposing the fact that he wasn’t human, and now he knew Spiderweb was real, that they had killed Tate, and that they would come after him again until he was dead.
* * * *
Heath stood beside Deja’s bed as she slept. The doctors had wanted to keep her overnight for observation and tests, especially since she’d stopped breathing during the fire. He stroked her hair, thankful she was okay. When she opened her eyes, she swept him away in the depths of their chocolate warmth, so obviously full of her love for him. He wished he could stay just to hold her once more, but he knew she would be safer with him gone. He would wait only until she settled in back at her place, and then he would leave.
She reached a hand out to him, and he took it, bringing it to his lips to kiss. A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” he chided. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Her gaze dropped to his side. “You were hurt.”
He had retrieved his second set of keys from the barn and driven his truck to Buck’s house for a change of clothing. His friend still wasn’t in, so Heath had jimmied the lock. He couldn’t explain how the wound healed enough for him to close it with butterfly bandages borrowed from Buck’s medicine cabinet. The spot still hurt like a son of a bitch, but he could deal with that.
“I’m fine, Deja. Don’t worry.” He sat down on the side of the bed and patted her hand in his lap.
“Why do I feel so far away from you?”
“I’m right here.”
“No.” She sniffed. “I can tell, Heath. You’ve pulled away. I want you to know it doesn’t matter to me what’s inside of you. You’re Heath, my friend and my lover. I don’t see you any different than I did before all this mess.”
He laced his fingers with hers. “Thank you.”
“I don’t want your thanks, Heath. I want—”
“Excuse me.”
Heath turned to look toward the door, on alert in an instant. The sheriff’s deputy stood with legs planted, as if he wouldn’t be put off a second time the way Heath had done earlier. Heath suppressed a curse. He’d meant to warn Deja to keep quiet about Spiderweb and about Tate. All the evidence had been destroyed with his house either way.
“Come in, deputy.” Heath schooled his expression to one of indifference.
“Thank you.” The deputy stepped farther into the room and pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket. He flipped it open and seemed to review what he’d already written. “The man you said set your house on fire, did you know him?”
“No.”
“Had you seen him before?”
“No.”
“I have,” Deja interjected.
Heath stared at her, but she didn’t look him. Her attention remained on the deputy. He tensed. “You saw him, Deja?”
“Sir, please, let me do the questioning.”
Heath fell silent.
“Yes, I saw him,” Deja said in a trembling tone that made Heath want to take her into his arms. “At the end when Heath…when they fought. I saw his face, and I recognized it. I’d seen him a few times in town. I asked Brenda if she knew him, and she said no. I also saw him talking to Candi Stapleton in the boutique.”
Heath considered whether Candi had anything to do with Spiderweb, but dismissed the thought right away. More likely, she’d come on to him for the simple fact that he was male. That Deja had kept this information from him concerned him more.
The deputy scratched notes onto his pad and swung back to Heath. “Any reason why someone would want to attack you, sir?”
“None,” Heath lied. “I am a simple rancher. Ask anyone in town. I’m working hard to grow my business, and it’s not the kind of venture to make enemies. My guess is he was passing through and thought I’d be an easy mark living out here with no near neighbors.”
The deputy frowned. “That can be said about half the people in the county.”
Heath stared at him, saying nothing. His job wasn’t to solve this case.
The deputy’s face reddened, and he flipped the notebook closed. “That’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation. If you can think of anything else…”
“We’ll be sure to call you,” Heath finished. When the man left, Heath turned to Deja. “Thank you for not mentioning anything about what we learned before this happened.”
She pursed her lips. “What was I going to say? You’re the product of an experiment, and now you can turn into a tiger?”
Tiger Bound Page 6
