Stay out of whatever this is—remember the goal: Survive and find Sissy.
Steeling myself to those flutters floating inside my stomach, I firm my voice. “I could’ve been in here using the bathroom, you know.”
An eyebrow raises to arched perfection. He points to the empty toilet, and that all-knowing, smug grin returns.
His lips quirk a little. “Oh, really? Well, there’s no water in there, so you’d have stunk up the place. And if you needed to do more than just pee...” He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest. “But you and the dog would be nose-blind to the scent, anyhow.”
My mouth flattens into a straight line.
You’re an annoying, exasperating man.
Turning my back to him, I grasp at even more gauze and jab it at the wound on my neck. “Oh, fuck.” Fanning the area with a hand does little to douse the sting.
Jareth’s arms fall to his sides. He slides next to me, chest brushing my shoulder. His clean scent, strange yet comforting, makes my pulse quicken.
“Here.” His voice is low and rough. “Let me do that.”
If only a glare could cause human combustion, a happy woman I’d be.
“You’re making a mess.” He takes the gauze from my stalled fingers and wipes the cut.
“Ow.” I shove his hand away. “That hurts. Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Stop being such a baby. It’s not even deep.” He continues to dab, not seeing the thunder on my face.
A baby? He just called me a baby. Oh, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this little social experiment. Tomorrow, Kodiak, and I are getting the hell out, and he can kiss my ass.
Silence falls like a blanket, and I take a deep breath into my lungs to give him a piece of my mind.
Before I can open my mouth, he shifts his attention from my neck to my face, as if sensing the murderous rage I’m about to release. He stops dabbing.
“Calm down, little spitfire. Let me speak for a minute before you go all crazy Chuck Norris on me.”
He places his hands on each of my shoulders, the weight distracting and causing my brain to forget why I was mad at him in the first place.
“I’m relieved you’re okay.” A crack in pitch makes his voice waver. “I thought he was going to slit your throat right in front of my eyes before I could save you.”
My teeth grind like two pieces of sandpaper. “I didn’t need saving. Kodiak had everything under control.” This sounds unconvincing even to my ears, but I’m not giving him the pleasure of being right.
His eyes crinkle. “Hmm.” He lets go of my shoulders and continues cleaning the cut, then blows on it to speed up the drying process.
Oh hell. The way his lips open and the feel of warm air—his exhalation—on my skin causes me to clamp my teeth together. His breath smells like cinnamon, and that full bottom lip looks way too enticing.
I hide a shiver. “Would you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
Unable to bring myself to say blowing on me, I flap a hand near his mouth. “That.”
He frowns for a moment, then tips his head back. “Oh, you mean this?” He leans forward, keeping his eyes locked to mine, and pushes air through his lips, as if daring me to say something.
“Yeah. That.” My voice sounds uneven.
His words are pure silk. “Why? Does it turn you on?”
“What?” I push at his chest, but he’s about as movable as Mount Rushmore. “God, no. Your breath smells like you’ve been eating dog food, and it makes me want to hurl.”
Dropping his hands, he pulls back with a frown, and looks like he wants to exhale into a palm and sniff.
I stifle a giggle. Yeah, I’m an ass, but the comment knocks him off his sexy game and gives me a chance to collect my wits.
He grabs a new piece of gauze, keeps his mouth shut, and refocuses on my neck. His fingers wipe the trail of dried blood that reaches down to the collar of my t shirt. His head lowers and he inspects the handiwork.
Several short, dark curls cling to his forehead, and I fight an urge to lift a hand and wrap them around my finger. Those black eyebrows, arched and perfect, knit together as if he’s concentrating.
I try to decide why he’s bringing out so many emotions in me. He’s an unknown variable—both alluring and repugnant; allure when he’s not acting like a douche, repugnant when he’s all sex and swagger. And above all of that is the stirring of something deeper, hiding in the dark currents of that deep lake. It scares and thrills me. I’m on the precipice of a diving board, trying to decide if I want to take the plunge or if I should turn around and climb back down.
Lost in my thoughts, I think about his soft, pink lips, which purse together and move while he’s busy with his task. Damn, he’s one fine specimen of a man. I wonder what those whiskers would feel like next to my—
Shit. While I’ve been molesting his face with my eyes, I realize he finished. Like several moments ago and has been watching me with a hint of smugness.
I jerk back, face flushing, and pretend to examine anything in the room that’s not him.
The sound of my nervous swallow, loud in the awkward silence, hangs in the air.
“Well.” The word leaves my mouth with a croak. Taking several seconds to recover my voice, I examine the bandage in the mirror. “Guess it’s all cleaned up.”
It’s a lame comment meant to cover up the moment, but instead, it serves to emphasize the already weird vibe in the room.
Jareth doesn’t respond. His torso turns to throw the used gauze and packaging into the garbage can near the sink.
Seeing my chance, I slip through the open door.
“You’re welcome, Red.”
I hesitate—stopping dead in my tracks and toss a glance over my shoulder.
Our eyes meet, his warm and full of humor, mine unsure and nervous. Catching me in his dark gaze, I lose myself for a moment.
“Cat got your tongue?” He winks and takes a step toward me.
The movement breaks my daze, and I manage to look away. Heading out of there like my ass is on fire, I try not to think of how he saved me, how his warmth and gentleness makes me feel. But didn’t I state earlier I wanted to peel back those layers, get to the man underneath? Damn. What was I thinking?
Determining to clear my mind of any momentary weakness that might’ve come over me, I head down the hall.
I should think of him as a handy, platonic traveling companion, that’s it. Hooking up with him would be messy, complicated, and heartbreaking. It’s obvious he’s pursuing the physical comforts of a relationship, without any emotional entanglements. And I need more.
All this thinking makes my head throb. It’s time to find Kodiak before he pees on the furniture and leaves the house smelling of piss.
God knows I don’t want to give Jareth any more reason to point out how my dog and I stink.
Chapter Nine
Walking down the long hall to the living room, I stumble upon Kodiak nosing through the couch cushions.
“You’re going to town, aren’t ya?”
Whatever’s in there must be remarkably good, because his nose digs deeper, at one point pushing the cushions so high, his head disappears. Moments later, he pops up, sensitive nostrils quivering with new sensations.
My hands make a shooing motion. “Scoot a boot, Kodiak. Find something else to nose about. But don’t pee in the house.”
He shows me his teeth.
“You heard me—get. Your snout is getting the cushions slimy.”
His long, bushy tail whips back and forth a couple of times, then he jumps to the floor. A few paw steps, and he disappears around a corner of the couch.
Snuffle noises come from behind the furniture.
“Are you serious?” I lean over the back of the couch. He’s sniffing the area where the legs meet the floor. “You think you can find some goodies if you take a different approach? You’re a goof.”
There’s a specific area he seems to target. A pa
w disappears underneath, and he points his ears forward in attention.
“Kodiak, you’re putting in a lot of work for a crumb.”
His butt waggles, and his nose joins the sliver of space under the sofa. He lowers his body to get a better hold, nails scratching at whatever treat he’s found lurking in the crevice.
I prop my elbows on the back of the couch and lean my chin into my palms. “Damn, you’ve got me curious now. Come on, you can do it.”
The tail wagging stops, and he lets out a short, high bark that’s muffled under the furniture. His brown leg stills and moves backward with deliberate control. A few seconds later, his wet nose comes back into view.
He stands, and from his mouth hangs a gray cloth mouse with pink felt ears. It’s two inches long, with dark blue thread sewn on the face in place of eyes.
My laughter rings through the living room. “Dude, that’s not even a dog toy, it’s for cats.”
He sniffs and tosses it into the air. While it falls, he jumps and catches it with a snap of teeth. The gray tail pokes out from his mouth, with the rest of the body inside his muzzle.
He glances at me and grins.
“Good grief, you’re going to choke yourself on that thing.”
Ignoring me, he heads out of the living room.
“Have fun playing with your new cat toy.” I sit on the sofa. The plush material feels like suede, its surface creamy under my fingers.
The living room furniture and walls are shades of beige and sandstone. A “Live, Laugh, Love” sign hangs on the wall in front of me. A framed photo of a smiling family sits just beneath the sign, positioned on a wall shelf, above the worthless television. These people lived here before the attack, content and full of life.
The picture calls to me. The background shows a distant spring or summer. The people stand in front of a pond, bright green trees and grass lining the banks. Two adults, mom and dad, I assume, and two grinning boys—around eight and ten—stare back.
What happened to them? Did they move on when everything stopped working? Did they die at the hands of other desperate survivors? Or did they succumb to an excruciating death from sickness?
The sobering thought of two little bodies decaying causes my heart to constrict. I haven’t checked upstairs yet. So, I hope they didn’t perish in the bedrooms, desiccated corpses still lying in bed.
It’s not something I want to experience, again. The few houses I scavenged in the past had a lot of bloated corpses. The memory makes me shiver.
Unable to bear their gaze any longer, I check out the rest of the room.
A folded, cream-colored blanket lies at the end of the couch. I wrap its fuzziness around my torso. The autumn day is getting colder now that the sun is lowering.
Kodiak trots back to the room, carrying his little mouse, dripping with dog slobber. He jumps on the cushion next to me and lays his long snout on my leg. His beautiful eyes gaze at my face. Stroking his silky fur is soothing.
“I hope you’re happy with yourself, because you just drowned your little mouse, you know.”
He lets the toy slide out of his mouth to lie next to his stomach.
Head against the back of the couch, I shut my eyes and rest.
A moment, it’s all I need to collect my thoughts and process the crazy events from tonight. It all hits at once like a waterspout swirling in the depths of the ocean blue. Having a knife at my throat, watching a man die in front of my eyes, and Jareth’s concern over my welfare, replay over and over again in my thoughts.
Of all the events, the last one confuses me the most. One moment, he’s so overbearing I can’t stand to be around him. The next, glimpses of someone else show through—someone who’s authentic.
Tired, my lids flutter a few times then close. My body, now heavy from exhaustion, relaxes, sinking into the folds of the cushions.
In the distance, Kodiak snorts, no doubt sampling the air to find his next licking-sniffing spot. I’d forgotten how soft furniture feels on the skin—civilization made things so much better—especially in the comfort department.
Stop overthinking—relax a bit, you’ve earned it. Clearing my tumbling thoughts, I let my weary mind rest.
Chapter Ten
A metallic clang brings me back to my senses. I rub my tired eyes, fighting the slumber that lingers.
Kodiak’s no longer at my side.
Yeah. Some bodyguard woman’s best friend he is. I blow a long sigh through my lips.
It’s now full dark in the living room, except for the immediate area near my legs.
A tall, lit candle glows from the middle of the coffee table—the light reflecting off the polished wooden surface snaking across the floor and up one wall.
Jareth must’ve set it out when I dozed.
A warm, fluttering sensation tugs at me. Why does this one simple, kind act cause turmoil in my stomach?
The clang rings in the air, once more.
Curious about the noise coming from outside, somewhere near the front of the house, I stand. Tiptoeing to the screen door, I peek, making sure to stay hidden in the dark.
Standing in the moonlight are Jareth and Sparky. The blades of moving shovels flash in a steady rhythm.
The sight confuses me at first. Why are they digging in the front yard in the middle of the night? Have they lost their minds?
A bundle covered with a tarp or blanket lies on the ground near a mound of dirt.
My eyebrows draw together. What are you two up to?
The mass, around six feet long, contains ropes spaced in intervals. A round shape of a head comes into focus. An unpleasant sensation stirs in my chest. Even though I don’t feel much pity for how Ole Jimbo met his end, the reminder of Sparky’s power is disquieting.
Remaining still, I continue to watch from my dark vantage point. The fuzzy blanket drapes over my shoulders against the evening air sliding through the screen.
Tendrils of conversation float on the night breeze, and I eavesdrop. It’s rude, but I don’t care. Is Jareth rubbing off on me?
God, I hope not.
I stand behind the screen in hiding and angle an ear in their direction.
With a regular pattern, their shovels scoop dank earth and dump it away from the hole.
“Humankind does this why?” Sparky unearths a round, flat rock and chunks it as if it’s a pebble.
“Well, because it’s a custom for some people to bury the dead.”
“Explain the purpose of this process.”
“Some cultures believe the soul will rise again. Others think it must be cremated to release the soul trapped inside.” In the pale light, his hand reaches up to wipe at his forehead before he continues. “There are even those who believe in letting the body break down to its natural state—without being buried—to return to the soil.”
“To sustain life, as in the soil-fed grass that nourishes the cow, which in turn feeds carnivores like humans, who then return to the earth upon death to complete the circle.”
“Sure. It just depends on the religion or cultural beliefs.”
“And you know this man’s faith, his views on death?”
Jareth adjusts the handle, wrapping both hands around the wood, and shoves it straight into ground not disturbed yet, loosening the compact topsoil. Sliding the metal underneath, he lifts it away before picking the conversation back up.
“I don’t know what his religion was, or if he even had one, but I don’t want Tilly to see his corpse when she wakes.”
“Then you do this for the living rather than the dead.”
“The bastard traumatized her enough when he cut her throat. He put his scummy hands on her, too, getting himself a good feel”—he shoves the shovel into the soil—“I wanted to kill him myself.”
“Her treatment at his hands disturbed you?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He pauses to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thought I was going to lose her right there and then.”
Even in the glow of the wa
xing moon, his face reflects anger, as if it’s haunted.
My skin prickles at the comment.
He said, Thought I was going to lose her, as if I mean something to him.
Those emotions stir within, complicating my already confused thoughts when it comes to this complex man. Pleasure at the thought of someone caring for me, mixed with the aggravation of knowing who’s providing the source of pleasure, plagues me.
This is why you shouldn’t eavesdrop.
“I compute not the situation.” Sparky stops shoveling for a moment. “Why did he threaten the female and her dog? They did not provoke a conflict, nor did they pose a threat.”
Flickers of moonlight bounce in Jareth’s curls each time he bends, loading and unloading fresh earth.
The rich scent of disturbed soil, along with the faint tang of soap and sweat, float on the breeze.
“Well, I imagine he was watching us. Thought we were going to take his camp and supplies, or planned on stealing our gear. Either way, he was an opportunist and no real loss.” He brushes some grass off his pants. “I don’t think he was here long. The house is still pristine, so if guessing, not many people survived in this area.”
“Did I respond in an appropriate manner by killing the human?” Sparky’s shovel resumes its task. “I could not check with the network to verify protocol or commands. I made a calculated choice, but gauging the human female’s response, it feels”—he pauses for a moment, voice sounding a bit strained—“like it was incorrect protocol.”
Jareth sighs and stops shoveling. One hand cupping the other, they rest on the tip of the wooden handle. As if in thought, he props his chin on top of his hands.
“I think the choice to end the man’s life should’ve been Tilly’s since she was the one who ended up getting hurt. Even though I don’t think you made the right choice—you made the best decision.”
Sparky’s head tilts to the side for a moment. “So, what you are saying is even though it was not the right protocol, it was in the best interest of the unit?”
“Yep.” Jareth’s white teeth appear in the shadow of his face. “That’s it exactly.”
The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1) Page 17
