“Hold up,” I said. “You can’t get into bed soaking wet.”
I caught his arm but he didn’t stop, and I almost fell on him as he collapsed onto the mattress. He rolled onto his back, eyes already closed.
His pink crystal had slid off center, and I nudged it back onto his chest. Exhaustion weighed on my limbs and my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. I thought about my bunk bed, a whole obstacle course away. In my condition, I had a ninety percent chance of dying on the stairs. No thanks.
Giving my hair a final scrunch with the towel, I tossed it on the floor and crawled onto the mattress. He was splayed across the middle, but I squeezed onto the narrow space beside him and even got my head on the edge of the pillow. Once I was horizontal, fatigue washed through me like ocean waves, dragging me under.
His eyes cracked open. His gaze was dull with drugged exhaustion, but faint surprise sparked. With fumbling motions, he grabbed the blanket and flipped it across us. As the light fabric settled over me, erasing the chill of the air on my wet skin, I sighed in relief.
Then I was asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Nothing like hard work and a mild poison to ensure a deep sleep.
I stirred awake to the pleasant warmth of a body pressed against me. Or, to be fair, me pressed against another body. In my sleep, I’d wormed my way closer to the Ghost and was now plastered against his back. His bare, muscular back.
And I was wearing nothing but a slightly damp bra, panties, and a crystal caught painfully under my side.
Sitting up, I pulled the crystal off and tossed it onto the nightstand, then looked down at my bedmate. Though the room was dark, a bright glow leaked from the bathroom where we’d forgotten to turn the light off. He was sleeping on his side, back to me, one arm tucked under the pillow.
Slipping out of the blankets, I perched on the edge of the bed and indulged in a lengthy stretch and yawn. Fatigue clung to me like a stubborn fog but I wasn’t dizzy anymore. Flattening my frizzy hair with one hand, I crossed the room, scanning the eccentric assortment of stuff as I went. Several long tables were buried in strange gizmos, shelves and cabinets lined the wall, and boxes were stacked in the corners. In the only real open space, a white circle, five feet across, had been painted on the floor.
After using the bathroom, I pulled the door most of the way shut, leaving just enough light to navigate the room. Though most of it was devoted to his alchemy workshop, the far end resembled a studio apartment, with the bed, a worn sofa with a coffee table buried in books, and a kitchenette in the corner.
I made my way to the kitchenette, snooped around until I found a glass, and poured myself some water. In the dark, I couldn’t make out much of the magicky stuff piled everywhere, but my fingers itched to explore. Not being an idiot, though, I knew better than to touch anything. Cursing myself with a black-magic spell would be a great way to top off the last two weeks.
My stomach rumbled, so I pulled the fridge open, discovering leftovers from the previous night’s dinner, snacks, a few bottles of boutique soda, and a crisper drawer full of apples from the orchard. I grabbed one and wandered back to the bed. Standing at the footboard and tapping the apple thoughtfully against my lips, I stared down at the sleeping rogue.
He’d saved the young dragon, and he intended to hunt down the mythics who’d run a hooked harpoon into the poor thing’s ribs. I now had an idea why his criminal record included murder.
Vigilante justice. He wouldn’t file a report with the MPD and wait for someone else to arrest the dragon hunters. He would find them and deal justice himself—and all the MPD would ever know was that the Ghost had killed again.
It probably should have bothered me that he was planning to murder people, but all I had to do was think about the young dragon’s agonized screams for my anxiety to evaporate. The Ghost wasn’t a good person, but in a lot of ways, neither was I.
I set my teeth in the apple, about to bite down, when a quiet knock sounded on the door across the room.
“Druid?” a muffled voice called. Morgan. The others must have returned from their day trip and I’d slept right through it—that, or their homecoming was what had woken me.
I glanced at the Ghost but he didn’t stir.
Another knock, louder. “I have news.”
“The druid isn’t here right now,” I whispered, watching him sleep. Yeah, he was out cold. He’d been covered head to toe in dragon blood and I suspected a dump truck crashing into the house wouldn’t be enough to wake him.
“Druid!” Morgan called, irritation lining her voice. “I heard the water run. I know you’re there.”
Aw, shit. I pursed my lips, then lifted a discarded black t-shirt off a chair. Giving it a cursory check—seemed clean—I pulled it on. It fell past my butt, covering my underwear. Good enough. Apple in hand, I crossed the room and pulled the door open.
Morgan stood on the top landing, arms folded. “Finally! I need to—”
She broke off, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. Her gaze snapped down to my bare legs, came back up, then stuttered to a stop on the shirt I’d borrowed.
Leaning one shoulder on the doorframe, I took a bite of my apple and waited.
A choking sound wheezed through her clenched teeth. “What are you doing up here?”
Oh my. That was some intense derision. I didn’t bother hiding my smirk. I knew exactly what conclusion she was jumping to, and I really didn’t care.
“Where’s the druid?” she demanded, glowering as though I’d confirmed every suspicion and uncharitable thought she’d ever had about me.
“Sleeping,” I said around a mouthful of apple. “What do you want?”
“Druid!” she yelled, craning to see around me.
“He’s sleeping,” I repeated coldly. “Quit shouting.”
“He—he would never—with you—” She spluttered into silence. “I need to speak with him.”
I took another bite of apple and chewed slowly. “Is it urgent?”
“Not particularly, but …” She took a threatening step closer. “Move, Victoria.”
Did I have any reason to keep her out? Aside from my petty dislike of her, vague discomfort kept me rooted to the spot. The Ghost was out of commission, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to let anyone near him until he was up again.
Was I protecting him? I wrinkled my nose. Maybe a little. The guy was poisoned, after all.
“No can do,” I said. “Either tell me what the news is, or come back in the morning.”
She glared stonily. Well, whatever it was, it couldn’t be that important.
I gave her a toothy smile. “Have a nice night, Morgan.”
And with that, I shut the door in her face and walked away, mentally dusting off my hands. Business taken care of.
“Ha-haaaaa,” a hoarse voice cackled.
I gasped, almost choking on my apple. The Ghost hadn’t moved—nor did he sound like a gravelly old geezer. My attention snapped across the room and halted on two faint spots of red light. Heart skittering under my ribs, I minced toward the cabinet.
On the shelf was a round shape, pale in the darkness, with twin lights glowing in it. I crept closer—and realized what it was.
“Red-haired vixen.” An old, yellowed human skull sat on the shelf, faint crimson light emanating from its empty eye sockets. The exposed teeth seemed to grin at me as gruff words echoed from the unmoving jaw. “I am entertained! How long I’ve waited for the pale witch to choke on her wanton fantasies.”
“You … what?” I muttered, my brain stuck on a loop of, “The skull is talking, the skull is talking.” Why the hell did the Ghost have a skull in his room, let alone a talking one?
“The pale witch will weep tonight, knowing another woman warms his bed.” A vicious snicker. “How long she has dreamed of being in your place.”
“Uhhh … maybe you didn’t notice while you were creeping on us, but all we did was sleep.”
“But you will,” the s
kull leered. “You are female. You can’t control your passion. You can’t contain your lustful drives. All females are the same, compelled by their—”
“Yeah, okay, got it.”
“The pale witch possesses the same salacious perversion, though the druid has foolishly ignored her advances. He denies his natural—”
“Whoa, okay, that’s enough of that.” I rolled my eyes. “Does the word ‘boundaries’ mean anything to you?”
A dismissive sniff. “What boundary could possibly fall upon a being such as my—”
“Never mind.” Sarcasm apparently didn’t work on chauvinistic talking skulls. “You can shut up now.”
The red glow in its eye sockets blazed. “You dare speak so boldly to me, deviant wench? I am the most feared of the Drangfar Lords who once ruled the—what are you doing?”
I stooped to pick up an empty cardboard box. As I turned it over, I spotted a rune circle drawn on its side. Hmm, interesting. Whatever the box was, it was nicely skull-sized.
“Lay that down, wench! Do not dare so much as consider—”
I set the upside-down box over the skull, and its voice cut off with surprising abruptness. Giving the rune circle another appraising glance, I stepped back, nodded sharply, then returned to the kitchenette to throw out my apple core and wash my hands. Stifling a yawn, I returned to the bed and pondered the sleeping druid.
Lethargy permeated my body, too intense to be natural—a lingering side-effect of the dragon blood. I sure as hell wasn’t going downstairs after the confrontation with Morgan, so that left one option.
With a little smile to myself, I crawled into the bed and scooted under the blanket. Warmth suffused me and I wiggled closer to the Ghost. Damn, I hadn’t realized how chilly the room was. Since I’d already thrown personal space out the window when I forced myself into his shower, I tucked my cold feet against his legs.
He inhaled sharply, then pushed his face into the pillow with an annoyed grunt. Oh? Not as deeply asleep as I’d thought.
Propping myself up with one elbow, I poked him in the shoulder. “Hey.” Another poke. “Hey, druid.”
He grumbled wordlessly.
“The talking skull wouldn’t shut up, so I put a box over it. Is that okay?” I gave him a harder poke. “Are you listening?”
With a deep, waking inhale, he half turned, flattening me with his shoulder. He squinted blearily. “Wha …?”
“I put a box on the nasty skull. That a problem?”
He frowned, then rolled back onto his side and burrowed into the blankets.
“Hey! Come on, Ghost. Just answer. Is it bad I did that?”
“That’s what the box is for,” he rumbled, the pillow muffling his voice. “And don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you what?”
“Ghost.” The word came out slurred, his voice dropping into sleep again. “Hate that name.”
“What should I call you then?” If he said “master,” I’d punch him.
Instead, he answered in a sleepy mumble almost too quiet to hear. “Zak.”
My eyes widened. “Zak?”
“Mm.” His shoulders shifted in a deep breath and his body relaxed. I waited a minute, but he was gone.
I stared down at his profile, my heart somersaulting. First I’d seen the infamous Ghost’s face, and now I’d learned his name. For someone who claimed not to trust me, he was letting me dangerously close—and with each exposed secret, the odds he’d ever let me leave dwindled closer to zero.
Chapter Sixteen
The sound of running water dragged me from a deep, peaceful slumber. Cracking my eyes open, I found late morning sunlight streaming through the gaps in the drapes. Man, I hadn’t slept this much since I was a teenager. I yawned widely and rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow.
The water shut off, then the bathroom door clacked. Quiet footsteps crossed to the bed, then the blankets lifted off me. Cold air rushed across my back. I didn’t move as the bed dipped and Zak climbed over me to his spot. Settling in, he pulled the blankets over us, making sure I was covered. Aw, that was nice.
Then he yanked the pillow out from under me. My face hit the mattress.
I shot up onto my elbows. “Hey!”
He fluffed the pillow and laid his head back. “It’s mine. You’re freeloading in my bed, remember?”
“You could still share.”
Tired green eyes slid across my face, then he nudged the pillow a few inches to one side, freeing up a corner barely wide enough to fit my head on. If he thought I’d be too shy to put my face that close to his, he’d learned nothing from the shower incident.
I skooched right up against his side, dropped my cheek onto the pillow, then blew in his ear.
He jerked his head away, exposing more pillow, and I squished onto it with a triumphant grin. Grumbling, he rolled onto his side, putting his back to me. I wiggled closer and blew on his neck, just to annoy him. His shoulders twitched.
“Would you grow up?” he grouched.
“Make me,” I retorted maturely. “You brought this on yourself, Zachy.”
He jerked upright, pulling the blankets off my torso. His alarmed gaze flashed over me. “Shit.”
I blinked up at him, distracted by the view of his mostly naked drool-worthiness. “What?”
A pained look crossed his face and he muttered, “I’d hoped that was a dream.”
“A dream?” As I clued in, a wicked smile bloomed across my lips. “Oh, you mean you thought you dreamed that you told me your name? Ha! Hate to burst your bubble, Zachary.”
He sighed heavily. “Not Zachary.”
“No?”
“Zakariya.”
“Oh. That’s a nice name.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, he slumped back. “Great. I should just feed you to the vargs and be done with it.”
“Umm. Maybe you could not?” I poked him lightly in the side. “What if I promise not to tell anyone?”
“You seem like the blabbermouth type to me.”
“Am not! I’m an expert secret keeper.” I poked him again to emphasize my point.
He grabbed my hand. “Stop that.”
I tugged on my hand but he didn’t release it. “Since I’m in on all your secrets anyway, there’s something I’d really like to know.”
Wariness skittered across his features. “What’s that?”
“What the hell kind of cult are you running here?”
His caution morphed into disbelieving affront. “What kind of cult? Are you serious?”
“You live on a farm with a bunch of runaway teen mythics who worship the ground you walk on. What else am I supposed to think?”
“I live here because I’m a druid. Most fae don’t approach cities. As for the kids, I have no control over what they think. Morgan and Terrance take care of them, not me. I’m busy with other things.”
“Things like … selling poisons to darkfae?” I didn’t suppress my judgmental tone.
“Sometimes.” His green eyes seared me. “The difference between wyldfae and darkfae is ambiguous and always changing. Besides, a fae who wants a poison will get its hands on that poison whether I transmute it or not. But they pay me well in magic for making it easy.”
I studied him curiously. No dissembling, no shame. He didn’t care if I thought he was immoral. He gave zero shits about whether I considered him an evil bastard. But I’d seen evidence that there were fae he refused to deal with, and judging by his interaction with the dragons, he was known as a healer as well as a poison-maker.
“Okay, but why the runaways?”
“It …” He grimaced. “It just happened. I didn’t plan things that way, but it works for me. I pick up mythics with nowhere to go and give them a home for a few months or years. In return, they help out on the farm, and when they’re ready, they move on.”
“Why are they never heard from again? Why did you tell me I would never return if I went with you?”
“To mak
e sure you were dead serious about coming. I’m not wasting my time carting around teenagers who want to run back to mommy and daddy once their sense of adventure wears off.” He twitched one shoulder. “The others are never seen again because they don’t want to return to their old lives. Morgan and Terrance help them set up new identities, relocate to new places, stuff like that.”
A new life. That’s what he offered, and the mythics who left this farm went on to something new and different, never returning to reveal they were healthy and far happier than before they’d disappeared. And since he never revealed his name or face to anyone, they didn’t know they were former abductees of the infamous Ghost.
“Why all the secrecy?” I asked softly. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re seen as a child-abductor and murderer?”
“My reputation is a form of protection in itself.” He lifted my hand, his warm grip tightening ominously. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Victoria. I earned that reputation.”
“Tori.”
“Huh?”
“I prefer Tori to Victoria.” I tugged my hand free, pillowed my cheek on my arm, and smiled at him. “One more question. How come you’re all fine with me hanging out in your room while you’re fast asleep? I totally could have killed you and made my escape.”
Amusement pulled at his lips. He didn’t smile but his mouth and jaw softened. “You’re a human. What could you possibly have done to hurt me?”
“Seriously?” I scowled. “This room is full of weapons. I could’ve stabbed you right through your black heart.”
“Hmm. You think so?” He canted his head toward the sitting area. In a nook behind the sofa, a huge standing perch was almost invisible in the shadows—as was the giant black eagle, its jewel-bright emerald eyes fixed on me.
Adrenaline shot through my veins. “Oh. Hi there, Lallakai.”
The fae’s raptor glare didn’t shift. How long had the bird been here, watching over her druid?
“What’s with the skull?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
Dark Arts and a Daiquiri (The Guild Codex: Spellbound Book 2) Page 14
