Bethany's Rite (3 page)

She gave herself a mental eye roll. Right. Given a couple
more minutes of close contact, he would probably have collapsed in agony on the
asphalt beside her car. Still, his pain, her gain.

Blinking away images of Wyc bringing her to the point of
begging, she drew herself up straight. “If you’re trying to convince me to go
with you, you’re headed in the wrong direction.”

“Perhaps this will aid my argument.” He pulled a delicate
gold necklace out of the front pocket of his jeans. At the end dangled a ring
of intricately woven silver and gold.

“That’s my ring.” Her voice was a whisper of disbelief as
she reached for it. “How did you get it? It was lost when I was a child.” Even
in the muted glow of the streetlight, the ring shone bright as if reflecting an
inner fire that needed no external light to set off the intricate design.

“Are you sure it’s yours?”

She turned it over in her hand, looking at it carefully. The
elaborate scrolls ran around the entire ring and interlaced the two metals in a
complex pattern she had never seen the equal to. She tilted it to the side and
held it out to where he could see what she saw.

“Here. If you look closely, you can see the name Ilyria.
That was my mother’s name. At least that’s what I think.”

Wyc rolled the chain around his palm, bringing the ring back
to his hand. Silencing a cry, Bethany watched the ring disappear back into his
pocket. It had been the only link she had to her mother. When she was twelve,
it had disappeared in the same fire that had killed her third set of foster
parents. That ring was hers and she wanted it back.

He had moved while they talked, and the sudden light thrown
from the back door of the bar when it opened illuminated his features. The eyes
she had thought were dark brown were actually a deep blue. A mesmerizing,
midnight blue. His thick black hair had a slight wave to it she hadn’t noticed
before. High cheekbones and a square chin framed that hard mouth she
desperately wanted on hers again, damn it. This man made her lose all sense of
modesty, and it pissed her off.

Jim, one of the older bartenders, exited the building. He
headed across the lot, but stopped when he saw them standing there.

“Everything all right, Bethany?”

She waved at him and smiled. “Just fine, thanks. Have a good
night.”

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and climbed into his
truck. Neither she nor Wyc spoke until Jim had pulled out of the parking lot.

“Does this mean you’re coming with me?”

Bethany returned her attention to Wyc and frowned up at him.
“Hardly. It means I’m willing to listen to what you have to say. But not right
now. It’s late, I’m tired and I need to think. Something I can’t do at the moment.”

The muscles around his jaw tensed for a moment. “Tomorrow it
is.”

She shook her head. “No. I have a date.”

“Break it.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice sharpened in reaction to his command.

He seemed to take no notice as he captured her between his
body and the car again, resting his hands against its roof, one on either side
of her.

“I said, break it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “I
don’t think so.”

His leaned in until his eyes were even with hers. “Bethany—”
his voice rumbled in a low growl.

“No. I am not going to break my date for you. He’s a really
nice guy, and I’m not going to stand him up. But I may change my mind about
talking to you.”

Wyc lifted his head and stared out into the night. Angry
tension vibrated from him, and she resisted the urge to fidget. For a long
minute, he didn’t move. Then taking a deep breath, he unclenched his jaw,
dropped his arms and straightened. “I’ll meet you for breakfast then.”

“I have plans.”

“Damn it, woman. Are you always this difficult?”

She smiled. “Are you always this bossy?”

He glanced around the empty parking lot and muttered a
curse.

“Why are you in such a hurry? I told you I’d talk to you.
For being such a big scary guy, you should consider that progress.”

“A big scary guy?”

“Long black hair, six-foot what? Four?”

“Five.”

She tapped his shoulder. “Leather jacket, black work boots.
You probably have a Harley parked around the corner. Not the kind of man my
mother would approve of.”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Her good humor abruptly fled. “How do you know that?”

“I told you. I’ve been looking for you a long time.”

“Why?”

He shook his head and backed up a step. “Not here.”

She ran her tongue over lips suddenly dry and closed her
eyes. When she opened them, he was still there, still waiting. Filling the
night, watching her with those dark eyes and sexy as hell.

God, she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to be, but he
was the type of man who shattered the civilized restraints on a woman’s basic,
primitive need to mate with the Alpha male. Her body hummed with the desire to
capture him inside her, regardless of how medieval she knew the whole idea to
be.

It was a good thing she was so tired, or she’d be sorely
tempted to find out where that kiss could have taken her. Wyc Kilth was fantasy
rolled up in pure lust. She needed the bright light of day to take the edge off
his mystery. To put her reactions in perspective.

“Fine. Tomorrow then. I’ll meet you at the diner across the
street at noon for lunch.”

He frowned, but nodded.

She reached out a hand to stop him as he turned to leave.
“Just tell me one thing. How did you get the ring?”

Wyc looked down at where her hand clutched his arm, and then
up at her face. “Tomorrow.”

Bethany stood across the street from the coffee shop and
checked her watch again. 11:59. She should go in. She should go home. She let
out a sigh. She should make up her mind.

Looking around the busy intersection, she was pleased with
her meeting choice. She didn’t think he’d try to get under her skirt again in
such a public place. Just in case, she had worn jeans. She fell in with the
tide of people rushing along the crosswalk, hoping that with lots of witnesses,
she wouldn’t be tempted to climb up his body again either.

Half believing the whole seduction by a bad boy in black
leather had been the weird waking dream of an overactive imagination, Bethany
opened the diner’s glass door, a tinkling, tinny bell ringing over her head.
The smell of burnt coffee and old grease rolled over her as she nodded to a
couple of regulars seated at the counter to the right of the door. She ate
lunch here several times a week—whenever she worked the early shift at the bar.
With an entire page of meals for $3.99 or less, it was a perfect fit for her
budget and gave her time to relax before facing the tried and tired flirting
techniques of the latest fraternity crowd.

“Hey, sweetie,” Sharon called out as she bussed by with a
tray full of hamburgers and lunch specials. “Hot chocolate as usual?”

She nodded and Sharon gestured with her free hand. “Go ahead
and grab a seat. I’ll be right with you.” Her friendly smile pulled one from
Bethany in return. With a swish of ample hips and brown polyester, the waitress
continued winding through tables to a family seated at a six-top by the front
plate-glass window.

Bethany felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. There was no
one behind her, no one touching her. But across the crowded space she spotted
Wyc watching her from a table in the back. The intensity of his stare as much a
physical force as his fingers on her skin last night.

Seated in a packed-out restaurant in the middle of the day,
he looked as dangerous as he had in the dark, deserted parking lot. His black
jacket had been exchanged for a navy T-shirt that stretched over wide
shoulders. He shifted, and she watched the play of muscles across his chest and
biceps, her fingers itching to more intimately explore them.

When she glanced back up at his face as she slid into the
seat across from him, a hint of amusement lightened the dark blue of his eyes.
Unbidden, her gaze fell to his lips. A sudden, fierce desire to taste that
mouth again fired her with a passion she couldn’t rationalize.

“Later.”

It took a moment for the blatant promise permeating his tone
to sink in. The dark, husky sound of his voice had her clenching her thighs
together as lust washed through her. She couldn’t help it. After last night,
she was more than curious to see what else that talented mouth could do. If
just thinking about it made her pussy cream, there was no telling what his
mouth could accomplish if it moved out of her thoughts and onto her body.

She blinked and tore her eyes away from Wyc’s mouth. The
temperature was kept too warm in the restaurant, and she wished she’d worn a
cotton blouse instead of a sweater. The heat was making it hard for her to
breathe. This wasn’t good.

Wyc reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
Turning her hand over, he stroked the pulse point vibrating in her wrist like a
trapped bumblebee.

“Don’t worry. I won’t push you. Though your responsiveness
tempts me to drag you out of here and see just how fast I can make that heart
of yours beat before you scream my name in ecstasy.”

Bethany swallowed and pulled her hand out of his gentle
grasp. Arrogant bastard. She looked up with relief when Sharon approached the
table.

Plunking a cup of hot chocolate in front of her and
refreshing Wyc’s coffee, Sharon asked, “So you two made up your minds yet?”

Bethany glanced at Wyc, caught the flare of arousal heating
his gaze as he said, “I know what I want.”

Biting her bottom lip, she tamped down another hormonal
surge.
So,
so
unfair that with a few words he can make me desperate
to do him right on this table.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared
at Wyc and ordered. “The lunch special’s all I want.”

Sharon turned toward Wyc with a knowing smile and cocked a
hip. “Anything on the menu you want?”

A sexy grin stole over his face before he turned back to
Sharon. “A number four. Rare. Extra fries.”

“Gotcha.” With a wink, Sharon turned on her heel and headed
toward the kitchen, hips sashaying enough to sway the ends of her apron bow
from side to side. Bethany watched until she disappeared through a swinging
door, studiously avoiding the man sitting across the table from her.

She hadn’t expected him to have the same effect on her in
the middle of the day as he had in the dark when she was tired and alone. If
anything, the magnetism of his attraction had increased. She didn’t understand
his pull on her. It made her want to strip him naked, take him in her hands,
her mouth, her body. Made her wish she hadn’t stopped him last night.

She shivered. He made her want to run like hell and never
look back.

Wyc reached across the table and brushed her cheek with his
fingertips. Her head jerked up to see concern crowd the desire in his
expression. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.
I just want to know how you got my ring.”

He leaned back and leisurely placed one arm across the top
of the empty chair beside him, as graceful as a panther at rest. His position
was relaxed, yet the air around him seemed stretched taut by a barely leashed
power.

“Okay. We’ll start there. Your ring actually belongs to me.”
He fished in his pocket and brought out the intricately crafted gold band.

She took it out of his hand when he offered it to her. With
a frown, she slid it over her thumb where it dangled loosely around her
knuckle. “This isn’t mine. It’s too big.”

“That’s because it’s mine.” Wyc took it back and slid it
over the middle finger of his left hand. “They were crafted at the same time,
by the same artisan.”

Bethany felt hope swell in her chest. “You know where they
were made? Do you know who had them made? Anything about my family?” She
gripped the table so hard the edge of it bit into her palms. She welcomed the
sensation. It kept her grounded enough not to launch herself over their drinks
and shake the information out of him.

Before she could rattle off the other dozen and more
questions on the tip of her tongue, Wyc bolted from the booth, grabbed her hand
and pulled her out of her seat.

“What are you doing?” She pulled against him, but he ignored
her protests as easily as he ignored her struggles.

He didn’t look back as he dragged her through the swinging
door leading into the kitchen. They nearly ran Sharon over as she turned from
the pass-though with a tray full of dishes.

“Hey,” she shouted, grabbing a plate of fries and chicken
strips before it could slide off her tray. “You can’t come back here.”

Wyc glanced around. “Which way to the back door?” The sharp
bite to his question made Sharon take half a step back. Wyc growled and glared
at the older woman. His grip never lessened on Bethany’s hand. “Which way?”

“There.” Sharon pointed to the left and immediately Bethany
was hauled in that direction. Past a surprised busboy who barely managed to
escape being mown down by the six-and-a-half foot mass of fury and motion Wyc
had turned into.

A cook was opening the large, walk-in refrigerator when Wyc
shoved it shut to pass. The man spun around with a curse and Wyc shouldered him
out of the way as easily as he would a skinny, eight-year-old girl. Bethany
turned to apologize, but only got out a few stuttered syllables before Wyc
yanked her through the heavy delivery door at the rear of the kitchen and
slammed it shut behind them. Once in the back alley, Wyc thrust her between two
large garbage dumpsters.

She jerked out of his grasp and spun to face him. “What
the—”

“Stay put and be quiet.”

For a moment, she was shocked enough to actually obey his
command. But it was a brief moment. Then she grabbed enough of her wits to give
him a piece of her mind, but he had already turned to face the alley, granting
her his back. Furious, she launched herself at him, pushing against his shoulders
with as much force as she could muster in the small space he had stuffed her
in.

Her palms slapped against solid muscle. Warm muscle under
soft cotton that didn’t budge even when she braced a foot on the brick wall
behind her for extra leverage. The only effect she seemed to produce was
irritation as he shot her a quick glare over his shoulder.

Wyc’s wide shoulders blocked her view into the alley, but
his relaxed stance assured her that whatever reason he had for dragging her out
of the restaurant couldn’t be too serious.

“Thought that was you, Kilth. And just when this retrieval
assignment was getting boring.”

The words originated somewhere just in front of Wyc, and a
chill passed over her skin. She sank against the diner’s back wall. Though
unable to see the man addressing Wyc, she recognized the ugly threat in his
voice that went beyond menace. It rolled over her like oily sludge, and she
fought down a shudder.

Wyc made a derisive noise and shook his head. “You’re more
delusional than normal, Enath, if you think there’s anything here for you. And
as much as I’d love to pound your ass into the ground, I’m running a little
short on time today.”

A low chuckle slid around Wyc to scrape along her scalp. “I
know she’s behind you. I can smell her. And she’s ripe for harvesting. You can
move, or you can die. Either way, I’m taking her with me.”

“She’s matched.”

“There are ways around that. Not much fun for her, but a
hell of a show.”

Wyc’s response was a low snarl, more animal than human.
Definitely a scary sound.

No matter how she took it, this was not a normal exchange,
even between two men fighting over a woman. The whole dash through the
restaurant hadn’t unnerved her nearly as much as this conversation.

He could smell her? Harvesting? And what the hell did Wyc mean
when he said she was
matched
? She didn’t like the sound of any of it,
and wondered if both these guys weren’t flying high on whatever was their
chosen poison. She hadn’t gotten that impression from Wyc when he was sitting
across the table from her, but he could have been hiding it.

Maybe he was simply humoring the wackjob in front of him.
Making things up to go along with the guy’s insane comments to distract him.
Whatever, she wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Pressing her shoulders back into the wall until she was
certain that the bricks would leave permanent marks in her skin, she waited for
the first opportunity to flee.

Wyc glanced down the alley. No one else was in sight, but
that wasn’t likely to be the case for long. Especially since the asshole in
front of him probably hadn’t been very polite as he followed them through the
kitchen. It was a good bet the police had been called and were on their way.

He didn’t have time for cops. If the Predator had tracked
Bethany to this place, the Sleht’s bred destroyers weren’t far behind. If
Enath’s retrieval was unsuccessful, Slayers would be set loose on Bethany’s
scent. And their brutality and thoroughness made the Predators’ threat look as
dangerous as newborn puppies.

As the time drew near for the Ilyrian prophecy to be
fulfilled, the Sleht were desperate to keep the promised sons from being born.
For centuries, they had stalked Ilyrian women of Mystic descent through the
different worlds and times where they were hidden.

In the past, Predators would take them back to the rebels
and they would be used to breed bastards in an effort to mix Sleht blood with
the powers passed down through the women. Once found, if a woman couldn’t be
retrieved or was already fully matched, she had not been left alive to continue
the Ilyrian lineage. If they were now taking matched women, then the rumors
were true. The images that filled his mind at the thought made his stomach turn
in revulsion.

Enath took a step forward. “So what’s it gonna be? Are you
going to step aside, or are we going to play? I just hope you’re a better
fighter than your brothers. At least I’d get to enjoy grinding you to dust
before I take your woman.”

Primitive, brutal fury tore through Wyc’s veins. The
commitment and need to avenge his younger brothers’ deaths nearly blinding in
its intensity. Wyc had known a Sleht Predator killed his brothers. Even knew it
was one of three.

Until this moment, he had never known which of the three was
ultimately responsible. Not that he wouldn’t have taken out each one. Simply
existing as a Predator was reason enough to die. But he wanted to know who had
murdered his twin brothers. Wanted to have that knowledge when, by his hands,
the one who took his brothers’ lives was forced to surrender his own. The time
had come. At long last.

He stepped forward and took a deep breath. Bethany’s scent
filled his nostrils. With a hard jolt, her presence brought him back to reason.
She was in mortal danger. His woman. His future and the future of his people.
His first priority was to protect her. Even at the cost of delaying personal
vengeance.

He watched the scum before him shift his feet further apart
in anticipation of attack. Mottled skin pulled too tightly over eyes and nose
stretched even more grotesquely in an expression Wyc supposed was meant to be a
smile. With such an ugly face, who could tell? He had the Sleht beat in height
by several inches, but Enath was built like a solid block of cement. If he ever
had a neck, it had been swallowed by his shoulders ages ago.