Coveted - Book 3 in the Gwen Sparks Series (5 page)

When I saw the face of my new customer the red flags went up. I didn’t recognize him which was strange in a town as small as Flora. He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, and almost as skinny as a skeleton. His cheeks were sunken and dark circles ringed his gray eyes. The military style jacket he wore was dirty in various spots and ripped in others. He had buzzed, sandy brown hair and a piercing in his left earlobe. When he turned to look back at the door, I caught site of a dagger tattoo etched along the length of his neck
. Definitely not from Flora.

“Can I help you?” I slid off the stool, and crossed my fisted hands across my chest to hide my nervousness.

The man jerked his head in my direction, his eyes menacing. “Perhaps,” he said. “You Gwen Sparks?”

“No,” I said feigning confusion.

The man stepped closer and I took a step back, hitting my back against the wall. A devious smile curled his lips, and he reached behind his back and pulled out a double-edged dagger.

“I think you are her,” the man said, waving the blade and watching as the lights reflected against its sharp edge.

“I’m not,” I told him again. “You don’t want to kill the wrong person, do you?”

The man shrugged his bony shoulders. “I could be wrong, you could be someone else, but I don’t think I am. And if it turns out I am…oh well.”

Shit, shit, shit.

I tried to focus on my magic, direct it to my trembling hands, but the man rushed me. He bolted for me and I scrambled in the other direction. Just as I was about to jump over the counter, I was yanked back by my hair. A scream bubbled up my throat and filled the store with my terror. Reaching my hands up, I tried to break his hold on me, but fighting backwards wasn’t doing any good. Though fear consumed me, I channeled my magic to my fingertips and zapped the man’s hands. Still he didn’t let go.

Shit, shit, shit.
My mind screamed again.

Before I could think of what else to do, the guy yanked me back further and then shoved me forward, slamming my face against the hard Formica. Stars and black fuzziness obscured my vision, but I fought to stay conscious. Blood gushed down my nostrils and onto my lips and counter. It took me a few seconds to come back to reality, pushing through the haze of dizziness.

“I think I’ll take my time with you,” the man remarked with sadistic excitement. I yelped when he tugged on my hair again. Unless I wanted to have a bald spot I needed to go in the direction he was pulling. When I was standing up straight again, he turned me around to face him. His eyes were alight with satisfaction, and he waved the dagger inches in front of me.

“Sit,” he ordered. When I didn’t listen to him, his hand came up and a white-hot burn heated the side of my face. The fuzzy stars that were starting to fade popped back up. My skull rattled with the hit and an instant migraine assaulted my head.

“Sit!” he screamed.

I was consumed by rage, driven over the edge by fear and the pain he caused. I sneered at him through the haze and the strands of my hair hanging in my face. I was breathing heavily and my hands lit up like lanterns. The man glanced down at my arms, a smirk lifting his mouth.

“Go ahead, hit me with your best shot.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I raised my hands and threw the magic towards him giving him everything I had. The magic washed over his body and vanished. Just…vanished.

What the hell?

“Your magic can’t save you this time.”

I whirled around and tried to jump over the counter again but like before, the man ripped a handful of my hair backwards and I fell to the floor. He knelt in front me, the dagger pointed toward my face.

“Man,” he snorted to himself. “Who’d you piss off to warrant a visit from one of us?”

“Who are you….
what
are you?” I hadnever seen anyone able to withstand a hit of magic, except for Dorian and even it affected him a little. Not this guy. “Are you an angel?”

That made the man laugh out loud, “The furthest thing from it.” The amusement was gone from his eyes in an instant. He was all business again; focused on me and the blade. My indecision was soul shattering. I had no clue how to escape this guy when my magic didn’t so much as leave a scratch on him. There was no way I was going to die in my shop, that much I did know.

I kicked my leg out, my foot landing in the center of his chest. He stumbled backwards but held his balance; now more pissed than before. He swung the arm with the dagger in it backwards and then sent it downward. Everything was in slow motion as I watched the blade cut through the air and towards me. Out of instinct, I raised my arms to protect my face and was rewarded with a slash across my forearm. A bloodcurdling scream left my lips as I grabbed my arm and squeezed. It was no use though. The cut was too deep and the blood just kept flowing. The gash left my skin flayed open in two thick strips. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I continued to hold my arm and stare at the man. The scent of my coppery blood filled my nostrils. If I concentrated on it I knew I’d pass out.

A crash sounded from behind me. I couldn’t tell what had happened because my back was towards the noise and I was not taking my eyes off of the psycho in front of me. The man stood with a sick sneer on his face as he greeted the new arrival. While my attacker’s attention was occupied I tried to stand up again. It was a bit difficult using one arm, but I managed.

What I saw was the most beautiful site a dying woman can ask for—an angel. Dorian stood on the other side of the counter, his body so rigid it could have been carved out of stone. The temperature in the store dropped at least twenty degrees, and I could have sworn I heard his teeth crack under the pressure of his jaw.

“Death has come to claim you,” the psycho said to me. “I’m not quite done with her yet and I do so love taking my time,” he told Dorian.

“She won’t be dying today,” Dorian bit out.

“No?” my attacker questioned. “She’s lost a lot of blood already.”

I checked my wound and he was right. My arm, fingers, sweater and jeans were stained with blood. I thought the wooziness that swam through my head was a result of all of the blows to the head, but now I knew the real reason. I was dying.

The man slipped behind me, either to block himself from Dorian or because he wanted to inflict more pain. He wrapped one arm around my throat while the other closed around my waist. The scruff of his jaw scrapped against the side of my face as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I shivered in disgust, wanting to remove every trace of him from my body.

“Do you think you can kill me before I kill her?” He dragged his arm back so that the dagger rested against my jugular. The cold steel bit into my skin as my throat bobbed up and down with my sobs. I kept my eyes locked on Dorian, needing my last vision to be of something good. The guy pressed the knife harder when Dorian took a step closer. I held my breath, too afraid to move lest I force the blade to slice a sensitive area.

“You have two choices here,” Dorian said.

I could feel the man’s cheeks spread into a smile against my face. “Ooh, I can’t wait to hear them.” His voice was filled with mock enthusiasm.

“You can let her go, answer a few questions and be on your way or I can kill you right here and now.”

“Tempting,” my attacker said pretending to think about it. “I gather she means something to you. Death doesn’t save lives after all.”

Only the slightest twitch of Dorian’s lips betrayed that the psycho was right. I didn’t know if the man had noticed it, but it didn’t matter. He was right—Death took lives, not restored them. As soon as Dorian defended me, my attacker knew something was fishy.

The man snorted. “Death is sweet on a woman? Go figure. See, I think you’d do whatever you could to make sure this blade”—the man pressed the knife tighter against my throat—“doesn’t find its way into your lady friend’s neck.”

I gasped as a searing pain burned along my throat and wet droplets fell against my chest. My body sagged from the exhaustion of the fight, blood loss and the impact my head had taken. It caused the knife to bite against my skin harder. The pain was almost non-existent now; my body was numb.

 “Enough,” Dorian growled. “Gwen, look at me.” I dragged my eyes up to meet his, fighting to stay conscious. My head felt too heavy for my shoulders. It took concentration that I didn’t have to hold it up.

“That’s right—just keep your eyes on me.”

Dorian’s body was blurry to my weary eyes, but I continued to stare at his outline, wishing I could just fall asleep and forget all about the nightmare I was living. The man grunted, his arms squeezing me tighter and cutting off my supply of oxygen. My head fell, swaying to the side and going limp with the rest of my body. If the guy wasn’t holding me up, I would have crumpled to the floor.

“Gwen, look at me. Stay with me,” Dorian ground out. I couldn’t raise my head again, not when it weighed a hundred pounds, but I held onto his voice, allowing it to comfort me.

My attacker grunted again, a deep rumble at first and then a screech that pierced my skull, causing me to flinch. His grip loosened, his hands slipping a little bit. I fought to keep my legs under me, but they wobbled beneath my weight. I heard a thump behind me, but it took me a moment to register that I wasn’t in the man’s arms anymore. He was sprawled on the floor, his eyes wide and lifeless.

A new set of arms encompassed my body, the smell of leather filling the air around me. I was hoisted up against Dorian. There was another crash before he lay me down on something hard.

“Gwen?” Dorian’s smooth voice flowed over me like silk. “Help is on the way, stay with me.”

Stay with me.
I clung to those words, promising that if I lived through this I wouldn’t take my feelings for Dorian for granted anymore. Cool lips brushed my forehead as soft fingertips caressed my cheek. It was the last sensation I had before my eyes fell shut and I drifted into oblivion.

“I think she’s waking up,” I heard someone say. My eyelids were heavy, making it a great effort to get them open. Blinking, I saw glimpses of bodies hovering nearby. Their outlines were blurry figures in the distance that didn’t make sense to my jarred brain.

“Gwen, you’re in the hospital,” a woman said close to me.

The last thing I remembered was Dorian whispering in my ear, though I couldn’t remember what he had said. Someone slipped their hand in mine and squeezed while using their other hand to brush strands of hair out my face. The coolness of their skin on mine was refreshing. Giving it one more try, I strained to open my eyes. I managed three-quarters of the way but could now tell that I was in a white room. The air was stale and did nothing to help my dry throat. A beeping noise sounded next to me and when I tried to lift my arm something caught on the sheet. The longer I was awake, the easier it got to open my eyes and put a coherent thought together.

The first face I saw was Penny’s. Her big brown eyes were puffy and red, and she smiled at me. I dragged my eyes away from her face and looked down at my hand that had someone else’s in it. Aiden sat in a chair beside my bed, his hair mussed as if he hadran his fingers through it over and over. His face held pain, sympathy, love and anger all in one. Nearly tangible emotions radiated from him.

“You’re going to be okay, my Gwen.” He squeezed my hand in reassurance. I tried to smile but it felt funny, awkward on my face. I’d just turned my head back straight when I saw another body leaning against the far wall. My eyes locked onto it, onto
him
. Seeing Death hanging out in your hospital room wouldn’t comfort most people, but I wasn’t most people. Tears filled my eyes, causing my vision to go blurry again. If it hadn’t been for him, I would be in the basement of the hospital.

“Are you in pain?” Aiden got up to inspect me.

I shook my head. “No. Just realization setting in,” I told him. “Could I have a moment to speak with Dorian?”

Aiden’s jaw flinched, his right eye crinkling the tiniest bit before he wiped all emotion off his face.

“We’ll be in the waiting room.” He kissed the top of my head. He and Penny left the room, but before exiting he exchanged heated glares with Dorian.

I tried to sit up but every bone in my body felt like it’d been broken and glued back together. I hoped the doctors had better luck with me than the townsfolk did with Humpty Dumpty.

I brought my attention away from the pain ricocheting throughout my body and looked at Dorian again. His arms were across his chest, and his head was hung as he studied the floor.

“Thank you,” I began, swallowing around the dryness in my throat.

“Don’t,” Dorian snapped, looking up.

I was taken aback by the abruptness of his comment. “You saved me,” I said like some grateful damsel who’d been rescued from her distress. “I mean…thanks.” Every word came out sounding unintelligent as I stumbled over my tongue for the right words. When someone saves your life it kind of warrants a fantastic “thank-you” speech: one that shows the savior just how grateful you are. Dorian was getting gypped.