Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (74 page)

How strange. Conry wasn’t overly affectionate with people he didn’t know. Most of the time, he stood off to the side, watching and taking in everything. He wasn’t the type of dog who lay at your feet, rolled over to his back, and wanted you to scratch his belly. He had more dignity than that.

Hell, was he wagging his tail?

“I don’t see him,” she said.

He suddenly didn’t want to point him out. What if she wanted to go over there and pet him? Conry would let her, of course, but there was something about the way he was acting with the woman in the cowboy boots that Asher found intriguing. He didn’t want to spoil it.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he wanted to check her out, too. He fired off some lame excuse about forgetting a prior engagement.

“But what about our plans?” Monique asked. She frowned, and he noticed that tiny lines of makeup had gathered in the creases of her face.

“Yeah, I thought we were leaving together,” Cindy chimed in.

“I’m sorry, ladies.” And he really did feel bad. He didn’t like to lead women on. He was a man of his word in and out of the bedroom. For a brief moment, he considered taking them to the dark hallway near the restrooms that he’d spotted earlier. Ten, fifteen minutes tops was all he’d need to satisfy the two of them as well as himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made two women come simultaneously.

There was Conry, wagging his tail again. What was going on?

He stood up. “Another time, ladies. I’ll be here tomorrow night.”

A moment later, he was extracting himself from the booth and making his way through the crowd. Once outside, he took a deep breath. The night air was cool and damp, holding a hint of rain. Compared to the stuffy atmosphere inside, it was invigorating. Instead of whistling to Conry like he normally did, he started across the street, checking out his surroundings as he went.

Movement near the front of the club drew his attention. A dark figure darted from the shadows and crouched near a parked car. Given the way he carried himself, Asher knew he was military.

Shit. Had someone tipped them off? If he were recognized as a warrior of the Iron Guild, they’d come after him, and if captured, he’d meet the same fate as Fallon.

He scanned the streets. Just a few groups of late-night partygoers laughing and staggering down the sidewalks on both sides of the road. There weren’t any Night Patrol units either, which was a little unusual for this part of town. Usually they were everywhere.

The man near the parked car didn’t seem to have noticed him, so Asher crept along the far side of the street to get a closer look. The guy was shrugging a backpack from his shoulders. Unease prickled down Asher’s spine, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The guy huddled over the pack for a moment, then turned and ran.

“Holy Fates,” Asher hissed, as the realization hit him.

He ran, his arms and legs pumping.

He flew through the air as the front of the club exploded.

Down in the wine cellar of the Grape and Bean, Olivia struggled to get her bearings straight.

The wooden ladder she’d used to reach the top shelf now lay at an awkward angle over one of the standup tables. Dozens of bottles had fallen from their slots and shattered on the floor. Broken glass and red wine was everywhere. One tall rack that obviously hadn’t been bolted to the wall had tipped over, taking with it several boxes of unopened Reidel wine glasses. The overhead pendant lights were swinging precariously, casting grotesque shadows on the stone walls.

The sound had been deafening. Like a Metro comm-train crashing into the building, only the nearest line was more than a mile away. It had to have been an earthquake. Though she’d only been five years old when the Big One hit, this had to be right up there. She’d done a report in school once about a man pinned under the rubble for almost a week. Recalling the photo on the book cover showing the twisted stairwell that had been his home, she prayed she’d be able to get up the narrow flight of stairs to the tasting room.

“Marco,” she called out, gingerly stepping over a case of wine that now sat between her and the door. “Are you okay?”

She pushed the handle. It didn’t budge. Panic bloomed in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She sucked in a few raspy gulps of air as blood pounded loudly behind her eardrums. The room suddenly shrank to half its size. Claustrophobic. Had something fallen in front of the door on the other side, blocking her in?

“Calm down,” she said aloud. “A freak-out isn’t going to help.” She tried the door again. It still didn’t move. She pounded for a good five or ten minutes, pausing only to yell for Marco. Her fist hurt. Her voice became hoarse. Each time she stopped, she held her breath, waiting for an answer, but all she could hear was the far-off sound of sirens.
Damn these stone walls.

Using her shoulder, she pushed with all her strength, but nothing happened.

Where was he? Where was that couple celebrating their anniversary?

If only she had her cell phone, but it was in the back office.

Hitching up her skirt, she planned to kick at the door with the heel of her cowboy boot, but right before she did, she noticed the frame had shifted near the bottom. Maybe that’s what was jamming the door.

She searched the room for something to use as a crowbar and spotted one of the wrought-iron chairs. Perfect. That just might work. She grabbed the closest one—damn, it was heavy—and shoved the flat metal foot against the frame, trying to wedge it into the crack between the jamb and the door. Now, if she could get the angle right. Using the seat as a lever, she wrenched with all her strength. Not expecting it to work, she was shocked when the wood suddenly gave way. She lost her balance and nearly fell to the floor.

She exited the cellar and darted for the stairs, absently stepping over more broken stemware on her way up. When she got to the top, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The plate glass window had shattered and the street outside was a war zone. Several emergency vehicles were parked at crazy angles in the middle of the road, their lights flashing. People were shouting orders. Others were crying. Running.

Despite a light drizzle, a thick layer of smoke and dust hung in the air. The Grape and Bean awning was tattered and hanging by just a corner. It appeared as though all the businesses on both sides of the street had been affected, with the club across the street suffering the most damage. The whole front facade was gone, reduced to rubble.

God, how long had she been stuck down there? On one hand, it had seemed like hours, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Had Marco and the customers gone outside to see what had happened?

She was dimly aware that her phone was ringing from somewhere behind her. It was her mother’s distinctive ringtone. With shaking hands, she found her purse. It took three tries to hit the Talk button.

“Mom?”

“Liv! Are you all right? Oh my God, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Olivia choked. Rather than anchoring her and giving her strength, it reminded her that she was barely holding herself together. Struggling to get herself under control, she wished she’d have thought to answer her mother via text instead. That would’ve been much easier. The urge to get outside and see if anyone needed her was almost unbearable.

“A little shaken up. What about you?”

“Me? I’m fine.” Her mother sounded confused as well. “What are you talking about?”

“Aren’t you home? Didn’t you feel it?”

Just then, a man stumbled on the sidewalk in front of the Grape and Bean, his face covered in soot. “Mom, I’ve got to go. It’s chaos around here.”

“Wait. Don’t go do anything foolish. I’ve seen the video feeds. There are people injured everywhere. Leave things to the first responders.”

It shouldn’t surprise her that this would be her mother’s reaction. Olivia usually kept a low profile, but she’d messed up when David had discovered her secret. After that, her mother’s admonitions had become routine. Don’t do this. Watch out for that. Like she’d screw up again if her mother weren’t there to remind her. Well, she wouldn’t. A lesson learned the hard way made a bigger dent in future behavior than a lifetime of nagging ever could.

“But—”

“I’m serious, Liv. Let them handle things. That’s what they do. You cannot jeopardize yourself and risk them finding out about you.”

Given that she was twenty-seven years old, she didn’t need her mother to worry about her. “Mom, I’ll be careful.”

“Careful? Well, you weren’t careful with that fighter guy.” She never called David by name. It was always
that fighter guy
. “Whatever you’re planning to do, don’t do it, Liv. I’m serious. You can’t ever forget what happened to your brother.”

Her mother’s voice faded in her ear as Olivia eyed an overturned wine rack on the far side of the tasting room. Was that a shoe lying next to it? Dread soured her stomach like a shot of vinegar. It was Marco’s. At some point, she must’ve ended the call because her phone was now in her pocket as she ran over.

The heavy wooden wine rack, the one he’d just imported, lay over the upper half of his body, a large pool of blood spreading out from underneath. She couldn’t see his face, but she’d seen enough. She didn’t have to take his hand to tell that he was dead. His essence was gone, untethered from his body, his life energy too far dissipated for her to pull it back together again. No wonder she’d assumed he’d left the store.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, she scrambled away until she tripped over something and fell to her knees. Marco was a good man. What would his family do without him? Faded images of her father crashed into her head. He hadn’t been ready to die, either, on that fateful day when the army showed up and took her brother.

Run. She had to run. As far away from the death and destruction as possible. She couldn’t bear to be around it without being able to do anything. If she tried, people would see her and know what she was. Her brother’s fate would be her own.

A soft scraping noise, different from the pandemonium outside, sounded behind her. She spun on her toes, instinctively getting into a defensive position, legs shoulder-width apart and slightly scissored, the heel of her hand cocked back.

“Didn’t mean…to startle you.” A man in a leather coat stood in what used to be the doorway. He was tall. And big. At least six-three or four, with broad, powerful shoulders. A once-black T-shirt, now covered in dust, stretched tightly across his well-defined chest. Low-slung jeans with a studded leather belt and chain accentuated his narrow hips. He was dressed like an outlaw from a motorcycle gang.

He was also favoring one leg and cradling his arm.

Without thinking of the consequences, she flew to his side and righted an overturned chair. “Here. Sit.”

When she helped him into the seat, her hand inadvertently brushed his. Before she jerked it away, a visual list of his injuries rolled like movie credits in her head. Concussion but no head trauma, broken clavicle and leg, cracked ribs, torn meniscus, multiple contusions.

“No. I…can’t.” He had a strange accent. One she’d never heard before. “Need to…find my dog.”

She blinked once, confused, and then she remembered the dog outside. “He’s yours?”

The man brightened. “Is he here?”

“No, I saw him a few minutes before all this happened.”

His face fell and he started to push himself up.

“Hold on,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Got…to…find…him.”

It was strange to see such a man looking so vulnerable. Because his injuries weren’t life-threatening, she’d be able to heal them fairly quickly, though. “You’re not going anywhere like this. Not until I can—”

As soon as she bent down to kneel in front of him, her mother’s admonitions rang in her head.
What the hell am I doing?
She pulled her hands back as if she’d just burned them. She couldn’t let anyone, especially a stranger, know what she was capable of. It wasn’t like he was dying, she reasoned. It would be a different story if he were. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

He was studying her a little too intently, and she got the distinct impression it wasn’t because he didn’t believe what she’d said about his dog.

“Wait here,” she ordered, standing up quickly. “I’ll let someone know you need an ambulance.”

“No,” he said vehemently. “No ambulances.” He sure didn’t sound confused anymore.

Unruly dark hair, which included a few thin braids, hung over his brow, reminding her of the wild stallions in the horse books she’d read as a kid. His features were chiseled, his jaw square and strong. His nose, though straight, had a bump on the bridge as if it had been broken once or twice. Not tonight, but earlier. And his eyes…God, those eyes.

They were almost otherworldly.

Framed with thick lashes a girl would kill for, the steely-gray of his irises glimmered in the glare of the aid cars’ lights as if they were backlit. Even though he was hurt, she found him rugged, powerful, and utterly beautiful.

“I saw you here…earlier.”

He had to be confused, because if he’d been in, she’d have remembered him. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever forget. “Oh really?” she asked, humoring him.

“You gave him…water. Thank you.”

“You
did
see me,” she said, a little startled. She narrowed her eyes, trying to think of where he could’ve been. “Were you…?”

“Across the street,” he finished. “At the club.” His voice had a rough, hardened edge, which she found oddly soothing. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking around the rubble of the wine shop.

No, she wasn’t okay. She was shaken up, freaked out, and really, really scared. But she was alive. And unlike him, she wasn’t hurt.

“I was trapped downstairs in the wine cellar when it happened. I just got out. The only thing I saw was—” She pointed to Marco. “That’s the owner. He’s dead.”

He glanced over and his expression hardened. He cursed in a language she didn’t recognize. “And you? You’re not injured, lass?”

Lass? Is he visiting from Scotland or something?