Dark Predator (22 page)

This time there was no mistaking the laughter.
Probably not, but I’ll try.

He laid her on top of the bed and stared down at her for a long time. Her black hair spilled across her pillow, like a fall of silk skeins. Her lashes looked thicker and darker than ever. Color added so much to a world, even the dull colors he was seeing. He wanted to lean down and taste those perfect lips, but he knew it wouldn’t end there. The call of her blood beat in his veins and he was done scaring her for the day. Not when she was so obviously worried about him.

“Sleep well, Marguarita.”

I almost miss those strange names you call me.

He touched her hair once, feeling a shift in his heart, one he feared would change his life. He moved back away from her without another word, unable to decide what he was going to do about her. He could not remember a time when he hadn’t known exactly what he was going to do. Abruptly he left her room, left her fragrant scent and the terrible need clawing at his veins. He was still in control, but for how much longer was anyone’s guess.

9

M
arguarita rolled over and stared at her window. The heavy drapes were drawn, but a sliver of light told her it was the middle of the day. A rain of pebbles hit the glass and she sighed and pushed herself up. Her body felt leaden, not wanting to cooperate, but resolutely she slipped out of bed and crawled across the floor to the window pushing the drapes aside just as Julio sent another light spray of small rocks rapping against the glass.

Trying not to laugh, Marguarita shoved the window up. Sunlight spilled into her room, burning her eyes. She hastily covered them, shocked at how she was already so used to being up all night. She dragged a pen and notepad from the bedside table.

Are you crazy? He might kill you if he finds you here again.

“He’s sleeping. I made certain to wake you well before sundown. I had to make certain you were all right.”

She shaded her eyes and looked him over carefully. There was a thick bloody wrap around his forearm and he looked upset.

What happened to you?

“The dog went crazy about an hour ago.
My
dog. He suddenly started snarling and growling. He hadn’t made a sound since . . .”

She sketched a question mark between them.

“De La Cruz came to our house last night. Max went berserk. All the animals do when he’s around, you know that. He was barking and snarling at the window and then abruptly he went silent. Not a peep until a little while ago and then it was like he went crazy. He started snapping at my horse’s heels and one kicked at him. I dismounted to calm him down and he attacked me.”

Marguarita climbed onto the windowsill, sitting with her legs dangling, and indicated Julio come closer so she could inspect the lacerations.

Julio took off his shirt to show Marguarita the scratches across his chest. The dog had gone for his throat and he had held him off with sheer strength. Her heart sank. Julio had thrust his forearm into the dog’s mouth, sacrificing his arm to prevent the attack on his throat.

You had to shoot him?
She knew the answer before he spoke. Julio had loved his dog.

“Ricco shot him. He didn’t have a choice, Marguarita. I think De La Cruz did something to my dog.”

She shook her head rejecting the idea, frantically writing on the notepad.

He wouldn’t do that, Julio. Everything on the ranch is under his protection, including the animals.

“The animals are terrified of him and you know it. The longer he stays here, the worse it’s going to get. Even the horses are upset, Marguarita. They’re hard to control when we’re out patrolling. I think he’s staying here because of you. He’s got to go.”

She glared at him.

This is his home, Julio. That’s a mean thing to say.

Julio shook his head, crumpling her note. “This is our home. They’re never here, especially him. He’s the worst of them. He can’t just come here and tell us all that you belong to him. We work for him, but you aren’t his slave. He’s got to go, and you have to get out of there. Now. Before he does something to make it impossible for you to get away from him.”

He needs me, Julio.

Julio scowled at her. “He’s not one of your broken animals to rescue, Marguarita. He’s dangerous to you. You can’t treat him like a wild animal.”

That’s exactly what he is. He’s alone, and he needs me. I’m not going to abandon him the way everyone else in his life has done. He pushes everyone away and they go. I’m staying.

“What if he wants more from you than you’re willing to give?” Julio demanded. “Because he thinks you’re his woman. Do you have any idea the demands he could make on you? You’re playing with fire, Marguarita. If he’s a wild animal, then he’s the most dangerous one you’ve ever encountered and you aren’t going to tame him. Get out while you can. I’ll help you. We all will. He doesn’t own you. He doesn’t own any of us. We have choices here, and you do as well.”

My choice is to see him through this. You have no idea of his life, Julio. He came here to end his life with honor and I ruined that for him. He’s lost right now and I need to help him. I want to help him. I know that I can.

Julio cursed under his breath. “You’ve always been like this, Marguarita, so stubborn no one could make you see reason.” He started to put his shirt back on, but stopped when she shook her head.

Marguarita slipped back into her room and rummaged around until she found the first-aid kit she’d made up years earlier for the workers. Over time she’d become somewhat of a nurse with all the lacerations and accidents that occurred on the ranch. She smeared antibiotic cream over the deep scratches and handed him some tablets.

Julio obediently took them and dragged his shirt back over his head, smoothing it over his chest. “I’m telling you, hon, De La Cruz is no ordinary man. You have to let this one go.”

She unwound the bloody rag and gasped when she saw the wound on his arm. She mimicked sewing, frowning at him. Julio shrugged and shook his head.

“It’ll heal. Just do whatever you do so it doesn’t get infected.”

Marguarita had to blink several times. The sun seemed unusually bright and her eyes kept watering. She shook her head and indicated she needed to at least put butterfly strips across the wound to try to close it.

“Get on with it, then. I’ve got to get back to work. You have to get to the stables tonight and settle the animals down. Someone’s really going to get hurt if you don’t, Marguarita.”

She nodded as she carefully applied the antibiotic cream and then began to meticulously close the wound.

“He can’t keep you,” Julio reiterated. “You don’t owe him your life, honey. Seriously, think about leaving this place.”

He would find me. I want to stay anyway, Julio. I know I can help him.

She had almost written
save
him. Zacarias needed saving from himself. Perhaps it couldn’t be done. She wasn’t even certain he wanted saving, but someone had to care about the man. He didn’t seem to care much about himself. He was arrogant and had complete confidence in himself, but he also believed he was tainted with evil.

I’m sorry about your dog, Julio, but whatever happened, Zacarias had nothing to do with it. You be careful today. I’ll come out this evening.

She hoped Zacarias would be cooperative. He knew the ranch work had to be done. If it took her going to the stables to calm the animals, she was certain Zacarias would agree to it. She waved to Julio and resolutely closed the window and pulled the drapes. She was tired, but a few hours to herself sounded good, so she decided to stay up.

In the bathtub, she laid with her eyes closed and allowed herself to think about Zacarias. He was such a mystery—a man who had no real idea of who he was. Her heart went out to him, a man so utterly alone. No one should be so alone. And he had no real idea of his own feelings. He’d buried his memories so deep, never forgiving himself, refusing to acknowledge he even remembered that terrible tragedy in his life.

Marguarita sighed as she sank down into the hot, scented water, soaking the long, thick rope of hair. She felt exhausted, and it was difficult to keep her mind away from Zacarias. In the short time she’d been around him, she’d mostly been afraid, so it didn’t make sense to her that she was so determined to help him. She hated that he was so alone. No one should be alone, not like he was, not cut off from anything soft and gentle. He had so little humanity left that he no longer believed he could overcome the predator in him.

She saw inside of him, but every time she tried to show him he was different inside, he rejected her. It was almost as if he was afraid of that softer side of himself. It made him vulnerable and Zacarias De La Cruz had never really been that way—or if he had—he certainly didn’t remember it. Nor did he want to remember it.

Zacarias had lived so long as a dangerous hunter, always alone and always apart, that he really had no way to fit into modern society, with humans or even with his own people. He had supreme confidence in himself as a hunter—a killer—but not as a man. And he was wrong. As arrogant and as dangerous as he was—there was someone gentle and loving deep inside him. His tremendous loyalty and sense of duty were admirable. He didn’t see it that way. Everything was so black and white to him.

She dried herself off slowly, taking her time, enjoying the feeling that she had her home to herself and she could feel as if it belonged to her. She’d been mistress of the hacienda a long time and now, with Zacarias home, dictating to her what she could or couldn’t do, where she could go and what she should wear, she had forgotten how peaceful she found the house. It was her sole domain. She kept it clean, decorated it the way she wanted and was in total charge of her own life. She had suitors courting her, which was a nice boost to her ego, but she knew she wouldn’t want any of them for a husband.

Zacarias. Thinking of him made her feel alive. She loved riding horses, the freedom of flying over the ground, one with her horses. Zacarias gave her that same thrill only more so. He wasn’t peaceful by any means, but being in his company was exhilarating. She sat at her vanity and brushed her long hair into a semblance of submission while she thought about him.

He was handsome in a rough, brutal sort of way. His body was fit, that of a warrior. Physically there was no doubt she was attracted to him, but that wasn’t the draw. She imagined most women would be unable to resist his looks. He was mesmerizing and had an animal attraction as well. But still . . . There was so much more to him, right there under the surface, and quite frankly, he intrigued her.

She pulled on her usual house clothes, a blouse and long skirt, frowning a little that she was conforming to what Zacarias liked. It would have been childish to wear jeans just because he’d stated she should wear feminine clothes. She
liked
her skirts. She wasn’t going to change for him—one way or the other. No one had dictated to her, not even her father, and having Zacarias speak in such commanding tones all the time was a little humorous.

Someone walked up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. It was a timid knock, not at all like Julio or one of the other boys would make. Her stomach jumped and she glanced toward the master bedroom. She took a loaded gun from the trunk in the hallway and pushed it into her skirt pocket. They didn’t get many visitors, and with Zacarias vulnerable during the day, she was determined to protect him.

She peered out and was a little shocked to see Lea Eldridge, waiting for her alone on the porch. Lea had never once come to the ranch without her brother. She was a tall, blond woman, very chic. Her hair was never out of place, her makeup perfect and her clothes obviously designer. Where Esteban talked down to the workers, Lea always seemed open and friendly. She was a beautiful woman, and Marguarita liked her more than she did the women she’d grown up with. Lea seemed a genuine, giving person. She always had time to speak to the older workers and children, not just the handsome single men. Marguarita liked that about her.

She opened the door and frowned when she saw Lea’s face. There was a faint bruise on her cheekbone and obvious signs of tears. Lea’s skin was flawless, as porcelain as peaches and cream, and even with her careful application of makeup, it was impossible to hide the purple. She stepped back to allow Lea entrance.

Lea glanced around behind her, a covert, stealthy perusal of the surrounding area and roads before she ducked inside and hastily closed the door. “My brother doesn’t know I’m here. No one does.”

I’ll make tea. I’m glad you came to visit me.

Marguarita handed her the note and led the way into the kitchen, gesturing for Lea to sit at the table while she prepared tea. It was obvious Lea was very upset. It was times like this that Marguarita was especially frustrated that she couldn’t speak. Writing things down took forever. While the kettle was heating, she sank down into the chair opposite Lea, touched her hand and slid a paper across to her.

What happened? You’re safe here, Lea.

Lea blinked back tears and shook her head. “You don’t understand. My brother’s friend, Dan, we call him DS, has found us here. He’s . . .
awful.
Everywhere we go, he finds us, and Esteban does whatever he says. I thought if we came here, he’d never find us, but he’s here and he’s going to do something terrible. He always does.”

Who hit you?

Lea ducked her head, touching her cheek with her fingertips. “The truth is, Esteban does whatever DS tells him to do. I thought we’d moved to this place to get away from him, but he was the one who instructed Esteban to come here and get friendly with the people on this ranch.” She raised sorrowful eyes to Marguarita. “I swear I didn’t know. I really thought we had a chance here to get away from him. He’s the devil, Marguarita. Esteban does terrible things around him. And if he’s planning something to do with this ranch, it isn’t going to be legal or good,” she confessed. “I’m so sorry.”