Daybreak (7 page)
Tru ignored it.
She exhaled sharply. “You want to do it now?”
Do it? What? Oh, the kiss. Right.
“Seems like the opportune time.”
Seeing as you’re naked.
Her blue eyes snapped, telling him she knew what he was thinking. An amused smile curved his mouth. Tru set a hand lightly on her shoulder, careful not to pull her cloak out of place. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin. Lips closed
,
he noted. That was the face a woman presented with the expectation of a chaste kiss, so he didn’t disappoint. Best to leave ’em wanting and wondering anyway.
,
he noted. That was the face a woman presented with the expectation of a chaste kiss, so he didn’t disappoint. Best to leave ’em wanting and wondering anyway.
He tasted her lower lip, nuzzling with gentle pressure. No teeth, no tongue. Just his flesh meeting hers. Then he drifted to the pert curve of her upper lip, offering the same tender treatment. From experience, he knew these soft little kisses built a hunger for more. He took his time—never pushing, never rushing—and when she parted for him on a small sound, he raised his head.
“Huh,” she said.
He saw no helpless desire in her. Instead, she stared up at him with puzzlement and . . . curiosity? As if his kiss had surprised her but hadn’t left her dazed. No revulsion, at least. Whatever her life had been, she might still find pleasure in a man’s touch. But he had his work cut out for him. Instead of dismay, Tru felt a frisson of anticipation.
He offered an easy smile, the one he wore most often when he was thinking. While he went to work on the fire she’d started, arranging it so he could cook the meat, he considered his strategy. Keep her off balance. Thaw some of that ice. The way to do that would be to alternate gentleness and ferocity, but she was smart enough to see a pattern in his approach, which might ruin everything. Maybe it would be best to watch her mood and respond accordingly.
Penelope was quiet, too. Pensive. And he hadn’t given her a second thought in years.
By noon he had prepared the gator for travel in dry, flaky packets. Adrian emerged from the shack, rubbing his eyes. “Smells good.”
“Afternoon, kid. Hungry?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Action and mayhem have that effect on growing boys.”
“I don’t know if I’m growing,” Adrian muttered. “But I hope so.”
“You will.”
But the kid was right. He was small for his age. Pretty too, which was why he’d ended up in the O’Malley shipment. If he’d reached that camp Penelope had been going on about, they would have castrated him to keep him soft. That should outrage Tru—and it
did
—but he was a realist. There was no saving this world. One could only find a quiet corner of hell and make the best of it.
did
—but he was a realist. There was no saving this world. One could only find a quiet corner of hell and make the best of it.
You’re alive because a mean son of a bitch made an exception for you,
a little voice reminded him.
You owe it to Mason to pay it forward.
Tru heaved a sigh and agreed with his inner critic.
a little voice reminded him.
You owe it to Mason to pay it forward.
Tru heaved a sigh and agreed with his inner critic.
Fine. Even after the thing with Penelope went pear-shaped, which it would, he’d look after Adrian. Shouldn’t take more than a year to sort him out.
Assuming Tru could teach as well as Mason.
Why do I have the feeling my life just got impossible?
Why do I have the feeling my life just got impossible?
Shoving down his foreboding, he finished packing up after they’d all eaten. “Well, the camp is north. Duh. So I guess we start walking.”
She cocked her head. “We should be wary of O’Malley convoys. They’re not my biggest fans.” Something in her impish expression told him she’d done some impressively awful shit to earn that reputation.
Tru wanted to hear the story. Therefore, he resisted the impulse to ask and get to know her better. Which was, ironically, what they were supposed to be doing. Damn, complicated—
“I don’t want to put you at risk.” Adrian shot Pen a soulful look.
I can’t take this bullshit.
But a deal was a deal. Tru wasn’t such a reprehensible human that his word meant nothing. That was why he seldom gave it. And she was right. Under no circumstances could he leave Adrian to her care. They’d die.
He scrubbed a palm across his face, shouldered his pack, grabbed a rifle, and headed out. “Stay close,” he muttered. “I want you both tight on me, so if we run into ferals, I can drop them before they’re on us.”
“We,” she corrected quietly. “
We
can drop them. We’re in this together.” Her wicked smile sparkled, kindling in him a reluctant, responsive joy. “Truman.”
We
can drop them. We’re in this together.” Her wicked smile sparkled, kindling in him a reluctant, responsive joy. “Truman.”
Fuck. Why did she remember his full name?
Why?
He felt like he was fourteen and in the principal’s office again. By her smug look, she knew. Her gaze spoke volumes. If he pushed her buttons, she’d push his back.
Why?
He felt like he was fourteen and in the principal’s office again. By her smug look, she knew. Her gaze spoke volumes. If he pushed her buttons, she’d push his back.
Yeah, he got it.
As he turned north, Tru suppressed a smile.
SEVEN
The heat was a monster in her lungs. But Pen pushed on. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d done otherwise. They stuck to the roads as much as possible, although they weren’t the roads she remembered from childhood. Those smooth expanses of blacktop had long ago deteriorated into pitted ruts and ankle-high foliage. The worst had been a few years back, before the weeds grew in so thick that they softened the way.
Tru tripped on a knotted vine and cursed. She hadn’t expected such clumsiness from him, but it wasn’t the first time his body seemed to rebel against his mind.
Maybe because it wasn’t the right body.
“How long has it been since you’ve been human?”
“Don’t remember,” he said. “A couple months, maybe.”
Pen frowned. “And you just . . . live as a lion?”
“Mostly.” He angled her a smirking smile, then dipped it toward her breasts. “I shift for various reasons.”
“Other lions not doing it for you?”
“Wouldn’t know. I haven’t found any.” With another curse, he kicked at the heavy piece of asphalt that had grabbed his toe. He shifted his pack higher on his shoulder. “Just walk.”
“Quite the seduction you’ve got going on. I don’t know how I’ll stand the anticipation.”
He glared as Pen moved on to Adrian, hoping he might be better company. But Tru cocked his head and grabbed her arm. At first, she couldn’t hear it. And then the sound rumbled in distant vibration. An engine.
Trucks were few and far between, even on a main trading route. His mouth twisted. Not overt. Nothing about him was. But she liked that she was getting to know his subtle tells. She knew to get off the road long before he gave the signal.
“Stay low,” he said to Adrian.
The younger man nodded. Pen flicked Tru a look, ready with some quip about his new protégé. But he didn’t seem to be in the mood for gibes, so she let it die unsaid. The responsibility he felt for Adrian’s safety was as clear as his eyes.
Crouched in the dense overgrowth, Tru stayed watchful as the vehicle rumbled closer. That extra edge of determination turned him into someone Pen could trust. She forced herself to look away from his profile, although she wanted to linger on the hint of red that tinged his two-day growth of stubble.
He’d kissed her. And she was already thinking about when he would kiss her again.
The truck was larger than the one she’d been stuffed into. “That one’s valuable,” she whispered. “Petroleum, maybe.”
O’Malley controlled all the fuel stores that remained. Therefore, only vehicles that belonged to him—or had been stolen from him—ran on the east coast. And once the supplies vanished for good, there would be no more. The ability to drill and refine oil had been lost in the Change, like so many technologies, some of which she barely remembered.
Tru squinted, as if giving the scene another pass through his quick mind. “Because of the armor?”
Nodding, Pen ignored the weird stench of the muck they were lying in, bellies to the ground. “More guards, too. Two on the roof, at least. And one of them’s a skinwalker.”
“You can tell?”
“Anyone with magic. Sometimes it’s an aura I can see. Colors. Other times it’s a prickle behind my ears.”
Moving just enough to bring his hand around, he touched the spot she’d mentioned. “Here? You feel me here all the time?”
She shot him a killer stare. He only grinned and turned his attention back to the road. Minutes passed as they waited in stillness. The noises of the swamp took the engine’s place as the truck rolled out of sight. Tru began to move, but she grabbed his arm.
“Listen again. Wait for it.”
Rather than arguing, which she was fully prepared to counter, he did as she said. His eyelids seemed perpetually at half-mast. Lazy and insolent. That hardly changed when he was concentrating, but the shape of his mouth did. Full lips drew in—the exact opposite of his don’t-give-a-damn smile.
Recognition changed him again, just bordering on surprise. “Shit, you’re right.”
“Big shipments always travel with a tail, way back. O’Malley learned the hard way that some of his drivers couldn’t be trusted. He sends guards to watch the guards.”
“You and the others weren’t valuable enough for that yesterday?”
“Two dozen scrawny slaves. We’re a dime a dozen compared to enough refined crude to power O’Malley’s entire fleet for a week.”
“Fuckers.”
Pen smiled at his indignation.
On his other side, he hustled Adrian back into the covering foliage. Funny, but the boy stuck close to Tru, not her. The Orchid, for all the reverence people laid on her, couldn’t match the pull of a father figure. Shades of Mason all over again, which gave her hope that Tru would get them safely to North Carolina.
She had no such confidence in her physical appeal. Conquest was conquest. He’d get what he wanted out of her and move on. Fair enough. She just didn’t want it to happen before reaching her destination.
The truck’s tail was smaller, just an old vehicle—so old it lacked a computer chip. Those all fried during the Change. No one sped, not even in a vehicle so small. The roads and the overall lack of fuel meant driving to minimize repairs and waste.
“We have about a minute to decide,” she said. “Take it or stay on foot.”
“What mojo can you offer?”
“I could distract the driver.”
“We don’t want him to crash.”
She grinned. “Not my first time. He’ll just . . . forget to keep his foot on the accelerator.”
“Nice trick, witch.” Tru frowned. “Shots carry . . . the lead truck will hear them.”
“I have knives.”
“You skilled?”
“Wouldn’t bring them up if I weren’t.”
“Even after a spell?”
“Four or five seconds.”
Something flickered in his eyes as he assessed her, quickly but more deeply than before. She felt as if he’d finally looked past her body and her promise. “But you’re a healer.”
And a killer.
They didn’t have time for issues of conscience or specters from her past. Instead she blew him off. “So many questions, Truman. Don’t tell me you give a shit.”
“Whatever,” he said tersely. “You distract the driver. I go lion. We take them as quietly as we can.”
Adrian tugged on Tru’s sleeve. “And me?”
“Stay put. Do me that favor, kid. I don’t want to split my concentration.”
“But I want to help.”
“Later. I’ll teach you how. Promise. Got it?”
He waited until Adrian nodded before he stood. The artificial thunder of the ancient engine was almost upon them. “Afterward, I’ll stay lion and go hunting. You two keep the meat from this morning. I’ll feed myself and catch up.”
“We’ll head east,” she said. “Then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”
Tru appeared to run the numbers, mentally charting where she and Adrian should end up. Then the human part of him vanished. His transformation charged the air with a sticky sort of energy, as if individual flickers of bygone electricity had been slowed to half speed. The golden-wheat glow of his aura surrounded him, blazing with intensity. Although Adrian wouldn’t be able to see that indicator of magic, he still stared, openmouthed.
Pen turned her back as Tru gave himself over to his animal incarnation. She had work to do, too.
On her knees, she edged toward the side of the road. Just enough to see the oncoming driver. Not enough to be seen herself. Pressing her palms together at chest height, she bowed once before angling her face toward the sky. Her ritual was necessary. Not only did it channel her powers, it kept her from yielding to the impetuousness that could get her friends killed. For their sake, she would never alter her routine.
Eyes closed, she recited a thanks to her mothers—Angela Sheehan, the woman who had given her life; Jenna Mason, who had worked hard to keep her safe and raise her well; and to the earth and heavens and all the mystery in the layers between. “Thank you, Mothers, for all the days I’ve breathed and for all the breaths I’ve yet to take. I entrust my body and my soul to your care.”
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