Daybreak (9 page)
To cover the sharp intensity of that need, Tru winked. “It’s not on the schedule, Penelope.”
He waited to see if she’d trust him. The moment slowed, incredibly long, as she gazed at him. With a languorous grace that left Tru slack-jawed, she pushed to her knees and walked on them to her blanket. Skirting the fire, she settled in as he had instructed.
Wow. Unexpected. But okay.
He moved alongside her, because kneeling over her would seem overtly sexual. Schooling himself, he settled his palms and went to work, moving his thumbs in slow, gentle circles, palms splayed on either side. He manipulated the base of her spine first, easing down so gradually that she didn’t even tense when he touched her butt. It required all his self-control not to cup and fondle, but rather to massage and soothe.
Watching her responses, listening to her breathing, Tru alternated the pressure, gentle and firm, until she relaxed beneath his touch. Her thighs fell open; he took that as her cue to rub them, too. Beneath the fabric of her pants, her legs clenched. But even those tight muscles eased as he continued his steady caress. He tried to keep it impersonal, but Penelope didn’t help when her hips shifted, just a little rhythmic push against the blanket. Her scent changed slowly, deepening with the greater heat. Though she might not realize it, she’d hit the first stage of sexual arousal.
He could tease her inner thighs, make her crave release. Quite desperately, he wanted to roll her over, unbutton her pants, sink his fingers into her, and stroke until she came.
But he’d promised he wouldn’t go that far tonight. Fucking
promises
.
promises
.
Instead he left her, sleepy and soft, moving restlessly, and found his own blanket—padding for sleep, not for cover. Even in the dark, it was hot as hell. She murmured something indistinct, her head pillowed on folded arms. Before long, her breathing evened. So relaxed. Not thinking or worrying.
All told, Tru felt like he’d done a good, good thing.
He still wasn’t tired, so he settled in to keep watch. To make matters worse, his cock throbbed like a wild thing in his pants. If it didn’t seem indecent with a woman and kid sleeping nearby, he’d give himself some relief. Instead, Tru forced the erection down with bad memories. Didn’t take long.
He gazed into the fire and hoped for a future brighter than the nightmare of his past.
Faint hope, indeed.
NINE
Pen awoke with a start. She sat up in the near darkness and searched for a clue as to what had woken her. A glimmer of light on the eastern horizon seemed even brighter for the nearness of the ocean, reflecting off the distant water. Too far away to hear the waves, but near enough to taste the salt on the back of her tongue.
An hour left till the sun rose. Then they’d move again. The condition of the roads meant she hadn’t risked night driving. Too many truck-size craters that would consume their rickety vehicle. And though she’d never admit it, she hadn’t wanted to make it any harder for Tru to find them.
He acted as if nothing mattered. No big deal. She’d intended not to let his seeming nonchalance burrow under her skin, but that was a futile hope.
Touching her. Hands on her. Again . . . no big deal.
“You should be asleep,” came his voice, quiet as the rustle of leaves. Even as a human, he remained a seamless part of nature. Closer to it, somehow, than anyone she’d ever known. Only occasionally did she feel that way when she cast her healing spells and saved lives. The world came into alignment under her sternum. Heart beating. Everything making sense. Transcendent moments to be treasured.
Other times were pure chaos, when her powers made her wonder if she deserved to be around people at all. Forget the Orchid. She always considered herself one step short of a full-fledged lunatic.
Who else would follow gut instinct and voices on the wind?
Who else would dream of a rope ladder leading into the trees and awaken shivering, cold, crying?
I gave you my all, love. I did, I did.
She shook away the remains of her old, ghostly nightmare—the same she’d repeated since her teen years, when her powers had pulsed like a wild wind storm under her skin.
Old insecurities aside, she should’ve been startled at the sound of Tru’s quiet words. Instead, she’d already known he was awake, too. That magic tickle behind her ears might as well have been his fingertips. Or his tongue. Tasting her as he tasted the air, searching for whatever he desired.
“Something woke me.” She didn’t speak much above a whisper, unwilling to disturb Adrian’s sleep.
“Bad dream?”
“Would you care?”
“Depends on if I was in it. And if you’re prescient.”
Nope. Just crazy.
The faint predawn light did little to illuminate his face. He lay on the ground with only his blanket beneath him, arms behind his head. The pose stretched his body, lean and long. The hem of his shirt had ridden up, revealing his pale stomach. Thoughts of tasting him trickled into her mind. She would lick him there. One day. And he would shiver.
Pen wanted to close her eyes against that sudden flash of desire. She
wasn’t
prescient. At least she hoped not. Just one hideous dream that left her quaking and praying it never came true. Because frankly, insanity held more appeal than the abject grief that always accompanied her nightmare. Why a rope ladder? And why those forlorn words? To love so intensely . . . and to lose it. She shivered.
wasn’t
prescient. At least she hoped not. Just one hideous dream that left her quaking and praying it never came true. Because frankly, insanity held more appeal than the abject grief that always accompanied her nightmare. Why a rope ladder? And why those forlorn words? To love so intensely . . . and to lose it. She shivered.
“It’s not a talent of mine, no. And as for last night, I can’t remember specifics.” She certainly didn’t want to try to explain something that seemed so completely irrational.
“Then I must not have been in it.”
“Why, because I’d have been sure to remember?”
His chuckle was impossibly quiet, like thunder a thousand kilometers away. She would’ve felt it, though, had her head lain against his chest. “Something like that. Good or bad, Penelope, I’m memorable.”
Damn, but he was. How many times had she thought of him through the years, wondering what had become of him? She liked to think it was because of the Change. Everyone she’d known from Before was dead. Simple fact. Hard fact. The people she’d come to know since—really come to know, rather than meet in passing—were so few. Jenna and Mason. Dr. Chris. Tru. They came to her as hopes and bittersweet memories, often all at once, when her loneliness and isolation hit hardest.
The Orchid walked a different path.
Jenna and Mason would live happily until, one day, they went down fighting. That, too, seemed such a clear, clean fact. Chris . . . Sometimes she dreamed of a dark-haired woman and a tiny town in the desert. Pen would never know for sure, but she felt certain that Chris was there—safe and happy and loved.
And Tru. There he was, smirking at her in the gathering daylight. Over the years, she’d thought of him most of all. Which probably explained the depth of her disappointment.
Only, that wasn’t fair either. The shock of his initial behavior had softened. He was simply Tru again, a more potent version of the boy she’d known. Faults and all. And his faults had always been most entertaining. Irreverent. Cynical. Still charming as only a bad boy could be, the kind no mama ever wanted her daughter to notice.
Her stomach made a loud cry for food. Tru’s chuckle sounded again. “There’s just more gator, I’m afraid. But even if we had venison, I don’t suppose you’d want to eat it raw anyway.”
She didn’t smile. Only pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Oh?”
How did he manage to make
no
noise, even as a human? He sat up, stretched, and joined her. Just sitting. Shoulder to shoulder.
no
noise, even as a human? He sat up, stretched, and joined her. Just sitting. Shoulder to shoulder.
“Is this my invitation to open up and tell you my life story?”
“No,” he said. “You can leave out the parts before the age of eleven.”
“A trade.”
“Hmm?”
“A story for a story. I want to know how you first shifted. When you learned.”
He turned to look down at her. Already the sunshine was strong enough to brighten his eyes, lighting them with pale fire. “And you’ll tell me when you ate raw meat.”
Some deep instinct told her that pointing out every time he hid the truth from her wouldn’t help. He’d only tuck deeper in his defenses. She was just getting used to hearing what remained unsaid. But she wasn’t used to his breath so near. That heat. That . . . intimacy. He leaned closer, until his nose brushed her temple. Pressing deeper, he nuzzled the short hair just above the curve of her ear.
“Tell me,” he whispered, lips touching her as he spoke. “Don’t think.”
Pen nearly called it off. Five throwaway words had landed her in this moment.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Because she had eaten raw meat, just to fight for the privilege of seeing another sunrise. That didn’t mean she needed to rip open that scar for a callous bastard.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Because she had eaten raw meat, just to fight for the privilege of seeing another sunrise. That didn’t mean she needed to rip open that scar for a callous bastard.
But Tru. He would know what it was to endure ugly things. Maybe more than anyone. He might even understand why she’d left home . . . because she had to be worthy of the life her mother had died protecting.
“A year or two after I left Jenna and Mason, I was in the middle of the country. Old Kansas? That area. Sprawling wheat fields consumed by bugs and weeds. The voices I used to hear—they called me, leading me.”
A shudder shook her upper back. She wouldn’t mention how many of those voices still called to her. One in particular. Finn. The imaginary friend who’d helped her through so many dark times. But what full-grown woman still heard the call of imaginary friends, let alone thought about replying?
She huddled more tightly into herself and didn’t protest when Tru pulled her against his body.
Don’t think.
Don’t think.
“O’Malley’s men picked me up. I magicked their leader into thinking I’d be more valuable if I remained pure. That he’d be rewarded if he brought such a prize to his bosses. We never made it that far. Demon dogs attacked—this massive pack. I hadn’t seen anything like it since our first winter, when they all worked together, trying to break in. Do you remember?”
The feral skinwalkers who ate human and animal both had culled the dogs almost entirely. Pen couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen one of those nightmare beasts.
Tru was quiet for a long time, long enough that she didn’t think he’d answer. But he tightened his hold and whispered, “I remember.”
Something bunched and painful unfurled in her chest. Releasing her. The frantic rate of her heart slowed just enough to regain her calm. She’d lie to him, just a little, but most of the story could be told.
“The guards fought. Fangs versus bullets. I huddled with four girls in the back of a nasty old van, holding them as they held me. The monsters won. We were trapped in there, half mad from entire nights filled with their howls. Claws on the metal. Their bodies slamming into the sides. For
days
this went on.”
days
this went on.”
He smoothed the hair from her face, cupping her cheeks. “Hey. You don’t have to tell me this.”
“The other girls died,” she said, talking over his kindness—hoping he wouldn’t ask about those deaths. “I tried to help them, healing as their bodies shut down. But I couldn’t keep it up. My own survival instincts only let me give so much. I shoved the bodies out of the van as a distraction. Just . . .
weak
. Exhausted. But I got hold of a gun and held them off, one bullet at a time, until I found the keys to the van.”
weak
. Exhausted. But I got hold of a gun and held them off, one bullet at a time, until I found the keys to the van.”
“Jesus.”
“I drove until I just couldn’t anymore. Maybe an hour. I would’ve died. I knew it even at the time, that I was dying. But I hit a deer. Out of nowhere. It ruined the van. I cracked my head on the steering wheel.” She closed her eyes. “But I ate that night.”
Her body shook as if she faced that choice all over again. It hadn’t been a choice at all, perched on the edge of starvation.
“You hate them, don’t you? O’Malley and his people?”
“Individually? No. Like those men we killed yesterday. I mourn them.” Letting go of the hard memories, she licked her lower lip. “But the organization? And the general? Yes. They’re the worst of humanity. They’d have us eating roadkill for the rest of eternity if it meant amassing power enough to buy and sell little boys. We’re meant for better than that. I can’t believe the Change came along so that so much revulsion and agony would be our fate.”
“You think it had a reason? No way.”
She ignored his mocking tone, and tried to ignore how he let her go. “They don’t get to win, Tru. That’s all I know.”
“Think what you want.”
They can’t win.
Otherwise all of her sacrifices would be for nothing. That thought left a sick, dark hole in her gut.
Otherwise all of her sacrifices would be for nothing. That thought left a sick, dark hole in her gut.
Though he didn’t move, she sensed his emotional withdrawal; the moment of closeness evaporated. But then, so did the suspense of her story. He acted caring and sympathetic—probably had done so for a dozen girls, all with sob stories of how the Change had left them hurting. And dear, smooth-talking Tru would kiss it better.
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