Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) (5 page)

I stepped to the bike and raised my leg over the back until I was straddling the seat. I wanted him to offer something other than the happenstance lunch. I could only play that card so many times before he’d think I was a stalker. That, or know I was following him which, technically, still made me a stalker.

I sat on the bike, watching him for as long as I could before it got weird. I slid the helmet on and hit the ignition. Leaving Cordero Salazan behind, I roared out and across two lanes of traffic, away from the precinct. Disappointment rattled me. I hadn’t planned on our little meeting ending with so much undecided. I didn’t have a Plan B.

I needed to talk to that girl behind the counter. She knew something. I’d seen the fear in her eyes, had felt the desperation in her grasp. I wanted to know what had made my little kitten skittish.

I went down three blocks, glancing back over my shoulder. A black Cadillac Escalade would stand out, wouldn’t it? I wanted to give Detective Salazan enough time to leave and be out of sight before I went back. Making the turn to circle the block, I parked the bike at a Denney’s, backed my bike up against the diner-style building, and waited.

I sat for another fifteen minutes before I was sure he hadn’t followed me. I drove around the block, then made my way back to the burger joint. I rode up by the front entrance and searched inside.

She wasn’t there.

I hit the throttle, and made the turn to the backside of the strip mall. Loading docks, dumpsters, and cigarettes filled the alley. The air was overpowered by the foul-smelling trash crammed into the dumpsters behind the building, rotting in the dry heat of a Las Vegas spring. A couple of heroin addicts dug for food as another one shot up against the building. The teenager I was searching for smoked a Kools as she leaned up against the wall, ignoring the druggies a few yards away.
Classy!

I parked the bike and yanked the helmet off. She took one look at me and shook her head, tossing the cigarette to the ground in a huff. She was young, probably younger than I thought. Stringy blond hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, giving the appearance that her hair was plastered to her head, either intentionally or from lack of washing. Perfectly formed curling iron ringlets stuck out from underneath her visor on either side of her face. Her beady eyes narrowed on me and the stress of a hard life was etched in her face.

“No way, Lady.” She turned her back on me as she made her way to the rear entrance of the burger joint.

“Wait!” I said, louder than I’d intended as I hopped off the bike, almost knocking it over. Catching the handlebars in both hands, I steadied her and set the kickstand before the teen grabbed for the door.

“No. I like my head the way it is. Still attached,” she snorted, yanking the door open.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who tried to warn
me
,” I scoffed. “I just want to know why you’re so scared.” I hopped up onto the loading dock easier than any human would’ve been able in a long lithe hurdle and grabbed for her. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Look, I’d like ta help, I really would. But I’m gettin’ my GED, I got a kid, and I’m finally gettin’ my life together. I can’t risk it.” She seemed defeated and beaten down.

I wanted to tell her I’d help her, that I’d protect her and her kid. I could have if I was back home but not here. Not now.

Nodding, I let her go.

“I understand,” I said. Grabbing a pen from the inside of my leather jacket, I reached out quick before she could stop me and clutched her wrist. I shoved the sleeve of her shirt up to her elbow, ignoring the long-healed track marks of a user. She tugged against my hold but I held her tight in my preternatural grip. She couldn’t have jerked away from me to save her life. I turned her arm over and wrote on the roughened flesh of her scarred forearm.

“If you run into trouble,” I said, writing the number of my new drop phone on her arm in big bold numbers. “Call me.”

She stared down at the numbers, then yanked her arm away in a huff. Slouching the sleeve of her shirt back down to her wrist, she snorted at me.

“Whatever,” she huffed in protest but I could hear the fear lacing her voice. “Just stay away from that guy.”

I watched her high-tail her ass inside, helpless to do anything more for her. The knot forming in the pit of my stomach told me I was on the right track even if I wasn’t quite sure what that track was or where it led. I couldn’t help her but I could help Soraida.

Grabbing the phone in my back pocket, I flipped it open. No messages. Of course there were no messages. Exactly one person had the number and she wasn’t calling anytime soon if the look of fear in her eyes told me anything.

I wanted to use it, to make the call Derek thought was so important. But I knew if I heard Dean’s voice, it would take everything I had to not go running back. I wasn’t ready yet. I’d managed to let Danny go. I’d spent many long nights thinking about Danny, Midnight Ash, Patrick, and Dean. I understood Danny’s death wasn’t my fault. Amblan was a different story. There were too many things I could’ve done differently to keep her safe, to keep her out of my world, and keep her alive. I’d failed and
that
I wasn’t quite over yet. I may never be.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket. Throwing my leg over the bike, I took off for Enza’s house for a little siesta before dark, when the real legwork began.

Chapter 6

I’d talked to almost ten wait staff at Terrible’s and a few of them actually remembered Everett. He’d kept asking if a petite Latino woman had shown up while sitting at the booth near the door drinking water. After a couple of hours of not ordering or leaving a tip, the waitresses got annoyed. I took the hint and asked for a booth along the far wall. Ordering the breakfast special and some coffee, a lot of coffee, I waited.

I’d gotten on a normal human schedule in the last few months, going to sleep at night and getting up in the morning, like everyone else. The last few nights had been hard. I wasn’t used to staying up at all hours of the night anymore and needed the caffeine just to keep my eyes open. I had to stay alert. The waitress set the plate down in front of me and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the eggs were gone and I was working on the bacon.

I took a sip of the coffee that’d been on the warmer about an hour too long and cringed at the burnt taste offending every taste bud I had. But it was caffeine and I was glad for it, so I swallowed.

Power slid up my spine like someone was dragging a frozen needle along my vertebrae. I shivered at the chilling sense of magic crawling across my skin even though the hot coffee was still clutched in my hands. My teeth chattered as gooseflesh spread across my skin.

I glanced down the aisle toward the door where a hulk of a man had just entered, still framed in the doorway. Tall, well over six feet, he towered over the hostess behind the counter. He wore a cowboy hat that had once been white but was now a dingy ivory with long-dried sweat and dirt marks etched in the fabric. Scanning the restaurant from left to right, his eyes finally rested on me. He turned back and tipped the brim of his hat to the hostess like he was still out on the range before heading my way.

He sauntered toward me in a simple T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and well-worn cowboy boots in the same faded ivory of his hat. He reached my table and sat, sliding into the seat across from me with an easy grace like he belonged there. He didn’t.

I sat.

Silent.

Waiting.

His power rushed against me, around me, through me, and over me. So much power in one quick shot. I wanted to run screaming from the restaurant but I sat silent, still holding my coffee mug. My heart thundered in my ears and I clenched my jaw as I instinctively reached for the bowie knife. I stopped my hand short beneath the table. The knife wasn’t there. Nothing was there. I’d left them all behind. I didn’t flinch, though as his eyes met mine and the icy chill of his energy began to wane. Wrapping my hands tight around the coffee mug, I shook off the dread twisting my stomach. There wasn’t shit I could do about a weapon now.

“Ma’am,” he said in a deep, raspy voice, tipping his hat to me as he did the hostess. Deep craggy lines along his cheeks defined his face, looking as if his features had been sharp but worn down by time and weather like the sphinx. The five o’clock shadow was rugged and graying in spots. The vampire had deep hazel-green eyes with long dark lashes against his pale skin.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s rude to wear your hat in front of a lady?” I asked with more attitude than was probably wise without a weapon. I finally managed to unclasp my fingers from the death grip I had on the mug, leaving it sitting on the table still in one piece. I refused to let him see how terrified I was. I’d had plenty of practice hiding my fear and now I was going to prove that not only could I do it but that I was good at it.

He nodded once and removed his hat, setting it on the seat next to him. His hair was a silky salt and pepper, making him more distinguished, but rougher around the edges.

“Thank you.” I could at least be polite.

“Ma’am,” he said again in the same expressionless tone as he’d greeted me.

I waited for him to say something . . . anything. After several moments of the two of us staring at each other, I lost my patience.

“I assume there’s something you wanted,” I said, crossing my legs under the table, casually sliding my hands to my lap with the butter knife clutched in my grasp. I was a sitting duck in a crappy restaurant with a fucking butter knife in my hand.
Christ on crutches!

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a quick nod.

“This will go a lot faster if you contribute to the conversation,” I snapped. “Such as, my name’s Dahlia. And you are . . .?”

“Ma’am, I’m fully aware of who you are,” he said, the hint of a growl making his voice husky and rich. The far off rumble of his growl made my stomach tighten as adrenaline pumped faster through my veins.

“Perhaps,” I said with a tight smile that never reached my eyes. “But I don’t know who you are. Isn’t it more pleasant when everyone’s acquainted?” I added with a hint of sass.

“Jarvis, Ma’am, at your service,” he said with a nod and the same blank stare he’d had since entering Terrible’s.

“Well, Jarvis,” I said. “What can I do for you?” It was unnerving having a conversation with someone who didn’t react. I wasn’t a great conversationalist either and if I was responsible for carrying the whole conversation, we were in trouble.

“Ma’am, I think it would be a fine idea if you left town,” he said as if he asked people to leave town every day. Maybe he did. Did they still do that out west?

“Why, Jarvis.” I laughed. “Are you running me out of town?” I mocked with a teasing cock of my head.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am.”

“Jarvis, please stop calling me Ma’am. It makes me feel old.” I pouted.

“If you like, Ms. Sabin,” he said. Everything was so polite and civil as he nodded again.

That little nod was starting to piss me off and all the polite civility rankled me and I couldn’t even explain why. Evidently, he knew exactly who I was and I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to beat an answer out of him.

“Let’s get down to brass tax, Jarvis. Why are you running me out of town?” I asked, annoyed. “I’ve been here for quite a while now.” Long enough to do real damage but I’d been as quiet as a church mouse. Why now?

“You’ve gone unnoticed,” he said.

“And you’re suggesting that I’ve been noticed?”

“Uhmm,” he grunted.

Damn it, this is infuriating.

I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes on him. “And if I don’t leave?”

“My Mistress will find out,” he stated, as if that was the last thing he wanted.

“Marabelle?” I asked. He wasn’t the only one with information.

“Uhmm,” he answered again.

This was becoming a tedious conversation and he didn’t seem a bit fazed.

“We don’t want that now do we?” I asked. I really just wanted him to answer, to say something other than a grunt, damn it. His respectful cowboy routine grated on my nerves and if he didn’t talk to me I just knew I was going to punch him, butter knife or no.

“No, Ms. Sabin, I don’t. I also don’t want a war with anyone back East,” he said. His lips narrowed and his jaw tightened in a grimace.

It made me feel both relieved that Patrick was so feared and frustrated that I was still affiliated with that world. I’d thought I could escape it, forget. I couldn’t, and Jarvis was undead proof of that in a dingy white cowboy hat in the middle of Las Vegas.

Reaching for his hat, he slipped it back on his head with a cool grace. He tipped it to me again as he stood. “Ms. Sabin.”

“Jarvis,” I acknowledged just as curt with a quick nod back. I had to be polite. I had a feeling Jarvis might take it personally if I wasn’t polite. He strode out of the restaurant like he’d left his horse hitched outside. I flagged down the waitress and asked for my bill. I wasn’t hungry anymore and the urge to get the hell out of there was making me antsy.

Revving my bike’s engine, I jetted out of Terrible’s parking lot in a squeal of tires, heading to Enza’s house. I had a lot to think about considering the vampires were now aware of me. I had to get away from Enza and find somewhere else to stay. I couldn’t endanger her too.

Coming here had been a mistake.

I made the turn onto the strip and zoomed past the bright lights of Las Vegas at night, making my way into the darker and more residential neighborhoods. I cruised along the still surprisingly busy streets at a speed just a bit faster than the posted speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease that only a motorcycle could provide. I hit a straightaway with almost a mile between lights then let out the throttle. The engine roared through the gears as I hit 80 mph.  

My back tire slipped and skidded beneath me as it blew in an explosion popping behind me. My pulse quickened and my breath caught in a hard lump in my throat as the bike swerved and the loud pop of exploding rubber pierced through the helmet. Skidding and fishtailing across the lane, I fought for control. Sparks lit up the night as the rim ground into the pavement. I gripped the brakes as tight as I could, feeling the ground beneath the bare rim rumble up through the metal of the bike.

Shit, it would suck to have survived all the vampire and werewolf bullshit only to die because of a blown tire.

The back rim sparked against the pavement with a sound resembling fingernail on a chalkboard, forcing the bike off in unpredictable directions. I took a quick breath and thrust forward, forcing all my weight and the momentum of the bike onto the front tire. Popping the bike onto the front wheel, I hit the front brake and skidded to a stop in a squealing mess of smoke and sparks.

The bike plopped down onto the front tire and a bare back rim. I held the bike up by sheer force of will, my chest heaving as I panted to slow my heart. I tried not to cry as moisture from sweat made my palms slick. My heart thundered in my ears and my stomach churned with fear.

“SHIT,” I whispered, my voice quaking. I flipped the visor on my helmet up. My hands shook and I gripped the handlebars harder to hide my trembling fingers as I straddled the bike, my feet flat on the ground.

A rickety old Ford drove up next to me and clanked to a stop.

I lifted my helmet off my head and shrugged my hair out of my face, waiting, as the window cranked down.

“Howdy,” a graveled male voice with a slight cowboy drawl said from inside the truck’s cab. He leaned out of the passenger side window, resting his elbow on the door as he grinned at me. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he glared at me with a scar running under his chin across his neck in a thin line of translucent pale skin. It had been long healed and maybe I was jaded but it looked like a slash from something similar to my bowie knife. The old wound could’ve been innocent but I doubted it.

I miss my bowie knife.

His hair fell over his right shoulder in a soft fall of coal black hair shining in the lights from the streetlamps and the dash. His eyes were a stark crystal blue that reminded me of Dean. Shivers ran up my spine as I thought of Dean’s hands on my face as he’d kissed me goodbye.

“Hello,” I said, dropping the kickstand and stepping away from the bike. “You don’t happen to have a phone I could borrow. My back tire blew and I need to call AAA,” I said with a smile.

“Nope, no phone but we can toss the bike in the back. I can take you wherever you need to go,” he said, reaching down to open the door from the outside.

There was no way in hell I was getting in the car with some strange dude. I didn’t want to end up in little pieces in the desert.

“That’s all right,” I said, waving him off. “I can just call from that convenience store I saw a few blocks back. Thanks, though.”

“Ma’am, that’s not such a good idea,” he said, stepping out of the truck’s cab. “Those two boys who followed you out of Terrible’s and shot up your tire are circling back,” he said, walking to my now abandoned bike. He gathered it into his arms like it weighed nothing and hoisted it up to the truck bed. “They’ll be here soon.”

I stepped back, my mouth gaping open as I watched him toss my roughly 650-pound bike into the bed of his truck. “I don’t think I’ll be going with
you
either,” I snapped, backing away from him, my nerves burning with anxiety. One step and then another. Maybe I could outrun him but I doubted it if he could toss my bike ten feet without breaking a sweat. I wasn’t that fast.

“Ma’am,” he said, leaning forward. He held out his hand for me to shake. “You’re safe with me. I give you my word.”

Hesitating, I placed my hand in his. Before I could think too hard or he could stop me, I twisted his muscled arm behind his back. I shoved him up against the tailgate of his truck in a wristlock, letting the pressure from my grip build through his muscles and grind the bones. I could’ve pulled a wristlock off in my sleep. A soft groan of pain escaped his lips in a grim line across his face.

“Who are you?” I asked, the deep, threatening tone came back to me as easily as if it’d never left. In truth, I hadn’t needed it in the last five months and a little piece of me welcomed it, missed it.

“Name’s Raiden,” he said, grunting through clenched teeth as I bent his wrist back just a bit further, feeling the soft crack of bone beneath his skin. “Uhhgg!”

I leaned forward and breathed in his scent. He definitely wasn’t a vampire. I didn’t get that scent of death underneath all of the other smells wafting around him. Plus, he had a heartbeat. He wasn’t human either though. Plus, this guy was warm, really warm. His hand was like fire in my grasp. He smelled . . .
off
, not like the wolves back home either. They smelled of Pack, of the woods on an early spring morning, and of fresh water from the creek. Raiden smelled dry, like the earth had filled his being with dust, and the setting sun.

“What are you?” I asked in a whisper.

“We’ve met, you and I,” he said in a gruff voice, rumbling with the pain of my wristlock. “We’re running out of time.” He groaned and stopped struggling. He turned his head a fraction of an inch to meet my eyes.

I saw a flash of amber fill his irises. He cocked his head, reminding me of Danny in his wolf form. I knew this man.

“The coyote,” I whispered, backing away in slow careful steps.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he turned, shaking out his arm as if trying to return blood flow to his fingertips. “You got quite a grip on you,” he said with a bashful smile. “Now, Ma’am, if you don’t mind. Those two boys are making their way across traffic. We should go.” He pointed at the parking lot across the street as two nondescript men, a.k.a. goons, left a medium-sized, dark sedan behind. The two men tried to dodge traffic, crossing the four lanes of fast moving cars like a
Frogger
game.