Haunted (53 page)

“You know,” he said. “I’m almost going to be sorry when we do get you pregnant.”

I laughed. “I thought
you
liked doing the chasing.”

“I’m
accustomed
to doing the chasing. Spent ten years doing it.” His grin broke through. “Nothing wrong with it, but being chased isn’t so bad either.”

I lowered my mouth to his, then caught a whiff of blood and pulled back. Blood trickled from his shoulder.

“Whoops,” I said, licking my fingers and wiping it off. “Got a bit carried away. Sorry about that.”

“Didn’t hear me complaining.” He brushed his fingertips across a fang-size hole under my jaws. “Seems I gave as good as I got anyway.” He yawned and stretched, hands going around me and resting on my rear. “Just add them to the collection.”

I ran my hand over his chest, fingers tracing across half-healed scabs and long-healed scars. Most of them were the dots of too-hard bites or the paper-thin scratches of misaimed claws. The residue of friendly fire. I had them too, tiny marks that wouldn’t be noticed from more than a foot away, nothing to draw stares when I wore halter tops and shorts. I had few true battle scars. Clay had more, and as my hands moved over them, my brain ticked off the stories behind each. There wasn’t one I didn’t know, not a scar I couldn’t find with my eyes closed, not a mark I couldn’t explain.

He closed his eyes as my fingers moved down his chest. I looked up at his face, a rare chance to look at him without him knowing I was looking. I don’t know why that still matters. It shouldn’t. He knows how I feel about him. I want to have a child with him—it doesn’t get any clearer than that, not for me. But after ten years of pushing him away, trying to pretend I didn’t still love him, wasn’t still crazy-in-love with him, I’m still cautious in some small ways. Maybe I always will be.

I shifted to look down at him. Gold eyelashes rested against his cheeks. His skin already showed the first beige tint of a tan. Now and then, when he was poring over a book, I caught the ghost of a line forming over the bridge of his nose, the first sign of an impending wrinkle. Not surprising, considering he turned forty-two this year. Werewolves age slowly, though, and Clay could still easily pass for a decade younger. Yet the wrinkle reminded me that we were getting older. I’d passed thirty-five this year, right around the time I’d finally decided that he was right, and I—we—were ready for a child. The two events were, I’m sure, not unconnected.

And now that I’d given myself permission to do something I’d been longing to do all my life, it wasn’t happening. I told myself there was no rush. Five months of trying to get pregnant was nothing. I was as healthy and fit as a twenty-year-old. When the time came, it would come, and I had to stop worrying about it. Easy to say; near-impossible to do. I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting the art of fretting, and I’m not about to abandon my craft now.

My stomach growled. Clay’s hand slid across it, smiling, eyes still closed.

“That’s what happens when you chase me instead of dinner,” he said.

“I’ll remember that next time.”

He opened one eye. “On second thought, forget it. Chase me and I’ll feed you afterward. Anything you want.”

“Ice cream.”

He laughed and opened the other eye. “I thought that was
after
you get pregnant.”

“I’m practicing.”

“Ice cream it is, then. Do we have any?”

I slid off him. “The Creamery opened last week. Two-for-one banana splits all month.”

“One for you and one for—”

I snorted.

He grinned. “Okay, two for you, two for me.”

He pushed to his feet and looked around.

“Clothing southwest,” I said. “Near the pond.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s hope so.”

I stepped from the forest into the backyard. As the clouds swept past again, shafts of sunlight slid over the house. The freshly painted trim gleamed dark green, the color matching the tendrils of ivy that struggled to maintain a hold on the stone walls. The gardens below were equally green, evergreens and bushes interspersed with the occasional clump of tulips from a fall gardening spree a few years ago, the tulips ending at the patio wall, which was as far as I’d gotten before getting distracted and leaving the bag of bulbs to rot in the rain. That was our typical approach to gardening: every now and then we’d buy a plant or two, maybe even get it in the ground, but most times we were content just to sit back and see what came up naturally.

The casual air suited the house and the slightly overgrown yard that blended into the fields and forests beyond. A wild sanctuary, the air smelling of last night’s fire and new grass and distant manure, the silence broken only by the twitter of birds, the chirp of cicadas…and the regular crack of gunfire.

As the next shot rang out, I pressed my hands to my ears and made a face. Clay motioned for us to circle back along the woods and come up on the opposite side. When we drew alongside the shed, I could make out a figure on the stone patio, his back to us. Tall, lean and dark-haired, that hair curling over his collar, as sporadically clipped as the lawn. He lifted the gun. Clay grinned, handed me his shoes, then broke into a silent lope, heading around the stone wall.

I kept walking, but slower, having a good idea what he was up to. By the time I neared the wall, he was already vaulting over it. He caught my gaze, and lifted his finger to his lips. As if I needed the warning. He crept up behind the gunman, paused, making sure he hadn’t been heard, then crouched and sprang.

Jeremy sidestepped without even turning around. Clay hit the wall and yelped.

Jeremy shook his head. “Serves you right. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

“Live dangerously, that’s my motto.”

“It’ll be your epitaph, too.”

Jeremy Danvers, our Pack Alpha and owner of Stonehaven, where Clay and I lived, and would doubtless continue to live for the rest of our lives. Part of that was because Clay was Jeremy’s bodyguard, and had to say close, but mostly it was because he’d never consider leaving. Clay had been no more than five or six when he’d been bitten, and when other kids were heading off to kindergarten, he’d been living as a child werewolf in the Louisiana bayou. Jeremy had rescued him, brought him to Stonehaven, and raised him, and this was where Clay would stay, bound to his Alpha. Now it was my home too, had been really since the day Clay bit me, nearly fifteen years ago. I’ll never ask Clay to leave, and he’s grateful for that, but it’s no sacrifice on my part. I’m happy here, with my family. Besides, without Jeremy to mediate, Clay and I would have killed each other years ago.

Jeremy watched as Clay bounded over to me. He slanted a look my way. “Good run, I take it?”

“Apparently so.”

I handed Clay his shoes. Jeremy’s gaze slid down to Clay’s bare feet. He sighed.

“I’ll find the socks next time,” Clay said. “And look, Elena found that shirt she lost.”

I held up a sweater I’d “misplaced” a few months ago. Jeremy’s nose wrinkled as the smell wafted his way.

“Toss it out,” he said.

“It’s a little funky,” I said. “But I’m sure a good washing, maybe some bleach…”

“In the garbage. The outside garbage. Please.”

“We’re going into town for ice cream,” Clay said. “Wanna come?”

Jeremy shook his head. “You two go on. But I wouldn’t mind you picking up a few steaks at the butcher. I thought we’d have a barbecue. And since Clay seems so energetic, maybe I can persuade him to cart out the lawn furniture and we’ll eat outside tonight.”

“Let’s do that now,” I said, swinging toward the shed.

“Build up an appetite for those banana splits.”

Clay caught my arm. “No lifting, remember?”

“That’s
after
I get pregnant.”

“But you could be pregnant already, right? We have to be careful.”

I looked over at Jeremy, but he busied himself unloading his revolvers. I was reasonably sure you couldn’t damage a fetus the size of a pea by lifting a lounge chair or two, especially not when werewolf strength made it the equivalent of picking up a plate, but if Jeremy wasn’t going to back me up on this, I wouldn’t argue with Clay. I was sure we’d have plenty of things to argue about if—no,
when
—I did get pregnant.

When it came to my health, Clay wasn’t the only one overreacting. In the last six months, Jeremy had read just about every book ever written on pregnancy, and erred so far on the side of caution that, between the two of them, I’m surprised I was allowed to get up in the morning. The truth was that, no matter how many books Jeremy read, he couldn’t be sure they applied to me at all. Female werewolves were very rare. For one to bear a child, even to a human father, was the thing of legend. Two werewolves reproducing? There was no record of it ever having happened. Maybe that’s because it couldn’t happen. Maybe all of our planning and dreaming—

“Come on,” Clay said. “You can grab the lanterns. Race you there.”

I looked at him and I knew he’d seen that look in my eyes, the dark shadow of panic that seemed to come over me several times a day now.

“No,” Jeremy said. “You go. I need to talk to Elena.”

As Clay headed for the shed, I wandered over to Jeremy and reached for the newly-emptied revolver on the wall. He slid it out of my hand’s path and put it into its case.

I sighed. “It wasn’t loaded.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

I sighed again and leaned against the wall. Jeremy glanced over at Clay, who was moving away at one tenth his earlier speed. When Jeremy asked how I was feeling, Clay picked up his pace, curiosity fading. I said I was fine, then he asked, “Have you been taking the new vitamins?”

I gave him a look. He lifted a finger, then darted his gaze in Clay’s direction, telling me to play along.

“Yes, I’ve been taking the new vitamins and, no, they don’t seem to be upsetting my stomach like the last concoction. Next time, though, as long as you’re mixing up a batch, think maybe you could add in some cherry flavor? Maybe mold them into little animals for me? Bunnies would be good. I like bunnies.”

Clay’s chuckle floated back to us, and he quickened his pace to a fast walk. Jeremy glanced over his shoulder, estimating werewolf hearing distance, then lowered his voice.

“Paige called while you were out,” he said.

Clay stopped and wheeled. Jeremy grimaced.

“You tried,” I murmered. “Does she want me to call her back?”

“No, actually she was just relaying a message. Someone’s been trying to reach you. Xavier Reese.”

“Reese?” Clay said, striding back now. “The guy from the compound?”

“That’s the only Xavier I know.”

“What the hell does he want?”

I had my suspicions “Did he leave a number with Paige?”

“You’re not going to call him back, are you?” Clay said. “After what he—”

“He saved my life.”

“Yeah? Well, if it hadn’t been for him, your life wouldn’t have needed saving. And I’m sure you didn’t need rescuing anyway. You’d have been fine. The only reason he jumped in there to ‘save’ you was so he could hold a marker over you—” He stopped, jaw setting. “That better not be why he’s calling.”

I took the paper from Jeremy’s hand. “I’ll know in a few minutes.”

“Hey, Elena!” the voice crackled across a weak cellular line. “Remember me?”

“Uh-huh.”

I settled onto the sofa and pulled my legs up under me. Clay sat on the other end, leaning my way, making no effort to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping. I didn’t care. If I did, I wouldn’t have let him in the room in the first place.

“Uh-huh?” Xavier said. “That’s all I get after three years? We spent a harrowing week together, locked in an underground prison, fighting for survival—”

“I was fighting for survival. You were drawing a paycheck.”

“Hey now, in my own way, I was just as much of a prisoner as you.”

I snorted. “A prisoner of your own greed.”

“Trapped by my shortcomings. It’s tragic really.”

“Know what’d be even more tragic? If you teleported into the middle of a wall and got trapped by your shortcomings there. Does that ever happen?”

“My momma taught me to always look where I’m going.”

“Damn.”

“Ouch. What did I ever do to you—er, better not answer that.”

I glanced over at Clay, who motioned for me to hang up.

“What do you want, Xavier? I was just about to head out for ice cream.”

“And that’s more important than talking to me? No, wait, don’t answer that either. Since you’re obviously not going to play nice, I’ll cut to the point. You owe me a favor.”

“No, you said I owed you. I never agreed. As I recall, you offered the trade in return for giving me two pieces of advice about the compound, but you hightailed it out of there yourself before telling me the second.”

“It was dogs. They had trained bloodhounds and attack dogs.”

“Really? Oh, right, that’s what attacked me and nearly ripped my throat out. Left a nice scar on my shoulder, too. Thanks for the warning.”

“Okay, so you only owe me half a favor. And you could argue that one, too. I’m really only using that as an opener for a fresh deal. The beginning of what I hope will be a long and mutually profitable relationship. I’m a useful guy, Elena. I could really help you out.”

“Uh-huh. So who’s chasing you?”

“No one. Let me finish. Last year I started thinking about this. That I should get in touch with you and renew our acquaintance.”

“Uh-huh. And who was chasing you
then
?”

“A Cabal, but that’s not the point.”

“I’m not a bodyguard for hire, Xavier.”

“And that isn’t what I have in mind. This particular proposal has zero violence potential. It involves another of your…specific skills. In return, I can tell you where you’ll find that rogue wolf you’ve been hunting.”

I glanced over at Clay. “What rogue—?”

“David Hargrave. Killed three women in Tennessee. Your Pack has been hunting for him for a couple of months now.”

“Who told you—”

“Contacts, Elena. I’m a regular Rolodex of supernatural contacts. Point is, I know where Hargrave is hiding out. That got me thinking. If I gave you that information, you might be willing to do a little something for me in return.”