Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (4 page)

“I don’t think so,” he chuckled. “And you’ve never wanted to travel? Never thought about leaving the responsibility behind and taking to the road. Seeing what new thing waits at the next town?”

Concentrating was difficult with the way he was touching her, his hands soft and gentle and hungry. His bright blue eyes were mesmerizing. “Of course I thought about it. Dreamed about it, even. The farthest I got was going away to college.” Rebekah looked away. “That life’s closed to me now; my father needs me here.”

Dylan traced his index finger in a circle on the back of her wrist. “I don’t know, it doesn’t sound that bad. Having a home and people who care about you.” He drew back for a moment and looked around. “Where
is
your father?”

She chuckled. “At the lighthouse. He keeps watch every storm just in case the beam falters and some fisherman or cruise ship is in danger of crashing against the breakers.” Her body sizzled under his soft caress. She knew she should show him to a room and bid him good evening, should resist the promises of his touch. She wasn’t the kind of girl to hook up with someone she just met. Not anymore.

“He won’t be back until the morning,” she whispered.

Dylan was handsome and here and would be gone tomorrow and she’d never see him again. He leaned forward, his fingers tracing a pattern up her arms as he came closer. His knee parted her thighs, and with one hand he lifted her middle back and scooted her down until her head rested on the pillow. Her body hummed in response, arching up beneath him as the hand that had been caressing her arm finally reached the soft flesh around her collar bone, then up to her neck.

“So we’re alone?” he asked, breath warm against her cheek as his eyes burned into hers and melted the last of her defenses.

She almost whimpered at the thought of him leaving. She nodded.

He tasted like everything she loved: like art and fine wine and the pale chill of winter frost glistening from the rosebushes. She kissed him back, all rational thought chased from her mind as need for him inundated her. The more he kissed her, the more his hands roamed her every curve—lifting the edge of her shirt, tracing the soft lines of her ribs and grazing the bottom of her breasts and lingering on the small part of her back—the more she lost herself in the ecstasy promised by his touch.

So when she heard the soft patter of feet on the stairs, her brain didn’t register it at first. Dylan’s lips breathed fire on the soft parts of her throat and neck, shivering through her.

“Hello?” The voice was soft. “Miss Rebekah?”

She blinked and looked up, the sound of her name piercing the fog of her thoughts. There, standing in the doorway, was Lacey’s son. Her guests’ son. Rebekah pulled her shirt down and Dylan sat up.

“Hey,” she stuttered. “What—what are you...? Is everything okay?”

He nodded, his red hair disheveled. “I’m thirsty.”

She stood up and held out her hand. His little hand fit snugly inside hers. “Come on. Let’s get you a glass of warm milk. That’ll help you sleep.” As she led the boy into the kitchen, she looked back over her shoulder at Dylan and mouthed
I’m sorry
.

Rebekah had time to cool down as she led him into the kitchen and sat him on a stool.. Her body remembered every touch, every kiss, like it was happening again. Since leaving college, she hadn’t been with anyone or even thought about dating. Yet as she warmed the milk on the stove, stirring it so it didn’t boil or turn, she realized that this wasn’t what she wanted. Not a one night stand with a man who would be gone tomorrow. He was gorgeous, that was certain, but she deserved more. Wanted more.

“Miss Rebekah?”

The milk had frothed up, spilling over the rim of the saucepan and sizzling on the stove. She yanked the saucepan off the gas flame and dumped it in the sink. Wasted.

“Here, let me.” Dylan walked in the kitchen, his clothing straightened and his hair somehow perfectly styled again. He ruffled the boy’s hair.

“There’s another pan in that cupboard there.” She pointed.

Whistling softly, he spun the saucepan around in his hand a few times before putting it on the gas burner. As he poured in the milk and flipped the gas on, he constantly shook the pan with small circular gestures. “The key to not burning milk is to keep it in constant motion. It’s easier to do that with a pan than a spoon.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “And you know this how?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve done my fair share of cooking. Music isn’t always a lucrative venture, so I’ve found other ways to make ends meet when necessary.”

“How resourceful of you.”

Heating the boy’s milk didn’t take long, and she sent the boy back up to bed with the mug despite the fact that she’d probably have to clean it off the carpet or blanket in the morning. His smile had been worth it. Dylan stood next to her at the foot of the stairs, and together they watched him disappear.

They both spoke at once.

“Dylan, I...”

“Look, Rebekah...”

He hesitated, one hand half reaching out for her before he drew it back. A door clicked shut upstairs.

“You first,” she said.

He twisted his hands together like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Rebekah, I like you a lot.” He glanced back the way the boy had gone. “I think I should find that room you mentioned and call it a night.”

“So you’re not leaving in the morning?” she asked, her heart racing.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he leaned in. “That depends. Can you spare a room for a penniless musician with a busted car?”

His touch sent a shiver of longing through her body. “I think I can manage that.” She grinned. “I’ll have to make you work for your keep, however.”

He kissed her slowly and deeply. When he stopped, her fingers were entwined with his. “Why do I think I’m going to like that?”

She blushed and pointed up the stairs. “Second door on the left. The bathroom is down the hall.”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it like a lord in some antiquated movie. “Then I bid you good night, sweet Rebekah.”

“Good night.”

Her gaze followed him as he climbed the stairs and disappeared into one of the rooms. Only when he had faded completely from sight could she force herself away from the stairwell and back to the couch where just twenty minutes ago she had felt so dangerously alive. Pulling a fleece blanket over her, she curled up in front of the fire to wait for her father.

Chapter Four

Gabe wiped the rain from his eyes. The trail of blood, so faint as to be almost undetectable, led away from the cove and back toward the main road where he’d seen the headlights. Toward the bridge. The rain had faded from its earlier downpour into a steady drizzle, more irritating than anything, and the clouds obscured whatever light the moon or stars might have provided. Thankfully, like his sense of smell, his vision was more acute than the average human, letting him easily navigate the trail even as late as it was.

“Please don’t be Moore. Please don’t be Moore.”

He chanted the phrase as he sprinted along the trail. The sucking-slap sound made by his feet in the mud echoed like a siren to any predators hunting the night. Black bears stalked the forest, as did bobcats and the occasional wolf. He might as well be ringing the dinner bell. Every few hundred feet he’d pause and take a deep breath in through his nose, checking the blood trail. After the second time, he realized the scent wasn’t so much a physical trail—there were no drops or smears of blood in the dirt—but rather the scent was being carried by the wind. Whoever had died hadn’t done so nearby.

The walking trail he’d been following toward the highway forked, but the scent could have been coming from either direction. With the strength of the breeze from the recent storm, whoever owned the blood he smelled could be miles away. Maybe further. He needed something else, another clue. Gabe wiped the rain from his eyes with the back of his hand and crouched to study the ground. Unless recent, the rain would have obscured any prints, but he scanned each path just the same. Nothing. No prints or bent blades of grass or trampled pine cones. Most likely whoever he was chasing hadn’t come this way at all.

With nothing to go on but his nose, which was failing him, he followed his instinct instead and took the path leading toward the highway. All things considered, it was the more likely alternative. Senses attuned for anything out of place, he ran the rest of the way to the highway, stopping a couple of times to climb over a fallen tree blocking the path. He’d report them to headquarters in the morning so a crew could come out and clear them. A dull fire burned through his feet, up his legs, and spread to the rest of his body. He needed food and rest. Time to recover from hours spent demon slaying. Until he learned the truth about which Keeper had died, however, rest was the last thing he was going to get.

Reaching the road, he stopped a moment to catch his breath and surveyed his location. A two-lane highway, the road was lined with pine forest on both sides, an excellent hiding place for a hungry black bear or an escaped demon. Or an escaped demon eating a black bear. In the distance, a car’s headlights pierced the fierce night. Gabe ran toward the bridge as a second car materialized out of the creeping fog that was beginning to line the creek bed and sneak its tendrils up the bridge. The car’s lights were off, but there was no mistaking one of the park vehicles with its lights across the roof.

“Moore!” he shouted, his voice gobbled by the hungry dark. “Moore, are you there?”

Skipping the first car, he ran to the patrol car parked behind it and shined his light through the driver’s side window.

“Shit. Moore! Moore, can you hear me? Are you awake in there?” The door was locked, so he smashed the window in with his elbow and reached inside to shake her shoulder. Her head lulled to the side, a dark stain across her brow. It smelled like blood. “Answer me, Moore. Come on. Don’t be dead.”

Gabe slapped her, and she stirred, groaning. “Wha...”

He grabbed the side of the car and wilted, laying his head against his arm. She was alive. Her children didn’t lose their mother. “I think you hit your head. Do you remember what happened?”

“I saw the car and pulled over to investigate.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, her movements stiff. Awkward. When he tried to help, she batted his hand away. Her voice was stronger when she continued. “I had barely switched the car off when it hit me.”

“What hit you? A person? Demon?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It happened too fast.”

“You’re a Keeper. How’d someone sneak up on you—and without breaking any windows or opening any doors?”

Moore closed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel. “I pulled up. Flashed the lights.”

“Okay. What happened next?” Rain ran down his face but he ignored it, not wanting to make any movement that might interrupt her recollection.

“Someone was already standing outside of the car as I put mine into park.”

“A man or a woman?” he probed.

She punched the steering wheel. “Neither. Both. I don’t know. I can’t see the face. It’s like something’s obscuring it in my memory. I can’t remember anything after that. Not until I woke up.”

The steady tap of rain on the roof of the car faded in his mind as he tried to think of what type of demon might be responsible for what happened. The classic monsters that stalked children’s bedtime stories since the first hunter painted on a cave wall were mostly demons of one form or another, and there were almost too many different types to count. All of them were evil. All fed on humans in some manner. The ways that could happen, however, and the shapes they took—from animalistic and freaky to a perfect mimic of the human form—were as numerous as the stars.

He thought out loud. “If this was a demon, it’s advanced. Humanoid possibly. There aren’t many sophisticated enough to alter memory. Those that can are usually older first-orders.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a demon. I could’ve rolled down my window to speak with someone, and they might have hit me on the head.”

“Why would they turn off your lights and roll the window back up? Why not kill you?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “To avert suspicion? Someone driving by might think the cars both had broken down and not call 911.” Moore patted her waist where she kept her gun and other useful items, then rooted around in the glove compartment. “They didn’t steal anything. Whatever they were after wasn’t in here. This doesn’t look touched.”

“Let’s assume you’re right. Why do something risky like knocking you out and then leave all the valuables inside?” Thunder echoed softly. He hadn’t seen any lightning, so whatever might have spawned wouldn’t come toward the Meceta light.

“Maybe what they needed was in the other car.”

Gabe stepped back from the vehicle so Moore could get out. He thought she might be shaky, but she was rock solid thanks to the quick healing of her Keeper heritage. Together, they did a quick sweep of the area, checking off the sides of the road and as far down as they could see for anything suspicious or out of place. Thunder was an occasional rumble in the distance, the rain a steady annoyance.

Once the scene was clear of any obvious sign, he went to the second car—an SUV—and shined his flashlight inside. The backseat had a dark suitcase stuffed behind the driver’s seat and a guitar case sprawled across the seat itself. In the front, a half dozen empty plastic bottles and a couple of fast food bags littered the passenger’s side. Whoever had been driving the vehicle had come a long distance, most likely alone. No blood stained the seats or carpet, no scratches or tears tore at the fabric, and none of the mismatched items in the cup holders looked disturbed.

“As far as I can tell, whoever owned this vehicle just got out and walked away,” he said as Moore walked up from her patrol car. He flipped the lights off.

“The plates are out of state. Michigan. Dispatch checked and they’re not reported stolen. The car’s registered to a Dylan Hurley of Ann Arbor. Other than a speeding ticket, he’s clean.”

The driver’s side door was unlocked, so he pulled the handle and looked inside. “No keys. Owner must’ve taken them.”