Last Chance (DarkWorld: SkinWalker Book 3) (24 page)

He turned off the faucet and took the pot from my viselike grip. Only after he’d set it on the counter did he face me again. His lips curved into a sweet, tender smile as he cupped my face with both his warm hands, thumbs lingering on the soft skin of my cheeks. “The worst thing to do is ignore how you feel right now. I know it hurts. Failure always does. But you have options. You will find her.”

Then he drew me into his arms and I was enveloped by his scent, his breath, his body. His comfort. “Thank you,” I whispered against the smooth skin of his neck. Then I lay my head on his chest and closed my eyes, the sound of his heartbeat thrumming against my cheek filling me with peace.

He gave me a tight squeeze and said, “Oh, and there is one more advantage.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, smiling at the smile in his voice. I didn’t have to look up to know he had a cheeky grin pasted across his face as he played with the hair at my temple.

“Now that you have me right beside you, I’m here all the way. I’m not leaving you even if you insist on it. Wild horses, blah, blah.”

I craned my neck back to look at his face. His eyes were dark and serious as he looked into mine. “I wouldn’t dream of insisting on it,” I said, my voice suddenly husky, breath suddenly short from the proximity of our bodies.

His fingers curled into the hair at the back of my head, pulling a little harder to expose the curve on my neck. I gasped softly, then breathed in the scent of his skin as he hovered over my mouth, his lips just inches away. All I needed was to stand on my toes to force him to kiss me, to force him to place those delectable lips on mine, but I didn’t. Not yet. I sucked in a breath as heat pooled within the core of my body, sending sparks flaring through my veins.

He lowered his mouth, and I almost sobbed, but instead of giving me what I wanted, he placed his lips on the skin below my ear, then trailed heated kisses along the curve of my neck. I inhaled sharply as he nipped at the skin in the arc of my shoulder.

When he brought his face back alongside mine, I shivered, electricity pulsing all the way down my spine. My breathing turned from short, sharp, and urgent to hot and screaming with need.

Then he turned his head the tiniest fraction, his mouth almost touching my lips, and said, “Welcome home.” His words entwined with his heated breath as it entered my mouth. And then he kissed me, claiming my lips with a desperate passion that spiked my need so high I felt faint.

His tongue slipped against mine, driving me insane with the need for more. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. And when he slipped his hands under my jumper, I realized I was no longer cold. Logan had managed to banish the iciness from my bones just with the mere touch of his mouth.

I shuddered with need as his kiss deepened with wild, unadulterated desire. In one smooth move, he lifted me off the ground, his hands cupping my rear. Instinctively, my legs wrapped around his hips, and I had to close my eyes as he carried me through the kitchen into my room.

When did this need for Logan reach such an impossible level?
I wondered as he bumped the door with his hip and it gave a satisfactory thud as it closed.

My thoughts remained on questions for only a second before they became entirely Logan’s domain. I swallowed hard when he lowered me to the bed and dragged off my upper clothing in one sensual, impatient move. I gasped when his warm hand claimed my breast and moaned when he squeezed softly. His thumb flicked over sensitive skin, sending pulses of electric fire scorching through my veins, straight to my core. I arched toward him, then grabbed for his shirt, the need to give as good as I got almost taking over me.

Bare-chested, Logan’s smile was truly wicked. He stared at me, his eyes hot and need-filled as he pushed me onto my back and took my mouth with a hard, deep-seated passion that left me breathless.

And wanting more.

***

I’d fallen into a deep sleep, half comatose from the events of the last few days, with my most recent exertions probably tipping me over the edge. I sighed, wriggling on the soft mattress, and wondered what had disturbed me enough to draw me from such a dead sleep.

Then I heard it, a moan that was more of a yearning lament. Logan tossed beside me, struggling with whatever dream seemed to bother him so much that it resulted in a full physical response.

Soft words slipped through his lips, and I could make out what sounded like, “Where is she? She’s supposed to be there.” And then a few moments later, “Something isn’t right. It’s all a lie.”

My attempt to listen to his words brought my face closer to Logan’s. And that was when I felt the heat that flowed off him in waves. A tentative touch to his bare chest confirmed what I’d suspected. Logan’s body was so heated he felt like he had a raging fever. But I knew better.

It was his fire, surging through his veins. Which meant he had to wake up for his own good.

I reached for my panther strength just in case I needed it, then shook Logan’s shoulder. I gasped at the scorching heat that emanated from his skin and instinctively let go, fingers stinging. I wasn’t planning to be rash and keep hold of him if it meant I’d be burnt. I grabbed the comforter, threw it over him, and shook him again.

He grunted, then ran a hand over his eyes before lifting his head to look over at me. I’d shaken him, then sat back on my heels to get out of the way just in case. From his thrashing, he looked quite likely to swing a left hook and not know a thing. I thought it best to stay out of the way.

“Are you okay?” I asked, taking in his groggy, sleep-swollen face.

“Huh? Yeah. What happened?” His voice cracked sleepily.

“You were calling out for someone. Sounded like you were really upset.”

“Oh,” he said, then dropped his head back on the pillow.

“And you’re burning up. I thought you’d want to get up before you either smoked yourself or the bed.” I gave him a smile to soften the words, more worried about his emotional state than my furniture.

Logan sighed, resting one arm over his eyes. The sun was still bright but a little lower in the sky as it crept past mid-afternoon. We’d been asleep only a couple hours. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?” I asked as I ran a hand down his well-muscled arm. “It’s not like you hurt me in any way.”

He chuckled. “I should hope I can be trusted not to hurt you in my sleep.”

“Well, you did get pretty wild there for a moment. And you were so hot.” I narrowed my gaze on him, frowning. “Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nodded, watching me with his sleepy gaze. “Yeah, I know. These dreams have been bothering me for a few weeks now.”

“What are they about?” I asked, lying back down and propping my head up on my hand.

He scrunched up his forehead as if trying hard to probe his dreams. “Lately, I feel like someone’s messing with my mind.” Then he laughed. “That’s ridiculous, I know, but it’s weird. I have these memories or thoughts that seem to pop into my head, and I feel like they’re real, but then it’s something so against what I know to be true. I’m a bit of a head case lately.”

“So what are these new memories telling you?”

He snorted and stared up at the ceiling. “They tell me that what I remember to be true about my past isn’t really the truth.”

“Which is…?” I urged him to open up and crossed my fingers, hoping he had it in him to trust me with this intensely personal part of him.

He shifted so he was facing me, then placed his hand over mine and squeezed. “I’m an only child. These dreams are telling me I have a sister.”

That brought me up short, but I asked the next question waiting on the tip of my tongue. “These memories, are they replacement memories or the old ones but just different?”

He frowned and nodded. “Old ones but just a little different. A table with two milkshakes instead of one. Waves crashing on my feet, but there’s another set of toes beside me, all sandy and wet. It’s not as if I’ve seen her face. It’s more like I sense she’s there.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

He gave me a wry smile. “The badly applied nail polish did it for me. Oh, and bright-red hair, long locks. I keep seeing it backlit by the sun so it’s almost rust.” He sighed and squeezed my hand again. “It’s not like it makes much sense to me. It’s like a movie, but someone’s fiddled with the images and inserted her into my past. But only bits and pieces.”

“That doesn’t sound like it’s easy to process or accept,” I said, feeling a deep sadness wash over me, sadness for him and for memories that were lost or different.

He lifted his hand and cupped my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for asking and for listening and for not looking at me like I was nut-house-ready.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll commit you myself if you show any such indication,” I said sweetly.

He just snorted, then put his arm around me to pull me onto his chest. I snuggled close, my hand still trapped within his, placed near enough to his heart to feel the steady beat. I listened to the regular thump, to his regular breath, and soon I was asleep again.

***

I rolled over, pulled from my sleep by the ping of the cell phone, a text from Mel saying she has time to meet me at O’Hagan’s. I lay on the bed a moment before realizing the other side of the mattress was empty. Although I felt a smidge of disappointment, I accepted we both had jobs to do.

Sighing, I dragged myself into the shower, dressing in my black turtleneck and an old leather jacket and my usual leather pants, this time a pair that was dry and didn’t chafe. The pants I’d worn during my Black Lake swim weren’t faring so well. I grabbed them from the foot of the bed and shook them out, but they were still too damp in the seams and would need time to dry before I wore them again.

If I ever wore them again.

I bent and lifted my still-damp jacket in my hand and felt the weight of the portal keys in the pocket. Removing them, I sat on the bed to study them for a brief moment. I compared Mom’s key to mine and found no difference besides the natural oddities of being handcrafted. Otherwise, they would be carbon copies of each other.

I slipped Mom’s key into my pocket, then buried mine beneath a stack of envelopes and notepaper that littered my bedside drawer. For now, I could do without thinking of portal keys and blood promises.

I ran a brush through my hair, then headed out the door. O’Hagan’s was just a few blocks away and known for their amazing burgers, so I was quite looking forward to ordering one. The glass door swung inward and I entered, only to be smothered in the delicious aroma of food laced with a hint of the yeastiness of beer and Guinness.

The booth I chose sat against the left wall, far enough from the door for privacy but close enough that I had a good line of sight to the entrance. I ordered and hoped I’d be able to eat before Mel arrived. Then I laughed to myself, wondering when I’d become so focused on food. Oh yeah. It must have been when I’d gotten stuck in the Wraith world without decent sustenance for miles.

I relaxed against the cushioned booth seat and listed to the soft rock the bar was playing. The place was busy enough, lunch crowd light, with the dinner clientele slowly filtering in. My order arrived faster than I expected, and soon I was enjoying the best damn burger in town. Not to mention the best fries.

I finished off my meal and wiped my lips, then crumpled the towels and threw them into the basket that had so recently held the fries. I was about to call for Beth, the waitress, to clear my plate when the door opened and I stiffened.

Samuel Collins walked into the bar and gave the place a cursory inspection before his gaze landed on me. His features twisted in what I could only interpret as distaste. My esteem of Collins had been pretty low to begin with.

Now it just sank lower.

He wore dark clothing, grubby white shirt and a long black coat. Collins belonged to City Deep, a clan initiated by my Immortal friend Storm, in the hopes of bringing the clan-less into one familial group. It would have worked well if only Pastor Sam would quit stirring up trouble. I wasn’t sure why he even belonged to City Deep if he had such a hatred for Walkers and other non-human species.

He kept his gaze trained on me, not caring to appear in the least bit friendly. Collins closed in on my booth, then paused beside the table. He’d seen me looking at him, so I couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there.

“We need to talk,” he said in a voice that sent arctic chills down my spine. He had his hands on the edge of the table as if already laying claim to his right to sit if he wished. When I did a double take, I tried to control my movement. I raised my eyes to his face, the thought of what I’d seen beneath his fingertips making me sick to my stomach.

“Why do I care what you have to say?” I asked, matching the chill in my voice to his.

“You will care when you know your mother’s life is at stake,” he snapped. Then, without waiting, he slid into the seat opposite me. Collins leaned against the back of the booth and stared me down, the wrinkles at the corners of his pale eyes more prominent, the bags below his eyes looking like they may well need a nip/tuck.

But then, considering his situation, he probably wouldn’t be needing it. My heart thudded as I saw, again, his fingertips wreathed in coral, the sign of the possession of a Wraith.