Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) (12 page)

I’m embarrassed and he’s oblivious to it. Against my better judgment, my eyes find their way back to study his profile. He sings along with the radio in a rather nice baritone. Deciding I can’t continue to sit here and stare at him, I opt to ferret out some answers about this enigmatic organization I’m now a part of.

“I’ve been dying of curiosity since the meeting Monday. Are Daniel and Yolanda hunting a real werewolf? I thought werewolves were fairy tales.”

“They’re real enough and can do major damage without a pack,” he replies, tapping his hands on the wheel in time with the music. “It sounds like the Austin chapter found a rogue.” When he stops tapping to grip the steering wheel with both hands, I realize he’s unnerved. “They change with the full moon once a month, which is less than two weeks away. The pack will go deep into the wilderness—Native American reserves are the most popular. That way there’s no danger to the general population.”

“What about the Native Americans?” I ask worried for the friends I’ve made with several Comanches.

“They’re well-aware of the werewolves. An agreement is normally made with the tribal elders,” Logan says, glancing over at me. Our eyes meet since I haven’t stopped studying him since we left my house. “When one goes rogue, there’s a greater possibility there’ll be human casualties.”

He appears lost in thought so I look out the window studying the scenery in the waning light. The drive downtown is only about twenty minutes and there’s nothing scenic about it. Everything along the freeway is urbanized, strip mall after strip mall and motel after motel. As we pass the airport, a plane flies directly over us to land on the runway just yards from the road. As much as I detest the urbanization, I have to admit I like the planes flying over so low. The vibrations from the powerful jet engines rumble through the car and straight into my soul.

I have so many more questions for Logan but don’t feel like bombarding him with an endless supply at the moment. Though I’m curious about the Orion Circle, most of the questions I really want answered revolve around the hot guy next to me.

“How did you get involved with the Circle?” I ask, breaking the long silence.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye appearing relieved. It seems he didn’t like the conversation regarding werewolves. I’ll need to dig into that at a later date.

“My parents are both well-known sensitives in psychic circles,” he replies. “My mom is like Michelle, very gifted with the living but a null with the deceased. My dad is a physical medium and a prolific author. I was asked to join my freshman year. My parents consult with the Circle from time to time.”

“Is it nice having parents who not only understand but believe your powers are real?” I ask, recalling the pain I suffered for so long. He turns the radio down low.

“Yes, it is,” he says, placing his hand on my leg. “It can be very disconcerting, to say the least, when medium powers start to come online. I can’t imagine what you experienced going through it all alone.”

His hand caresses my thigh through my jeans, soothing nerves frayed from the direction of the conversation. My heart leaps from his touch, sending tingles throughout my entire body.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I mutter the tired cliché under my breath.

“Hmm,” he murmurs. “It is annoying to have a mother who seems to always know when I’m lying, sometimes before I even do it.” I can’t help but laugh. He glances at me again with a sheepish grin. “I got into so much trouble for things I never did when I was younger.”

The image of a mischievous little Logan being thwarted in every attempt at mayhem has me giggling almost uncontrollably.

“It really isn’t that funny, especially when on the receiving end. Just wait until you meet her.”

My laughter abruptly stops. He already plans for me to meet his mother? I don’t know whether to be overjoyed or nervous. I settle for both. He pulls off the freeway and heads to an office building rather than a public parking lot.

“Mom works here. Free parking after five,” he explains as he flashes a card over the electronic reader.

The parking garage is small and cramped. Colorful paint plasters the walls at every turn from cars cutting the corner too close.

“How can you stand to drive through here?” I ask, feeling claustrophobia setting in.

He chuckles a bit. “Would you believe I drive it with my eyes closed?” he asks as he pulls into a parking space on the third floor. When he turns to look at me, I shake my head. “Well my mom can drive through here in her giant Escalade so I refuse to admit it bugs the hell outta me.”

“How many of the marks on the walls are from her SUV?”

“None,” he says, opening his door. “I think her psychic abilities must help with driving somehow.”

Grabbing my bag, I scramble out of the car and follow him over to a stairwell in the corner. After descending three flights of stairs we end up in the dim light of an outdoor courtyard.

“Careful, the stone walkway is a bit uneven,” he says, taking my hand. “It’s easy to navigate during the day, but without light…” he trails off as we walk farther from the lights of the building.

The path ends, and we hike across a grassy expanse leading to the River Walk. Light from the nearby building filters through the leaves above us creating a speckled pattern on the shadowed grass. Roots from the large oak trees have broken through the ground, almost impossible to see in the darkness. When I trip over one my face flushes, and I mutter a curse at my clumsiness. Logan chuckles before righting me so we can continue. Within seconds he trips over another root from the same tree. We both stumble a few steps then break out in laughter.

“You don’t think the tree is out to get us do you?” he asks as he glares up at it.

I giggle when he kicks the root with his hiking boot. He moves closer until he’s inches from my face, close enough that I can see his eyes in the faint light under the tree.

“We’re almost to the retaining wall. I didn’t consider homicidal tree roots when I chose to walk this way. Sorry.”

“I love the trees,” I comment. He takes my hand leading me through the old tree’s maze of roots. “I’m glad these businesses didn’t just tear down the old oak trees. How old do you think this one is?” I ask, running my hand along the rough trunk.

“No idea,” he says, stopping to gaze up at the tree. “I bet it’s been witness to a lot through the years.”

As we continue the hike to the river, he puts his arm around my shoulders, and I snuggle against his side. At the bottom of the grassy hill a four foot retaining wall keeps the earth from slipping onto the path running along the river. Logan jumps down then holds his arms up to me, grabbing me around the waist to help me down the wall. My arms fly around his neck as I jump down, and I end up in his arms pressed against his firm chest. As he lowers my feet to the ground, I breathe in the scent of his leather jacket and spicy aftershave. Once I’m back on the ground, I expect him to release me, but his arms stay wrapped around my body holding me against him.

My face is still buried in his shoulder, and I lift my chin to glance at him. He grins at me, a cute half-smile, while his eyes sparkle in the golden light from a nearby lantern. I focus on his lips as he closes the distance between us.

His lips meet mine—soft and warm, the kiss achingly tender. My eyes flutter closed and my hand moves up to those curls I’ve been dying to touch. He releases a soft sigh as my fingers caress the nape of his neck and tips his head to deepen the kiss. My lips part under the gentle pressure of his tongue, granting him entrance.

His hand moves from my back to my neck, and he buries his fingers in my hair. I let out a breathy moan, completely lost to the sensations. He uses my hair to tip my head back then trails searing kisses down my chin to my neck.

When he pulls his lips away from my neck, he continues to hold me in his arms for several moments while gazing into my eyes. My lips tingle, and I cling to his arms, feeling a bit lightheaded. After a few silent moments, he takes my hand, and we stroll along the river. I feel like I’m floating while my mind replays our first kiss over and over. No matter how I look at it, the kiss was perfect in every way.

Dinner was wonderful, the conversation about everything but our upcoming assignment. Things were going so well that I decided to not bring up the werewolves again even though the desire to know more was boiling like an inferno in my brain.

I mean someone tells me werewolves are real and I have to ignore it?

I’ll have to corner Rebecca first thing Monday morning for some more info. Hopefully the subject won’t bother her as much as it seems to bug Logan.

We split nachos, and by some miracle I managed to avoid getting them plastered down the front of my shirt. To think I was worried about eating the messy food. I kept hearing Celia’s voice in my head telling me to be ladylike. The first time I licked some cheese from my finger Logan stared at my mouth riveted, and I could almost feel the temperature rise. I spent the rest of the meal teasing him off and on, enjoying every minute of it.

The walk back to the car along the river is quiet, especially when compared to the raucous restaurant we just left. This section of the River Walk passes by businesses and lacks the bars and restaurants farther down. Imitation gas lamps lighting the walk are far apart, the light not reaching the bridges we pass under.

As we walk hand in hand, I notice the sparse crowds are gone and we’re alone. We pass under another bridge, and Logan pulls me into the shadows. My back rests against the cold stone of the bridge, the damp chill seeping through my thin jacket. His arms surround me chasing away the iciness as I’m enveloped in his warmth. My arms wind around his back beneath his jacket. I press up against his chest and gaze up at him.

Even in the darkness I can see the smile light his face. He leans down to capture my lips with his. I gasp as his fingers entwine in my hair holding me captive against him. This kiss is fiery and passionate—quite different from his tender kiss earlier. My head reels from the riot of sensations coursing through my body.

With a guttural chuckle he nips at my lower lip, pulling it gently with his teeth. He kisses up my jawline, and I clutch at his back, desperately trying to keep my feet beneath me. When he reaches my ear he runs his tongue up the outer shell in a light caress before nibbling on my earlobe.

“That’s for the constant teasing at dinner, little nymph,” he purrs in my ear.

He pulls back to look down at me, his eyes darkened with passion. My head falls to his shoulder, my breath coming in shallow pants as I wait for my equilibrium to return. His arms tighten around me holding me against his body, his head resting on top of mine. When I finally feel like the world has stopped spinning, I pull away from him.

“Do nymphs exist?”

“I’m looking at one,” he says chuckling softly.

“You know what I mean,” I say, slapping at his chest.

“I have no idea.” He takes my hand and leads me over to the retaining wall. “I’ll boost you up. Ready?”

Lacing his fingers together, he holds his hands down for me to step on. When I do, he lifts me up the wall like I weigh nothing. I scramble onto the wall thankful for the hiking boots and jeans. He climbs up the wall with ease, displaying some impressive upper body strength. As he pulls me from the ground, I giggle a bit under my breath.

“What’s so funny?”

“What would you have done if I’d worn a miniskirt?” I ask, plastering an innocent look on my face.

“Had one hell of a view!” he answers, snickering as I chase him through the perilous tree-root-ridden grass.

When I jump at his back, he pulls me up giving me a piggy back ride. Throwing my head back, I let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a laugh. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

Chapter Twelve — King’s Ransom Inn

Chapter Twelve

King’s Ransom Inn

As we pull up to park in front of the inn, I take some time to study the building. Rebecca said it had been completely torn down and rebuilt in the same footprint to mirror the turn of the century house that stood before. The original manor was built in 1865 and fell into disrepair in the 1920s. It was restored in 1967 only to burn down in 2005.