Lover Unveiled, page 13
Oh, but she had mixed things up tonight with a fleece on top instead of another sweatshirt—
God, she still smelled fucking amazing—and he couldn’t help but stare at her lips. The fact that they’d been at his throat, sucking . . . licking . . .
Well, it made him resent like fuck that he’d been half dead when all that had been happening. And he better stop thinking of what she’d done at his neck, or he was going to have to rearrange himself—and not because his posture was bad.
“You are not here right now,” she said in a hushed voice.
Sahvage cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not? Where am I, then? You better tell me, ’cuz otherwise I’m lost.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He leaned in and lowered his volume to match hers, like they were sharing secrets. “I’d suggest you pinch me to check and see whether I’m real, but I’m worried you’d deliberately misinterpret the invitation and throw a punch.”
“Yeah, you definitely don’t want to give me an opening like that. I’m not a violent person, but something about you—”
“Inspires you.” He brushed a hand over his short hair. “Yes, I know, I have that effect on females—”
“You do not inspire me—”
“—who are looking for books. So have you found your little Beatrix Potter set yet? Or, wait, it’s more like a Nancy Drew, right.”
That shut her up for a second.
Actually, no, that wasn’t accurate. Her eyes were talking to him pleeeeeenty.
“How did you find this house,” she demanded.
“You fed me last night.” Sahvage eased back. “Your blood is inside of me. Better than GPS.”
And hey, at least he was successful in not licking his lips as he reminded her of what he couldn’t stop thinking about. In his mind, though, he was all about the taste of her—and what do you know, that stroll down memory lane turned the cold night tropical. At least on his side of things.
For her? Antarctica had nothing on the chips of ice in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”
“Pity it’s just a book.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Sahvage shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“I am not looking for you. Just so we’re clear.”
“Oh, and now you’re hurting my feelings.” He put his hand on his heart and threw his head back on a recoil. “You’re such a . . .”
“Such a what.”
As Sahvage let his words drift off, he turned around and looked out over the tangled yard. The little stone house was set way back from the country road it was on, and the property had been let go for some time, so there were brambles growing everywhere. Likewise, the dirt drive into the acreage was marked by trees that were as graceful as arthritic hands and bushes that had overgrown their shapes.
“Go ahead,” the female prompted. “Say it. You think I can’t handle an insult—”
“Shh.”
“No, I will not ‘shh’—”
Sahvage threw his hand up and continued to scan the shaggy, shadow-infested landscape. “Stop talking.”
The female snorted. “Okay, I realize this is going to come as a crushing surprise to you, but I do not have to listen—”
“Where’s the sky.”
There was a pause. “What?”
He pointed overhead. “Where are the stars. It was a clear night when I arrived here just now. Where are they.”
“It’s called cloud cover.”
The hell it is, he thought.
And meanwhile, down on the ground, there was no wind to disturb anything and no moon to throw any light—and yet something had moved out there.
Even if his eyes were telling him nothing was wrong, his instincts knew better.
“Get in the house,” he said in a low voice.
“I will. As soon as you leave—”
Sahvage pegged her with hard eyes. “I’m not bullshitting you. Something isn’t right—”
Her stare shifted over his shoulder. And then she grabbed his arm and pointed into the messy brambles. “What the hell is that?”
He wrenched back around and moved so that his body was between her and whatever was out there—and it took him less than a split second to see what she was talking about. A shadow was swift’ing across the scruffy ground, traveling like a snake over the obstacle course of downed limbs and dead weeds. Yet there was no origin for it, nothing in the air above that would cast that kind of thing. No light source, either.
“Get inside—”
Sahvage didn’t have a chance to finish the and shut the fucking door part. The slithering dark patch exploded up off the ground, becoming a three-dimensional figure that had arm- and leg-like extensions as well as a torso-core that was the size of a male.
Before Sahvage could marshal one of his weapons, the thing, whatever the fuck it was, rushed forward with a screeching sound that went into the ear and throughout the body. To protect the female behind him, Sahvage threw his arms wide—
The entity cast out one of its appendages and lashed across Sahvage’s chest, the impact like the sting of a thousand bees, the pain ricocheting into his spine and rippling throughout his muscles. He stayed standing only through will alone, his determination to keep the female safe giving him a strength he otherwise wouldn’t have had—especially as the second strike caught him in the face, blinding him.
As his brain clogged with agony and he staggered back and forth, for the first time in recorded memory he prayed like hell he wasn’t going to die. He couldn’t leave her defenseless in the face of whatever the fuck this was. So when his suck-ass vision told him the entity was coming at them again, he braced himself, baring his fangs and trying to marshal a defensive response—
Directly by the side of his head, extending forward from out of nowhere, an arm—a real one, not whatever the shadow was—appeared. Or at least it looked like that. His eyes were so fucking blurry—no, it really was an arm and it belonged to the female. And at the end of the thing, gripped in a tight hold, was a small canister-like object.
The female yelled as she pressed a discharge mechanism, the noise she made not from fear, but aggression. Yet the aerosol cloud that came out was instantly swept away, except like the shadowy thing had eyes? Still, it was good of her to give a shot—
There was a sudden yank at his waist.
From under his armpit, on the other side of him, the muzzle of his gun popped into sight. And as the female pulled the trigger, there was an explosion from the barrel, a bullet discharged toward the entity—but with only one hand, she couldn’t control the forty’s aim or recoil.
The mace wasn’t going to have any effect, but those lead slugs sure as shit might.
Sahvage gripped her hand. “Aim! I’ll stabilize it—aim, goddamn it! I can’t see!”
With his huge palm locked over her grip, the female took charge, pointing and squeezing the trigger, his forearm muscles and biceps absorbing the kick, keeping the forty wherever she needed it to—
The shadow was struck square in the torso, the impact blowing it off the extensions of its lower body, the upper torso thrown off-balance, another terrible screech reverberating through the night.
Before Sahvage could tell her to shoot again, the female pumped that fucking trigger over and over and over. And even though he had no distance vision at all at this point, he could tell she was spot-on with where those big-ass lead slugs were going.
The whatever-the-fuck-it-was stumbled back and tottered.
“Keep hitting it!” Sahvage hollered over the sounds of the gun.
In preparation for her emptying the clip, he reached for the small of his back and got out one of his backups.
The second the last bullet in the magazine left the chamber, he barked, “Reloading now!”
He took the gun from her, kicked out the empty, slapped in the full, and re-angled the aim. This time, she gripped his forearm with both her hands and moved the gun around.
“Fire!” she said into his ear.
Sahvage followed her direction, and let her control his arm as if it were part of the weapon. And the bullets went where they had to go. As his pain levels improved, Sahvage could see a little better, and the shadow was pockmarking with holes—
And then it flew apart.
In a flurry of feathery shrapnel, the entity blew into component pieces, like a vulture hit by a cannonball.
“Get inside!” Sahvage shoved the female to the door. “Get in!”
God only knew whether that thing was going to put itself back together—
There was a creaking as the entry was thrown wide, and then Sahvage felt himself get pulled along. As he caught the toe of his boot on the weather stripping, he pitched forward and hit the floor. The good news? Before he could yell at her to shut the goddamn door, there was a resounding slam—
Immediately, the female was down with him. “Are you okay?”
As Sahvage tucked his gun away, his eyes were still not working well, but his nose was johnny-on-the-spot with its job—and oh, the scent of her.
He breathed in deep and couldn’t stop from smiling. “I am now.”
• • •
Mae stared at the fighter. At Shawn.
His face was swollen in a ridge that ran across his mouth to up over one of his eyes, the skin unbroken, yet raised as if burned. And though the black jacket he had on was in one piece, she could smell fresh blood—so her trembling hands pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his combat pants.
Mae looked away as his tattoo made an appearance, the bony finger extending from its black background scaring her. But then she refocused. Oh . . . wow. His musculature was the kind of thing you couldn’t help noticing again—and not with disapproval.
Except then she forgot about all the holy-cow stuff: His flesh looked like he’d been whipped, the welts crossing from his shoulder to his abs. And yet how had his clothes not been cut through?
“You’re hurt,” she breathed.
Unbidden, her hand reached out and touched the—
The fighter hissed and jerked up, and in doing so, his abs tightened like thick ropes under his skin, no fat obscuring the contours of his anatomy.
“He is indeed hurt!” Tallah exclaimed from the archway into the kitchen. And then the elderly female seemed confused. “Wait, who is he—and did I hear gunshots?”
“It’s okay now,” Mae said, even though she didn’t believe that at all.
None of this was okay. Had she just shot a gun? And what the hell had that shadow thing been? And why—
“Are you hurt, too?” Tallah demanded. “Does he require a healer?”
“No, I’m all right.” Mae put her arms out and looked herself over. “Nothing stings or hurts.”
“And I’m perfectly fine,” Shawn cut in.
With a groan, he got to his feet. And then, addressing Tallah, he said in the Old Language, “It is my honor to make the acquaintance of a female of worth. I am Sahvage, and forgive me for my intrusion into your home.”
As he spoke, he put his hand up to his sternum and bowed low. Like he was in a tux, and they were in a ballroom instead of the cottage’s cramped front sitting area.
And what do you know. Tallah suddenly looked like a Disney Princess being presented with keys to a castle.
“Sahvage, your presence is most welcome and appreciated in this manse,” she replied with a brief curtsy in her housecoat.
What the hell, Mae thought. Why didn’t I get the fancy treatment?
Then again, Tallah’s inflection, whether it was in English or the Old Language, was totally aristocratic—there was only one set of vampires who sounded like she did. And clearly Shawn—Sahvage—had experience with them. Or was one of them.
Sahvage? she thought.
Then again . . . what else could his name be.
“So what happened outside?” Tallah asked as she clutched her hands to her housecoat’s bodice.
“Nothing,” Mae answered quickly as she stood up.
Tallah narrowed her eyes. “Well, that certainly explains the gunshots, doesn’t it.”
Shawn—no, Sahvage—looked toward the closed front door. “We need a barricade. Do you mind if I move that?”
Tallah and Mae both turned to the Jacobean cabinet that took up the entire side wall. The thing was made of old oak that was thick as the outside stone walls of the cottage—and maybe heavier.
“I guess I could help you?” Mae said.
“Nah, I got it.”
He walked over to the eight-foot-tall, six-foot-wide piece of carved furniture—and stretched his arms from end to end. Then he sank down into his heavy thighs, took a deep breath, and—
Mae really expected the cabinet not to move.
Wrong. With a creak of protest and plenty of wood groaning, the hutch allowed itself to be carefully lifted off the ground. Then Sahvage eased it into a shallow tilt that meant all of its weight was on his chest . . . and walked the thing over to the front door of the cottage. His breathing deepened, inhales and exhales pumping in and out of his torso, but other than that? He was totally in control of the impossible load he was carrying.
And when he had it in place, he set the thing down like it was a feather, the feet reconnecting with the floorboards not on a slam but with a whisper, the old wood groaning again.
Sahvage straightened, clapped his hands as if his palms were a little numb, and pivoted around. After two breaths, he was back to normal. Like he hadn’t just bench-pressed a car.
“Shutters for the windows,” he said as he looked at Mae. “I need your help getting them all down. We have to secure the glass, and how many more doors to the outside are there?”
She was still so astonished by his feat of strength that she couldn’t immediately respond. Her brain had gone to places that were sublimely unhelpful . . . like what else he might be able to do with that body of his.
And no, she wasn’t talking about vacuuming or a little light housework.
“What exactly is going on here,” Tallah said.
Mae shook her head to clear her thoughts. “We’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.” She glanced at Sahvage. “And yes, ah . . . there’s a back entrance out in the kitchen. And there’s also a storm door down in the basement, but that’s steel and totally reinforced in the locked position.”
He nodded sharply. “I’ll take care of securing the kitchen. You start on the windows.” He turned to Tallah and bowed. “Forgive me for the disorder of your house, madam. But it is necessary to secure your safety and security.”
Tallah blushed like she was sixteen and being asked to slow dance. “But of course. Do as you wish.”
“My many thanks unto you.”
Mae went across and hitched a hold on to the female’s arm. “Sit down over here. I don’t want you to pass out again.”
As she settled Tallah into an armchair, Sahvage started pulling shutters into place on his way to the kitchen, locking the rolling panels into hooks mounted on the sills. The fact that dust flew from the drapes as he pushed them aside made Mae realize that the safety precautions for the sun hadn’t been getting pulled and raised on a regular basis for a while.
So Tallah had been spending her days in the basement, alone, without being protected if she had to come upstairs. If there was a fire. If there was a problem.
“Stay here,” Mae said as her heart broke.
Rushing into the kitchen, she tugged the sets of shutters down and clipped them securely—over the sink, by the table, even the little ones in the pantry and the loo off to the side.
When she came out of the bathroom, she stopped dead.
Sahvage was pulling another of his snatch-and-grabs, this time with the refrigerator. And he might as well have been moving a toaster oven across a counter for all the effort he seemed to be putting in.
“Wait! The plug!”
Just as the cord stretched tight, Mae lunged for the outlet and yanked things free so that the prongs weren’t bent or worse, snapped off.
“Thanks,” he said casually.
To avoid staring at the size of his back and shoulders, she focused on the footprint of dust and grime that had accumulated under the Frigidaire.
“My kingdom for an industrial-strength Roomba,” she muttered.
“How about upstairs?”
Pivoting, she found him clapping his palms again, and as she measured that torso, and those legs and those arms, she resented how handy it could be to have a hunk of muscle like that in the house. Especially when, you know, something that was out of this world came at you on the front damn lawn.
Mae glanced to the table where the remnants of teatime were still on display—along with the ingredients of the summoning spell as well as the empty silver dish.
What had they called to the cottage? she wondered with fear.
“I’ll do her resting room on this floor,” she said. “And get us an extension cord for the fridge.”
“Any problems with me going upstairs?”
“No.”
She meant to get moving as Sahvage headed to the front for the staircase. Instead, she looked back at the table. The vinegar bottle, the salt basin, and the crushed lemon, along with that paring knife and the silver dish, were an all-wrong she wished she could undo.
In Tallah’s ground floor quarters, Mae closed the shutters—and as she heard Sahvage moving around upstairs, the fact that sawdust filtered down from the floorboards overhead made her think she should move the elderly female in with her and Rhoger. For one, there was an obvious concern if Tallah didn’t remember, or didn’t have the energy, to maintain her safety shutters for the daylight hours. But for another, unless there was some serious investment in the cottage, she was worried about its structural integrity—
Tallah appeared in the doorway, her cane bracing her weight, her face downcast. “I know what you’re thinking. I meant to put the shutters down for the day last night. I really did. I just got tired.”
