Forever At Risk: Terror, MN Page 2

  “You let Reagan know?”

  “Of course. That doesn’t mean he’ll show.”

  Luna shrugged and said thoughtfully, “They’re getting better, mom and Reagan. He may.”

  “Humph.”

  Twyla moved to the doorway as customers entered. She waved as Diego Vega and Christian Rosewood strolled past. Christian paused. “Hi, Twyla,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I know. I’ve been so busy planting and keeping up the garden now that the weather is finally warmer.”

  “We’re going to The Freaky Rabbit on Wednesday night for karaoke. You should join us. Like old times.”

  “Sounds fun. I might do that.” Her gaze shifted to the side and she noticed Diego traveled directly to Luna’s counter. He was dressed in his usual black T-shirt, black jeans, and black leather jacket. His dark, cropped, short hair and his neatly trimmed beard created a bad-boy, sexy look. If she peered deeply into his coffee brown eyes, she could see hints of the wolf shifter in him. It probably was no accident that Luna was getting off work. They had an on and off relationship. Evidently, at the moment, they were on. “Maybe I’ll drag Luna with me.”

  “That would be great. We can make it a foursome,” he smiled the charming smile she’d know since they were in fifth grade.

  She nodded, then pushed through the doorway.

  Outside, Diego and Christian’s bikes were parked next to her “mule.” She smiled to herself. One of these days, she may have to get one of those bikes, too. She slid into the mule and drove home.

  * * *

  Twyla tugged her waist-length hair to one side and braided the strands down to the ends where she tied it off with a rubber band. Allowing her tresses to tangle all over the place while she tended to herbs and plants was not something she liked to deal with, so she always got her hair out of the way.

  She breathed deeply the aromas of fragrant flowers and greenery, slipping on leather gloves and lifting the spade. The sun hung low in the west, and clouds were moving in, so daylight was fading quickly. Now that the weather had warmed, she needed to transplant the root plants, turmeric and ginger from the greenhouse to the raised, outside beds.

  Opening the arched, wooden door, she stepped inside to fetch the wheelbarrow she’d prepared earlier this morning with plants. Twyla set the spade in the cart next to the plants. She carefully backed the cart out the door and navigated between the rows of raised beds until she arrived at the spot she’d chosen.

  Kneeling, she went to work preparing the rich, organic soil, breaking apart the rhizomes and setting them in the ground. When winter returned, she’d repeat the cycle, housing the plants in the greenhouse during the snowy season.

  As she finished and rested back on her heels, the sun sank behind a thick gray band of clouds on the horizon. A rush of cool air washed over her. The hairs on her arms rose, and she had the urge to brush the sensation off her skin, as if she’d been sprinkled with a light dusting of sand. Standing, she turned and inhaled sharply.

  Two vampires stood within reach. She recognized the one closest to her. “Ethan. You frightened me. I didn’t hear you.”

  “That was the point.”

  She cocked her head at him, feeling her brow pinch.

  Without warning, he tossed a black strap over her and secured it around her waist, lashing another tie over her hands in front of her, then attaching it to the first. She struggled to touch the ruby red pendant around her neck but couldn’t reach it. Panic gripped her chest and stomach.

  “What are you doing? Why—”

  He tugged on the lead. She stumbled forward.

  “I’m in need of your services, my dear. Do as we ask, and you will be set free in no time,” Ethan said.

  “Your idea of ‘no time’ and mine are not the same.” He led her like a cow across the yard. She scuffed her feet, digging her heels in as she went. Twyla thought of the cell phone in her jean’s pocket and wondered if there was a way to get in touch with Nora or Luna. Judging from the descending darkness, Solis had probably already closed the drug store.

  But she didn’t have a chance to grab at her phone. The rope kept her hands outstretched in front of her. She winced as it bit into her wrists.

  “Son of a bitch.” Val Solberg let the blind slat fall back into place and turned toward his office desk. The rumble of the mob’s angry voices traveled on the wind.

  “What’s the matter?” his cousin, Deputy Trevor, asked.

  “Payton Grey’s fan club will be here any second.”

  “Again?”

  “Damn. I’ll be glad when his trial is over and we’re rid of him.”

  “Awe, boss, what will we do for entertainment?”

  He aimed a piercing glance at his deputy. They had held Payton Grey in jail since last March while the evidence against him had been compiled. A year was a long time to keep a vampire contained. Val’s dragon thrashed in his chest and grew restless with the impending confrontation. At times, it was difficult to control those shifter instincts. Dragons were born to protect at all cost. As the law enforcement of Terror, sometimes that instinct was a double-edged sword. He needed to safeguard the people of the town, and he was bound to safeguard the individuals imprisoned in his jail.

  Val removed the amulet bracelet that was paired to the holding collar fixed around Payton’s neck and passed it to Trevor. The deputy clamped it onto his wrist.

  He opened the door to the sheriff’s office, not bothering to stop it from slamming against the wall of the building. The lead vampire, Ethan Dunlap, stepped onto the sidewalk outside in the wet yard, brandishing his walking cane. The skull-and-snake hilt winked in the street lights. What weapon did he conceal within the cane? A sword or perhaps poison?

  Over twice as many vampires filled the lawn as last time, two weeks ago. A roll of smoke wafted from Val’s shoulders, the scent fortifying him, along with a deep breath.

  There were several breeds of vampires within the international vampire community, but only three designations lived in Terror: the ones from the old world, the ones who had been turned, and the ones from the planet Cest. Ethan and his coven were veaklings, a young cluster of “turned” vampires who usually attained blood groupies as donors in exchange for financial and living support, which sometimes included an apartment. A half dozen or so vamps in the community were phlebotomists. Val snickered. As long as no one showed up dead, they were good.

  He crossed his arms, standing firm. “We’ve been through this, Ethan. You and your…group can head back the way you came. Grey will remain in custody until he’s convicted or cleared.”

  Ethan kept coming. “You need to reveal the council members. We have the right to speak to them.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “Payton’s case has gone on far too long. There are extenuating circumstances. His family needs him home.”

  Val snorted. The only critical need Val could see was a sense of desperation among the group. His guess was that these vamps were now missing out on and were desperate to get their hands on the cobine Payton Grey had been accused of black-marketing. He didn’t think their concern was for Grey, but for themselves.

  Perhaps Ethan was feeling pressure due to the vampire czar’s presence in town. Connor Langley had arrived last night.

  The mass of thirty or so vampires closed ranks and then an isle parted down the center. Two males escorted a female forward. Val sucked in a breath as he recognized who the males held with her hands tied in front of her, a length of leather strapped around her waist. Twyla McGuire.

  Anger surged through Val, flaming hot. He hadn’t been able to meet her expectations years ago when they’d been together, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t loved her. They’d had different life goals and responsibilities back then. The sight of her at the mercy of Ethan and his vamp gang nearly undid him.

  “Let her go,” Val ordered.

  “All in due time—if she cooperates.” Ethan lifted his chin with a snarl. “My infor
mation has it that her mother is the one who put a spell on the holding collar that keeps Payton captive and unable to trace. If that’s true, then I’m counting on dear Mom to trade Payton’s freedom for her daughter’s.”

  Twyla tossed her head back with a throaty obstinate laugh, then added, “Well, you are misinformed, Ethan.”

  The muscles along Val’s back tightened. He gave his head the slightest shake, staring at her, willing her to keep her mouth shut. At the same time, he knew she wouldn’t. Containing herself wasn’t Twyla’s way.

  “My mother isn’t the one who cast a spell on the ruin collar… I am.”

  Val flinched. Now she’d done it…given Ethan more ammunition, more power. The holding collar they argued about was paired with a similar amulet bracelet, actually it was the pair that kept Payton contained. The bracelet comprised of a leather strap encircled with twine woven with bits of Payton’s hair. On the top was a hand encircled with Turquoise gemstones. The collar and amulet bracelet needed to stay in close proximity or else the necklace turned deadly. Twyla’s spell bound the criminal and lawman in a way the vampire couldn’t run free.

  Ethan’s head snapped around. He glared at her. “Then you can undo it.”

  “Not hardly.”

  Making a fist, Ethan marched over to Twyla. He placed his hand at her throat, where he applied downward pressure, forcing her to kneel. Over his shoulder, he said to the group of followers, “Bring me Nora. The art of persuasion works in both directions.”

  As several vampires started to move away, Val bellowed, “Stop.” The roll of smoke coming off of him increased. “This is not how we address issues in Terror. Go home. I’ve personally spoken with the committee. They are aware of the lengthy time Payton has been held. Their final decision will come down soon.”

  Ethan dragged Twyla up by grabbing beneath her arm.

  “Release her,” he bit out.

  With a taunting smirk, Ethan gave the leash a slight tug.

  Val had reached his breaking point. He changed into his dragon form and expelled a roar as he surged forward.

  Realizing Val’s intent to rescue Twyla, Ethan swung his cane at her, clipping Twyla’s head, just above her ear. A millisecond later, Val’s paws scooped her up, settling her into the crook of his elbow as he flew into the air.

  From the ground, Ethan cried out. “No.” The vampire must not have realized how fortunate he was. If not for Twyla being in the middle of the mob, Val would have scorched the entire group of them. They had used her as a pawn. His anger burned so great, he took another pass at the vampires and spit a fiery blaze at the group. Lucky for the veaklings, they move lightning fast and were able to dodge the flames, pushing their ranks back.

  Ethan followed his colleagues, tracing a safe distance from the dragon.

  Leave. And don’t return. Val hurled his thoughts at the group. Or I will scorch the lot of you.

  He didn’t wait to see if they complied. Defying him would mean banishment from Terror. Surely, vampire veaklings weren’t that foolish. Still, he soared in a pass above the assembly, then another, as they dissipated, tracing out of sight. When the roadway cleared, he flew to his home at Thurston Mansion on the northern edge of town. He occupied the east wing. His cousin, Trevor, lived in the west wing with some friends. The Angel Alliance had the main section of the mansion.

  Landing in the mammoth entrance courtyard, Val changed into his human form and inhaled a calming breath. He knelt and held Twyla’s limp, unconscious form across his thighs. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes closed. Her head turned away from him.

  “Twyla, are you okay?” he asked. Apprehension stabbed his gut. She moaned slightly but didn’t wake.

  Worried, he examined the wound above her ear. Blood oozed from two pinhole marks, rising from a purplish, swollen knot almost hidden by her hair. Had the hilt of the Ethan’s cane housed poison? The wound resembled a snake bite. And even though Twyla was a sorceress, snake venom would kill her.

  Her breath stuttered. He needed to allow David, the principal angel at the alliance, to tend to her.

  Lifting her, he walked toward the entrance. The double doors opened before he could ring the bell, which wasn’t a surprise, because one of the servants would have been monitoring from inside.

  “What happened?” Grady said from his stance beside the door, then proceeded to close it.

  “There was a veakling uprising, and Twyla found herself in the middle of it. I need David.”

  Grady nodded, although his mouth tugged to one side in what may have been displeasure or, perhaps, indecision. “Take her into the salon.”

  The sound of the butler’s footsteps on the marble floor as he exited intermingled with Val’s clipped tramps. He entered a large room off to the right. He placed Twyla gently on the sofa and sat on the edge of the seat. This time, she didn’t even make a sound or stir at all.

  He undid the binding loops from around her wrists. Finally, the leather dropped away. He lifted her hand and ran his thumb over her delicate, blue veins. Her skin felt icy. She needed warmth. Rising, he traveled to the fireplace and blew flames over the logs, igniting them into a roaring blaze. That might help.

  He paced, glancing at Twyla on every other pass.

  The butler entered with David on his heels. A few seconds later, Seth stepped through the doorway and leaned a shoulder on the jam, folding his arms. Great, David had company. When Seth visited Terror, which was a dozen or so times a year, this was where he stayed. An angel compound of sorts. The huge mansion had the capacity to hold many visitors, so the guests weren’t a problem. Heck, Val was a guest. But angels and dragons had an integrated relationship of shared wisdom and protection, and where one was found, often, so was the other.

  “What have we here?” David asked.

  Val marched over and dropped to one knee beside Twyla. He smoothed her hair. “Ethan struck her in the head with his walking stick. I fear it also delivered a dose of snake poison.”

  David came closer to examine the wound. “Good catch, my man. I believe you are right.”

  Seth joined them, looking on. “Good heavens. How cheeky of Ethan to have a stick that leaves twin fang punctures like a snake…or a vampire.”

  “Will you remove the poison from her?” Val asked.

  David gave a curt nod. He placed his forefingers over the oozing pinholes above Twyla’s ear and then slowly drew his hand back, drawing out two greenish-yellow liquid threads. When the flow reached about four inches in length, he jerked his hand, tugging and separating the streams from her scalp and catching the poison in his fist.

  “Excellent job,” Seth said, then smiled knowingly. “I’d say you’ve done that before.”

  A low rumble escaped David’s throat. “A time or two.”

  “Will she be okay?” Val asked, unable to control the worry inside him.

  “Time will tell,” David said with unnerving calm. “We’ll see by tomorrow. Let her rest in the blue room by your quarters. That way, you can look in on her.”

  Val stood. “I hope she recovers. I’d hate to be the one to inform Nora something happened to her daughter.” His heart ached at the thought of her dying—of life without her. They’d had a relationship, and he’d always felt like someday they’d try again when their lives were more in sync.

  He swallowed hard. What if he’d thrown away the few years they could have had? For what, stubbornness?

  “Val.”

  Seth’s voice penetrated his thoughts. He looked up at the archangel, his veil of long black dreads concealing half his face.

  “David asked what happened,” Seth said.

  “Sorry. I got lost in thought.” He shifted his weight. “The veakling altercations have gotten out of hand. Ethan took Twyla hostage in order to persuade me—or perhaps her mother—to give up on Payton Gray and release him.”

  Sissy strolled by the salon, then entered. “I heard you mention Payton Gray. We just discussed him at council.”

  “Yes. Bu
t Ethan and his veakling gang are at odds with the council.”

  “Well, we can put him in jail, too,” Sissy snapped.

  David, always the diplomate, held up his hand. “Wait. Surely, they realize they’re breaking the law. We’ll await Twyla’s outcome and then deal with them accordingly.”

  Val thought to argue, his desire for justice great, but he wanted to take Twyla to her room more. “A decision can be made tomorrow.” He bent, lifting Twyla into his arms. “If you’ll excuse me, she needs to rest.”

  The three angels watched him until he reached the door. Once he was outside, he heard them break into an escalating argument. Whatever. Right now, he only wanted to get Twyla well.

  The blue room was located down a short hallway. It sat off to the left while his quarters went to the right. He entered the room and deposited her gingerly on the four-poster bed.

  She didn’t stir. A thrum of worry vibrated through him. He’d seen David extract the poison with his own eyes. She would wake up, eventually, he told himself. He clung to that bit of hope.

  After tucking her in and making her as comfortable as he possibly could, he went to his room. The sound of the door closing behind him made him wince.

  * * *

  From out of a deep haze, Twyla felt something brush her face. It was wet, she realized. But also dry and fuzzy. Her nose tickled. She scrunched up her face. Something pawed at her chest.

  She yelped and tried to push up onto her elbows. With heavy eyelids, she peeked out of slits. A hairy thing scurried over her legs. She jumped and tucked them under her.

  Someone ran through the doorway into her room. She rubbed her knuckles across her eyes and blinked. David. She recognized the angel as his hickory brown hair with platinum blonde streaks fell over one side of his face. The side that would reveal a scar—a slash angled across his beautiful cheek—when he flipped his hair back, which he did after he came to an abrupt halt. “Prissy, come here,” he rasped, obviously trying to control his voice so as not to disturb her.