Forever At Risk: Terror, MN Read online

  Too late. Prissy had already accomplished that. Twyla struggled to sit up. Her head throbbed in pain. Every part of her ached, especially her neck and shoulders.

  David made kissy sounds at the dog. “Prissy. Come here.” To Twyla, he said, “I’m sorry. I think she heard you moan.”

  “I don’t moan,” Twyla said.

  “I beg to differ.”

  She waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He tromped further into the room. “Prissy, let’s go.” He went to pick up the pup; it dodged to the side, obviously making a game of catching her.

  She glanced around, recognizing she was in a strange bed in a foreign place. “What am I doing here?”

  “You had an altercation with a vampire. He struck you with his poison-laced walking cane. Val brought you to the compound.”

  She furrowed her brow as she fought to remember. “How long…”

  “You’ve been here for two days. Val has been quite worried.”

  Twyla sat on the side of the bed. She fought the wooziness that crashed over her, leaning to one side, and then tightening her spine for control. “My mother?”

  “Val contacted her, and she checked on you once.”

  She didn’t recall Nora being here.

  Finally, David caught Prissy. The pup waved its front paws up and down, begging for something—perhaps to be petted—as David rested her in the crook of his arm. “We’ll find you a treat,” he said, then left, informing her over his shoulder, “I’ll let Val know you’re awake.”

  * * *

  A fresh set of her clothes were arranged on the massive bathroom counter, a stretch of marble from one wall to the other with two sinks. Her mother must have brought them when she stopped by.

  It was Thursday, she thought fuzzily. She’d lost two days. Darn Ethan Dunlap and his vampires.

  She cleaned up, using the rosemary and mint soap in the shower. It wasn’t the best shower she’d ever had, but close to it. Drying with an oversized, white towel—did the angels do everything on a grand scale?—she rubbed her skin, feeling rejuvenated. She squinted at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror. The curve of her ear was a purplish bruise. She winced as she towel-dried her hair, leaving it in a long, damp tangle down her back.

  She dressed in her own fresh clothes, but, oddly, felt like someone else. Her floral design, rubber gardening boots sat by the door. They definitely didn’t go with her black-and-white pinstriped pants.

  She sighed, stepping out into the foyer, looking for someone who could take her home.

  “It had slipped my mind that you were the one who’d put the spell on Payton and the holding collar.”

  Val had caught her off guard and she whipped around, settling her gaze on him. “It’s no big deal. Nora and I alternate doing those mundane tasks. It was my turn.”

  Val nodded. “In that case, it may be better if you hang out here for a while. Either that, or I’ll keep tabs on your place. I don’t think Ethan will give up easily.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Like you did when he captured you?”

  “I see your point. But I wasn’t prepared. Now, I will be.”

  He knew her. She had a stubborn streak the size of the Mississippi. “You will most likely be outnumbered. That’s how the veaklings operate.”

  “I can put a protection spell on my house.”

  “And if you’re at the drugstore, or the bank, or at Caffeinated Corpse’s Cappuccino?” He inhaled a breath, intending to say more, but his thoughts were captured in her sweet scent—the smells of the soap the angels used here altered by her own fragrance. He gave himself a mental shake. Even after their breakup, he hadn’t gotten over her.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll deal with it.”

  That wasn’t good enough for him. For heaven’s sake, it had been only two days since she’d been tied, struck down, and poisoned. Did she have a death wish or what? Grudgingly, he said, “Whatever.”

  She let her hands fall, her shoulders relaxing. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Prissy came darting through the foyer, chasing her sister, Ruby, and scampered right between Val and Twyla. She jerked hastily back to avoid the dogs. Her booted foot gripped the floor tile, holding her in place while the rest of her body tipped. He slid his hand around her waist to steady her, and the feel of her softness nudged his memory. The next thing he knew, he turned and captured her mouth with his.

  He kissed her hard at first—perhaps because of the buildup of all the times he’d thought of kissing her over the years yet hadn’t—then he circled his arms around her and pulled her against him, softening his lips, paying closer attention to her ready response.

  She threaded her hands into his hair, holding him there until he broke the kiss. They stood for a long moment with his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling as he felt her rapid pulse slow.

  “Let me watch over you?” he murmured.

  “I’m thinking of a guardian with benefits,” she said, twisting slightly as she smiled against his cheek.

  “I like benefits. But that may land us in a world of hurt, again.” He wasn’t prepared to get his heart entangled a second time. And he knew that would happen if he gave it a chance.

  With a peel of yippy barking, the dogs made a path out of the bedroom, heading for the kitchen. David was probably fixing lunch for his guest. Seth loved food. If he wasn’t an angel, he’d no doubt weigh four hundred pounds, judging by his dining habits.

  He turned Twyla toward the large double doors and exited with one arm still at her back.

  “I should tell them goodbye and offer my thanks,” she said, pausing at his Jeep.

  “I’ll relay your message. They are probably tied up with Seth anyway.” He scowled at his choice of words. “You know how guests are.”

  He opened the door for her and she climbed onto the seat. “Yeah. I suppose.” She glanced back at the mansion, a look of uncertainty on her face.

  Was she having second thoughts about leaving? She reached out to help close the door as he shut it.

  His route into town was as usual, but it felt like a different journey to him today. His renewed desire for Twyla had been unexpected, and he wasn’t kidding about his concern for her safety. Something was in the air—perhaps more than a veakling uprising. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. Not like a seer could. Dragons were loyal, solid, tunnel-vision types.

  Twyla’s place was on the other side of town from his. He glanced at the sun, high in the sky. “Do you want to stop for lunch before I take you home?”

  “Sure. I’m starved.”

  * * *

  Twyla chose Fire & Fuel Eatery, known for their spicy food and casual dining with an outdoor patio. Her floral print garden boots weren’t what she’d normally wear around town, but today, hunger trumped fashion. Besides, everyone in town knew her and her style: spontaneous, sassy, straight-forward, risk taker.

  They grabbed a wooden picnic table near the perimeter of the patio. She could see over the black wrought iron fence and shrubbery as people strolled by. The foot traffic had picked up now that summer was here. Terror didn’t solicit and encourage visitors. It was a close-knit, private town that appreciated its neighbors, but outsiders weren’t all that welcome.

  They came anyway—those people searching for the thrill of danger. Thank goodness the glamour kept the true nature of Terror hidden from human eyes. Very few saw the real town.

  She picked up the menu tucked in by the condiments and napkins. One side listed the human entrees. She flipped it over to the paranormal side, which was written in the same magical ink used throughout town. They offered a selection for just about everyone, from vamp beverages made with dried blood powders, to raw fish catered to kelpies, to sausage on a hoagie roll for the average Joe.

  The waitress came over sporting a Fire & Fuel T-shirt. “Hey, there. What can I get
you?” she flashed a smile and shifted side to side on her feet as if she had excess fairy energy.

  He ordered a beer, she a glass of water with lime.

  “And for lunch?”

  “Go ahead,” Val said to Twyla.

  “I’ll have the Blue Cheese Bacon Stuffed Dates and Lacinato Kale,” she said.

  “Okay. Val? Your usual?”

  “Yes. Bratwurst and potatoes. Thanks. No bread, no greens, …none of that fancy stuff.”

  “Alrighty. Be back in a flash.”

  “You know…” Val began in a tone she’d come to know as his lecture mode.

  Tuning him out, she felt her eyes glaze over.

  “Wait, Twyla. Listen,” he said, obviously reading her expression. “If you’re going to go out, this is the time of day to do it. High noon. A vamp would need a strong reason to be running around in full daylight.”

  He was right. But she already knew what he’d told her. They probably wouldn’t bother her when the sun was at its zenith. It all depended on the vampire’s ancestral makeup. All were sensitive to the sunlight to some degree—it wasn’t simply the daylight itself that kept them from day-walking. Depending on their lineage, some vamps came and went during the early morning and late afternoon hours, avoiding direct sunlight while other vamps were too light sensitive to risk going out. She’d heard of vampires purchasing charms and spells to make day-walking safer for them, but neither she or Nora had offered that service.

  It was very risky. And if something went wrong, they’d have a toasted vamp.

  She blinked, grappling for what he said. Vampires. And safety.

  “Yes. I know.” She unrolled her napkin, set the silverware aside, and glanced down, arranging the red-checkered square of linen on her lap.

  When she looked up, two figures stood beside their table—Christian and Diego.

  “Hey,” Christian said. “Wow, imagine running into each other two times in one week. The universe is trying to tell us something.” He peered nervously between Val and Twyla. “I— We…missed you last night at The Freaky Rabbit. Change your mind?”

  “Not exactly,” she laughed. “I got tied up and couldn’t get away.”

  He nodded. “That brat looks good. I may have that.”

  Diego nudged Christian from behind. “Not if we don’t grab a table.” He said as they moved on, “Say hi to Luna for me.” Then he pointed out a spot in the back. “How about over there?”

  Twyla’s gaze met Val’s glare. “I’m sorry your plans got squashed,” he said in a tone that didn’t match his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled up in a derisive smile.

  What was she missing? Okay, now she was confused. The only thing she could think of was the kiss they’d shared earlier. It had sparked renewed fire in her. Had it done the same for him? She forced back the desire to find out as they finished their lunch, barely speaking.

  When he drove her home, he walked her to the door. He’d been foolish, allowing his emotions to get to him. A relationship hadn’t worked before, so why should he think it would be any different now?

  Reaching the veranda, Twyla sucked air into her lungs as she jumped backward, bumping into his chest. With his lips next to her ear, her fragrance drifted into his nostrils along with a scent of fear. Instinctively, he circled an arm around her shoulders. Val followed her gaze to see what had startled her. There was a mark on the door—an X with a swish of three slashes through the upper axis, made in blood. “A death mark,” he murmured. His hold on her tightened. “You’re not staying here.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I’m not afraid of some streak on my door.”

  “Ethan is issuing an additional warning.”

  “You think he did this?”

  “Of course. No one else has tried to abduct you lately.” Val said.

  “He’s merely trying to scare me.”

  “I don’t want you to remain here alone.”

  She peered at him. “Then stay. It’s fine with me if you do.”

  He had the extra help at the jail arranged, and they had moved Payton Grey into an underground cell. He had things covered in that respect. No one would be walking in and strolling out with Payton. Deputy Trevor was dedicated and fierce when provoked.

  His gaze swept the grounds, noting how vulnerable she was. “Anyone could trace in here.”

  “It’s a home, not a compound.”

  “Let’s go to my place,” he said.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she smiled wickedly, then turned back to the entrance. “Let me get a few things.”

  Twenty minutes later, he escorted her safely into his living room. She strolled over to the seating arrangement and threw herself into his butter-soft leather recliner. “I’d forgotten how much I love this chair.”

  He wanted to ask—just the chair?—but clamped his lips together. He set down her bag that he’d carried inside for her. Remembering his manners, he inquired, “Would you like something to drink?”

  Twyla looked up at him, her midnight hair spilled over her shoulders, covering the front of her tan blouse. Her long lashes swept down and then up as her dark eyes appealed to him. “Surprise me,” she said.

  Did she know what she was asking? Or better yet, how his mind and body would interpret the invitation? “You’re much too trusting, Twyla.”

  She closed her eyes with a moan. “U-huh.”

  He was reminded that she probably needed rest given that she was still recovering from being knocked out for two days.

  With her health in mind, he grabbed a smoothie full of vitamins and healthy fruits and vegetables from the refrigerator. He hoped it hadn’t been in there too long. His housekeeper bought them from time to time, hoping he would get into more fruits and veggies. It hadn’t worked so far.

  He stood beside her, tipping his muscular torso forward and placing the beverage across his arm, he said, “Your drink.”

  “You’d make a horrible waiter.”

  He shot her a mock hurt expression. “I’m very talented at many things.”

  “Being a servant isn’t one of them.” She took the beverage he offered, twisted the cap, and took a sip.

  “I got you a drink, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “There you go.”

  “Well…” She paused, tilting her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I lost my train of thought.”

  He wondered at her distraction, hoping it wasn’t any residual from her whack in the head or poison.

  She downed the drink, then seemed to consider something. “You’re much better at weapons, let’s say.”

  “Noted.” He sat in another recliner a few feet away. Taking out his cell phone, he sent David and Nathaniel, the council’s vampire rep, text messages telling them what had happened and asking if they wanted to stop by his house at midnight to discuss the situation. They agreed.

  Looking up, Twyla peered at him suspiciously.

  “I was updating David,” he told her.

  Her lips tugged to one side. “I guess he’d want to know.”

  “Your incident and the mark on your house may influence the council to act faster.”

  “I hope so. I don’t mind helping the law by putting a holding spell on a potential bad guy, but when someone attacks me, that’s going too far.”

  She yawned and tucked her legs up underneath her.

  “Why don’t you go to bed? Your body is still recovering.”

  Twisting her neck, then touching her fingertips to her head, she winced. “You’re probably right.”

  “See, you agreed with me. I knew you weren’t your normal self yet.”

  She smiled. A stitch pulled in behind his breastbone, right along with his heartbeat.

  “Of course I’m agreeing with you. I’m not crazy.” She closed her eyes as her shoulders and back settled further into the chair. Tension eased from her face. A muffled snore escaped her lips.

  He longed to scoop her up into his lap and
stroke the loose strands of hair at her temple.

  She jerked, waking. “I think I will go to bed.” Standing, she wobbled. “Ooo.”

  In a few quick steps, he grabbed her by the elbow. It was difficult to resist the urge to draw her into his arms, especially as she leaned on him and placed her cheek against his chest.

  “It may take several days for the effect of the poison to completely dissipate. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

  “Okay,” she whispered into his shirt. She didn’t seem in any hurry to move, but she shuffled her feet as he guided her around the coffee table and out the other side of the seating arrangement. Apparently, once the fatigue started to set in, it knocked her for a loop. Good thing he hadn’t offered her an alcoholic drink. In that case, she’d probably be down for the count.

  The guest rooms were upstairs, and his was downstairs. He slipped his arm about her as they ascended. It seemed to take her great effort to climb the steps. Feeling bad for her, he gave in, lifting her in his arms, and carried her the remainder of the distance.

  “It’s not our honeymoon,” she whispered huskily.

  But what if?—No, he wasn’t willing to finish the thought. He and long-term didn’t mix.

  “You would know it if it was,” he assured her, his voice thickening.

  Her head lolled as she slowly lifted her eyelids to gaze at him.

  Arriving at her room, he kicked the door open with his foot, then took her directly to the bed and rested her on top of the heavy quilt. He hadn’t had the maid change the bedspreads in the guest rooms to lighter linens the way he usually did with the coming of spring. An oversight due to the extra hours he’d been spending at the office.

  She rolled away from him, curling up the way she often did. He watched her for a long moment. He wondered if something in the smoothie he’d given her could have reacted with any residual poison in her body. Or perhaps she was sensitive to an ingredient. Maybe she was just exhausted. She’d fizzled out rather quickly, and that concerned him.

  Since she was dressed, he didn’t bother with the covers. He left her to sleep and went to retrieve the bag she’d packed with her things. When he returned, he set the bag on the chair. She hadn’t moved an inch.