Secret Worlds (501 page)

Crap on a cracker! I’ve got a bona fide Marlboro man on my hands
, I thought, hiding my snort of amusement behind a cough.

“Aren’t you a little underdressed?” I asked, eyeing his boots and resisting the urge to examine just how well his jeans fit.

Giving me a slow wink he replied in a stage whisper, “I’m undercover.”

Snorting at his response as he slid into the booth across from me, my amusement dimmed somewhat when I noticed the barely visible bulge under his left arm. When I concentrated and drew in a deep breath, I caught the scent of metal and gun oil beneath the woody smell of his cologne and the rich, sugary notes that were just him.

“You ready to order, or do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?” our waitress asked, plucking a pencil from the bun at the top of her head and pulling a small spiral notebook from the pocket of her apron.

“A couple minutes would be great...” Holbrook said, leaning forward to read the nametag pinned to her uniform. “Betty.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute,” she said, tucking the pencil back into the cloud of her hair. “Can I get you a refill, Jim?” she called out to the only other patron in the diner.

“How’s your room?” Holbrook asked, drawing my attention back to him.

“It’s umm…” I floundered, not wanting to insult him by letting him know that I thought it was a total shit hole.

“Bit of a dump, right?” he asked with a chuckle, removing his hat and setting it next to him on the seat before opening his menu. I watched as he trailed his fingers through his short hair, smoothing out the indents left by his hat, and couldn’t help wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

“Something like that,” I responded distractedly, my fingers twitching with the desire to touch him.

Thankfully, Betty saved me from having to come up with any other witty repartee as she shuffled back to the table with our drinks. The steaming cup of coffee that she set down in front of me was a god send, and I eagerly wrapped my fingers around the hot mug.

“You folks ready to order?” she asked, once again retrieving the stubby pencil from her hair and pulling her notebook from her apron.

“Umm…” I stalled, flipping over the menu, ignoring the way it stuck to my fingers and smelled of imitation maple syrup, and picked the first thing my eyes landed on. “I’ll have the French dip with fries.”

“Chicken fried steak, eggs over easy, sour dough toast,” Holbrook said quickly, efficiently.

I wonder if he fucks the same way,
my mind piped up, the suddenness of the thought making me choke.

Flushing all the way to the roots of my hair, I prayed for the ground at my feet to open up and swallow me whole, saving me from further embarrassment.

Way to go, Genius!
my inner voice cheered with no small amount of sarcasm. Somewhere deep inside the wolf was rolling her eyes at me and huffing in frustration at my lackluster seduction tactics.

Don Juan, I am not.

“Anything else?” Betty asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me as if she could sense the depravity of my thoughts.

Trying not to choke on my tongue I just shook my head, blushing even more at Holbrook’s questioning look.

Someone just shoot me now.

“I’ll put your orders in,” she said slowly, still looking at me with suspicion as I slid down in my seat.

Watching Betty amble away, I let out an embarrassed huff and busied myself with doctoring the cheap diner coffee into something drinkable.

“So, whose Wheaties did you piss in?” I asked after a while, breaking the silence while stirring creamer into my coffee.

“What do you mean?” Holbrook responded, dumping an ungodly amount of sweetener into his tea.

“Well, I figure you had to have seriously pissed someone off to end up on a babysitting detail,” I mused, wrapping my hands around my cup, relishing the warmth seeping into my fingers, before taking a sip.

Some old pain flickered across his face, there one moment and smothered the next by his brilliant smile.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. Just low man on the totem pole I guess,” he said with a shrug.

While his easy smile made him seem relaxed enough, there was something withdrawn in his eyes that said I had hit a nerve. Not wanting to alienate the only agreeable human company I’d had in months—if not years—I let the subject go.

Silence descended on the table and I turned my attention to neatly stacking the empty creamers one inside the other, doing anything I could think of to keep my hands busy and firmly planted on my side of the table, rather than tearing Holbrook’s clothes off and ravaging him on the spot. My thoughts were running away with me, and I could feel my cheeks darkening with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

“You okay?” he asked, rousing me from a particularly sordid daydream that involved me riding him like a stallion while he wore his hat and boots.

Hi ho, Silver!

“Yeah, why?” I said, amazed that my mouth was capable of doing anything besides drooling.

“You look a little…flushed,” he replied, his expression full of professional concern while the curve at the corner of his mouth made me wonder if I’d been making lewd gestures with my hands of exactly what I wanted to do to him.

“Must just be from the cold.”

“Uh huh,” he mused. I hated that his smile was so damned sexy. It seemed so unfair somehow.

At that moment Betty came over and set down our food, once again saving me from myself. She was quickly being elevated to sainthood in my mind.

She is getting the biggest tip ever!
I thought as I tried in vain to ignore Holbrook smirking at me from across the table, and instead concentrated on drowning my fries in ketchup.

Popping a fry into my mouth, I risked a glance at my companion and couldn’t keep the longing off my face as he lifted a fork laden with chicken fried steak and thick sausage gravy towards his mouth. It was a toss-up as to which one I craved the most—his food or his lips. Catching my look, he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and, after rolling his eyes at me, set it down. I watched, confused for a moment, as he reached across the table to grasp the edge of my plate, pulling it towards him.

“Hey!” I started to protest, falling silent a second later when he pushed his own plate towards me. “Thanks,” I murmured as I lifted the fork and took the first bite of warm gravy with just the right mix of pepper and sausage.

I hummed aloud in bliss as I chewed. It wasn’t as good as my grandmother’s sausage gravy had been, but it came damned close. Holbrook didn’t say anything, just nodded, smiled, and took a bite of his sandwich.

I was relieved when the rest of our dinner conversation was limited to whether the food was okay and how bad we thought the snow might get. Nice safe topics that didn’t include anyone getting eaten or naked.

***

The tightening of Holbrook’s shoulders let me know something was amiss before I caught the ashtray and sour sweat smell of Johnson approaching our table. Thick flakes of snow dusted his shoulders and clung to his slicked back hair, melting into the white strands. His face was flushed from his quick jaunt across the parking lot, but he seemed oblivious to the cold, his eyes narrowed with tension and something else that sent tendrils of dread curling through my middle.

“We have a problem,” he said, his voice tight as bright blue eyes settled on me with anger and a hint of what looked to be disgust.

“But I just ordered pie,” I said, my gaze lingering on the approaching slice of apple pie, the big dollop of vanilla ice cream on top just starting to melt into the crumbly pastry.

“So?”

“What do you mean?” I began to protest, falling silent at the minute warning shake of Holbrook’s head in the corner of my eye. “Never mind,” I sighed, gathering up my scarf, and digging a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of my pocket.

My longing for pie was soon forgotten once we got back to my motel room. In fact, I doubted I’d ever want to eat again.

I SAT ON the edge of the bed in the motel room, the food from the diner sitting as a greasy, leaden weight in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the fuzzy, off-color picture on the small TV screen. I’d turned the volume down after the first few minutes of the report, unable to listen to the gruesome details recited in the cheery voice of the young, pretty anchorwoman. Besides, the images flashing across the screen pretty much spoke for themselves.

Samson had escaped from prison just over forty-eight hours ago, leaving three guards dead and another two in critical condition. The doctors thought one of them might pull through, but it didn’t look like the other would live more than another day. And now, two more bodies had been found close to the Colorado border in New Mexico.

The scene shifted to a dour-faced man reporting from the scene of the latest attack, the garish neon sign of a gas station making the blonde wisps of his hair gleam green and yellow. Something about the out-of-focus background niggled at a half forgotten memory in the back of my mind. The more I tried to reach for it, the more it seemed to slip away, sinking into the darkness.

Johnson and Holbrook stood huddled next to the door, their heads bowed close together as they talked in hushed tones, unaware that my wolf hearing could pick up what they were saying. They’d been arguing for the last ten minutes about whether or not we should move on to another location.

As I watched the camera pan back to the polished blonde anchorwoman, an expression of professional and detached empathy plastered across her perfectly applied makeup, I suddenly felt each and every second of the last twelve hours. It was as though the grime covering my body was sporting its own layer of dirt and sweat.

“I’m taking a shower,” I declared to no one in particular as I rose from the bed and fished a pair of sweat pants and a faded t-shirt out of my bag. “Let me know if you guys decide to hit the road again.”

I grabbed my toiletry bag from the counter as I ducked into the bathroom before either of the agents could respond. For a moment I thought about locking the door, but what was the point? I was getting the distinct impression that Johnson didn’t even like me, so I didn’t think he try and peek at me in the shower. If Holbrook wanted a look, well, I’d gladly let him do that. And more.

Besides, let’s be honest, if Samson wants to get his teeth in you, a flimsy door isn’t going to stop him
, my inner voice added.

Stubbornly pushing down the stab of fear that lanced through my chest, I turned on the water and wriggled out of my clothes, noticing that they definitely bore the aroma of fear and arousal.

If I keep this up, all Samson will need to do is follow the stench
.

Mumbling curses under my breath, I contemplated just burning my clothes and buying new ones each day.

I stepped into the narrow tub, welcoming the hot water as it sluiced over me, washing away the sweat, but unable to erase the icy fear that lodged in my throat. A choking sob escaped me, the sound lost in the rush of water.

Sliding down to the bottom of the tub, I wrapped my arms around my knees and wept. I wept for Samson’s latest victims who had died alone and afraid, for the girls who had died before me all those years ago, and for my innocence that had been so ruthlessly torn away on the soiled carpet of a cheap apartment.

***

The scent of blood surrounded me, cloying with the tang of copper, as it flowed hot across my skin. Things moved slick and warm through my fingers, things that I should never be able to touch or see. The wound in my stomach gaped wide like a grimacing maw, spilling the contents of my abdomen into my trembling hands.

Samson loomed above me, his normally chocolate brown eyes now shining a haunting gold as they gazed at me out of a face I barely recognized. I was having trouble making sense of what was happening, my thoughts slow and incoherent. I couldn’t tell if the sluggishness in my brain was from the amount of blood pooling beneath me, or from the shock that I was dating a werewolf.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should have been worried by the volume of blood flowing over my fingers, but I couldn’t focus on anything beyond the golden eyes staring down at me and the smear of blood,
my
blood, across Samson’s lips and chin. I’d kissed those lips a hundred times, felt them touch me in places no one else ever had, but never in a million years had I imagined that I would see them stained with my blood.

“W-what’s happening?” I asked, my voice sounding tinny and small, as if it was coming from somewhere far away.

“You’re dying, Riley,” he said, his eyes heavy-lidded and glazed, looking far more libidinous than they ever had when we were having sex. “And when you’re dead, I’m going to eat you.”

A bone-jarring shudder ran through me, but whether it was from his words or the chill settling into my limbs, I wasn’t sure. I tried to push him off of me, but my wet hands kept sliding off his shoulders.

Why are my hands wet?
I wondered, looking at where they pushed ineffectually at his chest.
Oh right, they’re covered in blood
, I thought, staring at my pale fingers, as they left dark smears on his t-shirt.

The sight of my bloody fingers made me think of a pair of bright red woolen gloves I’d had as a kid. I’d lost them one year while building a snow man and cried all afternoon over having misplaced them. My grandmother had made hot cocoa and oatmeal cookies to comfort me, and then my grandfather had let me pack his pipe with sweet smelling tobacco. Even all these years later the smell of pipe tobacco revived memories of Papa, and how safe I’d felt curled up in his lap.

I wonder where those gloves are now
, I thought, feeling sleep looming on the edges of my awareness, dark and seductive like Samson had been the first time I’d met him. He’d been so charming and witty, always quick to laugh, but there had been something dark beneath the warmth of his eyes that was so alluring. Now I knew what that darkness had been.

My head rolled to the side, a warm trail of tears sliding down over the swell of my cheek as I thought of those lost red gloves and my grandmother, dead and cold in the ground for two years now, taken away from me by cancer. I supposed I was glad she was gone, that she wouldn’t have to hear about the awful way I died once my roommate Emma found my half eaten carcass on our living room floor.