Josette
stared silently
out the windshield. There was an austere beauty to the scenery she passed, but she didn't really notice. Her attention was all for the weather. Clouds were building up on the western horizon in a menacing black mass. The wind had started gusting. It pushed against the car hard enough that she had to hold tight to the wheel to keep the vehicle from being pushed off course. She wouldn't want to fly an airplane in the weather as it was now, and it was only supposed to get worse. She hated flying in the best of weather, and this afternoon she'd be airborne in the middle of a storm. She'd risk that and more
—for Charles, for
Antoine,
and the others. But, oh, how she was dreading it.
It was just one more worry in a tall pile. Raphael had called on the cell phone just a few minutes ago with an update. As usual, there was both good and bad news.
Rick had checked in. He'd gone looking for her at the Shooting Star. Things had gone to hell in a hand basket. She needed to pick him up at a bar in Pony. He was alive, but there were bodies on the ground. One of them was a teenaged girl.
Ellen was dead.
Tears filled Josette's eyes when she heard, and she'd had to pull over for a moment after hanging up with Raphael. She was suddenly thrown back to the day when
Maman
had killed her siblings
—the sweet children who had done nothing more than be born into the wrong family. Hot, angry tears flowed down her face as she remembered the few moments she'd shared with Ellen. Ellen had wanted her wings so badly, and not just because she wanted to escape. She'd instinctively felt the inherent joy of her animal and while she'd considered her gift a minor burden, it was one she'd been willing to bear. She'd deserved so much better from life.
The cold joy
Josette
had felt when she learned that Rick had eviscerated the Australian said that maybe she wasn't completely dead inside. Wanting revenge said she still cared about people.
Without even thinking it all the way through, she picked up the phone again. Her hand was trembling and it was all she could do to dial. Whether the telephone number showed up on the caller ID, or their "twin connection" broadcast Josette's state of mind, Amber knew to pick up on the first ring and knew who was calling.
"Tell me," were the only words she said, but it was enough.
Through choking sobs,
Josette
told her sister about the pretty fledgling. Amber listened without complaint
or comment as she went on and on, babbling for long minutes that were interrupted only when she had to blow her nose on an oily rag she'd dug from under the seat, or to catch her breath. Maybe she just wanted
someone
to know about Ellen, in case she didn't make it. Perhaps she just needed to, at last, talk about all the deaths of the innocents she'd had to watch over and over in her mind, century after century. There were so few she could save. It hurt so very badly, and no one seemed to understand. Instead they blamed
her.
She realized after a moment that her sister was crying as well. "I'm so sorry for your loss, dear
Josette.
I hadn't even thought to imagine what it must have been like for you to see such things all these years." A long pause and then a shaking breath. "I wish I could find something to say to make it better. And I'm so sorry."
—Amber took another breath that ended with a sob—"so
very
sorry, that I have to add to your pain. But
…
Charles and
Antoine
are still in serious condition. Nana is worsening badly with every hour that draws closer to the moon, and the same is true of the Duchess.
The news stemmed her tears and furrowed her brow. "But
why?
They shouldn't be getting worse. They should be getting better!"
Worry replaced the sadness in Amber's voice, but it was still thick with her recent tears, even over the static. "I know, which is why I'm so worried. I hate to
impose
this on you, hate that the lives of so many people keep falling on your shoulders. But please,
ma souer, please
find a way to save my beloved Charles."
A knot formed in Josette's stomach. Time was running out, and even her best efforts so far hadn't been enough. What was she going to do? "Is the plane still on the way?"
"It is. And what are you going to do about that, anyway? Does Rick even
know
about you and Raven?"
Another problem that she'd been neatly avoiding. She sighed heavily. "Even
Raven
doesn't know about me and Raven. He barely even knows I exist and I've tried to keep it that way. I don't love Raven. I never have. But I also can't help
but
love him."
It was her sister's turn to sigh. "It would be wonderful if we were like true wolves and mated for life every time. But those blasted human genes give us a semblance of free choice, which screws everything up. No, I think you're going to have to tell him when he arrives with the plane. If it is a one-sided mating, you may be safe enough. He could draw from you, but not you from him. But if it's a mutual mating you'll pull power from him instinctively and he'll become involved in the ritual whether he likes it or not. In your altered state, you won't be able to control it. You haven't slept with him have you
—unless something's happened that you haven't told me about?"
"No. We've never even touched."
"Good. Every touch, intimate or not, makes
any
mating bond tighter. It is why we put mates with the gravely injured. The bond helps them, even in a one
-
sided mating."
"I know. I know. I just wish I knew what to do."
"I'm so sorry,
Josette.
It's going to be hard for you until this is done, but not as bad as it could be. It's so very difficult when you love another that isn't your true mate. I would know."
Josette
gave a sad smile. Her sister
would
know, better than most. She was mated to Raphael Ramirez, even bore him twins. But when that relationship ended, she found another, even stronger, relationship with Charles Wingate. That love might not have the "magic" of a mating bond, but it was no less strong or real for the lack.
Josette
shook her head. "It may not be a mutual mating. I can't be sure. And I don't know if Rick and I
—"
Amber made a rude noise that translated just fine over the wires. "Oh, don't even try to deny it. I know you're still in love with Rick, and he with you." She paused and the tone of her voice made
Josette
realize just how difficult the next words were to say. "And
…
I
…
I have to apologize to you,
grande souer.
I
knew
Rick was alive. But I was sworn to secrecy. That's no excuse, I know, and I wouldn't have kept the secret if you'd still been married. But
—"
She
knew?
All these years and she knew Rick was alive?
Josette
opened her mouth to spit out a curse, to blister the air with pent-up anger, but then stopped.
Was she guilty of any less? How many secrets had she withheld that later caused pain?
It was easier to just let it go. There was already so much hurt and pain in the air; there was no need to add to it needlessly. "I forgive you,
Yvette.
I know it must have been hard. Now, the phone is beeping at me, so I'm going to hang up. Tell everyone I'll be there soon."
"Merci,
Josette.
Bon
chance."
She pressed the End button and leaned back into the seat. There were so many details, so many things to consider. Raven and Rick had already met, but she had no idea how they were going to respond. And what
of
Rick? If only she could see clearly what was going to happen, know that he wasn't going to share Ellen's or Bruce's sad fate. She didn't know if she could stand that. It seemed odd to her that she accepted that her mate, Raven, might die. But the thought of Rick dying when she'd just found him again
—
Whether because she was thinking of him, or for other reasons entirely, the scene outside the window dimmed and a vision played out in her mind
—one that filled her with the first feeling of joy she'd felt since learning of Ellen's death.
Rick bellied up to the bar. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans. No gun. No cell phone. No notes. He'd had to leave everything when he ran. It sucked, but he could re
place
them later. His wallet was in his saddlebags with the motorcycle back at the motel. He could go back for it, eventually. He was a registered guest after all, and no one could connect a wild animal attack with him. They'd either figure Rick's gun was another one of Harold's, or that he'd stolen it from the room. But right now the scene was crawling with cops.
It had been damned difficult sneaking back into the hotel without being noticed. But he couldn't leave the cards behind, and he'd needed clothes and shoes. So he'd broken in, used an aversion spell, and taken what he needed as quickly as he could.
It was a fucking nightmare. Without the police and emergency services, he'd have set up a gas explosion to get rid of the evidence. As it was, everything was going to be gone over by the human cops. He was tired, angry, and the jeans he was wearing were too damned tight. They made the deck of cards tucked into his back pocket dig painfully into his backside.
Thinking of the hotel made him wince inwardly. Ellen was dead. Her mom was dead. Hell, even poor ol' Ray was dead. That, at least, hadn't been his fault.
The jukebox blared to life, Toby Keith bellowing the words "How do you like me now?" The bartender finished wiping a glass dry, setting it in
place
next to the others as he walked over to greet the customer.
"What can I get you?"
"I'll have a Sam Adams if you have it, Bud Light, if you don't."
He dug into the front pocket of the jeans to pull out the cash he'd stolen along with the cards. Peeling a five off of the stack, he set it on the bar before stuffing the rest back and taking his seat on the nearest of the battered vinyl bar stools.
He spun the stool so that he could watch the couple of good ol' boys shooting eight ball at one of the two bar boxes at the back of the bar. They were arguing good-naturedly, making bets as to who would win the game.
The bartender set the beer and a glass onto a coaster, setting the change on the bar next to it. Reaching behind him he turned the radio to the local station just in time to hear a newsflash about a multiple homicide and animal attack at the Shooting Star.
"What the hell?" Everyone in the bar hurried to the windows, straining to see what they could of the action down the street. Rick went right along with them, acting just as surprised and worried as the other men
—
straining to see what was going on. In the distance ambulance sirens wailed. Rick felt a flicker of worry, but set it aside. No, they were all definitely dead. The ambulances would just be a formality.
"You wanna head down and see what's goin' on?" The blond asked his buddy.
"Yeah, maybe we should." He turned, resting his cue against the wall. "We'll be back in a couple of minutes to let you know what's up, Ben."
"Do that," the barman replied.
They loped off, leaving him to stick around, listen to the news. Sooner or later Rick knew his ride would show up. They'd go to Daytona where he'd get to explain how the entire mission had gone to hell.
Josette
jerked her attention back to the present. Apparently, sometime during her vision she'd gotten the car back on the road and had blindly driven toward Pony. A sign indicated that the exit from highway 40 for Pony was one half mile ahead.
The Shooting Star would probably be crawling with officials for hours. The investigation could go on indefinitely. As motel guests she and Rick would eventually have to check in and be questioned, but they couldn't take the time now. They had urgent business elsewhere. They would alibi each other and be fine, unlike Ellen and her mother.
She sighed, the tears finally gone. If she had gone somewhere else, stayed at another hotel, would things have turned out differently? There was no way of knowing and no possibility of going back. She would have saved them if she could. But like so many things right now, she hadn't seen it coming. Was this
what it was like for the rest of humanity? To feel so incredibly helpless, without any reprieve or hope?
She took the exit, and was caught in slow-moving traffic a uniformed police officer was hand-directing. Looking down the road she saw the dimly lit gravel parking lot of a restaurant and bar. The sign outside read "The Roadhouse," and there were neon lights advertising brands of beer in each of the small rectangular windows.
The view from those windows would be exactly what she was passing now, and would match what she'd seen in her vision. She'd found her destination.
Rick ordered another
beer and a hamburger plate. The pool players hadn't come back. Most of the other patrons had left as well. It was just him and the bartender. They'd listened to the reports for a few minutes, but when it was announced that there were no survivors, the barman had switched off the station. The echoing silence was deeply disturbing to Rick. He found himself wanting noise, a distraction from the morbid turn of his thoughts. He walked over to the jukebox, slid in a few dollar bills, and began making his selections. Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" had just started playing when he heard the crunch of gravel in the parking lot. Seconds later the door opened. The scent hit him first as he was turning to see who
was coming in. It was her. He froze in mid-motion, unable to move or think. She was okay! Even the ill-fitting shorts and T-shirt she wore couldn't disguise her.
She stood in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. He knew he should greet her, say
something,
but his mouth was too dry to form words. He'd been waiting for this moment, practicing the phrases he would use to win her back. But looking at her he was simply tongue-tied with the fear of rejection.
Their eyes met across the room, and even through his best shields he felt her sympathy for his pain, and her own deep sorrow. But underlying both emotions was something he hadn't dared allow himself to hope for. Love.
She crossed the room in a few rapid steps and pulled him into a fierce embrace. The purse hanging from her left wrist dug into his back, but he didn't care. His arms closed around her and he buried his face in the soft silk of her hair, breathing in the scent that was uniquely
Josette. A
shudder passed through him as their combined emotions slammed into him, sweeping away his shielding in their intensity. In that moment the rest of the world ceased to exist. There was no failure, no peril, only the two of them together again.
She raised her lips to his. The kiss was sweet and gentle, a bare brush of skin, but it burned through
h
is
body like a sudden wildfire. He had to fight himself not to crush her to him.