Beyond the Darkness (5 page)

She glanced back into the RV. “And we’ll sleep here?”

“Yep.”

She realized this was probably his home more often than not. She looked at him, still in disbelief that he was here, she was here, that they were together. Temporarily. Good God, the last thing she needed was to be hung up on a guy who not only morphed into a black panther, but hunted things supernatural. He was the perfectly wrong guy. Perfectly gorgeous, intriguing, yummy, and totally, completely wrong.

Nice, normal life. Greg, with his easy smile and normalness, yes, that’s what I need. Want. Desire. Lust for.

Except her gaze slid down Cheveyo’s shoulders, wide and strong under his now wrinkled red shirt. He was lean but muscular, strong thighs encased in dark blue jeans. His gaze kept slipping to the monitor mounted above the rearview mirror, which showed what was behind them. Whenever a car passed, he surveyed the driver.

“Does the Glouk—Baal—know how to drive?”

“I don’t think it does, but they’re good at hitching rides, either as human or canine.”

He picked up his cell phone and issued a command: “Call Pope.”

She heard ringing, and then Pope’s voice. “Hello.”

“It’s Cheveyo. Everything all right there?”

“I’ve been reading your survival manuals and studying the maps. It’s very quiet out here, except at night. What kinds of creatures reside in the woodlands?”

His mouth quirked in a grin. “Wolves, bears, panthers—”

“Oh, my,” she added with a grin.

He gave her a tolerant grin. “Nothing as dangerous as the Otherling. Or the Glouk that’s tracking me.”

“A Glouk?” she heard Pope say.

“I’ll fill you in when we get there.”

“We? Petra’s with you?”

He looked at her, making it all too clear that he wasn’t happy about it. “Yes. And she’s going to stay with you. Yurek’s targeted her.”

Silence. “Not good.”

His words tripped her heartbeat. Terrible. Awful. Much worse than not good.

“Not good at all. We’ll be in morning after next. Call if you have any problems, and keep an eye out for big mangy dogs—or men. You may see my cleaning lady, Suza. Try not to startle her.”

“If I see her, I shall depart from the house altogether.”

He signed off, settling into silence. She was a burden on him, that’s what he was thinking about, with those furrowed eyebrows and tightened mouth.

She used the bathroom, washed her face with the plain soap he had on the counter, and applied the powder and blush she kept in her purse. She pulled a brush through her tangled hair, reviving faint memories of a mother who used to brush her hair every night. She took the stuffed Toto from her bag and sat down again, catching Cheveyo’s tug of a smile when he saw the dog on her lap.

“What happens to your clothes when you morph into a cat?” she asked. They were wrinkled but hadn’t sustained any damage in the fight. The cat, of course, hadn’t been wearing clothing.

“I change my energy, rearranging it into the form of the cat. Clothes, everything, is energy, and so it changes, too.”

“Can you become any other animal?”

“No, just cat.”

“Your father became a hawk. We learned that from the director of the psychic research place where he’d been working before he joined Darkwell’s team.”

Darkwell, the CIA hotshot who’d started a covert program to use first their parents’ paranormal abilities, and twenty-some years later their offsprings’ powers. He was dead now, the program dead and buried, too. Their parents had been terminated by Darkwell’s silent partner to protect the program and his political career.

“My father only told them about becoming a hawk. He could morph into any animal he desired.”

“How did you become a panther, then?”

“Actually, I become a black jaguar. My father took me out into the Sonoran Desert when I was a boy. He performed a ceremony. I wish I remembered more of it. I didn’t understand all of this yet, and it was a bit unnerving as a kid to be out in the desert with a father who was chanting and dancing.

“We sat in the desert most of the night, a fire burning. Then a jaguar—a rare black jaguar—walked to within a few feet of us. He stood there for several minutes, and I thought he was looking into my soul with those golden eyes. Something shifted inside me. He turned and left, disappearing into the darkness. My father was elated. That night, while we slept in the desert, I dreamed of being the jaguar. Somehow, through my father, the jaguar chose to be my totem animal. We all have a totem animal, but because of who I am, I become my animal.”

When she opened her mouth to ask more, he shook his head. “I need to concentrate.”

“You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

“I told you more than anyone else knows about me. That’s enough.”

Not really. But she did like being the only one who knew so much about him.

She looked around. “I need to stop at a store and pick up some magazines and face cleanser. That soap will dry out my skin big-time.”

“Soap is soap.”

“No, actually, it’s not. Most soaps are made with animal fats, chemicals and synthetic detergents that rob your skin of the essential oils that keep it soft and smooth. And don’t get me started on the artificial fragrances they put in there.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He shot her a smile. “We can make a quick stop the next time we pass a populated exit.”

“Thank you.” She was already making a mental list of things she needed. Makeup. Hair spray. Chocolate. “Do you have disinfectant and antibiotic cream in here?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom cabinet.” His eyes narrowed with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m thinking of you.”

“Don’t worry about me, babe. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

She tilted her head. “Do you call every woman ‘babe’? Is that just a word you throw out?”

His lips moved for a second without sound and then he said, “Yes. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’ll try not to swoon.” She got up and walked toward the back. “Do you have any books or magazines to read?” She opened a cabinet and her mouth dropped open at a display of knives like she’d never seen. Six knives of various kinds were mounted on a black velvet wall, their ornate leather sheaths beneath.

“Check the drawer by the table,” he said, and she caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Be careful of the knives.”

She quickly closed the cabinet door. “I will try to resist playing with them.”

“Not just those. They’re stashed all over the place. I need to be able to put my hand on one no matter where I am.”

“Good to know.” She found the drawer he’d mentioned. A couple of Harley magazines, an issue of
Money
magazine. Moments after resigning herself to
Money,
they slowed down. He was taking the exit ramp.

“You have ten minutes,” he said.

“Only ten? Really?”

He spared her a glance. “You want either of those guys catching up to us?”

“Well, no.”

“Then really. Don’t make me come in there and get you.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ve got enough water in the tank for two showers.”

He was scanning the superstore’s parking lot, the rearview monitor, and, she guessed, sensing for the presence of an Otherling. He dropped her off at the front entrance of the brightly lit store then grabbed his cell phone from a holder near his seat. “What’s your cell number?”

She recited it, and he called. “Save that number. If you see or feel anything suspicious, call me. I’ll be there in a flash.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In a flash? You will put clothes on, right?”

Completely serious, he said, “Depends on how scared you are.”

Oh, boy, the thought of a naked Cheveyo racing in to her rescue. She scrambled out before he could remind her how long—or not long—she had. She scouted out what she needed, including basic cosmetics—drugstore brands,
yuck
. Except, interestingly enough, there was a brand called Petra.

“Too cool,” she said with a smile, choosing that, of course.

She grabbed up chocolate bars, three magazines, and a couple of paperbacks. She kept looking at her watch, eight minutes, nine minutes, waiting in the checkout line. Could she help it if the cashier was taking her ever-loving time?

Finally, at eleven minutes, she checked out. Her phone rang.

“I’m coming!”

But it was Eric’s voice that said, “You are? To DC?”

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She exited and spotted the RV parked to the left. Cheveyo stepped outside, wearing only jeans, and walked to a garbage can. His gaze was on her.

“Is everything all right?” Eric asked. “Amy said she went by your place today and the door wasn’t locked.”

Uh-oh. “Oh. Did she . . . go in?”

“Yeah, when you didn’t answer the doorbell. She was shocked.”

“I can explain.”

“Why are you still changing your decor around every other week? I thought you did that because you were restless being locked in the Tomb.”

The Tomb was the name she’d given to the bomb shelter where they’d had to hide out. “I’m . . . bored.” Was bored. Wait. Hadn’t Amy seen blood all over? No, Eric would be freaking.

“It’s not like you to forget to lock your door. Where are you?”

“I’m . . .” She looked at the man who was stuffing what she thought were the clothes he’d had on into the can. The sight of his broad bare back and narrow hips made her mouth water.

“You’re . . .” Eric prompted.

“With Cheveyo. He came by to say hello.”

“Oh, that explains it. Dewy and gooey.”

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” She was standing next to him now, damp and smelling like a mixture of soap and pungency. “We’re spending some time together. I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he chided.

She disconnected. “My brother, Eric. He was worried because my door was unlocked. Apparently, Amy went inside but didn’t see anything that alarmed her . . . like
blood
smeared all over the walls, tufts of animal fur, furniture knocked over . . .” She took a deep breath, feeling hysteria rise.

“You didn’t tell him what was going on. Nice job.”

She tried not to beam like a sap at his compliment. “I don’t want to drag him into this.”

His expression hardened. “You weren’t supposed to be dragged into this either.” He touched her face, his fingers barely grazing her cheek before he dropped his hand. “I’m not pleased that Pope did that.”

“He tried to protect me. We didn’t go into or leave the restaurant at the same time, and we only talked for a few minutes. I don’t understand how Yurek figured out we were connected.”

“The bottom line is he did, and I hold Pope responsible.” His words were edged in anger. “Always protect the innocent, that’s the golden rule.”

“That’s why you stay away from me,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’m not so innocent.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. “Just saying.” Time to divert the subject. “Would that hell dog have actually cleaned up my home to cover up?”

His eyes narrowed. “No. But Yurek might, if he’d come by and found it like that. Last thing he wants is your face plastered all over the news as a missing and possibly endangered person. Make his job harder.” He scanned the parking lot, then settled his gaze on the bags she carried. “We’d better hit the road.”

He opened the door and gestured for her to go first. A gentleman.

“You kept it under twelve minutes,” he said, closing the door behind her. “I thought for sure you’d take twenty.”

“I had twenty minutes?”

“I might have given you fifteen.”

“
Now
you tell me.”

His dark wavy hair was still damp, and drops of water dripped down his chest. He wore a silver panther pendant on a chain that stood out against his olive skin. The cat was etched against a black background. What nearly stole her breath away was the scar that angled from his left shoulder across a well-defined chest, cutting across his nipple and extending two more inches.

“My God, what happened?” she couldn’t help but whisper. It was all she could do to hold back her hand from touching the faded weal.

“My first battle with an Otherling. He was quicker than I was, knife-to-knife combat.” He shrugged. “In my defense, I was twelve.”

“Twelve?
As in
twelve years old
?
”

He walked to the driver’s seat, grabbing a shirt he’d set on the counter. She followed, taking the shirt from him. He had other scars, too, faint lines and scratches across his back. He turned and held out his hand for his shirt.

“You were only a child.” Her gaze went to his chest again, beautiful, yet marred so viciously. The thought of it . . . twelve. She had to swallow it down, get hold of herself.