Chosen (13 page)

Frey has been standing quietly to the side. “Where did you go?”

“I needed some air, that’s all. I took a drive.”

Lance has my face in his hands. “Why didn’t you wait for us to get back? We would have taken you for a drive. God. I was so worried.”

I let the warmth of his sweet concern wash over me. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I’m sorry I worried you.” I glance over to Frey. “Both of you.”

Lance is smiling down at me, my reassuring words sending relief flooding through his mind and body. I hug him, burying my face in his shoulder, thoughts concealed.

When I look over at Frey, however, he’s frowning. His expression says he knows bullshit when he hears it. For once I’m glad he no longer has access to my head.

 

LANCE AND I HAVE RETIRED TO HIS BEDROOM, FREY to a guest room down the hall. For whatever reason, Frey didn’t challenge me in front of Lance or grill me about that missing hour. Maybe he wanted to wait until we were alone but the opportunity never presented itself. Lucky for me.

Lucky, too, that Adele hadn’t joined us to ask about my earring. Since we plan to leave at first light in the morning, I’m hoping she won’t get the chance.

Lance is waiting for me in bed. I slide next to him and he leans over me. His fingers trace the contours of my face, brush my lips.

“Are you too tired?”

I pull him closer, pressing my body against his. “Have you ever known me to be too tired?”

He lets his hands roam my body. He’s willing to go slow, coax and tease, do all the work. Find that sweet spot with fingers and lips and bring me to the brink. But my blood is already on fire, my body humming with the need to feel him inside. I guide him into me, urge him with hips and thighs, whisper encouragement until neither of us can hold out any longer. We come together in an explosive flood of release.

Later, lying still and quiet next to him, I know.

No matter what happens, what I did tonight to protect him—to protect everyone—was the right thing to do.

 

 

WE’RE ON THE MOVE BY FIRST LIGHT. ADELE APPEARS from her room just when we’re heading out the door, but she’s still too groggy with sleep to manage more than a quick hug and wave before closing the door behind us.

One disaster avoided.

I throw Lance the keys. Frey takes shotgun.

That leaves me alone in the backseat. Good. The guys can talk about whatever manly things guys talk about and I can rest my head against the back of the seat and be alone with my thoughts.
Cloaked
thoughts, just in case Frey urges Lance to drop in unannounced for a visit. I know he still has questions about last night. It would be like him to send Lance on a spy mission into my head.

Lance. He is so good. So trusting. He hasn’t known me as long as Frey. Do I feel bad about misleading him? No. I suspect I should be more concerned about this pact I made with Williams and Underwood than hiding it from Lance. I try to dredge up anxiety but honestly, I keep coming back to the old adage: the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Or in this case, the
two
devils. It won’t be easy working with Williams, but the sooner I let him make his pitch, the sooner I can turn him down. And take him down. Along with Underwood.

First, though, I get the answers I need. The answers Williams has been dancing around for the last year.

I can’t pretend to be unaffected by Frey’s reaction about this “chosen” thing. A Chosen One is usually the destroyer of . . . something. One of the first things I learned after becoming vampire was that a person’s character doesn’t change. If he is good as a human, he will remain good as a vamp. There is no amount of money or power that could tempt me to ignore what I’ve held dear my entire life—family, friends and now, Lance. Frey knows all this. How can he think I could be influenced any other way?

I watch Lance and Frey bantering back and forth in the front seat. Yesterday, Frey was being melodramatic and overly protective. Lance bought into it because he cares for me. As I do for him.

But there is another piece to the puzzle that has yet to be solved.

How was it that Underwood affected me so powerfully at our first meeting? It couldn’t be simply the magic—I had the same reaction with that biker, Black. No magic there. He was purely human. No, it couldn’t be
who
they were; it was
what
they were. Malevolent. Malicious. Mean.

Jesus. Is this going to happen to me every time I come across a nasty piece of work? I’m going to have to learn to either handle the effects or suppress them, or I won’t have much choice except to spend the rest of my vampire existence hidden away in a cave.

The effort to keep my thoughts private is taxing. Frey and Lance are blathering on about baseball—a subject I can’t believe either of them really finds interesting. Acronyms like ERAs and RBIs punctuate the conversation. It makes me smile.

I tune in for a while, the sound of their voices relaxing me. It would be easy to drift off. I shouldn’t try to fight it. Truth is, I’m not feeling up to full strength yet. I’m going to need all my energy to face the coming battle.

It will be a battle. Of that I’m certain. Just not the one Frey envisions. This will be a very personal battle with Williams and Underwood on one side, me on the other.

But a battle for what purpose?

I’ve never thought of Williams as evil. Just misguided and as focused on his own objectives as I am. He’s working with Underwood, though, so I can’t trust those objectives. Underwood is the older, more powerful vampire, and he is without scruples. His influence on Williams can’t be good. I wish I’d known about their alliance earlier.

I close my eyes. I wish Lance had trusted me enough to tell me the truth about the way we met.

Well, too late to obsess about that now. I’m tired. I’m cocooned in soft, warm leather. Two of my favorite men are close. I feel safe, protected.

I let go, let the soft monotone of voices from the front seat lull me into a gentle sleep.

I
AWAKEN TO THE SOUND OF A SLAMMING CAR door. Frey’s smiling face peers down at me as he opens the rear passenger door.

“About time you woke up.”

We’ve arrived at Frey’s condo complex. He holds the door open so I can climb out. “Would you like to come in?”

“Is Layla around?” It’s an automatic response. Layla is his girlfriend. She doesn’t like me. Maybe because she knows Frey and I have had sex. Maybe because I always seem to be calling Frey away from her for one crisis or another. Or maybe (and most likely) it’s because he always comes.

Frey can’t read my thoughts, but he may as well be able to. “I don’t know what is between you two,” he says, shaking his head as I climb out. “But yes, Layla is most likely home.”

I give him a peck on the cheek. “Then some other time.” I grab his hand as he turns. “Thank you.”

He returns the squeeze and lets himself in through the security gate. Lance and I watch until he disappears down the walk.

I scoot in beside Lance and we head for the cottage. For the first time, it dawns on me that I’ve been gone four days. Four days. That makes today Tuesday.

Shit.

I grab for my cell phone, only to discover that the battery is dead.

Lance glances at me. “What’s up?”

I’m rummaging in the glove compartment for the charger. “I think David and I had a job yesterday. He’s going to be pissed.”

I pull out the cord and plug it into the dashboard. When the power comes up, I wince to see I have six messages from my partner. Each message is worse than the one before. David starts out mildly curious that he can’t reach me, veers to concerned when my phone goes right to voice mail, borders on irritated when he goes by the cottage and finds me gone and develops into full-blown anger when Monday comes and I haven’t bothered to get in touch. His last message is a brief, “Goddamn it, Anna. Where the hell are you?”

“Bad news?” Lance asks.

“I may be out of a job.”

Lance grins and puts his own cell phone to his ear. His smile melts away, though, as he listens to
his
messages. In fact, I’d be willing to bet his expression now mirrors the one on my face a few moments before.

“Uh-oh,” I say. “What did you forget?”

He glances at his watch, which makes me do the same thing. It’s a little before nine.

“Jesus,” he says. “I’m supposed to be in L.A. for a catalog shoot in thirty minutes. How about dropping me off at the airport? I’ll catch a shuttle.” He doesn’t wait for a reply but punches in a number and tells whoever is on the other end that he’s been delayed and will be a couple of hours late. Then he rings off.

He steers the car onto the road, a frown puckering his brow, until a sudden thought makes him shake his head and sit up straight in the seat. “I’m not going to L.A. What the hell am I thinking? I’m staying here with you.”

He starts to reach for his cell phone again. I stop him. “Of course you’re going to L.A. I’ll be fine. If something happens, Frey is a phone call away.”

And nothing is going to happen. After all, Williams and Underwood think I’m working with them now. Of course, Lance doesn’t know that.

Lance’s expression tells me I haven’t convinced him. “What if there’s another attack? What if Williams tries again? You need someone around to watch your back. I can’t do that from L.A.”

He can’t do it here, either. Right now, the best thing he can do for
me
is to get
himself
out of harm’s way.

“Lance, trust me. I can take care of anything Williams throws my way. How long will you be gone?”

“I can be back tomorrow night.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll be with David the rest of the day and probably most of tomorrow. No need for you to give up a paying gig to babysit me. Serious groveling takes time.”

He actually manages a grin at that. “Will you go right to the office?”

“May as well get the ass chewing over with.”

We’re pulling into the commuter terminal at Lindbergh Field. Lance’s expression morphs again to pinched and anxious. He stops at the curb but doesn’t jump out. “I think this is a bad idea. I shouldn’t leave you.”

I give him a little push. “Go. You can’t spend the rest of your life tailing me. Besides, I have to face David. I have more to fear from him right now than either Williams or Underwood. And what’s the worse that can happen? He shoots me? I can handle bullets. Now go.”

IN SPITE OF WHAT I TOLD LANCE, I DON’T GO RIGHT to the office. I need to change clothes. I do take the precaution of parking on Mission, though, instead of pulling into my driveway. No sense taking the chance that Williams hasn’t planned another surprise. It would be just like him—a “don’t fuck with me” gesture.

But I don’t see or sense anything out of the ordinary when I approach the cottage. In thirty minutes, I’m back on the road.

Now, during the drive to the office, all I can think about is the reception I’m likely to get from David. We’ve been partners for several years, but it’s only been the last year, since I became vampire, that our relationship has been tested. I disappear for days at a time (this weekend a case in point), can’t do many of the things we used to do like eating out (can’t ingest food) or going to the gym (large mirrors
everywhere
) and can’t seem to tolerate any female he’s attracted to (is it my fault that I am a better judge of character than he is?)

We’ve almost called it quits before, and truth is, maybe we should now. It’s not fair to him. But the other truth is, I like him. I like the job we do. A lot. And I need the money. I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on. I refuse to tap into Avery’s legacy.

The other logical alternative for me would be to go back to teaching. Frey teaches. And it works for him.

Just the thought of being back in a classroom turns my cold blood even colder. Criminals, otherworldly villains, monsters. I can handle them with one hand tied behind my back. Hormonal teenagers, though, are something else.

No. As self-serving as it is, I need to ease David over this latest bump. I can do it. I’ve had practice.

Still, anxiety tightens my shoulders as I approach the office. David’s Hummer squats like an obscene yellow beetle in its designated parking space so I know he’s inside. The irony is not lost on me that here I am, a vampire, nervous about facing a mere mortal.

I blow out a breath, run my hands through my hair, tug at the bottom of my sweater and peek into the office.

David is at the desk. He doesn’t notice me at the door. He doesn’t notice me because he’s focused on the woman sitting in
my
chair opposite him. He doesn’t notice me because he’s thrown his head back and is laughing.

Laughing.

It pisses me off. He’s supposed to be brooding. He’s supposed to be concerned. He’s supposed to be on the telephone trying to reach me again.