Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) (12 page)

I slipped my dress off and folded it on the counter, leaving my shoes on the floor. Stepping into the board shorts, I tugged the string to tighten them around my waist. The black shorts with a white Hawaiian floral pattern covering one leg hung low on my hips, stretching down past my knees. I was definitely covered up. I stuck my head through the neck of the tank and slid it down over my bra. It was TIGHT. Men’s shirts just weren’t made for women with breasts and no matter how much weight I lost or gained, my chest never changed. I evaluated myself in the mirror. I didn’t look horrible. Maybe like a goth surfer but that was okay. I dug through my bag and snatched two of Enza’s Ambiens. It was now or never.

Setting the two tiny white pills on the counter top, I crushed them under the heel of my shoe into a fine powder. I put everything away then scraped the dust of the pill into my hand.

Stepping out of the bathroom to the sound of splashing from the pool, I stopped in the kitchen on my way out and opened the fridge.

Corona! Thank God.
He even had a lime cut into quarters in a dish next to the bottles. I grabbed two bottles and twisted the caps off then snatched two lime quarters from the bowl in the fridge. Gripping one lime wedge in my left hand, I coated the flesh of the lime with the Ambien powder and shoved the tainted lime down the neck of the bottle until it floated in the golden liquid and set it aside. I forced the untainted lime into the second bottle and held it in my right hand. I swirled it around, trying not to shake it up. I could do that. Right?

Carrying the bottles out to the patio, I slid the door shut behind me with my foot as gracefully as I could. He emerged up from the surface of the water to find me standing next to the pool, gazing down at him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said, showing him the bottles.

Swimming to the pool’s edge, he rested his arms on the cement. Water glistened off his dark skin and hair as he partially emerged from the pool.

“Not at all. I should have thought of it myself and offered you a drink,” he said, a playful smile curling the corners of his full lips.

I set my bottle, the untainted Corona, down on the table behind me and turned back to him. I stuck my thumb in the neck of the Ambien bottle and flipped it upside down in a quick, sharp movement, shaking up the beer and sending the lime floating to the bottom. I turned his Corona right side up and waited a second or two before sliding my thumb from the bottleneck. I dragged my thumb across the bottle opening to wipe away any powder that might be lingering along the mouth and handed it to him with a smile.

“Done like a professional,” he said, taking it from me and a quick swig of the cold beer. Cocking my hip and resting my hand there, I huffed a little protest.

“I did go to college once,” I said, teasing. “I won’t say how long ago that was, however.” I turned and did the same with my bottle, using the other thumb. When I was finished, I wiped my thumbs on the board shorts, took a little sip, and put the bottle back on the table. Away from the pool and away from me. I wouldn’t be drinking it.

“Oh? Why not? I know exactly how old you are, Ms. Sabin,” he said with a
shit-eating-grin
on his face. “Your birthday was in the police reports.” He took another swig and swam to the opposite side of the pool. It hadn’t slipped my notice that he’d said ‘reports’. There had been a few back in Columbus. The first was when Mrs. Corning had been murdered across the street from my house. That was thanks to Midnight Ash and her demented attempt to kill me. The second had been when a hand had been nailed to my front door. Jackson had hired a werewolf assassin to kill me, Brody Lolek. The third had been when Brody Lolek and his mate had managed to burn my house to the ground and murder my best friend, Amblan. Detective Salazan had done his homework.

“Fantastic,” I grumbled, strutting to the edge of the pool as I buried the unease deep so he wouldn’t see. I sat, dangling my feet and calves into the warm water.

I hadn’t been swimming in ages, so long in fact that I couldn’t remember the last time. I hadn’t even owned a swimming suit before my house burned down.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked.

My attention snapped back to the pool and the half-naked, very attractive man swimming in my direction.

“What?” I asked with a dismissive smile.

“You disappeared for a minute.”

“I . . . I was just trying to remember the last time I’d been swimming.” Among other things. I had to pay attention. If he passed out in the pool, I didn’t want to have to drag his heavy ass out of the water. Or, I don’t know, drown. I wanted information. I didn’t want him dead.

“Maybe you should stop thinking and get in this pool.” He wrapped his strong fingers around my ankle under the water and tugged. Not enough to dislodge me from the side but enough to let me know he could. “Come on, I won’t bite,” he said, swimming back across the pool.

I shrugged my shoulders and shoved off the side, sinking into the warm water. He wouldn’t bite, but I might.

Chapter 10

It had taken almost thirty minutes of flirting, half-truths, and evading his poignant and sometimes straight-forward questions before his eyelids sagged with sleep and grew heavy. He blinked slower and slower and I could tell that his arms felt like weights as he tried to swim to the shallow end in slow, lumbering movements.

“I’m suddenly soooo tired,” he slurred, stumbling up the steps out of the pool on hands and unsteady feet.

He was wobbly so I followed him out, throwing my arm around his waist to prop him up until we got to the patio.

“That’s okay, you’ve had a long day. Let’s put you to bed,” I said, carrying most of his weight into the house.

“But I havvvvve t’take you home.” 

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” he whined as we made our way down the hall, leaving a river of warm chlorinated water on the floor behind us. We made it to his bedroom without incident. Inside the extremely tidy room was a bed made to military precision, a chest of drawers, and a large flat panel television. I propped him up against the wall next to the door and waited with my hands out ready to catch him in case he listed to one side.

“You need to change your clothes or you’ll soak the bed through.” I couldn’t help but laugh as he tried to stroke my hair with clumsy, fumbling fingers. “Do you have shorts, pajama pants, something?” I followed the direction of his gesture and hurried through the door into his master bath. The room was just as clean as the rest of the house with his toiletry items lining the counter, face out and equidistance apart, against the full wall mirror. A pair of plaid flannel pants hung on the back of the door. I grabbed them from the hook and went back out to him.

“Oh, Christ!”

He stood in a pool of water with his discarded board shorts bunched around his ankles. His chin rested on his chest and I was pretty sure he was sleeping standing up as a soft snore jerked his head up. He tried to open his heavy-lidded eyes with no idea he was hanging out there for the entire world to see. I handed him the pants and held his chin in my hands so that his eyes had to focus on me, no matter how hard it was for him to focus.

“Put these on, please.”

His hand wrapped around the flannel in a slow, exaggerated motion. I watched as he managed to slip one leg in and then the other. I walked him toward the bed until the back of his legs hit the mattress. He fell back onto the bed in a lump of limp muscle and bone. Curling up onto his pillow, he closed his eyes, seeming almost harmless. I covered him with the blanket and strode out of his bedroom.

Stopping in the bathroom, I stripped out of the board shorts and tank he’d given me, dropping them into a soggy mess on the floor. I found a bath towel in the linen closet next to the shower and dried myself off, including my feet, then wrapped my hair in another towel. I didn’t want to leave watermarks all over the house, showing where I’d been.

Nothing.

I’d covered the living room, the kitchen, the hall closet, and the hall bathroom. It was like Cordero Salazan didn’t even live there. I searched under couches, in cabinets, in the toilet tank, and behind pictures. I even checked to make sure the floorboards were secure. The only rooms left were the office, which I’d already seen, and the bedroom.

I had to be careful when I searched his room. He was still out cold but I wasn’t sure how long the Ambien would last in his system. The guy was bigger than Enza and the dosage was prescribed to her.

I stepped into the office and immediately felt the magic draw of that sword on the wall.
God, it was beautiful.
I tiptoed over and stroked the blade like a beloved pet. A gentle, pleased hum vibrated through my fingers as the sword seemed to purr under my fingertips.

“I
will
take you home with me when I go.” I whispered the promise with a contented smile. The blade shuddered as if it was pleased, as if it understood. Stepping away and leaving the sword on the wall, I continued my search. The office was clean as a whistle and I sighed in frustration.

I made my way down the hall, checking in closets as I went. Stepping into the bedroom, I saw that Detective Salazan was still passed out, so I started sifting. I went through the obsessively organized closet. His suits were hung from left to right, light to dark, jackets, vests, then pants. His shirts were organized the same way with coordinating drawers for his ties. Opening a white, cream and neutral drawer, a blue and purple drawer, a red, yellow, and orange drawer, then a green drawer, I shivered at the chill the precision of his closet gave me.

Standing in his bedroom in my bra and panties, I searched for anything that screamed PERSONAL. Under the bed proved as barren as the rest of the house, not even a dust bunny in sight. That was just fucking creepy.

I glanced around the room and slammed my hands down on my cold hips. The air conditioning had to be on high and the cold air against my exposed skin spread gooseflesh across my bare flesh. There had to be something here.

The nightstand next to the bed had a drawer that I’d missed. I tugged it open, slow, controlled, watching Detective Salazan only a foot away for any sign of movement. His eyelids fluttered and I paused, waiting.

Detective Salazan exhaled a heavy, relaxing breath, and I slid the drawer out further. Inside, a long, rectangular black box, shiny and smooth, sat along the right-hand side. Removing the box from the drawer, I flipped the latch. Foam insulation hugged the edges but in the center was a single vial of dark, thick liquid, filled to the top.

I plucked the vial from the box from the top and bottom, careful not to touch the glass or leave fingerprints, I sloshed the dark liquid inside. I snapped the rubber stopper and a sweet metallic scent emanated, tickling my nose.

Blood.

Slipping everything back where I found it, I closed the drawer. The only thing left was the chest on the opposite wall. I opened the top drawer, a heavy wooden thing that made a low rumble as it slid out.

The first drawer was all white T-shirts, the second, black T-shirts. The third was other colored T-shirts and shorts. In the back of that third drawer sat a red velvet box, about the size of an 8x10 picture frame. It wasn’t very deep, maybe two or three inches but it was old. The red velvet had worn edges from years of touch. This was a well-used box, stroked and opened again and again. The lingering scent of lilacs in spring filled my nose. It wasn’t locked so I took a peek.

Inside was a pair of gold wedding bands tied together with a faded and frayed white ribbon. Sitting alongside the rings was a black leather-bound book. The leather felt soft, well used and cared for. Flipping the lid open, I hoped to find the Holy Grail. Unlikely, but I had hope. What I found was a book filled with scratchy, sharp scroll written entirely in Spanish. No dates and no information I could use since I couldn’t read it.

Take Russian, Dahlia, it will be fun and you’ll be one of the few who speak it.

Yeah, what good was that doing me now?

About halfway through the pages, something fell out and fluttered to the floor. I glanced down at the pristine beige carpet and stared into the face of a beautiful dark-haired woman, clouded in sepia tones and roughened. The photograph was worn and very, very old, yellowing and frayed around the edges. I crouched down to pick it up and noticed a word on the page of the book that I recognized.

Not a word, a name.

Marabelle
.

Picking up the picture from the floor, I stared at the woman in the photograph. She was beautiful, dark. Her hair hung in soft ringlets down her neck and over her slender shoulders. Although the woman tried to keep the austere pose with her back straight and her chin up, there was a hint of wickedness in her eyes that I liked. By the clothing she wore, a rounded hoop skirt and so many fucking ruffles the poor woman looked like a marshmallow. The dress was pale, making her skin seem dusky by comparison. She had dark hair and dark . . . eyes . . .

I flipped the photo over with a jerk of my wrist and read the only two things written on the back in the same masculine hand as the book.

Juliana, 1848

Chapter 11

I’d taken a shower in the hall and washed the chlorine from my hair and skin, hanging my bra and panties up to dry. Wrapping the towel around my body, I sat on the couch, staring at the gas fireplace. I’d ignited the fire from the remote to keep the chill of the air from my skin as my mind wandered, putting pieces together that didn’t fit right.

The flames danced in the silent mausoleum of Detective Salazan’s house, not knowing that they were the most beautiful and alive things in the entire structure. I wanted to leave, to crawl into my own bed and sleep until I woke up in someone’s arms who loved me.

Wishful thinking on my part.

I sat there alone, in silence, until the first pangs of dawn clenched in my stomach. I’d been sleeping at night since I left Columbus and hadn’t realized how much I missed the feeling of dawn approaching. The silent twist in my stomach was comforting, knowing I’d survived another night. Considering the date on the back of that picture, I had more questions than answers. Who and what the hell was Cordero Salazan?

I slipped back into my clothes once my hair was dry and sat back down on the couch with my feet tucked up under me. I heard a soft groan from Cordero’s bedroom followed by a loud rumbling growl. The sound of bare feet hitting hardwood echoed in the silent house as his feet touched the floor. The toilet flushed from down the hall and a few moments later, he turned the corner. His footsteps halting.

I didn’t turn around.

“You’re still here?” he murmured.

Turning with a surprised expression widening my eyes, as if I hadn’t heard his every movement, I glanced at him over my shoulder and smiled. It took everything I had to force that smile to reach my eyes.

“I could have taken a cab but I didn’t know the address,” I said with a wink.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t . . . don’t know what happened. Alcohol shouldn’t affect me like that,” he said, rubbing the side of his jaw, grazing the dark stubble on his chin.

“It’s all right. I hope you don’t mind but I took a shower.”

“Of course not. Let me get dressed, and I’ll drive you home,” he muttered in a rush of embarrassment, before turning back into his bedroom.

The ride back to Enza’s house was a quiet one. Detective Salazan barely spoke a word, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye every few moments and still managing to keep his focus on the road. He parked the car on the street in front of Enza’s house and I waited. The sun was already beating a hard glare through the windshield of his Escalade and I wished I had a pair of sunglasses. Detective Salazan’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as his gaze focused out onto the quiet street ahead. I waited, uncomfortable in the heavy silence. I couldn’t sit here forever waiting for what? I paused a few heartbeats before I reached for the door handle.

“Dahlia?”

I stopped, turning to see the muscles along his jaw jump and the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel.

“Yes?”

“I want to kiss you, but. . .” He finally looked at me, his dark eyes filled with mortification.

“So, why don’t you?” I teased.

“I don’t deserve it. I behaved abhorrently. I can’t imagine—”

I leaned over and cut him off with a brush of my lips on his. His eyes went wide and his nostrils flared as he breathed me in.

I smiled at him with a quick twitch of my lips. “Cordero,” I purred. “I’m a big girl. I’m not hurt. You were tired and it was late. Don’t think too much about it.”

Pleeease, don’t think too much about it.

He released his iron grip on the steering wheel and caressed my cheek with gentle, trembling fingers.

“I haven’t been interested in someone for a very long time,” he muttered.

I bet.

Pausing before kissing him again, a mere breath away from his warm lips, I waited and hoped he’d close the distance. My blood rushed through my ears, waiting for his desire to take over.

Leaning into me, he grabbed my shoulders and crushed me to him. His lips parted, his tongue licking along the seam of my mouth, begging them to part.

I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss. I released all the tension in my shoulders and thought of Patrick, of his strong cool hands sliding over my body, of his cold lick of power caressing me inside and out. It was easy to pretend.

Breaking the kiss, he backed away panting.

“See,” I said in a whisper. “It only hurts for a moment.”

He actually laughed. The soft rumbled of his chuckle vibrated up his chest and I felt nothing.

I grabbed the handle of the passenger-side door and swung it open, stepping out before he could stop me. I noticed a familiar old pick-up parked about half a block down as my feet hit the sidewalk.

“Dahlia?” Detective Salazan called.

He definitely wasn’t thinking about what had knocked him the fuck out the night before if his pleasure-filled growl was any indication. Hopefully, the kiss would keep him in a desire-heavy haze and keep him from thinking too hard.

“When can I see you again?”

“Call me!”

I sauntered up to the door and slid my key in the lock. The Escalade roared to life as he hit the gas behind me. When I opened the door, Detective Salazan drove away. Waiting until he was out of sight, I closed the door again and strode down the sidewalk to the pick-up truck. Both windows were down and I perched my arms on the passenger-side door to find Raiden’s eyes fixed on me.

“I’d be careful of that one if I were you.”

“Is it because he’s Hispanic, or because he’s like 180 years old?” I asked, resting my chin on my folded arms and batting my eyes at him in mock innocence.

“He told you that?”

“Of course not,” I huffed, standing up straight.

“How do you know then?” he asked with a slight growl to his voice.

“I have my ways. You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“But I do worry. Georgie sees bad things comin’. I think it’s time you head home. You can’t do any good here.”  

“Now, Raiden, you’re the second person in as many days who’s told me to clear out of town,” I said in my best ‘southern country girl’ accent. “I half expect tumbleweed to float on by.”

“I’m just lookin’ out for ya,” he huffed, clearly insulted.

“Marabelle? She’s that bad? She’s got you that worried?” I asked with a hint of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’ll take that under consideration.” I backed up a few steps and gave him a quick nod. His rickety old truck creaked to life and puttered down the street.

I strode into the house to find it empty. Enza was as good as her word, clearing out. A note sat propped against a coffee mug on the counter.

I’m at my parents. Text me if you need me. E