Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) (3 page)

I was on my own.

“I’ll help in any way I can.” I forced the corners of my mouth to turn up in a smile. I felt like my face might crack from all this pleasant smiling.
How do people do this?

“You were the first to enter the house?” he asked, and his voice shifted to an all-business tone that I knew all too well. I reacted much better to this type of interaction than the pleasant chitchat. I understood this.

“Of the two of us, Enza and I,” I answered with confidence, “I was the only person to enter the house.”

“That’s an interesting way to word your answer.” He trained those warm brown eyes on me again.

“I just want to clarify what we’re talking about,” I said and let go of Enza’s hand. I couldn’t focus with her warmth soaking into my skin. Tucking my hands behind my back like I’d seen Dean do so many times, I stood at ease.

“Understood.” Amusement made that one word light. Clearing his throat, he continued what I now understood to be an interrogation. “Why would you go into a house of a woman you barely knew? Alone?”

“Cadenza was distraught and worried. If there was something in that house to find, I didn’t want her to find it,” I said, leaving out the part about keeping her safe in the sunshine and away from the definite smell of vampire lingering in that house. He didn’t need to know that.

“Are we going to find your fingerprints in the house, Ms. Sabin?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked, curious.

“I didn’t touch anything.”

“Not even the door?”

“
I
opened the door,” Enza said as her eyes shifted from me to Detective Salazan and back again.

“Now, why would that be?” he asked in a skeptical tone.

“I had the key,” she snapped, finally understanding I was Detective Salazan’s perfect idea of a suspect. “You don’t seriously think—” Enza started but was cut off by the detective.

“I’m not sure what to think,” he said, focusing on me. “How well did you know Soraida Ramirez?”

“Not well at all,” I said with a satisfied smile.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the scene?” he asked, flipping his notebook shut and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

That was an odd question to ask and seemed out of place for a possible suspect. I took a harder look at Detective Salazan.

Once I saw beyond the handsome face and rich brown eyes, I noticed his suit was well made and tailored to fit. Silk and much more expensive than someone would expect a detective to be able to afford, the suit hugged his body like a glove. He noticed me gawking and adjusted his jacket, tugging on the bottom with both hands.

I thought about the question he asked me and, sure, the place had been tossed but not robbed and I’d smelled a vampire at the scene but I couldn’t tell him that. I narrowed my eyes and listened. His heart rate picked up and he radiated body heat like it was the middle of winter instead of mid-April in Las Vegas. His palms were sweating and I could smell the mix of his sweat with whatever hand soap he used. The soap was something flowery but there was no wedding ring on his finger. Did I notice anything unusual? Hell yeah, I did, and the situation was getting weirder all the time.

“No, was I supposed to?” I asked.

He gave me a once-over, grazing his eyes over me-up and down-one last time before slipping his sunglasses on.

“You’re not leaving town anytime soon, are you, Ms. Sabin?”

“No, Sir, not anymore,” I snipped.

“Good. I know where to contact you if I have any further questions,” he said, walking beneath the crime scene tape, leaving us to our own devices.

Enza waited until we were back in her SUV with me behind the wheel before she spoke again. “You didn’t want him to know your name, did you?” she asked.

She was perceptive, I’d give her that.

“No,” I answered as I strapped the seatbelt into the buckle.

“Are you running from the police? Is that why you’re hiding?” she asked, fastening her seat belt with a matching metallic click.

I took a deep breath and ran my hands down my face in frustration. This was so not the conversation I wanted to have.

“No, Enza, I’m not running from the cops. There’s just one officer in particular I don’t want to know where I am,” I said, thinking of how understanding Derek had been when I left. If Derek didn’t know where I was, then Patrick couldn’t pressure him and he wouldn’t be in the cross hairs of a possibly angry vampire.

“He’s going to find out now, isn’t he?” she asked, an apology filling her voice.

“Yeah. I think he is,” I said, slipping the sunglasses on my face and turning the key. The engine roared to life and I turned down the radio to an inaudible whisper. I wasn’t in the mood for music, too many questions raced through my mind.

“Are you in danger?” she asked, perceptive again.

I glanced at her and then out the window to meet Detective Salazan’s gaze. He stood on the front stoop where Enza had cried her eyes out just an hour earlier, watching us.

I shifted the SUV into gear and said, “Not from the people back home,” before pulling out into traffic. I needed to call Derek and warn him. I guess radio silence was over.

Chapter 3

I pulled the SUV up to a pay phone outside of a pawnshop in downtown Las Vegas and slammed the gear into park. There was no way I was going to call a cop from Enza’s home number. Plus, Derek was smart. He’d figure out where I was when the warrant search crossed his desk. I, however, didn’t need to give him an address to look for me. Vegas was a very
big
city.

I jumped out of the SUV, stalking around the front and picked up the receiver of the pay phone. Vegas was one of the few places I’d seen that still had payphones. Today, I was glad for it.

“What are you doing?” Enza asked, rolling the window down.

“Gotta make a call,” I said, digging three dollars’ worth of quarters out of the bottom of my bag, the car cup holders, and the glove compartment and into the machine. I dialed Derek’s number from memory and waited.

“You can call from the house,” she said, confused.

“No, I can’t,” I snapped as the phone rang in my ear.
One . . . two . . . come on, Derek . . . three.

“Hullo,” he answered in a confused, groggy rumble. The sound of his familiar baritone almost brought tears to my eyes.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Dahlia? Holy shit, Kid! Are you all right?” he asked, the words tumbling out of him like water from a sieve.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said with an audible lump in my throat as I fought back tears.
God Damn it!

“You in trouble?” he asked. His excited panting echoed on the other end, waiting.

Am I in trouble?
Not yet.

“No, but I did want to warn you,” I said, shoving everything back so I could have this conversation rationally. Soraida was definitely in trouble and I would be shortly if I wasn’t smart about this. I wasn’t planning on leaving Soraida’s life to Detective Salazan, that’s for sure.

“Warn me about what?” he asked.

I could almost see the disbelieving look on his face as he spoke. The thought made me home sick.

“My name is going to turn up in a police report and they might also check to see if I have any warrants back there,” I said. “I wanted you to know before . . .” I started but couldn’t finish.

“Before it crosses my desk and Patrick finds out,” he finished for me.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“Thanks, Kid.”

Silence sat heavy between us like neither of us knew what to say. I didn’t want to bother him but it might be my only chance.

“How is . . . everyone?” I dared to ask. I turned my back on the SUV as I huddled around the phone so Enza couldn’t hear me. Her eyes bore holes through me but all I could concentrate on was the sound of Derek’s friendly voice on the other end of the line.

“He took it pretty hard,” he said. He sat silent for another moment before his sharp, ragged intake of air to speak. “But Dean is keeping him together.”

Keeping him together? I had hoped Patrick would find some peace while I was gone but if I couldn’t come to terms with my guilt, how could I really expect him to.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed on the other end of the phone. I realized I had started to cry. “They’re all right. Everyone’s all right. You should call Dean and let him know you’re okay though,” he added.

I started to protest but he cut me off.

“Look, Dahlia, I understand why you left but Dean is carrying Patrick’s worry, anger, and basic insanity, not to mention his own, so do the guy a favor and just let him know you’re alive.”

I was quiet for a very long time as I processed what he’d said. He’d called me by my real name so I knew he was serious. The soft static on the other end of the line was a quiet reminder that Derek was still there.

“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded.

“Of course I’m right. I can’t believe it took you this long to figure that out. Anyway, Jade’s going to come across that police report before it ever crosses my desk. I already know where you’re calling from. The 702 area code is a dead giveaway,” he said with a chuckle of satisfaction.

“Dean’ll take care of Jade,” I said absently. I hadn’t realized how much I’d put on his shoulders by disappearing. I shoved that thought away and considered the area code issue. A small smile crept across my lips. “Plus, I’m at a pay phone, Derek, I could already be on my way out of town,” I teased.

“Good job, Kid,” he said with another chuckle. “Give me a shout if you get into trouble.”

“I will,” I said. Hearing his voice again had been good. “Thanks, Derek.”

“No problem. Stay safe, and I
hope
to see you soon,” he said with real feeling in his voice.

Before I could answer him, he was gone and nothing but the harsh dial tone filled my ears. I hung up the receiver and leaned my forehead against the smooth back of the handle.

I closed my eyes and breathed.

I hadn’t realized how much of my life was missing until I picked up the phone. The dull ache in my chest I’d been chalking up to guilt was tightening around my heart. It was more accurately guilt and longing.

I missed them. I missed Patrick’s cool head under pressure, his gentle fingers in my hair at night, and being close to him.

I missed Dean’s ferocious intensity, his quiet certainty, and his leadership. I missed him kissing me.

I missed Jade’s questioning eyes and her bright, happy smile. I missed them all. They’d become my family when I wasn’t looking, more so than my own blood had ever been.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes as I pushed back from the phone. I couldn’t call Dean, not now. He’d hear all my emotion in my voice. I needed to be calm when I spoke to him. I guess I needed a drop phone. I hadn’t bothered before but now it seemed like a good idea.

Maybe I can buy one with an out-of-state area code. That’d at least throw them off the track.
If I needed to, I could drive into Arizona and pick one up. Dolan Springs was only a little more than an hour and a half drive from Las Vegas.

I jumped back into the SUV and started the engine without looking at Enza. I didn’t want her to see the anguish on my face.

“Everything all right?” Enza asked, sliding her finger over the button as she rolled her window back up.

Of course she’d been listening. I would’ve done the same thing if someone was living in my house and wouldn’t give me shit for information, family or not.

“It will be,” I said as I threw the SUV into gear and screamed out in a skid of dust and squealing tires.

Chapter 4

It’d had been a bitch and a half to get Everett’s address, the mystery man Soraida had been seeing, without Enza snooping over my shoulder at the computer or tagging along for the ride. She was just as pushy and nosy as Jade with none of the background information to go along with it. I didn’t want her anywhere near my world.

I waited until she left for her parents’ for dinner before I crept from the house. With any luck, she’d be wrapped up over there in a big family dinner for a couple of hours and forget all about Everett. Maybe I’d even be back before she noticed.

Everett lived in North Las Vegas too, about a half a mile from Soraida’s cute little ranch in an apartment complex that seemed like a new build. The stucco wasn’t worn and faded from the heat of a Las Vegas summer yet, there wasn’t a pothole in sight, and all the streetlamps were still lit and bright. He lived on the second floor of a three-floor building with both the upstairs and the downstairs neighbors.

I double-checked the number on the door from down the hall and went back outside to check the balcony to make sure I could see. Lights were off. Nobody was home. Sliding my leg back over the seat of my bike, I waited.

Three hours later and long after sunset, I decided I was done waiting. If he’d skipped town, I was already more than twelve hours behind him. Stalking up the stairs and down the hall to Everett’s front door as silent as any shapeshifter, I approached the door of Apartment 239. I’d gotten used to my new agility and quickness since I’d left home and it was coming in handy more often than I liked to admit. I never wanted to count breaking and entering as one of my skill sets but here I was . . . breaking and most definitely entering.

Resting my ear against the cheap balsa wood door, a soft hum of the refrigerator running on the other side vibrated against my ear. Beyond that, silence. I had to get inside.

My lock-picking set had burned up in the fire and I had never felt the need to replace it. Kicking myself for my own stupidity, I grabbed the door handle in my right hand and shoved against the door with my left shoulder. The doorjamb cracked, breaking against the force of my impact and the door gave as I forced it open.  

Moving quickly through the dark apartment, I dodged the only couch in the living room. I closed the curtains, drawing them across the balcony door to shield my movements. Once that was done, I turned on the lights. Thankfully, they were on a dimmer so I turned the dial down as far as I could and still be able to read his mail.

Everett got a lot of junk mail, only a few bills mixed in with the catalogs and American Express applications. The apartment smelled familiar as the same air freshener scent that had filled Soraida’s house, filled Everett’s apartment too. The damned thing sprayed lilac every thirty minutes, the scent thick as if it had sprayed the damned chemical right before I walked in.
Joy!
Hiding under that overpowering smell of perfume, lingered the distinctive scent of werewolf.

I crept into the kitchen. The stench was stronger as I moved away from the living room outlet. As I searched the bedroom, I was certain of it. He couldn’t cover up that distinctive odor from his sheets and his dirty clothes no matter how much air freshener he used.

The apartment, sparse and almost utilitarian, had one couch in the living room, a flat screen television mounted on the wall, and nothing else. A set of bar stools saddled up to the kitchen island. The refrigerator was empty except for a few take-out containers filled with
moo goo gai pan
and a carton of each fried rice and steamed brown rice.

Now, isn’t that interesting?

I stepped into the bedroom and followed my hunch. A nightstand on either side of the queen-sized bed, each had a candle on it. A pair of pink lace panties sat on top of a pile of dirty clothes in the corner and a strawberry-shortcake-fitted T-shirt was crumpled alongside it. I doubted very much that Everett wore them since both items smelled of Soraida. I stepped to the bathroom off to my right and edged the door open with the tip of my shoe.

Makeup was scattered on the counter and a box of tampons sat snug between the toilet bowl cleanser and extra toilet paper roll, hiding under the sink. Women didn’t leave those unless they meant to stay. Soraida had been spending a lot of time here but wasn’t sharing. She’d never smelled like werewolf when I ran into her and neither had her house.

Why?

I turned off the light and sat down on the couch. There were some questions I had to ask Everett, and the apartment didn’t look like he’d left town in a hurry. Sitting back into the leather cushions of the couch, I made myself comfortable. He’d be back soon enough.

It was another two hours before the jingle of keys in the lock caught my attention. He hesitated as the door tipped open. I’d broken the lock when I entered. In the time it took him to realize the implication, I could have killed him three different ways. He stepped full into the doorway, the soft white light from the hall framing him perfectly.

He took a deep breath, exhaling in a quivering, ragged release.

I wanted to roll my eyes at his inexperience but no matter how stupid he was being, I wasn’t about to take my eyes off him. He was still stronger, faster, and more capable of killing than me.

“Who are you?” he asked in a weak attempt at a growl. “What do you want?” His voice cracked as fear filled him, fracturing his attempt at bravado.

I remained quiet, listening to the sound of his quick erratic breathing and the rapid thump of his heart. Fear rippled off him in waves, filling my nostrils with the rich, enticing scent. He shouldn’t be afraid of me.
He
was the werewolf, for Christ’s sakes.

“We have a friend in common,” I growled.

“Oh yeah,” he snapped belligerently into the darkness. “Who?”

“Soraida.”

His shoulders tightened and his lips disappeared into a thin line across his face at the mention of her name.

I smelled his anxiety skyrocket as adrenaline shot through his system and watched his eyes balloon to the size of dinner plates.

“Have you heard from her? Do you know where she is?” he asked, his questions quick and frantic. Finally closing the door behind him, he shut out all outside light. For a brief moment, before he flipped on the lights in the apartment, it was pitch-black. In that second of darkness, he could have killed me. That thought, however, never crossed my mind as he turned the lights up on the dimmer. He wasn’t paying attention. As dangerous as he was, he wasn’t a threat.

He met my gaze and froze where he stood. Everett was short, just over five feet, and a bit on the scrawny side. He didn’t look like he ate enough. All the werewolves I knew were large and bigger than life. This guy seemed as if he couldn’t even change his own tire, not at all like Soraida’s type. She tended to flirt with bigger guys, the type that could be classified as muscle heads. Everett wore glasses that I imagined were just for show. Any vision issues would have been corrected when he’d become a werewolf. With sandy blond hair and deep, almost navy blue eyes, he was boyishly attractive. His skin tone was tanned but would never be the dark bronze of Soraida’s or even Enza’s.

He took a few pensive steps forward, fear filling his eyes, making his movements jerky and uneven. Taking a deep breath, his nostrils flared and his eyes flushed to a soft, sea-foam green. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head before me.

WHAT THE FUCK?

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, his voice quivering. “I ask too many questions.”

This kid radiated submissive like he was sweating at the gym. I uncrossed my legs from the casual pose I’d been lounging in on the sofa. Leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees, I evaluated him. Everett was definitely at the bottom of his pack. There was no way he would’ve survived so long on his own without someone to protect him. An urge to fill that role swelled within me, the same way I’d felt toward Danny, Nova, toward Jade and Kurt. The need to protect was creepin’ me the fuck out. I barely knew this kid.

I’m not a werewolf, damn it, and I’m not his Eithina.

Everett was probably my age but the urge to protect him when he could rip my throat out made me think of him as young.

“Get up,” I snapped in frustration. “You need to hone your sense of smell.” I knew what he smelled; the mixture of all three of our magics, Patrick, Dean, and myself, but I couldn’t keep the bite out of my tone. “I’m not a werewolf.” I wasn’t sure if I was convincing him or myself. Didn’t matter.

He raised his eyes from the floor and watched me with uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of me.

I stood as he took a few careful steps toward me. Holding out my arm to him like I would to a strange dog, he snatched my bicep in his strong grip but didn’t squeeze. He was gentle and probably had gotten a lot of practice with Soraida over the past few months. He raised the underside of my forearm to his nose and took a deep, unobstructed breath.

His eyes opened wide and the heady scent of fear filled the small apartment. He jumped back, away from me, slamming his back into the wall.

I had the feeling if he could have put several states between us at that moment, he would have.

“What are you?” he asked.

I laughed to myself but the look on his face reminded me that he didn’t think this was funny. “Isn’t that the $64,000 question! I wish I knew,” I said, defeated. He watched me with an eerie focus that made my skin crawl. The same stare that my parents’ dogs had when they watched me, or Danny when he’d first met me after the accident.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“A friend of Soraida’s. My name is Dahlia Sabin,” I said, rubbing the palm of my hands on my thighs. The increased body heat in the tiny apartment had made my hands sweat.

He closed his eyes, quiet as the grave for a few minutes. I clocked him.

“The Blushing Death,” he whispered, his tiny voice quaked with resignation.

Jesus! Evidently I’m more famous than I or the boys back home thought
.
The Blushing Death had name recognition.

Everett opened his eyes and met mine, trying so hard to be brave. He squared his shoulders and took a step away from the wall, standing on his own two feet.

I was almost proud of him and couldn’t even say why.

He believed I was there to kill him. So that kinda killed my mood.

“Why are you here?” he asked. His voice didn’t quiver once.

Ahh, that’s my brave little werewolf.

“I was in Soraida’s house this morning,” I said, waiting for his reaction. After meeting Everett, I didn’t really think him capable of hurting anyone, let alone Soraida. But I wanted to know what he knew.

He seemed confused, dropping his eyes as his shoulders stiffened. Tension shot through his body, tightening every muscle. His confusion and concern showed in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the quick, shallow breaths he took.

“So were the police,” I added in a matter-of-fact tone.

His teeth ground in frustration as the muscles along his jaw flexed and jumped. That definitely got a reaction.

“The police?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Why?”

He wanted to jump me, growl so badly I could taste it. He wanted to know everything I knew but he didn’t dare. Everett wasn’t sure what I was or if he could take me. Hell, I wasn’t sure anymore either. That was the only explanation I could come up with for why he was on the other side of the room with his hands stiff at his sides.

How much do I tell him?

He was too submissive to be a threat to almost anyone. Soraida was pretty pushy so Everett here would’ve been putty in her hands. I scented his concern on the air, sending a sickening twinge to my gut.

“Enza and I went to check on her this morning when she didn’t check in. The place had been tossed,” I said. His shoulders slumped and his heart thumped in his chest as his whole being fought not to crumble in on itself. “Where were you last night?” I asked, forcing some semblance of authority into my voice.

His body reacted to my tone whether his mind or heart wanted to or not. He gazed at me with confusion.

“Where were you last night?” I snapped.

“I met Soraida at the club and then we came back here. She left well before dawn. She had to get a shower and her uniform before she went to work. She had an early shift,” he rattled off.

So Soraida was showering at home and washing the scent off of her. She would have had to wash her clothes each time she came from his house to do that.

“You didn’t go with her?” I asked, understanding that Soraida had to’ve known Everett was a werewolf.

“No,” he whimpered, his bottom lip trembling.

“You weren’t in her house recently,” I stated.

“No, never,” he assured me with a gasp of horror. An odd reaction for someone who was supposedly sleeping with her. “I mean, I know where she lives but I’ve never been to her house.” His tone grew apologetic, as if he would have been breaking the rules by going to Soraida’s house.

“Why?”

He gawked at me like I was stupid. “I didn’t want her to get hurt,” he said in that same condescending tone.

I’d missed something somewhere.

“Does she know what you are?” I watched him process the question. Jesus, everything this kid thought broadcasted across his face for the world to see. That might be what made him so attractive to Soraida; no need to translate what he said from ‘boy speak’ to ‘girl speak’. Everything he thought, felt, it was all right there for anyone willing to pay attention.

He met my glare with a sheepish expression and said, “Yes, yes, she does.”

“Where were you tonight?” I asked, feeling my patience thinning.

“I was supposed to meet her at Terrible’s after my shift but she never showed. I was there until about 30 minutes ago, waiting,” he said, another quiver making his voice uncertain. I thought I saw his eyes tear up before he dropped his gaze, focusing on the floor. “She didn’t answer her phone. I thought she’d fallen asleep. She does that sometimes when I get off early in the morning.” He brushed away the tear he’d allowed to escape with a shaking hand and I knew I had to tell him the rest.

“Everett, there was blood at her house.”

His eyes shot up to meet mine. A horrified expression began crinkling his nose and furrowing his brow into something fierce and determined.