SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (30 page)

When he lifted his head, he felt something fierce tighten around his heart. There would be much more between them later.

He didn’t want to let her go, but the sooner he got answers, the sooner he could return to her side. He took the stairs two at a time and quietly moved down the hall, checking behind the closed doors as he went. No axe killer, no headless horsemen or hovering apparitions waited in any of the rooms. So far so good. He paused outside Jonathan’s door, listening to the wind howling and the rain slamming against the exterior walls. The hall held the same, hushed breathlessness that it always did. Cold and damp, shadow filled and guarded.

Reilly had his hand raised to knock when a deep voice came from Jonathan’s room, the words muffled as they passed through the door. Who the hell was Jonathan talking to?

Instead of knocking, Reilly opened the door, catching Jonathan on his knees in front of an open box.

“Who are you talking to?” Reilly asked, not waiting for an invitation as he stepped inside and scanned the room.

Jonathan spun around and stared at Reilly in horror. “What are you doing in my room?”

Reilly didn’t bother to answer as he walked the perimeter, looking for the source of the prickly feeling that had filled him as soon as he’d entered. No one was here but the two of them, yet it felt like invisible eyes watched his every move.

As he circled, Jonathan tracked him with an affronted expression, moving to keep his body between Reilly and the box on the floor.

“This is my private space,” he said angrily. “You have no right to barge in here.”

“It’s not your anything for much longer,” Reilly said, stopping by the closet to face him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Carolina’s dead and Gracie isn’t going to hang onto this old place. It won’t need a caretaker when the wrecking ball is coming.”

“She can’t destroy it. It’s a historical monument.”

“If you say so. Who were you talking to?”

“Myself, not that it’s any of your business. What do you want?”

“Looking for candles.”

Jonathan glared at him. “I don’t have any.”

“Which is why you should come downstairs with everyone else. The power’s out and it’s going to be dark soon. Don’t want you falling down the stairs.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“I’m a giver. What have you been doing all afternoon?”

“Organizing,” he said curtly.

Reilly moved closer. “What’s in the box?”

“Cards,” he said, taking a protective step closer to it. “Not that that’s any of your business, either.”

“Cards?”

“I’m a collector,” he said.

The door Reilly had left open chose that moment to shut with a click, and an anxious feeling coiled in Reilly’s gut as he stared at it. Jonathan shifted nervously, inching closer to his box as he eyed Reilly distrustfully.

Jonathan said, “You feel it, too.”

Reilly couldn’t tell if that was a question or a statement, but he did feel it. A sense of something closing in, siphoning the air from the sealed-off room, pulling the walls in tight. Jonathan’s gaze darted anxiously around the room.

“What are you afraid of?” Reilly asked, watching him.

“Nothing.”

The flaps at the top of his box burst upward with a boom, making them both jump. Reilly had dealt with enough of this house and its slamming doors and exploding boxes. Angry, he leaned forward to see what was inside it and found that Jonathan hadn’t been lying. Hundreds of decks of cards, some boxed, some wrapped in plastic, others bound by ribbons sat in neat little rows. Reilly shot him a confused look.

“You expected china dolls?” Jonathan demanded.

With creepy faces and malevolent eyes? Sure, that’s exactly what I’d expected.

“They’re not just cards,” Jonathan snapped in that slighted tone. “See here? This one . . .” He picked through the box and carefully extracted an ancient decked with frayed corners and a faded riverboat on the front. He held it up proudly. “One hundred and fifty years old. From the South. It’s where poker was first played.”

Reilly reached for the cards, but something brushed against his ear, making him spin around. Shadows clustered in murky corners and huddled against the floor. Thunder cracked hard and loud while lightning blazed an instant later.

When he turned back around, the cowering man with his box of cards was no longer crouching on the floor. Instead, a different Jonathan stood in front of Reilly, one with hard, flinty eyes and a sardonic smile. One who stared at him with the same merciless expression that Reilly had seen on his father’s face a hundred times and on his brother’s face the night they’d rigged the Grand Prix to take Dad’s body into the ravine.

Suddenly things began to click into place, nuances he’d missed, clues he’d ignored.

When did he change?

He’d always felt the change in his brother that night, but he’d always thought it an emotional turning, a mental decomposition. Now, staring at this transformed man who’d shed his Mr. Rogers benevolence without even removing his sweater, Reilly understood.

His brother hadn’t just
changed
and neither had Jonathan. They’d become something more . . . something else. Because what Reilly saw now wasn’t human. At least, not anymore.

Jonathan smiled coldly, still holding the deck of cards in his hand.

“Jonathan values this,” he said and even his voice was different—longer in the vowels, softer on the consonants. The boxed deck flew across the room and slammed into the wall. The worn cardboard split on one side, and cards spilled out with a hissing sound that made Reilly want to step back. They began to swirl in a stiff cyclone, raising up in a wind only they felt.

At a rapid-fire pace, the cards snapped through the room, hard edges zinging toward his face. He raised his arms, to protect his head as the force sucked them off the floor and shot them through the room.

Suddenly the cards dropped, the air stilled, and a sinking feeling hung in his gut. Jonathan waited for him to look up before speaking. His voice was soft, almost cajoling, and his words eerily understated, but Reilly heard the threat in them even before Jonathan pulled out the long-barreled pistol.

“It’s time to settle my accounts.”

Diablo Springs: Chapter Twenty-Seven

June 1896

Diablo Springs

Aiken pounded on the door again. “You hear me? Open up.”

Sawyer looked at me for a long moment, and I wanted to shout,
No, don’t open the door
! I was still in his arms, a part of me still seduced by the touch of him. But the sound of Aiken’s voice brought fear low in my belly. I knew now what kind of man he really was. Before, I’d thought him cruel and demanding, but I’d not imagined anything that compared to the story Honey had told me. I’d been right to feel that Aiken had orchestrated the scene at the miners’ camp. Given the chance, he would do it again.

Sawyer stepped away from me, and I was overwhelmed by the loss of his touch. I wanted him to hold me and make me feel safe, but the insanity of that was indescribable. Sawyer may desire me, but only because I required nothing in return.

He seemed to hear my thoughts and turned a probing look my way before he unlocked the door. Once again I wanted to plead for him not to let Aiken in, but it was too late. He’d already swung the door open, and Aiken swaggered in with a grin.

He was covered in dust and caked with dirt from his small hat to his black boots. He wore the same clothes he had two nights ago at the miners’ camp, and he smelled rank as the sullied streets. He looked around with bright interest at the gleaming beauty of the saloon. His expression spoke of how far his expectations had been surpassed.

“Damn, look at this,” he said softly.

Sawyer couldn’t keep the answering smile off his face as Aiken looked around him with wonder. “Hell, man, we hit the jackpot.”

I didn’t wait to hear more. As quickly as I could, I headed for the stairs.

“You can’t even say hello, Ella?” he asked as I passed.

One foot on the bottom step, I paused. “Hello, Mr. Tate.”

“I saw you shot the other night. I was worried about you.”

I chanced a glance over my shoulder and then back, “It was not serious. Athena patched me up.”

“That’s good. Glad to hear it.”

“Good night, Mr. Tate.”

And I hurried upstairs before he could waylay me again. I found the others clustered in the hall, eyes big with worry. I understood their concern. Just having him under the roof was cause to panic.

“He gon’ be mad at us,” Chick said beneath her breath. “He gon’ see up here how it is and he be mad.”

I hoped it wasn’t true, but I feared she was right. Aiken had been sporting his girls in a tent and now Sawyer had moved them to a real hotel with real beds. Aiken was too mean and petty not to perceive that as a threat and be jealous. From downstairs, we could hear his jovial laughter as he inspected the saloon, and none of us felt comforted by it. To say he was pleased would be an understatement, and I wondered just how much of the bankroll he’d provided, how much of a partner was he?

We huddled out of sight and listened as he told Sawyer that after the shoot-out he’d ridden a full day before doubling back. He was certain he hadn’t been followed, but Athena made a face as he said it.

“He wouldn’t know if a bear breathed down his neck,” she muttered.

Honey nodded.

He told Sawyer he’d seen Jake Smith riding northwest. “We seen the last of him,” he said.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Sawyer answered.

“So where’s my girls?” Aiken asked. “You didn’t leave them, did you?”

There was an edge to his voice, and I wondered what he would have done had Sawyer left us like he’d planned to do. Sawyer hesitated before telling him we were upstairs.

He’d warned us that if Aiken returned, all deals were off, but we’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I felt anger at a world that would let a good man like my father be gunned down for no reason and yet let a bad man like Tate cruise through without a scratch. We heard him start up the stairs.

“Go to your room and close the door,” Honey told me in a low voice. “Now.”

I didn’t hesitate to do as she said. Athena gave me a dark look as I hurried across the hall, but she didn’t say what she was thinking. I didn’t care if she considered me a coward. After hearing Honey’s story, I was terrified of Aiken. I didn’t want him see me again if I could help it. Before I closed the door, I saw Meaira step in front of the others and hurry to meet him halfway. She had that tight, jittery look about her that told me she, at least, was glad to have him back and expected that he’d have a present for her.

Their voices drifted through to me, but I didn’t open my door again. I had secured a means of income with Sawyer, and I held hope that he would keep me from Aiken. But I wasn’t certain. Whatever was between us, it was not a relationship I understood. His words spoke something different than his actions, and I couldn’t say which, if either, I could trust.

My door had a flimsy lock, which I engaged before moving to my bed. I sat on the edge, listening to the others until at last they quieted. Meaira’s room was next to mine and I knew Aiken had joined her in it. I couldn’t help but listen to the sounds they made as he took his pleasure from her. It made my eyes fill and my heart feel huge and empty. I knew not what had brought Meaira to him, but I understood that he owned her as completely as he did Honey. I only prayed I could escape this place before he set his sights on me.

* * *

A delivery wagon arrived early the next morning. I heard it creak and rattle down the rough dirt road, and then the driver’s boots thudded along the boarded walkway in front of the Diablo. I peeked from my window to see him move beneath the awning to the front door.

I dressed and hurried from my bedroom, just as Sawyer did the same. He’d chosen the room directly across from me, and we nearly collided in the hall. He’d been looking down and fastening his pants as he came out. For an awkward moment, we stood still and stared at one another.

I followed him downstairs as he let the man in and stood out of the way while twenty-five cases of whiskey and forty barrels of beer were lugged into a storage room behind the bar. It seemed an enormous amount, but what did I know? The sort of men who would be filling the saloon might have unquenchable thirsts.

“You traveling alone?” Sawyer asked the deliveryman as he stepped outside.

The man worked a huge wad of tobacco to the side of his mouth, spat a dark-brown stream, and nodded.

“All right, then,” Sawyer said. “See you in a few weeks?”

The man shot another stream of brown juice and nodded again.

Sawyer looked at me after he left. “Thought maybe you could hitch a ride, but not if he’s alone.”

I was quietly grateful that Sawyer hadn’t made arrangements for me to travel with the foul man. I feared it would have been trading the fire for the frying pan, and who knew where I’d have ended up had I left with him.

I went to the kitchen and discovered Athena there already with coffee made and breakfast begun. I asked if I could help her and received a glare for my effort. I wondered if I’d ever know just why she didn’t like me.

I found two coffee cups and filled them each under her watchful eyes. I wanted sugar, but didn’t dare ask. Instead, I carried them back to where Sawyer was.

He thanked me before saying, “Looks like I can open up today.”

“Yes, it does.”

He nodded, appearing as satisfied as a man could be.

“May I ask you something?” I said.

He shrugged. “Shoot.”

“How did you come to be partners with Aiken Tate?”

“We’re not partners. Not even close. I owe him payment, not a piece. He gets credit until I pay him back, and his girls can do their work out of here. Once we’re square, I get a cut of that.”

“You’ll profit from the women?” I said.

He nodded, looking at me as if he didn’t quite understand the question. I couldn’t blame him. I’d promised profit from the women, as well. But how did I explain the difference in the two ventures?