Under the Full Moon (Crimson Romance) (14 page)

“Ah, here we are.” When he opened the back door, she saw seating rather than the open space a casket would require. Obviously he’d had the thing customized. The man had some serious head issues.

He slid in next to her, the silver threads in his black hair glinting in afternoon sunlight. If not for his beady eyes and puny size, he may have been considered distinguished looking by some. But she was all about the eyes, and his held a madness within the squinty glare. Once she’d settled, she noted the absence of ink people getting in the front seat.

“Do not fear. Marcus and Gregor are my miracles, but even I wouldn’t allow them to drive. Lark is my driver.” At the end of his statement the window separating the backseat from front lowered until the driver’s cap became visible.

But while her stomach settled in appreciation that a living, breathing person would be driving them, the thought struck.

Wasn’t swamp gas highly combustible?

Leaning over he put his head in his hands. The whole dark and smelled like death had been too much. His temples throbbed as a strange dizziness swept through him. The sensation of needles stabbing his brain began right before visual snippets hit him. A house. Plush carpet. Old wooden doors. The fragmented images coming in short spurts.

What the hell?

Grace! For one second, he could actually smell her as strong as if she were in his arms. His body tingled, his animal shot to high alert and a few more images came through before the link vanished. His heart stopped when her scent did.

Damien stared out the window before shutting his eyes and bringing her image to the forefront of his mind. Did his damndest to mentally send a return message to Grace, to hold on. Stay strong. Stay smart, he would find her. That he’d received her descriptions of the funeral home and of the black hearse with black stallion hood ornament on the front. He didn’t know how the hell telepathy worked, but gave it his all and prayed.

He relayed to the others what happened and everyone sprang to action.

Trick’s lame ass had asked if he’d gotten constipated. He’d have to have a talk with the kid when this shit was all over, but ripping the punk a new one would have to wait.

“Has she sent anymore messages or image locations?” Squire’s voice was deep. The concern and familiarity with Grace, was quite clear and still pissing him off.

They’d sent Moss and Beth in one direction and Trick and Lily in another, all driving around looking for the strange hearse. Everyone had their cell phones charged and on. Trick jumped at the chance to ride with Lily, the intention behind his actions evident in the boner the kid kept getting every time the girl was near. Which left him stuck with Squire. Of course the dilemma did leave him with an opportunity to determine just how this man knew Grace.

His Grace.
He had a hard time wrapping his mind around the thought. He’d been alone so long he wasn’t sure anyone, let alone Grace, could survive his quirks. Would he be able to survive hers?

“Quit, that’s irritating as fuck,” Squire commented, and Damien realized he’d been thumping the dash with his fingers while lost in thought.

He’d have time to figure that out later. Right now the only thing he understood with certainty was that he couldn’t tolerate any other male around her. Should she not want him, least not as a mate, he’d deal with the fact then. Until he knew for sure, Squire better steer the fuck away from her.

“So, how do you know Grace?”

“What makes you think I do?”

“Don’t play me for the fool. We haven’t time to spare for bullshit.”

“Wouldn’t it be far more prudent if you concentrated on receiving a message should she send another?” Squire continued driving and avoiding his question. But his knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel.

“I’ll know if she sends one. Now answer the question.” Damien’s patience had run out. This man poised a serious threat to he and Grace. He sensed a competitor but wanted to understand why.

“When we get Grace safely back, I’ll explain. Until we do, and I can speak privately with her, you’re shit out luck. Don’t like it, I can pull over and let you out.” Squire left little room to argue and as much as Damien’s instincts hummed to neutralize the threat, namely Squire, he couldn’t. Too much stood to chance with rescuing Grace. The more eyes scouring for her, the better. Not to mention they were in Squire’s vehicle. A four-wheel drive bulky guy car no less. A freaking Hummer. Damien thought of other hummers he’d have wanted more and from whom.

Pretty green grass … poles. Clean scent. Flags. Big bulletin boards with words … or numbers.

“She sent something else.” He blurted out what she’d shown him including the smell, to the best he could describe, before he called Beth on speakerphone.

“Beth, she sent more,” he spat, sounding curt but unable to change the anxiety building.

“What did you see?”

“A green manicured lawn cut short. I caught a glimpse of a big board with numbers or something. The place seemed familiar, but Jesus … I can’t … wait! A golf course. Are any courses or clubs near funeral homes?”

“I can do a Google map search. Trick’s running one now on hearses or funeral homes who use stallions as their logo. Give me five and I’ll call you back.”

“I vaguely remember a funeral home that fits the description, but I’ve been out of the loop for so long I can’t remember where.” Squire slammed his fist into the steering wheel and the Hummer swerved off road a minute.

A mere moment, but what seemed an eternity later, Beth called.

“We’re pretty sure we’ve got a lock on their location. The Swamp Lair Country Club. The place is a pretty exclusive, members only kind of thing, and the closest establishment happens to be a funeral home named Derbyshire Manor. That has to be where they are, Damien.”

Her caught the desperation in Beth’s voice. Understood her panic. One hundred percent.

“I agree. Let me give Squire the directions and we’ll meet you guys at the club. Stay outside the main entrance though. I don’t want to spook him and give him any reason to endanger Grace.”

The Hummer’s tires squealed as Squire peeled out in a U-turn to head back from the direction they came. Man had to be hitting close to a hundred and Damien had no complaints. The faster the better.

His phone went off again.

“Dude, we got the message. Lily and I’ll be there to back you guys up. I know, meet outside the gate. Beth already told me.”

Damien picked up Lily’s voice in the background. Sounded like the mousy girl had grown quite chatty while with Trick.

The rest of his ride was in awkward silence. Damien got the feeling he was being sized up. Fine with him. He and Squire would be squaring off soon.

And damned if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

• • •

“Veal Marsala, roasted red potatoes and peppers, steamed asparagus, and port wine. For dessert I took the liberty of ordering crème brûlée.” Demetrius pulled out the little white wooden chair from the table, which sat dead center on a golf course. She’d read the club sign on the way in and did her best to send the mental image of its name to Damien. Once they’d arrived, their driver remained with the hearse and Gregor and Marcus, or ink blot number one and ink blot number two, shadowed them, pun intended, to their table.

If she wasn’t mistaken, crème brûlée came flaming, or at the least was flamed tableside. If she was lucky, this exclusive club had a chef. One who would prepare the dish as it was meant to be served.

“Actually that sounds wonderful.” At least on the current topic of conversation she could be truthful. If he stayed on the conversation, stalling him until the others arrived, or the dessert did, left her with a decent shot at escape.

“I know we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but I assure you. I’m not the cad you believe me to be.”

Damn, but if Demetrius didn’t take a header off the safe topic bridge. Even he wouldn’t have been stupid enough if she jumped and agreed everything had been a misunderstanding. Wrong foot? Hell, more like two left feet kind of wrong. Playing it safe, she simply nodded.

“After my mother’s death, the society deemed me best suited to head the committee governing them. Most of the members are so old school stuffy, they wouldn’t be able to find their way out of a breadbox in broad daylight.” He shook his head as if completely baffled by the prospect. “They refuse to acknowledge the way of the future and insist upon keeping to the standards set by our forefathers. Quite unnecessarily barbaric.”

“You don’t say.” Damn, the quip slid off her tongue before she’d been able to prevent the slippage.

“Please don’t go and ruin our afternoon by being crass.” He forced direct eye contact and the serious set of his gaze alerted her he meant business. “I can be your ally or your enemy and the choice is entirely yours. However, I should add that if you choose to remain willingly by my side, I will assure the safety of your friends. So long as they don’t attack us, I will not go after them. Consider this another gift.”

“How can I even begin to tell them not to go after you? You people nearly destroyed their lives.” Her voice rose and the inky men drew closer until a flick of Demetrius’s hand stayed them.

“I’m sure you can be convincing under the right circumstances.” He slid another wrapped box across the table. “Go ahead and open your gift now.” Something in his voice threatened that whatever the box held would not be like the baubles he’d bestowed on her earlier.

Hands shaking, she gently unwrapped the shiny threat. Within the package was a small black box with blinking red light.

“Understand that even as we speak, there is bomb placed in the head of B.E.A.R.’s vehicle. You’d be surprised how easy hiding a bomb on a Hummer is.”

Her gut sank. Grace prayed he bluffed. If nothing else, prayed Damien rode with one of the others. If she lost her shifter … Tears threatened to spill. Again the swamp threatened to take what she loved. First Henry, now Damien.

No! Fuck that. This asshat was going down. She fingered the box as delicately as one would a sugar sculpture with wet hands.

“I give you the box to prove you control their fate. Not I. Give me your word you will remain at my side, and nothing will happen to your friends. And Grace, I will know if you’re lying.”

Without batting an eye, she said, “I give you my word.” And she did. He didn’t specify for how long. If she killed him, she would have still, technically, remained at his side.

Demetrius studied her a moment. Stared her directly in the eyes before thankfully nodding his approval and placing his napkin in his lap as if threatening others’ lives were but an entree to his main course.

Grace kept the box close. She wasn’t sure if he’d intended to disengage it then or later, and she damn sure didn’t want any accidents. Doing her best, she sent a mental image of the box. Demetrius stared so intently, she feared he somehow figured out what she was doing. But if so, he made no mention or move to stop her.

Lunch arrived, saving her from further conversation and during a moment when he turned away to take a phone call while covering the mouth piece with his hand, she stashed the knife that accompanied her meal under her thigh. He turned back, but not in time to see her pocket the weapon. Immobilizing Demetrius wouldn’t be her problem. Doing so while snatching the torch from the chef, if her plan worked out, would be the tricky part.

“You’ve barely touched your meal. Is something wrong with your food?” He snapped his fingers and moments later a man cruised up on a golf cart. The chef no doubt.

“No, no the food is wonderful. I’m just not a very big eater and wanted to save room for the decadent dessert you mentioned earlier.” She rubbed her stomach for good measure in such a way she hoped convinced him she was eagerly anticipating the dessert coming.

“Very well. Marshall, our guest is ready for her sweets. Please prepare her dish now.”

Now or never. Sadly, if she fucked up, it wasn’t only her ass on the line. She’d be responsible for who knew how many deaths. And Damien’s.

Failing was
not
an option.

Marshall, their chef, set about the dishes and ingredients required to make the famous dish. She slid the box under the table and hoped the old adage “out of sight, out of mind” rang true. The moment the chef rounded the table to Demetrius’s side, she snatched the knife she’d hidden and slammed it into Demetrius’s hand, which rested flat on the table. The chef, being a man of intelligence, turkey necked himself backward from the melee. The man even had the good sense to take off in the opposite direction. The two ink blots charged her as she suspected they’d do, and grabbing the cooking torch, she pulled the lever. The flame erupted to life as the dark duo converged on her.

Just as she’d suspected, they combusted in an eruption of red and blue foul-smelling flames. The heat scorched her face though she jumped as far away as possible from the volatile flames and stench. Damn but swamp gas stunk.

Because she’d been so close, her leap hadn’t been as quick as she’d hoped. The hem of her dress caught fire. She rolled in frantic fashion about the ground trying to put the burning fabric out. Intent and frazzled at being on fire, she never heard the yowl of pain or saw Demetrius as he yanked the steak knife out of his hand. Nor did the sight of his disappearance under the table come to light until she’d put out her smoldering dress and sat up.

Then she saw him. Noted what held and screamed when he pushed the flashing button on the bomb’s mechanism.

The explosion was immediate and close. Plumes of black smoke billowed from the entrance of the club. Time froze. Sounds went silent as an odd ringing started. Small and so faint at first but gaining momentum. Grace didn’t recognize what she listened to. But after a second of looking around, she realized the humming-like sound came from within.

The ground rumbled beneath her prone body and the world went into slow motion. When her eyes locked on Demetrius, she knew the moment the man began to fear. But it was too late. He’d started a sequence of events not even she could undo. Even as awareness settled and the carnage began, she didn’t attempt to stop it. With Damien’s image in her mind and Demetrius before her, she embraced the dark weaving itself within her magic … and her soul.