Blood Rule Bonus Scene 2
Blood Rule
Deleted scene between Wes and Tara
Somewhere in Colorado
Tara
“I keep thinking this is all a bad dream. That I’ll wake up and be home, arguing with Jack about training or stuffing myself with Fee’s cookies so she won’t feel badly about baking so many.
I mean, this can’t really be happening, right?
” Tears threatened and I blinked, attempting to clear them.
Instead of dissipating, they hovered there, sheens of moisture on the edges of spilling.
“We’ll get back there, eventually.”
I could hear the false note of hope in his voice but decided not to point it out just now. I needed to hear the words even if we both knew the reality was a long shot.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. My mind was blessedly blank as I focused all my concentration into perfecting the clouds and sun I’d drawn with my stick.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured the cotton ball wisps of the cloud’s edges as they contrasted starkly again the cobalt blue canvas.
It could’ve been the sky’s view from anywhere, but for me, it could only be seen from the gazebo in my backyard.
“Home feels so far away,” I said into the silence. “And not just because of the miles separating us.”
I heard him breathe heavily in then out and slowly I raised my eyes to his.
He sat cross-legged on the ground a few feet away, his eyes flickering between my face and the drawing I’d made in the dirt.
His jaw was set and determined, whether to get me home or just to make me believe he would, I wasn’t sure.
“Do you remember that day we played pool together, right after we first met?” he asked.
I blinked. “At that dive bar?”
“That place is great,” he said, puffing up his chest in mock offense.
I felt my mouth loosen at the edges. “Even the rust had rust on it.”
“Huh. Okay, fine. It might’ve been a little rough around the edges.”
I wrinkled my nose as I remembered the place.
It had been more than just rough around the edges.
Wes had taken me there not long after we’d met to distract me from the fact that I was being hunted.
I hadn’t known Leo, then. I’d only barely learned what it was to be a Hunter.
It was a good memory for me, a break in the chaos. “What about it?” I asked.
“Do you remember all those questions you asked to get to know me? My favorite color? Favorite holiday?”
“Yes. You told me your favorite food was burgers and I asked if you liked your meat rare.”
“You meant raw,” he pointed out.
“That was before I knew you were so civilized,” I said, emulating his earlier defensive tone.
Our eyes locked and slowly, as if each inch were a mile, I felt my mouth curve upward at the edges. Wes gave a small smile of his own. “And if I remember correctly, I beat you that night,” I teased, not wanting the small moment of pleasure to end.
He shrugged and leaned back, balancing on his palms. “It doesn’t really count, though, since pool isn’t a sport.”
“Like hell!” I chucked a pine cone at him but he ducked and it missed. He grinned. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d beat me.”
“I could’ve if I’d wanted to. Stakes weren’t high enough.”
“Stakes …? Wait, are you saying you let me win?”
He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself.
“You’re a liar and I’ll prove it. Rematch.”
“Fine when, and if, we ever get near a pool table again, I’ll take you on. But you have to make it worth my while.”
I bit back a smile. “Shake on it.”
He chuckled. “Fine. We’ll shake on it.” He stuck his hand out and I took it. Before I could pull away, he yanked on our joined hands and I tumbled forward, landing sprawled on top of him. I stared down at him in surprise and felt him shake with laughter.
“You can’t—” My words were cut off when he pulled my face down and pressed his lips to mine.
His kisses were hard and fast and exactly what I needed. For just a moment, I was able to forget everything. The murders, the interrogations, the manhunts—it all faded away behind a curtain and left me with only this moment, my feelings for Wes, this kiss.
Wes ended it far too soon, but even then, his breathing was labored, his eyes wild with hunger. “The deal is officially sealed,” he said in a husky voice. It took me a moment to remember we’d just made a bet of some kind.
Wes carefully extracted his fingers from where they’d tangled in my hair and we sat up, much closer now than we’d been before.
Our knees touched where we faced each other and Wes’s arms wound around my shoulders.
His hand smoothed my hair and slipped underneath to cradle the base of my neck.
His smile faded as we stared at each other, replaced by a fierce determination that held none of the fear or uncertainty it had earlier.
“I will get you home, Tara. I promise you that. You can trust me.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His words alone weren’t enough to cover the doubt but his expression as he said them made my breath catch.
“Do you trust me?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I whispered. “With my life.”
Again, his expression changed and his gaze darted away from mine. He sat back and cleared his throat. “There’s one thing you never asked me that day at the pool hall.”
“What’s that?”
“My favorite song.” His eyes flickered down and away, never quite settling on my face.
“Oh.” He was right, I hadn’t. Although, I couldn’t figure out where he was going with this now, or why he’d be nervous about it. I cocked my head. “What is your favorite song?”
“If you’d asked me then, I’d probably have answered with something by Matchbox Twenty or Fuel but … I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and … I have something to show you.”
“Okay, what is—” My response was cut short as he got to his feet and disappeared into the trees.
A moment later, he returned. He carried something long and slender in his hand.
It blended into the darkness until he turned and something long and delicate caught the light. A string. “Is that a guitar?”
“Yeah.” He sat on the ground in front of me and cradled the guitar, picking at the chords and then adjusting the knobs along the handle.
“You play?” I asked, surprised.
“A little,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’d like to play you my favorite song. Would that be okay?”
I nodded and he began to play. The melody was slow at first, his movements stiff and unsure, but after a few seconds, the notes smoothed out. The music was deep and flowing and hauntingly beautiful. Then he began to sing.
While he sang, he watched me. My arms, my legs, my throat.
Hardly ever my eyes. If he did look at my face, his gaze skittered away like a frightened animal before I could catch him looking.
The lyrics, combined with his nervous energy, made my chest tighten.
My skin hummed where his eyes trailed and I had to stop myself from closing the distance and shoving the guitar out of the way.
It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And he was mine.