Chapter 18
eighteen
Zach might’ve felt lucky if she’d actually wanted to sit next to him, but he’d dropped down in the semicircular booth, and with Julia squeezed on her other side, she didn’t have a say in the matter.
“You mean you steal?” Sophie’s pretty eyebrows drew together, and she pushed a few stray curls out of her face. At least his shaman was taking an interest in things, instead of just going all pale and glaze-eyed. Some food perked her right up, thank God.
Julia gave a theatrically contemptuous little laugh. “We’re scavengers, honey.” His sister took a giant bite of cheeseburger, and Zach suppressed the desire to snap at her. “We pick up the bits and leavings. How do you think we live? Nothing’s free.”
Brenn signaled the harried waitress and asked for another side of fries.
The bleached blonde looked about to protest until Brenn gave her puppy-dog eyes, and the woman visibly melted.
Sophie’s quick, roving glance didn’t miss the exchange; she hurriedly took a sip of Diet Coke.
Zach tried not to hit her with his elbow, but it was close quarters with all of them crowded into the diner’s biggest booth.
It was good to feel a shaman in the Family again, good to see Eric stop twitching and Brenn open up a little bit, the ice and moonlight smell calming both younger brothers.
Julia was on her best behavior, making girl talk and acting world-weary.
The only thing missing was Kyle’s quick grin and sharp good humor.
Ky would’ve liked this woman. The thought was a hurtful jab.
She won’t see a hunting run for a while. Let’s be happy about that. “Enough.” He decided to stop trying to give her some space, and leaned a little closer. “We don’t just fleece, Sophie. We do leatherworking, Julia’s a fair seamstress too, and I’ve fixed cars before. We’re jacks-of-all-trades.”
“Oh.” Sophie nibbled at a French fry. “Like Romani, maybe? That’s the right word, I think.”
Djombrani are different, and there’s no love lost between us and the Rom.
“Kind of. And now that you’re with us, we can settle down and get real jobs.
” He almost smiled when she shifted her weight, nearly tipping herself into Julia’s lap, and settled back down next to him, her arm brushing his elbow.
Her hip bumped against his as well; the flush that went through him was pleasant and frustrating in equal measure.
She just smelled too good, and he was finding out that he liked her.
Every once in a while she would stop, look over the top of those steel-rimmed glasses, and take a deep breath as if readjusting the world. Each time, the ice and moonlight intensified, a powerfully soothing pulse spreading through them all.
When she did that, he wondered what it would be like to taste her breath. As it was, he got a drenching wave of scent whenever she moved—healthy, brunette spice with that silver thread of shaman running through.
It was enough to drive a man crazy. Especially with one of those curvy little hips touching him. And when she picked up her turkey sandwich, her elbow brushed his again and she granted a quick glance of apology.
Jesus. He was actually sweating. Not much, but enough to drive home the fact that she smelled too good to be left wandering around alone.
She’d already blooded him, so that was all right—not that he thought Eric would try to muscle in, and Brenn was far too submissive for her.
She needed someone who could bully her into taking care of herself, someone who—
Wait a second. Bullying her around is the worst thing to do. He listened with half an ear as Julia chattered, Sophie’s soft interested responses like music. Slow and easy, Zach.
He almost wished Ky was around to give him some advice. Women liked Kyle—it was the little-boy smile added to the stubble when he wore his rough face.
Zach’s hands tensed. There was that, too—vengeance for Kyle. A way for them to all avenge their brother, their alpha, one of their own.
The upir were working in concert, had killed his brother, and were after his mate.
Never mind that she didn’t know she was his. Yet.
He turned it over inside his head for the rest of the meal, watching the restaurant and keeping vague track of the conversation. Eric paid and tipped the waitress, Julia dragged Sophie off to the ladies’, and Brenn took one last, long pull at his milkshake.
“You’re awful quiet,” Brenn observed. His face hadn’t lost its baby look yet, smooth-cheeked and with only a suggestion of the strong jaw he’d eventually develop. The paleness beginning over his left temple marked him as young, too.
Zach could remember the kid in diapers, with an infectious, sunny smile. “Thinking.”
“About Kyle.” Brenn nodded. “Julia thinks it’s her fault.”
It was. But it wasn’t—if I hadn’t let Kyle take the alpha, he might still be alive. Goddammit. “Upir are nobody’s fault. They’re just carrion.”
“I know. But she doesn’t.” Brenn slid for the edge of the booth. “I like the shaman. She’s nice.”
And she’s got no choice, she admitted it herself. “She’s seen reason, I guess.”
“Or something.” Brenn grinned, and was gone before Zach could ask him what the hell that meant.
Zach made his way to the front counter, eyeing the newspapers in their little metal hutches. He was contemplating getting a toothpick when something snagged his attention.
What the hell?
MILLIONAIRE’S ESTRANGED EX-WIFE DEAD IN FIRE, the headlines screamed, in thick black ink. ARSON SUSPECTED.
Right under the headline, next to a block of dense text, was a spotty black-and-white picture of a younger Sophie, smiling broadly, probably a wedding picture since a small white forehead-band held a veil to her head. Obviously cropped out of a larger photo.
Huh. He dug in his pocket for quarters, found none, and took a quick look around. Nobody watching—the place was packed for dinner, waitresses hopping to and fro, the counter unattended. There was a clatter from the kitchen, one of the cooks cursing in a mumble as steam hissed.
Zach curled his fingers around the top of the door, gave a quick downward yank. A popping zing! lost under all the other noise, and it burst open pretty as you please. He grabbed a paper and shoved it closed.
Righteously purple prose, especially since the millionaire in question—Marc Harris, who didn’t rate a picture for some reason—owned a good chunk of real estate.
A few more pieces of the puzzle that was their new shaman snapped into place.
A “bitter divorce”, it said, but the accusations of domestic violence and stalking apparently weren’t news.
Why didn’t she move further away? But then he thought of her bare apartment, and how it took money to stay on the run. How jealously a rich man would guard his resources during a divorce—Sophie probably hadn’t had a choice. She was damn lucky to have had a friend helping her escape.
Her dead friend. Another thing to hold the upir to account for.
He scanned the rest of the article. They’d recovered a body identified as hers, but Sophie was alive and well.
You know, that just about screams “coverup.” He mulled over this for a few seconds, a shape he didn’t much like developing inside his head.
They needed a defensible place to stay, and they needed to make contact with any other Tribe in town. There had to be more. With other Tribe backing them and a place to stay, they could more than handle upir and make their shaman comfortable.
Think quick, Zach.
Julia’s voice floated across the restaurant. “He’s right there. Let’s ask.”
“I don’t—” Sophie began; he hurriedly folded up the newspaper, sticking it under his arm just as Julia bounced up.
“I want a cinnamon roll. There’s a place down the street. Can I take the shaman?” His sister bounced on her toes, long hair swinging. She sounded about twelve years old again, and for a moment he wished they’d found Sophie sooner.
Wishes don’t feed your Family, though. Or protect them.
Sophie’s shoulders slumped. She looked away, out the plate-glass window of the diner at the dull-splattering sleet. Eric arrived, picking at his teeth with a mint toothpick, looking supremely unconcerned.
“Can I?” Julia persisted.
“Later.” His gaze met Eric’s. “You two take Brenn. Find a place for our shaman to live—fleece a crowd if you have to. Get us a house. Somewhere in the suburbs, okay?”
Eric nodded. Blue eyes narrowed, but he wasn’t about to ask questions.
“But I want—” Julia subsided as he eyed her. She’s giving up way too easily, you know. Storing up trouble for later.
“Later,” he repeated. “Pick us up downtown near the fountain, at eight sharp. Got it?”
“Eight sharp. Where are you headed?” Eric dropped his gaze in case Zach didn’t want to say. Sophie began buttoning her new jacket—one of Kyle’s, actually, and far too big for her. Her black vinyl purse was still damp.
“We’re going to ask a few questions.” Zach weighed the information, decided to add a little more. “I’m taking our shaman with me and looking for Tribe.”
“But why? What’s the—” Julia shut her mouth so fast she almost lost a chunk of her tongue.
The growl retreated under Zach’s skin. Sophie was hugging herself now, pale eyes wide as plates.
He wanted to reassure her, tell her she wasn’t alone anymore, calm the rabbit-thumping of her pulse and the fear that was so much a part of her scent it almost canceled out all the calm a shaman could bring.
“Come with me, Sophie.” He didn’t phrase it as a request, which was wrong—even an alpha didn’t give a shaman orders.
Still, she nodded, a wildly curling sandalwood strand falling in her face. It hurt to see her almost-flinch, stiffening as he stepped close.
Well, he knew one thing for certain now.
Someone absolutely and specifically wanted her dead.
Maybe it was the upir, maybe not; didn’t make a goddamn bit of difference.
What mattered was protecting her, not just to keep his Family alive but also because of the way she glanced up at him—pale gaze stuttering to his face to read the emotional weather there, bracing herself for God alone knew what.
She shouldn’t have to look like that.
He was inside her personal space before he realized as much. She almost backed into Julia, who stepped smartly away. Zach caught Sophie’s arm, his fingers closing gently but irresistibly, and he realized what he was about to do only when his mouth met hers.
It was a brief pressure of lips, tasting of spearmint gum—how had she gotten hold of that? It didn’t matter, because the contact burned right through him, the smell of her filling his nostrils and the animal in him circling once, a fierce sweet pain in the center of his bones.
He inhaled just as she let out a soft, shapeless, shocked sound; her breath touched his mouth and for a moment he was drowning.
The rest of the world—diner, Family, rain, traffic a formless hum outside—vanished in a white glare, and he wouldn’t have cared if the whole world went up in flames just then.
He inhaled again as she breathed, the air touching his skin laden with her, an unfamiliar weakness spilling through him.
She was shaking like a rabbit. He blinked, loosening his fingers one by one, straightening. It took him two tries to find words.
“Everything’s okay, Sophie.” He wanted to rub his cheek against hers, bury his nose in her hair; the conflicting desires shook him before he clapped a lid on both.
She blinked. Her mouth slightly open, she looked dazed and adorable.
Those eyes of hers behind the glasses were velvet winter sky, with fine threads of gold in the iris.
If he looked closely he could see a very, very light feathering of paler hairs at her right temple.
She’d have a streak before long, when her body finished settling into the balanced chemistry of a shaman’s.
Just looking at her this close made him want to kiss her properly, but she wouldn’t be ready for that. He heard, very dimly, Brenn saying something and the diner’s door closing behind his Family.
They were alone now, just him and his shaman, standing in front of the cash register and a broken newspaper hutch. “We’re going to go visiting. I’ll ask the questions, you just sit and look pretty. Okay?”
Sophie blinked again, losing that dreamy look. She didn’t smell like fear now, which was a blessing. “I… I guess so. Why on earth did you do that?”
What, you can’t guess? His smile widened. He didn’t quite let go of her arm, and she didn’t resist as he pulled her toward the door, the newspaper tucked safely away. “Maybe I like you, shaman.”
“Maybe?”
You sound so surprised. “Definitely. Try to get used to it.”
She muttered something that sounded vaguely uncomplimentary, and he was surprised into a laugh. He really did like her. And there was an edge of something else creeping through her scent now, replacing that maddening tang of fear. Something warm and familiar, the first thread of a Carcajou’s musk.
All in all, Zach reflected, things were looking up. Though he still had to figure out who was trying to kill her.