Dark Desires After Dusk (15 page)

Crossing to the dining table, he set down the plastic bag of food. Finding her something to eat actually
had
turned into a hunt—because she had such strict criteria.
He'd watched her enough to learn about her eccentric eating habits.

Cade had wondered why she hadn't hurried into the shower and been dressed by the time he returned, but now as his gaze swept the room, he realized she hadn't been able to drag herself away from rearranging everything not nailed down.

Three of the four chairs were neatly pushed in. With the fourth, she'd propped the chair's back against the table, leaning it forward on two legs. She'd clearly remade the bed and adjusted the pillows on the room's small sofa, which she'd also moved a few feet over.

The alarm clock on the bedside table was flush against the wall with no wire to be seen, and the remote control sat at a right angle to the center of the clock. The trash can was pressed directly against one end of the dresser, her suitcase against the other end. Her wireless laptop and cell phone sat perfectly parallel on the desk, charging.

Cade needed to check his e-mail and sports scores and map out their route for the day, so he opened her computer, and signed in as a guest. After routine Web stuff, he Googled a couple of things, unsurprised to find that she had the safe content filter on.

He leaned back in his chair, trying to imagine a life filtered of anything sexual.

Not worth living.

Hell, he was one to talk. He hadn't been with another woman since the day he'd met Holly, the longest stretch of celibacy since he'd first had sex. A few months ago, when he'd finally become convinced he could never have Holly, Cade had given a halfhearted try for a witch, but she'd wanted another.

Now he was glad of it.

He set the laptop back on the table, his attention drifting to her suitcase. Cade was itching to get a look at Nïx's letter. Thinking this a fine time to snoop, he crouched beside the bag, dragging it away from the wall so he could open the top wide.

After rooting through her folded skirts and sweater sets, he opened the side compartment, raising his brows at the contents.
“Hellooo, lingerie,”
he murmured.

Cade considered himself a male of simple tastes. He didn't need outrageous lingerie to turn him on. But the thought of prim Holly in those wicked scraps of silk sent blood rushing to his groin . . . .

She emerged then, wearing a bathrobe drawn up to her neck. “What are you doing?” she cried.

“Looking for Nïx's letter.”

“You can't just go through my belongings!”

“I never would've suspected such naughty underthings from prim Miss Ashwin.” He hooked his forefinger under the waistband of a thong, then spun it around.

“Give those back!” She snatched it away. “Nïx did this! She swapped out all my underwear and hose.”

He didn't doubt it, but still said, “Yeah,
right
. Why would she do that?”

“I don't know—how could I possibly explain her actions?”

He snagged another pair of tiny panties, holding them up with both hands. “Then I bet a thong like this would still be feeling . . .
unusual
.”

“Ooh, give it!”

Before she could lunge for it, he rose, tossing it back
in the bag as if he'd grown bored with it. “Now I have to wonder what's under all that terry cloth.” He pulled out another one of the chairs, then sank down.

She jutted her chin. “Regular pj's.”

“Bullshite. Then let me see.”

“I don't have to prove anything to you.”

He leaned back with his hands behind his head. “I've seen all the goods, Holly. Not even half a day ago, so the memory's still fresh. No need to choke yourself with terry cloth,” he said, but she wasn't listening, her sad-eyed gaze back on the pile of her now unfolded clothes.

“I'll have to redo everything.” She looked so despondent that he decided to cut her a break on his teasing.

“What would happen if you didn't?”

“I would be a basket-case, unable to think about anything else.” When she bent down to repack, her robe tightened over her ass, drawing his eyes like a magnet.

She shivered, then frowned at him over her shoulder.

“You can feel my eyes on you,” he explained. “Immortals sense things more acutely. Sound, sight, even tactile perception. We call it
hypersensitivity
. You'll get used to it in time.”

Once she was finished with her bag, she stood, no doubt scanning for more disarray. If her eyes had gone wild at the sight of him scrounging through her bag, then seeing her laptop open and out of place made her sway on her feet. “No . . . you . . . my
computer?
”

Holly cast him the same look he'd give a hellhound that had eaten his Super Bowl tickets. She secured the laptop, assessing it, turning it this way and that. “Your hands were
sticky
! Oh, God!”

He might've had a donut or two while he'd been waiting for his order.

She dove for her antibacterial wipes. Sitting on the bed, she turned from him, hunching over the computer, wiping it down.

He could only watch her actions in grim fascination, noting her shoulders rising and falling as she took deep, calming breaths.

Apparently reassured that nothing was screwed, she put the computer back on the desk, arranging it by the cell phone, then smoothed the comforter where she'd sat.

“Look, Cadeon,” she began, but her gaze drifted back to the computer. She hurried back, adjusting it less than a millimeter to one side, then started again. “Last night I was too stunned to react to half the things you did. Now I'm not. You won't be able to treat me as you have been.”

“Oh? Like with the saving your life and then driving you all night while you slept?”

“Like with the t-touching my computer. That was . . . bad. I'm not saying you can't use it—I don't mind sharing. But I need to sign you in and make sure you know how to treat it properly.”

“I wasn't downloading porn or anything.”
Didn't occur to me at the time.
“Just Googled some things and checked our route for tonight.”

“Well, that's not the only area with you that has to change. There can't be any more planning to undress me as I sleep or bursting in on my shower and ogling me. Or even calling me those sexist pet names.”

“You mean my endearments? What's wrong with them?”

“They're belittling to women.”

He shook his head firmly. “None doing. It's just habit. This is the way males used to talk to females. And the endearments are female specific.”

“Like how?”

“Like
pet
or
poppet
? I only call females I like by those.” Only females he
really
liked.
Pet
was proprietary and
poppet
indicated affection. In other words, he'd never used those terms before. “If I'm not interested in a female, I'll call her
sweet, sweetheart,
or
dove
.”

“Should I feel moved by this revelation? Honored to be deemed
poppet
?”

“I was going for charmed. But you're a hard one, pet.”

“I'd be more inclined to be charmed if you had any respect for my privacy.”

“We're going to be stuck together for at least a couple of weeks. Maintaining privacy would take too much effort, and would be futile anyway.”

She pursed her lips, as if she couldn't argue with that. “Well, what about your cursing? Must you be so foul-mouthed around me?”

“I've been using those words since before humans decided they were
foul
.” He began to set out food from the bag.

“Those kinds of terms are very jarring to people who were raised to avoid them . . . .” She trailed off. “Are those oatmeal pancakes?”

“They are.”

“With honey?”

“Of course.”

He knew her mouth was watering. “There wasn't any orange juice?”

“Oh, there was.”

He dug into another bag and produced individually packaged cereals, a plastic spoon still in its wrapper, a sealed carton of milk and one of orange juice.

She narrowed her eyes. “All prepackaged. Exactly how long have you been watching me, Cadeon?”

“Long enough to know what you
like
to eat, and what you
will
eat . . .”

I
guess I wasn't that hungry anyway.” Holly pushed her plate away after finishing only half of her breakfast.

“It's the change,” Cadeon said. “Valkyrie don't eat.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Dunno. How's it possible for shifters to change form, or witches to move things with their minds?”

After she threw the breakfast trash away, fatigue set in. It didn't help when he turned on a low lamp and pulled the heavier layer of drapes closed.

She sank down on the edge of the bed. Her body was exhausted, but her senses felt alive, humming. Hypersensitivity? She believed it. And now she was in a darkened hotel room, alone with a demon she'd had not-so-subtle dreams about.

Though she'd have thought his horns would be off-putting—not to mention his boorish behavior—she was actually feeling an inexplicable attraction to the demon. And she'd already had trouble controlling her urges.

Holly had experienced a variety of fears and idiosyncrasies and had been medicated for them. Now without her medicine . . . what would she do?

Somehow, she had to get her refills, not only to stifle these compulsions—but also to slow this progression.

Progression?
Could she possibly get worse?

She recalled her parents taking her to Pompous Shrink,
the “best in the state.” He'd droned on and on about her fragile mental health to her poor parents . . . .

“This is a classic case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. An OCD patient experiences a constant fear of transformation,” he'd said. “She'll dread losing her sense of self, often experiencing impulses to act out of character. As these impulses can cause a great deal of anxiety, the patient will begin performing compulsive acts in order to suppress them. The stronger the urge, the more compulsive the behavior.”

Oh, and there were chemical imbalances, too. “Most likely inherited from her mystery parents,” he'd said with a resigned sigh, as if he'd seen this all before. “And exacerbated by Holly's insecurities over being adopted.”

She'd never
had
insecurities about that. Her parents had been incredible—patient, encouraging, and loving. But they'd begun blaming themselves for her unusual behavior, looking for some fault in her upbringing, something they'd needed to provide for her but hadn't.

Her mom had apologized to Holly before she'd died . . . .

At that memory, she dropped her head into her hands.

“Whoa, halfling!” Cade quickly sat beside her. “What's the matter?” When she didn't answer, he said, “I'm not the type of male who's good at this sort of thing, this . . . comforting. But maybe . . . do you, uh, want to talk to me about what's going on in that head of yours?”

At length, she said, “It's all so bewildering. I mean, just last night, I was drugged and kidnapped, and then . . .” She trailed off.

“And then what? Tell me what happened to you.”

Her voice had turned to a whisper. “It was horrifying. I woke up, and I was . . . naked, stripped for some kind
of ritual. There were all these men watching me. I tried to reason with them, to beg them to let me go, but they just laughed and ignored me. Then, when it was about to begin, I shrieked.”

“Valkyrie shriek.”

She nodded. “Louder than anything I've ever heard. And the glass dome above broke. Then lightning struck me directly in the chest, and it went on and on. I don't remember much after that. I just recall feeling this rage, this uncontrollable need to do violence.”