Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (37 page)

He honed in on Sadie, who
was in the building, coming up the elevator. Was it her? Was she in
danger? He was far from a messenger and would never claim to have
that kind of prescient power
,
yet his gut was warning him of something. “We
can’t meet him here. If he really has been blood using, even if
not, he could give in and feed off her energy just for a
fix.”

He hated the very thought
that his former friend and teammate had gone vampire. Blood
addiction might be the scariest, most
devastating
downfall Elijah had ever
witnessed for any immortal. And in a hundred years of hunting
criminal immortals, he’d seen plenty.

“You don’t know he’s ever used. Not for sure.
And if he has, he’s sober now.

“How would you know?”

“I asked. He promised me.”

“And you trust the word of an addict?” Elijah
kept his eyes on the elevators. Any moment now, he’d glimpse them
opening through the racks, Sadie exiting one. In truth, trusting
Lyric’s ability to control his powers was only one of his concerns.
"What happens if he can't sense any more than I can in Sadie? Have
you considered that?"

“I did. Of course I did.”
She put a hand on his arm
,
but she sparked against his skin and pulled it
away. “And
i
f he
tries to get a fix off of her, I’ll help you shield
her.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, Holly was right. He
had to try to trust Lyric again. His energy drew closer to the
library. Elijah estimated no more than a few minutes until Lyric
arrived.

Possessiveness over Holly,
over their months of research, scouring archives
,
hunting down evidence of a myth,
reared up within Elijah.

“Perceptive as Lyric is,
bringing in anyone else feels wrong.” But the question lingered
unspoken
;
where
else could they possibly look? They were out of options. “Sadie
shouldn’t be put in danger to satisfy our curiosity.”

“He won’t hurt her. I promise you. We’ll
protect her. If she is what I think she is, and Lyric comes back on
as well….” She carefully cupped his cheek, forcing him to look her
in the eye. For once, her hand felt cool to the touch, revealing
how certain she was of this test. “If there’s a chance, the
smallest chance, doesn’t Crusoe deserve it?”

He couldn’t hide his pain or take the bare
emotion collected in and glowing in her gaze. He looked away.
“Crusoe would have done better,” he said and removed her hand. “If
it was us, he’d have found us.”

Crusoe was the best seeker in the entire
immortal realm.

“Never say that,” she said,
gripping his hand as though it could force his answer. “Once we’re
all together again, we will find Crusoe. Holding the last year
against Lyric
won’t
help now, Elijah."

Time yet closed in on them.

Crusoe could be dead, or worse. He could be
converted, brainwashed by the Illeautians. Elijah was failing him.
Leave it to Holly to see his silence as a sign of hope.

Sparks flashed in Holly’s eyes. “You’ll thank
me for this.”

Elijah forced his gaze to the page of notes
under his clenched hands. Underlined random, repeating questions,
his inky stabs in the dark, mocked him. Sadie neared them now.
Despite his stress and fatigue, the edge to his emotions softened.
He concentrated, inverting his energy. He didn’t like to, but he
might have to repel her.

One thing he knew, Lyric wouldn’t be reading
her until Elijah knew she’d be safe from any wish that the feeder
would bleed her emotions dry.

~

The lemony Arizona sunshine
warmed Sadie Grave
’
s shoulders
,
but prickly dread iced her spine as Sadie entered the ASU
campus library—her work—where her internal clock began
ticking.

Inevitably, she would tell on herself.

Over the course of the next three hours, if
she didn’t get a better strategy, everything she’d fought for could
be taken away. Her shrink would sniff out her secret. But what
could she distract Dr. Meyers with? There was work: “How do you
like volunteering, Sadie?” Or family: “How do your sister’s
concerns make you feel, Sadie?” Ten minutes in, Sadie would be
staring into a gawping silence, itching to spill her loose beans.
If the silence didn’t work, a psychological interrogation worthy of
the CIA would.

The glass doors hushed
behind her as she stepped inside the library. Sadie’s cousin, Jen,
had pulled several
ropes
to get her this library volunteer gig. Jen
definitely went above and beyond family obligation, renting a room
out to Sadie, too. Tandem garage space to paint canvas or whatever
else included.

“Breathe, Sadie,” she whispered to herself.
“Good. Now smile. It ain’t three o’clock yet.”

Sadie focused on blending
in as she came around
the
main desk and checked in with her boss,
Cynthia.

“Sadie, I need you in an hour or so for
microfiche,” Cynthia said. “We need you trained on it by next
week.”

“Okay.” In other words,
‘finally’ and ‘or else’. If she could get off the stupid meds she
never needed to begin with, she’d be normal again. She’d be able to
master simple tasks like microfiche. Soon enough, she told herself,
soon enough. Pushing back her anxiety, Sadie signed in and scanned
the area for Ben, her one friend in the place. There would be
oodles of time to sweat later. Besides, it was just microfiche and
last night’s dream was just that—a dream
.

Right? A delicious secret dream that,
unfortunately, also spelled crazy in certain medical terms.

Technically, a dream on its
own did not equate psychosis. The dream’s reoccurrence might,
though. Feeling they contained some undecipherable message didn’t
help. Add in the fact that a not
-
so
-
small part of her believed the
dream. Not good. Definitely a checkmark on the ‘Sadie needs a
Straightjacket’ list. Any additional symptoms—strong headaches,
auditory or/and visual hallucinations—and she vowed to definitely,
dutifully disclose everything to Dr. Meyers.

Even her highly embarrassing crush on one
handsome stranger, and all the naughty things he kept doing to her
in said dreams.

Right down to the undecipherable message in
his kisses and whispers.

Everything.

But not until she had no other choice.

Sadie adjusted the bag slung over her
shoulder and headed for the elevators to the upper stacks. Ben
hurried to her side from the stacks.

“Hey, you. Tell me you came hungry today.”
Ben fell into step with her.

He didn’t mean for food. “Famished,” she said
and tripped on the carpet. Ben caught her elbow and helped her
regain her balance.

“Don’t you dare look,” he said in a low
voice, pausing until they’d passed the information desk. “But our
dear missus Cynthia is sporting a black eye today. Huh-uh, Sadie,
not a peek.”

Sadie resisted. “Really?” Cynthia had seemed
fine. Of course, she generally noticed very little once her
handsome stranger lit her brain. “I didn’t notice at all.
Make-up?”

“Piles of make-up.” Ben went on, explaining
how he spotted it, who he figured gave it, etcetera, etcetera.

Sadie half listened,
absorbing her surroundings, glimpsing down aisles, listening to
shuffling pages, smelling the book
-
fragrant air. Hearing the thrumming
of her heart.

He
might be here today. And if he was, she was going to make
contact. Because the dream seemed to be begging her to. Because she
had to see for herself if it was the same him, namely, if he had
wings. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Of course he didn’t have
wings.

“Are you coming?” Ben urged from inside the
elevator. She had missed the telltale ding. Rubbing at the heat in
her cheeks, she joined Ben, careful to avoid the metal lip her toe
liked to kiss.

“What’s up with the chipped blue polish?” Ben
asked, pushing four. “Don’t go Goth, Sadie. It won’t suit your
freckles.”

Sadie looked down. Uh-oh. She hadn’t scrubbed
all the oil paint off. She’d better before three. Her sister would
just love the idea of Sadie painting again.

“I’ll bet that black eye makes Cynthia’s nose
hurt, too,” Ben was saying as the metal cart lumbered upward. “See
if she can sniff at me now.”

“Ben, I think she has allergies,” Sadie said,
mentally rejoining the conversation.

“Bullshit. She thinks she’s
better than me. But look who got clocked. I wonder who did it….”
Sadie
’s
attention
wandered.

What the hell would she do
if he did have wings
,
anyways? Run and tell someone? Uh, no. Her belly did a
somersault.

The elevator opened. Ben was awaiting further
response.

“Really?” she said, struggling to recall what
else he’d said. She kept pace with him to the rear office for their
first re-shelving load.

“Yes, really….”

Rows of empty computers
hummed in the background. Somewhere nearby, someone coughed.
Sadie’s eyes scanned for a glimpse of black.
He
wore black. Black shirt, black
buckle
-
laden
boots.

Except in her dreams. Her dreams were
drenched in blues, even those of him in bloody battle, red flames
licking the edges. Blues dressed in black. Except when he wore
nothing at all. Nothing but bare glistening skin and gossamer
wings. Heat spread over her neck just thinking of the shimmery
things tickling over her arms and thighs as he nuzzled the
sensitive spot behind her ear.

Goosebumps raced over her forearms. Sadie
rubbed at them.

“…in the aisles all the time while they think
no one is looking. He looks like he could be violent, too.”

Hearing the word ‘violent’ tugged her back to
the present.“Who?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. You’re
distracted. And I know why.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You’re not the only heart
skipping beats hoping Angel Eyes will be here again. But once we
take in a long drink of him, you head straight up there and see for
yourself. It’s her left eye.” He swept a forefinger under his eye
with flare. Sadie tried to imagine Ben ever having the opportunity
to get a black eye. Not likely. Who could possibly punch such a
cherubic face? “You tell me if you don’t see a puffy dark area
under all that concealer. Promise?”

“Promise.” She glanced down an aisle, scanning the
north end set of tables. Movement caught her eye. A shot of black.
Tingles blossomed through her chest and belly.

He was here.

God, if she could tell Ben
about the dreams. But she couldn’t. He’d devour every detail,
particularly the secret message part. Who wouldn’t? But then he’d
give her ‘the look’. That wary stare reserved for the certifiable
that Sadie
never wanted to
witness again. Once in anyone’s life is too
much.

“Yes, yes. He’s here,” Ben sang. He picked up
his stride, took her forearm and pulled her into the closet sized
office. “But I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”

“What? Why?”

“Huh-uh. First, m’lady, I bear a gift.” With
a grand flourish, he bowed. Ah, Ben and his whimsy. “Three
guesses,” he said.

She didn’t want to play this game. But Ben
could be a pit bull with his gossip. “Okay, okay. You talked to him
and he fell madly in love with you?”

“I like it, but alas, no.”

She hated this. “You followed him to his
hotel and found his plane ticket and he’s leaving today.”

“Better.”

“He was on America’s Most Wanted.”

He crossed his arms, jutted
his hip. “Bite your tongue, girl,” he mouthed. “Our boy may be
bad
,
but not
criminal!”

Sadie managed to laugh, pulling her favorite,
limp-free cart out. “You met Cher and she’s leaving her wigs to
you?”

“I wish.” Ben rolled his eyes but
grinned.

“I give up. I have absolutely no idea.”

Ben leaned in. “Okay. But I’m warning you. Do
not try to kiss me. Promise?”

Sadie nodded, adrenaline sparking in her
veins.

“Are you ready?” His eyes glinted, his
fingers twittering in the air. “I have his name.” He covered his
loud gasp.

“His name? What is it?” Her heart hiccupped
into triple time. Her cheeks flushed hot. She would die if anyone
else witnessed how much this affected her. Ben binged on her
reaction, prolonging the moment.

Before she went to strangle the name from
Ben’s writhing body, he spoke. “Elijah. Stokes.”

Elijah? His sculpted features, his mahogany
eyes, the shadow of stubble along his angular jaw. The quiet,
serpentine way he moved.

She blinked hard, suppressing the urge to
clap and squeal in delight. “Elijah Stokes?” Her tone sounded
impressively even considering the riot in her belly.

A name shouldn’t mean so much. Yet it
did.

Sadie sagged into a chair, struggling to
compose herself. She bit her inner cheek. “Elijah, huh?” she said,
forcing herself to sound casual.

Those mahogany eyes staring into the ether,
his mind snared by some observation within the books he scoured
week in and out, strong hands toying with whatever hung from the
long gold chain around his neck.

Ben pressed his lips together, nodding,
triumphant. “You’re welcome.”