Seduced by Crimson (29 page)

Then his hip began to vibrate. His cell phone. She pulled away as he groaned. He twisted so that he could keep one arm looped casually around her, and the other hauled out his phone.

Xiao Fei gestured to a nearby bench. "You want me to step away?"

He shook his head. "I just have to report in to Mr. Pete the Pompous. Geez, why did the demons have to invade on
his
watch?" With an exaggerated eye roll, he flipped open his phone. "Yeah?"

Xiao Fei couldn't hear the other half of the conversation, but then again, she didn't need to. Patrick's body language gave it all away. It told her quite clearly that he was tired, both physically and mentally. So she led Patrick to the bench, clearing off the sand and grit as best she could before they sat down.

Patrick said, "Redondo Beach, and yeah, I know. That was us." There was a long pause. "Yeah, I know." He let his head drop to the back of the bench and stared sightlessly up at the sky. "Yeah," he repeated, louder this time. "I know. We failed."

Xiao Fei curled tight to his side. She knew she ought to watch for demons or werewolves or all things deadly on this deserted beach, but it was early morning, the area felt deserted, and Patrick seemed to need her closeness more than he needed a sentry. Or was it that she needed to feel him around her more than she needed to protect herself from danger?

She frowned. This surfer druid had become much too important to her in a very short time. Especially considering how they'd begun.

"I know," Patrick said into his phone, a clear edge to his voice. "Damn it, Peter, I know, but what the hell do you want me to do about it?" Tension was pouring off him in waves. He'd stiffened in his seat. Then he straightened, dislodging Xiao Fei from where she was tucked against him. When she made to draw away, he abruptly pulled her back.

"No. Peter, no. I need some time to figure things—I know. Goddamnit, Peter!" Then Patrick abruptly pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped it shut. "Oops," he drawled at the device. "I think we got cut off. Boy, cell phone service sure is flaky right now."

"He'll call back in a minute," Xiao Fei guessed.

"He can try." Patrick held down a button and his phone chirped a cheerful good-bye.

"You told him we were here."

He frowned. "Yeah, I guess I did, but he lives in Malibu. It'll take him a while to get here."

"He wasn't so happy."

Patrick glanced wryly at her. "Nobody's happy right now—not even the demons."

She couldn't disagree with that. She looked out at the waves. Patrick was right. If it weren't for the demons, it would be a great day for surfing.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Patrick's question broke awkwardly into her thoughts.

"What?"

"Why did we run out of a nice cozy bed into a demon attack?"

She flushed and pushed off the bench. "Oh,
that
what."

He stood as well. "Yeah, that what."

She didn't answer. Instead, they both began walking. She hadn't a clue to where, except that he was aiming her off the beach, up a concrete flight of stairs to the street above. "Xiao Fei—"

"It was just a nightmare," she said.

"Yeah, maybe, but I think you were dreaming about Cambodia. I think you were remembering the gate closing there."

She jerked sideways against the handrail. Not the most subtle of reactions, but she wasn't controlling herself as much as usual. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I dreamed it, too."

She stared at him, her mouth ajar. She just couldn't fathom that this man—this damn stranger—could possibly be so far into her head. "You're a freak," she said. "You know that, don't you?"

He laughed. "You kill things by bleeding on them—how freaky is that?"

"Only bad things!" she argued.

"Werewolves aren't bad, necessarily. Neither are vamps."

She rolled her eyes. "You're still a freak." She turned back to climbing the steps. "And stay out of my head."

"Tell me about the dream, Xiao Fei," he demanded.

"You were there. You tell me about it." She didn't understand why she was being so irritable. Lack of sleep, psychic druid, demon gate—any or all of those could be the reason, she supposed. Or maybe it was a simple lack of caffeine. "You think there's a coffee shop open anywhere?"

He shrugged. She could feel the motion because he grabbed hold of her arm and held her still. "It's weirding me out too, Xiao Fei. I've never shared anyone's thoughts or dreams before. Not like this."

"Lucky me," she drawled, and tried to pull away. He held her fast.

"It makes sense, you know. We're trying to merge with—"

"We did merge," she snapped.

"—the world, each other, and the gate too. Mix in certain strong feelings, and it makes sense that everything would bleed from you into me."

She shoved away. "It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense."

"Now you're being petulant."

"And you're being a know-it-all!"

His step hitched. "A what?"

"I don't know what petulant means!" she bellowed at him. "It wasn't in my ESL class." He frowned and she growled, "English as a Second Language."

"Oh. Right."

She turned and started stomping away. There had to be a coffee shop somewhere around here. She was damn well going to get some caffeinated tea if she had to break in to get it.

"Stop, Xiao Fei! Just stop. Too much is at stake for you to run away like this," Patrick called.

"I'm not running." She was, in fact,
stomping
away.

He caught up easily. And with his long legs he made it seem like a casual morning stroll. "You're running from the question. You're making up something to be pissed off—"

"I don't have to make up stuff to be pissed about."

"You're picking a fight; you're stomping off. You're doing everything but talking about the one thing we need to discuss."

She knew he was right, but that didn't erase the burning anger that gripped her heart.

"Step outside of yourself, Xiao Fei. Step away from the fear and the hurt and the trauma. I know it's hard, but you've got to.
We've
got to."

"Don't psychoanalyze me," she snapped. But then, to her horror, her vision blurred with tears. Tears? Goddamned tears
now
? What the hell was she crying for? They'd tried to close the gate and they'd failed, end of story. Except, of course, for the hordes of demons who were no doubt scouring the city for her. She swiped angrily at her cheeks and started walking away. "It's over, Patrick. We failed. Now go away."

"No."

She thought she'd left him behind. She hadn't heard him move, didn't think he had followed her, but she should have known better. She suddenly felt his arms enfold her from behind. He was the one who was weak; he'd just fought a demon horde and lost consciousness. He should have been easy for her to brush off.

Instead, he wrapped her in his strength, and she found herself falling backward into him. On some level, she knew he was right. He was smart; he knew things. If he said they had to think about what had happened, he was probably right. But damn it, it was so hard. Everything, right then, was so damn hard.

He pressed his lips against her temple. "It'll be okay, Xiao Fei. I won't abandon you. I'm right here. We'll figure it out together. It'll be okay." His words went on, the same sentences repeated with such feeling that she couldn't help but believe. He murmured his support, and she absorbed his strength. That was no small thing for her when she felt so alone, so lost.

She turned into his arms and gripped him back, sobbing, though where the hell all those tears came from, she'd never know. She wasn't a crier, never had been. But he'd folded her in his arms and she'd just lost it.

As her grief poured out of her, so too did some of the pain and a great deal of fear. And in the hole left by all those tears, she felt something else grow, something from him: strength, power, maybe even a little determination.

"Don't let the bastards win, Xiao Fei. Let's end this demon war before it really begins. We can still do it. Together."

"American idealist crap," she muttered against his now-wet shirt. "John Wayne was an idiot."

"Afraid to believe in a happily-ever-after?"

"Cambodians know what comes 'ever after.' We believe in death, in struggling to survive and failing in this ugly, ugly world."

"And yet you're alive. I'm alive. And we're living in the wealthiest country on the planet."

"That's now under attack by demon hordes."

He shrugged. "Can't have everything."

She took a deep breath and absorbed his scent, his comfort, and his hope. "But we're gonna try, aren't we?"

He tightened his hold on her, just for a moment, then drew back. "Yes. We'll find breakfast, we'll get some coffee, and we'll figure this out together."

She shrugged. Still, there was hope in the gesture—hope she'd gathered from him. "I suppose I can pretend to be a flaky, idealistic American for a little while."

"That's my girl."

"But only if you feed me waffles and black tea."

"Breakfast of champions," he said.

"With strawberries and whipped cream."

He grinned. "Is there any other way?"

And so they would create the Great Plan to Save the World. Assuming, of course, that they could find an open IHOP.

Some things could be counted on, even during a great demon offensive. The sun always rose, the guys with money had all the power, and Americans loved their breakfast foods. Not only was the International House of Pancakes open; it was hopping—so to speak. And since this was Redondo and right on the beach, no one commented on their lack of shoes.

Xiao Fei smiled and shoveled in cholesterol-filled yumminess. She had to admit, a possible life under demon control didn't seem so bad as long as the syrup kept flowing. The tea wasn't her special brand; it wasn't even Chinese tea, but it contained caffeine, so it satisfied her craving.

Patrick grinned back. He seemed to be enjoying his omelet with a side of blueberry pancakes and the bottomless cup of coffee.

But then Patrick ended their little idyll. When he set down his fork, she knew it was time to talk. Mr. Ph.D. wanted to sort things out, to analyze the facts and come up with a plan. That was right, of course, but it didn't make the coming discussion any more appealing to Xiao Fei. So she delayed by eating more, though she already felt stuffed. She even ordered a refill on her tea, but the end was still the same.

"Tell me about your dream," Patrick said.

She sighed and tried to stall. "What do you remember?"

He shook his head. "Feelings mostly: fear, death, being buried." He shuddered. "That was the worst part—being buried."

She set down her mug, nauseated. Patrick glanced up, his eyes widening in comprehension. "You lived that. Oh, God. No wonder you have nightmares. Oh, Xiao Fei, I'm so sorry."

She lifted her shoulders. It wasn't really a shrug, more a shift to push the weight away, to release the memories. It never worked, but she did it a lot anyway. "I survived," she muttered.

He took a breath. "Yeah. How, exactly?"

"I… I was small and young. I think they overlooked me."

He frowned. She almost laughed at how funny he looked, glaring down at his coffee cup. Clearly he was trying to piece things together. "Let's start from the beginning. The monks took you to that place with the tree."

"An ancient holy place, I think. As a druid, you must understand the power in a location—"

"Yeah, I get that," he interrupted. "I'm trying to remember the ritual."

"Oh." She closed her eyes and tried to recall. She already did, but the smell, the hurt—the whole experience was just too much. She couldn't face it.

"You surrounded the tree," Patrick prompted.

Xiao Fei picked up the syrup. She couldn't speak about it, but she could still communicate. She had to. She poured the syrup onto her empty plate without thinking too deeply about what she was drawing: a dot in the center of three expanding circles.

He looked at her plate, then began pointing. "Tree in center. Phoenix Tears next. Monks around them. So, what's the largest circle?"

She grabbed a sprig of parsley off his plate and set it in the outside circle.

"Greenery. A special plant? The Phoenix persimmon?" Patrick guessed.

She shook her head. Definitely not the last.

"You don't really know, do you?"

"Sorry," she croaked, startled at how tight her throat felt, but pleased she could still speak.

"That's okay." He glanced up, and she felt his hand surround hers on the table. "I know this is hard. You're doing great."

Don't cry. Don't cry
, she told herself.

"Okay," he continued. "You began chanting then."

She shook her head. "We ate."