The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1) (15 page)

“These people are friends of yours?”

He shrugged. “Never met ‘em. They live in New Zealand.” Roz talked to Anton quite a bit, almost every day, but that was her business. She was the one who searched the web looking for people like Anton, people who could be of use. And, honestly, he and Roz needed all the help they could get.

Ali frowned at him. “I don’t mean to ask a stupid question—” Roz snorted. “—but why all the hand wringing over a couple of cars?”

“Maksim Volk returned to the scene of your family’s murders,” Roz spoke up. “Add that to the attack on Connor and those fucking prophecies, and it looks an awful lot like Volk and Olek are back on your tail.”

#

Maks studied the pavement and garnered a fairly clear idea of what had happened to the man in the red truck. Someone driving a blue Volkswagen had rescued him, ditched their car, and escaped in the Ford. Because both the dried pool of his blood and the little car were still in an alley behind a grocery store. He kicked some trash around. The truck had made a fast and sloppy getaway.

The funny thing was, he’d seen the VW before. While Olek and his girls had feasted on Anya’s family and carried away her belongings, Maks had wandered the property, confident no one was giving up good intel once their throats had been chewed open. He’d seen a VW Bug in their garage. There was a chance, though slight, that Anya herself had saved the boy. Or someone who knew her. So, he got back in the Jeep and followed the strong, spicy scent of blood still in the air. Because someone had tried to save the guy.

Maks was beginning to think he was a freaking genius when the trail led to a medical clinic on the outskirts of Henderson.

Before getting out of the Jeep, he cleaned up as best he could, but Freddie’s blood, and a lot of his own, had dried in his hair and under his nails. And, apparently, it was obvious what he was because he’d barely jangled the bell on the front door before someone further inside the antiseptic smelling clinic shot at him.

Two shots went wild, but the third hit him in the foot. The goddamned foot.

“Enough!” He planted himself in the doorway, refusing to be frightened off by a couple of .22 slugs. Not when he was so close to finding Anya.

“I know what you are. Take another step and I’ll blow your head off.”

He saw her then, hiding in the hallway, a brunette all decked out in blue scrubs and a stethoscope. He took the pilfered ID card out of his back pocket and faced it toward the woman. “I’m looking for this girl. She’s in a lot of trouble, and I want to help her. Have you seen her?”

“No.” But she spoke too fast.
Liar
.

“All right.” No choice. He had to get closer.

He marched further into the shadowy interior, unable to move as quickly as he usually did after having his face pushed in the dirt three times in the last two days. Normally, he could run like an Olympic sprinter. Not today. More like an arthritic old man.

Before locking herself in an exam room, the woman fired two more shots, but neither hit their mark. Maks kicked the door open, taking a bullet in the gut before commandeering the peashooter from the violent little brunette.

“Jesus, woman.” He pulled up his shirt to see the damage. A dime-sized hole above his belly button stared back at him. No exit wound.

Super. He’d have to dig the bullet out or feel the warped slug grind inside him for the rest of his life.

“Little tip,” he told her. “Shoot for the head first, not the fricking trees. ’Cause once I pinpoint where you are, you’ve lost.” He tucked the pistol into his waistband. “You know, I came here with no intention of hurting anyone, but now I’m pissed. And bleeding. So, change of plans. You tell me where she is right now, or the next time I ask I’ll have your intestines in my hands.”

Her eyes got very, very big, and she trembled, a whole body quiver.

Another female wearing a white lab coat over khaki shorts and a tank top emerged from the back of the building. Must be the doctor.

“Don’t hurt Maria.” The woman spoke with an adorable German accent. “We’re here to help people. We don’t take sides.”

“Wonderful.” Maks faced the doc. “Then help me. Tell me where she is.” He showed her the ID card.

“She’s not here.”

“But she was.”

Silence.

“Did she come in with a half-dead young man?”

No answer.

“How big a head start does she have?”

Nothing.

He sighed before stalking the doctor. “I wish you were a tad more forthcoming. I think it’s only fair you feed me a little blood after taking some of mine.”

She tried to run, but Maks was faster. His left arm circled her like a vice, her big, soft body flattening against his chest. She wiggled, making startled cries, but she couldn’t escape. Nothing short of an army would loosen his grip.

He bent his head and bit her, not her carotid, though he would’ve loved to drink from that pool, but no, the junction between her neck and shoulder. It wasn’t a gush, just a dribble. But blood was blood. He sucked on the wound, hard. She screamed like a good girl.

“She left!” Maria cried. “She’s leaving the country! Please, stop.”

Maks raised his head. “When?”

“This morning.” The brunette bawled her little eyes out. “But the man she’s with—the vampire Connor Beckett—” She sobbed pitifully. “I really hope he kills you.”

Chapter Eleven

Nothing had prepared Connor for how achy he felt. The more time passed, the better Ali smelled, and the hungrier he got. That insignificant twinge of need was now a thrumming pain.

“How far are we driving?” Ali asked, squirming and ruffling the air around her. “I need to go pee.”

“Unbelievable,” Roz grumbled.

They’d only been in the truck for fifteen minutes, but it seemed like days, bombarded with their voices and their scents. Every time Ali’s leg brushed his, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“UNLV is half an hour away,” Roz told her.

If Connor made it that long. Right now, it was fifty-fifty whether he would stay put or leap on Ali like a bulldog in heat. And he wasn’t sure whether he craved sex or her blood. Scary thought. He scooted so near the open window he practically perched on the sill.

The sun blazed through the Ford’s passenger window, heating Connor’s right arm past comfort levels

Ali fidgeted again. “Yesterday? When you were infected? You’re sure it was Olek?”

He grunted. “And Volk.” Too bad their generic chit chat about weather and geography had been exhausted. He
so
didn’t want to talk about this. Ever.

“Volk was there?” Roz said, perking up. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Honestly, he hadn’t told her anything. The fact that he’d had his ass handed to him made him hesitant to discuss specifics.

Before he could answer, Ali jumped in. “But Volk didn’t infect you?”

Pain. That’s what Connor remembered most about those five minutes in the alley behind a Paradise grocery store. Pain and rage and shame. The blade reappeared in his mind, and it was like being stabbed all over again.

“Yes.” He stretched his left hand open, though the infection had worked its healing magic and fixed the tight muscles, the severed nerves, even the scar across his palm. The habit stuck around. Open, close, open, close.

“How did it happen?” Ali patted his knee again, and he startled. She snatched her hand away and held it to her chest.

Good. She should be scared.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with as much finality as he could muster.

“But you’re sure it was Olek?” Roz asked, leaning forward to see around Ali.

“I’m sure.” In Connor’s memory, the Destroyer grinned at him as he inserted the knife between his ribs.

God. He wiggled around in his seat, shifting his legs, the shotgun, his elbows, and then ran his left hand through his shaggy hair. He needed another distraction. And since he was a glutton for punishment, he took a good, long breath in through his nose.

Strawberry shampoo. He’d never considered the smell and taste of hair products before, but now it overwhelmed him. It was more than that, though. Beneath the fruity surface smells, and even more seductive than her hair, was the fainter, much lovelier smell of her sex. Oh, Jesus. His cock stirred against his button fly, and he nearly stuck his nose out the window like a dog to clear his head.

Ali was salty and sweet, and Connor’s mouth watered. He wanted to shove her thighs wide and press his mouth to her hot little slit.

Dumbass. This girl was dangerous. And no one knew exactly how scary she would get. Anyone who panicked the Oracle was someone he needed to keep an eye on. If he had any brains left, he’d stick to protection detail and forget all about tongues and orgasms.

But her scent teased him. And self-control was suddenly a tricky concept. If he didn’t get a grip, he’d do something stupid.

“I need a break.”

“Huh?” Both girls glanced up.

Connor could smell their fear, like a sprinkle of cinnamon on top of all the other scents. “Pull over. Please.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Pull over the truck!” He’d climb out the window in another fifteen seconds.

“Fine.” Roz pulled over to side of the road, and he leaped out.

“Where are you going?” Ali called.

“For a run.”

“You’re going running in boots and Levi’s in the middle of the day?” she shouted after him. He didn’t dare stop to answer.

#

“Is he gonna be okay?” Ali asked Roz.

What was Connor doing out there? Alone and infected? Had he run to the last cluster of homes they’d passed and cut the throats of everyone living there? Would he return splattered with blood?

Roz sat on the tailgate as a semi-truck whizzed by, tapping on her phone. “I don’t know.”

“Well, should we go after him?”

“He’ll be back.”

“Is he dangerous—”

“I don’t know!” Roz jumped down. “God, enough questions. You think I’m not worried about him, too?”

Of course, the witch was worried, but her way of dealing with it was to pretend everything would work out. Ali would rather talk about all the angles. Unfortunately, there was no one to talk to.

Connor was infected, and he wasn’t okay. He was jumpy and too quiet, and he couldn’t seem to sit still for more than ten seconds at a time. He probably needed blood to stabilize, but she wasn’t going to bring it up. What if he saw it as an invitation? What if the first drink of blood was the real trigger? He drinks, and the monster takes over.

Ali still had the Ruger in her pocket. Mostly because he’d insisted. But she didn’t want to test it out anytime soon. She didn’t think she could shoot him even if he attacked her. The best she hoped for was that her cursed blood tasted bad, and he’d leave her alive. Or that he’d leap on Roz first and give her time to run and hide.

Connor loped around a post office building, his shirt soaked with sweat, but not a blood droplet in sight. Maybe he really had been on a run and not out slaughtering townspeople.

“Feeling better?” she called.

“Are you hungry for lunch?” he asked, dodging her question. “There’s a sandwich place a couple blocks away.” Before either she or Roz could answer, he said, “I’ll be right back.” And he was gone again.

“What is he doing?” Ali murmured, though Roz didn’t answer and Ali didn’t expect her to. Whatever was going on with Connor was beyond monosyllabic answers.

Ten minutes later, he returned carrying bags and balancing frosty bottles of water. “I got you the usual,” he said, passing a sack to Roz. But when he faced Ali, suddenly the man was shy. “I ordered you a veggie sandwich and some fruit.”

As she unwrapped her meal, she felt Connor’s eyes on her, and she smiled nervously at him. “Looks delicious.”

Roz rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat to eat in private, but Ali stayed on the tailgate, picking cubes of melon and strawberry from a plastic cup. Connor stood on the curb empty-handed. It occurred to Ali he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. Maybe vampires didn’t eat food. Or maybe he’d snuck off to find blood, after all.

His eyes were slightly sunken, and his shoulders slumped. He seemed thinner than yesterday. No, he hadn’t found blood. He was still hungry.

“Connor,” Ali called. “Aren’t you going to eat? It might help.” She offered him wedges of cold fruit.

“I guess you’re right.” He grabbed the cup and downed it like a whiskey shot, sucking the remaining bits from the sides. His eyes darted at her, and then at the back of Roz’s head. “It’s good.” He didn’t look sated, though, he looked ravenous.

“You want something else?” She raised half her sandwich.

Roz leaned out of the open driver’s window, and her eyes met Ali’s. Something passed between them, a shared anxiety.

He was pretending to be fine, but he wasn’t fooling either of them.

“No, you eat,” he urged, leaning over the bed of the truck and fiddling with the bags.

Ali took two bites, and then set aside the remains of her meal to join him. He shoved a box aside and grabbed a backpack. The one with his private things in it. She shuffled a little closer, bumping her hip into his thigh.

“You draw?” she asked, pointing at the leather-bound book.

He clammed up, not answering, not even breathing.

And then he exhaled. “I used to.”

“Can I see it?”

He hesitated, and she got the feeling he didn’t show his artwork to many people. “If you want.” He offered it to her, and his fingers brushed hers, warm and rough. She imagined taking his hand and running her fingers between his, holding onto him. But he backed off, taking her chance with him.

She held on to his book instead while he fidgeted with the door handle. She inspected everything from his long legs and strong hands to his ancient, but clean T-shirt. Normally, she wouldn’t be caught dead ogling strange men, but this wasn’t real life. This was a vacation turned supernatural disaster. It couldn’t hurt to look.

“You gonna actually open it?” he asked.

She blushed down to her toes, believing he could read every dirty thought in her head. “Uh, yeah.” She flipped through several pages.

Controlled chaos. Close-ups of faces and hands. Lots and lots of little people and animals. She’d expected super-heroes, mythological monsters, and chicks with watermelon boobs. But it was…
better
than that. Professional level stuff. Especially the sheets sectioned like a graphic novel.