Stories of the Otherworld: Chaotic Part 9

"He won't. All right then. We'll find a hotel, and I'll make sure it's safe. Then, when I come back-"

"Back? Where are you going?"

He patted his pocket, where the jewels were. "I need to take care of these tonight. I shouldn't be more than an hour or so-"

"Just long enough to hunt down Tristan and kill him." When Marsten looked over sharply, I said, "I may be foolish, but I'm not stupid and, after tonight, not nearly so naive. The only way to end this is to kill Tristan, so that's what you're going to do. That why you said you'd retrieve my bracelet 'later'-you meant once I was out of the building and you went back for Tristan."

He hesitated and studied my expression, then nodded. "I've tried walking away twice, and he refuses to leave it that. As much as I hate to bother with someone like Tristan Robard, I can't walk away again."

"That's why you asked for my address, isn't it? Because you think that's where he'll go. Right now, I'm the more urgent threat, the one who could let his Cabal know about his extracurricular activities."

Marsten nodded.

"Well, you know I'm not going to any hotel." I held up a hand against his protest. "Have I interfered yet?"

"No, but-"

"And I won't. I am so far out of my league-" I shook my head. "Let's just say I won't embarra.s.s myself further or endanger you by interfering. But Tristan wants me, and if you show up alone at my townhouse, he'll know something's up."

For a moment Marsten and I just looked at each other, then he nodded and gave the driver my address.

12.

I live in a brownstone backing onto the river and surrounding parkland. Not your typical twenty-something, tabloid journalist digs. The house technically belongs to my mother. I say "technically" because her owners.h.i.+p is really only a technicality... and a contentious one at that.

My mother had bought the place while I'd been in J-school, only a mile away. She'd called it an investment, but when I'd graduated, she'd wanted to give it to me. College had been a struggle-not academically, but personally, coming at the worst time in my life, when I'd been dealing with my demon powers. I think the brownstone was Mom's graduation gift... and a hoped source of stability for a daughter sorely in need of it.

I love the townhouse, love the area, love my beautiful riverfront "backyard" with its winding forest trails-an escape route whenever I needed it, which seemed often. So I'd agreed to keep living there, as a property manager of sorts, maintaining the building and protecting Mom's investment. But I refused to take the deed, and insisted on paying all expenses and upkeep-though the property taxes alone were nearly enough to bankrupt me. Thank G.o.d I had two jobs- Two jobs? As the taxi disgorged us on the front lawn, I stared up at my beloved brownstone and realized I no longer had two jobs, and probably not even one.

Of course my mother could-and would-step in and pay the bills. I so desperately didn't want that.

I'd given my mother enough sleepless nights to last a lifetime. I often wondered whether, at some level, she knew my problems were rooted in something she'd done, that brief post-separation encounter that no one could blame her for. Even if she didn't know the true nature of my trouble, I think she blamed herself, and I didn't want that. I wanted to be strong and independent and stable, and to be able to take her for lunches on my dime and say, "See Mom, I'm doing fine." And I had reached that point, stuffed with the newfound confidence my council job had given me- "We'd better get inside," Marsten whispered as the cab pulled away.

He looked around, nostrils flaring, body tense, as if we'd just stepped into a trap... which we probably had. Definitely not the time to worry about my life's recent crash and burn. When this was over, I should just be thankful I still had a life to repair.

"Good security," Marsten whispered as I undid the dual deadbolt. "Are the other doors and windows-?"

"All armed. Motion detectors in every room, too. My mom worries."

I hurried in to disarm the system. It was still active. If Tristan had beat us here, he'd backed off when he'd seen the security. This wasn't the kind of neighborhood that ignored screaming sirens. Better to wait for us to disarm the system.

"What now?" I said as Marsten relocked the front door.

"Turn on a couple of lights, and stay away from the windows. Is that open land out back?"

"A park," I said. "Mostly forest."

"Good. That's where I'll try to get him then. Away from the houses. We'll stay here for a bit, give him time to arrive and stake out the house. Then I'll change and lead him into the forest."

"Change?" The words "but I don't have anything for you to wear" were on my lips when I realized what he meant. "Into a wolf."

He nodded. "By far the preferred way for dealing with these things. Easier to track, easier to fight and"-a quick smile-"a built-in disguise if anyone sees me."

I flipped on the living room and hall lights.

"What about the television?" I said. "Should I turn that on, too?"

A brow arch. "We escape death, flee to the safety of your townhouse... and watch television?"

"So what would Tristan expect?-" I followed his gaze to the stairs leading to the second level. "Ah, of course. You'd want a good night's rest."

"And that's probably all I'd get," he muttered. "Unless I set the place on fire first. From Tristan's point of view, though, we just had a harrowing evening, I saved your life-"

"You did?"

"Play along. You take me upstairs-"

"Oh, reward s.e.x." I paused. "But for proper reward s.e.x I wouldn't take you upstairs. We probably wouldn't even make it past the front door. I just push you against the wall, get down on my knees-"

He cut me off with a growl. "I'd suggest you stop there unless you plan to follow through."

"Oh, but I would follow through... if you'd saved my life." I swung around the banister onto the stairs. "Not that you'd let me, though. No s.e.x unless it's you I want, remember ? No chaos s.e.x. No reward s.e.x. That's your rule."

He muttered something and followed me up the stairs.

At Marsten's suggestion, the first thing I did was remove my dress... which sounds a whole lot more interesting than it was. As he pointed out, heels and a slinky yellow dress didn't make good late-night commando gear. While he cleaned up, I put on jeans, a T-s.h.i.+rt, and sneakers. Then we headed for my bedroom. Yes, I have a separate dressing room. It's a three-bedroom townhouse-I'm just trying to make efficient use of s.p.a.ce. Really.

I walked into my darkened bedroom, flicked on the light, then made a face.

"Sorry," I said. "It's a mess. I wasn't expecting company."

"Poor Doug." Marsten walked to the unmade bed, plunked down on it, and gave it a test bounce. "Doesn't get a lot of use, I'll bet."

"I'm picky. Sorry."

A wolfish grin. "Don't be. I like picky." He pushed to his feet. "Well, no, usually I don't like picky, but this time, I think I do."

With a sidelong glance through the window, he put his arms around my waist, leaned down, and kissed me. It was a slow kiss, easy and relaxed, with none of the practiced attention to art of his first one.

"Setting the scene?" I murmured with a nod toward the window.

"A good excuse." He kissed me again, then sighed. "You really are immune, aren't you?"

"To what?" I caught his look and rolled my eyes. "Oh please. You really are vain, aren't you?"

"I already admitted that. I can't help it-I'm accustomed to having my attentions returned."

"Ah."

"Not even going to bite for that, are you?"

I stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. "What? You admit that you find me attractive, so I'm honor-bound to return the compliment? Fine, yes, you have your charms."

A twist of his lips. "Oh."

"That's not good enough? Okay, let me try again. I think you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen and I can barely keep my hands off you... well, not when there's a decent source of chaos around."

He growled and scooped me up off the bed, kissing me again.

"Enough already," I said, squirming free. "I admitted you were-"

"Charming."

"I said you had your charms."

"Which means you find me charming."

"No, well yes, you are charming, but I don't find that charming."

He laughed and shook his head. "All right, you find me physically attractive then."

"Yes, you are, but, no, I don't find that particularly attractive."

He bared his teeth in a quick grin and stepped closer. "My wit?"

I moved back and shrugged. "Witty enough, though not as witty as you think you are."

"Ouch." He gave an almost self-mocking grin. "Then it must be my undeniable sense of style."

"Because you can pick out a decent tux?" I snorted. "There's what, one color option and two or three styles?"

A feigned look of shock. "You mean you don't find me irresistibly suave, debonair-"

"Where I grew up, guys learn suave from the cradle."

His grin only grew. "Then whatever you find attractive about me has nothing to do with any of this-" He waved his hands over himself. "This infinitely polished package?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Very good."

He caught me up in a kiss. As he did, a distant vibe tw.a.n.ged through me.

"They're here," I whispered.

Marsten glanced out the window, his body blocking mine, gaze scanning the dark street.

"They're across the road," he murmured as he turned back to me. "They must have just arrived. On the count of three, I'm swinging you past the window and onto the bed."

He did. As soon as I hit the mattress, I rolled to the far side and dropped onto the floor. Marsten followed. We crawled into the hall, down the stairs, and to the back door, arriving just in time to duck behind the kitchen cabinets when we heard footsteps on the rear deck. The guard tested the door, peered in, then moved on.

"Quickly," Marsten murmured. "They'll be back in a minute. This is the safest place to break in."

As we slipped out the door, I started pus.h.i.+ng in the handle, to relock it when it closed. But Marsten caught my hand.

"We want them to know we came out this way," he whispered.

Hunched over, and darting from bush to tree to garden shed, I led him across my tiny yard, and down the small hill to the woodland beyond. Marsten found a place for me to hide. He made sure I had my gun, and warned me to stay where I was, whatever happened. Then he gave me a card from his wallet, and told me if he didn't return in an hour, I was to run to a public place, call the handwritten number on the back, and explain everything.

A moment later, he was gone.

I stayed where I was. As impotent as I felt cowering in those bushes, I knew if I tried to help, I'd more likely get us both killed. So I hid and I listened.

I listened as the soft lullaby of cricket and frog calls went silent under the heavy footfalls and guttural muttering of Tristan and his guards. I listened as those mutters gave way to orders and oaths. I listened as those trudging footsteps divided and turned into running feet. I listened as a scream shattered the night, a scream cut off by flas.h.i.+ng fangs.

That wasn't my imagination working overtime. I saw those fangs flash, smelled bowels give way, felt hot blood spatter my face, and the visions brought not a split second of chaos bliss. With every cry, every scream, every silenced pistol shot, I was certain Marsten had been hit. The death vision came twice, and still I heard multiple running feet and voices. My G.o.d, how many were there? How would he ever- Another shot. Then the sound that broke my resolve: a piercing canine yelp of pain.

13.

I broke from my cover then, but I resisted the urge to run pell-mell toward the noise, toward the laughs of triumph. Instead, I gripped my gun tight and slunk through the shadows until I was close enough to see a flashlight beam cutting a swath through the dark forest. The beam stopped, and my gaze followed its path.

A black mound of fur lay motionless at the end of that flashlight beam. A guard stood beside the mound, gun pointed down.

Oh G.o.d. G.o.d, no- Something flashed near the top of the heap, a blue eye reflected in Tristan's flashlight beam. The eye rolled, following Tristan. I took another three steps until that dark mound became a ma.s.sive wolf lying on his belly, his head lowered but not down, his ears and lips drawn back as he watched Tristan's approach. The fur on Marsten's shoulder was matted with blood. The guard had his gun pointed at Marsten's head, and I couldn't tell whether he was staying down because of that gun or because he was too badly injured to rise.

"Hope!"

Tristan's voice rang out so loud and sudden that I jumped. Only the barest rustle of dead leaves gave me away, but Marsten's ears swiveled in my direction. His black nostrils flared. Then he let out a low growl, and I knew that growl was for me. As clear a "get the h.e.l.l out of here" as if he'd shouted the words.

"Hope!" Tristan yelled again. "I know you're out there."