Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 19

  Although we hadn’t discussed our plan in any detail, somehow we were both drawn to the monument at the center of the plaza. It seemed that here, in the heart of the city, was the best place to pay our respects.

  Dead leaves had scattered over the walkways, but otherwise the place looked as if it hadn’t been touched since the last time I was here, when the voice had summoned the wind to sweep up the mess the looters had left behind. True, many of the stores had their windows broken in, but unlike at the Albertson’s, there was no glass scattered on the ground.

  I had to wonder how much of that detail Jace took in as we walked from the Jeep to the center of the plaza. Some, it seemed, if the tight lines of his mouth and the puzzled furrow in his brow were any indication. But he didn’t ask any questions, only continued to the monument and the low wall that surrounded it.

  The day had remained dark, the clouds threatening, although it hadn’t rained. It smelled like it might, though, heavy and damp. If it did, then these candles wouldn’t last very long. But at least we would have made the effort.

  Still not speaking, we each took our burden of candles and placed them at regular intervals along the low wall surrounding the monument. Jace produced a box of strike-anywhere matches from the inner pocket of his jacket, then took one out and used the rough concrete of the wall to get it started. It flared up, and he cupped it in his hand, moving from candle to candle and lighting them one by one. They flickered in the chilly wind but didn’t go out.

  We’d waited to go out on this expedition until late afternoon, and now it was almost dusk. It was the first time I’d ventured out into the city at anywhere close to dark, and I realized how very black it would soon become, especially with the cloud cover blocking out any possible moonlight or starlight. But we had our flashlights, and, for the moment at least, the candles themselves were giving off far more illumination than I had expected they would.

  Jace glanced over at me, and I nodded. This had been his idea, after all, and so I thought he should be the one to make the speeches.

  For a long moment, he didn’t speak, but only stood there in front of the candle with the Virgin Mary on it, the blue of her robe seeming to glow from within. Then he said, “We honor all those who walk in the paths of their ancestors. Those of us who are left here behind have so many questions, questions we know will never be answered. But our thoughts are with you, and we hope you have all found peace in the next world.”

  The next words he uttered, I couldn’t understand, and I realized he must be speaking the language of the Pueblo. The sound of it was slow and sad, but strong and rich as well, and I found something inside me unclenching for the first time since I’d left Albuquerque. True, I had written something of the time before, in the little sketches I’d jotted down during my first days at the compound. After that, though, I had walled away my grief, thinking that the only way to survive and go on was not to think of everyone who was gone, of everyone I had lost. Now, hearing Jace speak, I knew that had been the wrong approach. I needed to celebrate who they were and what they had done, not pretend they had never existed. That was doing them no service, giving them no honor.

  Jace fell silent, and I could see the way he looked over at me, clearly expecting me to say something. How I was supposed to follow that, I had no idea. But no, that was foolish. This wasn’t a competition.

  “I miss you all,” I said simply, then turned and began to walk away from the monument. I didn’t bother to turn on my flashlight, even though the sun had gone down by then. The illumination from the candles was enough to light my path.

  From behind me, I heard the sound of Jace’s footsteps, hurrying a little so he could catch up with me. And then I felt his hand slip into mine, his fingers warm and strong, even though it was cold enough that we really should have been wearing gloves. My own fingers felt as if they’d been dipped in ice water.

  Neither of us said anything. It was enough then to walk hand in hand back to the Jeep, to take comfort in the feel of human flesh pressed against mine, reassuring in the dark and the cold. When it was time to pull the car key out of my pocket, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. I didn’t want to let go of him, to relinquish my grip on his fingers.

  He seemed to detect my reluctance, because he stood there next to me for a moment, his grip tensing. But then he let go and said, “Let’s get home.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. The night wind was drilling through the anorak I wore as if it were made of gauze rather than sturdy canvas, and right then the thought of being surrounded in the warmth of our house seemed even more attractive than usual.

  So I nodded and unlocked the Cherokee, and we both climbed in. After I’d pulled away from where we were parked and was negotiating the narrow, car-choked streets — a task far more difficult after dark than it was during the day — I felt Jace’s hand cover mine where it rested on the gearshift.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the road, but I nodded. “I think so. That was — ” The exact word seemed to elude me. Moving? Sad? Satisfying? All those, and more. “It helped,” I finally said, hoping he would understand what I meant.

  It appeared he did, because his fingers tightened around mine. All he said, though, was, “Good.” And then he let go, seeming to realize that I needed to focus on driving. Although I’d gone back and forth along this route several times, it had always been during the day, and of course there were no streetlights to guide me along my way.

  I flicked on the high-beams and slowed down. Good thing, too, because when I finally got to it, I almost missed the turn-off to Upper Canyon Road. Muttering a curse, I angled the Cherokee onto the street at almost the last minute. In the passenger seat, Jace shifted, but he remained silent, as if he knew any comments on my driving were the last thing I needed right then.

  We bumped along, and then there was gravel under our wheels as we left the paved road and began to head up the winding dirt track that led to the compound. I slowed so I could shift into four-wheel drive, and when I looked up, I let out a little screech. Three pairs of eyes seemed to glow red as they stared straight into the Jeep’s headlights.

  “Coyotes,” Jace murmured. “It’s okay — just drive forward slowly. They’ll get out of the way.”

  Which they did, as I began to inch toward them. Somehow, though, their movements seemed almost leisurely, as if they weren’t too worried about me running them over. Almost at the last minute they got out of the way, but they only moved to the side of the road, where they stood and stared as we passed them by.

  Something about their posture, about the way they were watching the Jeep, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It wasn’t the cold; I’d turned on the heater as soon as we got inside the SUV. No, their unblinking surveillance just felt…wrong. Unnatural. I’ll admit I wasn’t the world’s foremost authority on coyotes, but in general, wild animals tended to scatter when confronted by something as large and intimidating as a Jeep Grand Cherokee.

  I shot a sideways glance at Jace. He wasn’t looking at me, though, and instead was staring out the passenger window. I didn’t know how much he could even see, since the high-beams were illuminating the road ahead of us, not either side.

  “That was weird,” I said, once we were past the coyotes and they’d melted away into the darkness.

  “A little,” he agreed. Then I saw his shoulders lift. “Maybe they’re getting bold now that they don’t have to worry about getting run over every time they come out of hiding.”

  That sounded plausible. But still a note of wrongness seemed to echo inside me, and I couldn’t help thinking there had to be more to it than that. Then again, the world had ended in a way no one could have ever predicted. Things had been wrong for weeks now.

  Well, mainly. I risked a sideways glance at Jace and saw that he was looking out the window again, his fine profile faintly illuminated by the glow from the dashboard lights.

  Looking at him, I knew there was
one thing right in my life.

  Although I cast worried glances from side to side as we approached the compound and I pushed the remote to open the gate, I saw nothing in the darkness, no gleaming red or yellow eyes of various wildlife just waiting to pounce. We came onto the property without incident, although I activated the controls for the gate as soon as our rear bumper had cleared it. The motion-activated lights above the garage door turned on as we approached.

  Off in the distance, I did see a shimmer of eyes glowing in the darkness, and I jumped.

  “It’s okay,” Jace said softly. “It’s just the goats.”

  I didn’t quite relax, but I did let out my breath. “Oh, right.”

  Was that a chuckle? When I glanced over at him, his expression was sober enough, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Fine, if he wanted to laugh at me for jumping at shadows — or glowing eyeballs, in this case — I’d let him. I didn’t see anything wrong with staying on my guard.

  But the unpacking of the Cherokee passed without incident, although it took longer than I’d expected to unload all that stuff and get it safely stowed. Dutchie kept wandering between us, trying to track all the new and interesting smells we were bringing in the house, until at last I bribed her with a chewy treat so she’d get out from underfoot.

  By then it was moving on toward seven o’clock, and far past time for dinner. When I had all afternoon to figure out what to make and plenty of time to prepare it, I really didn’t mind cooking. Right now, though, I thought I might have sold my soul for pizza delivery. Or Chinese takeout.

  Jace must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm for the task at hand, because he said, “It’s not that bad. Look what I brought back.” And I saw that he held a package of fettuccini in one hand and a jar of vodka cream sauce in the other. “Add some of that rabbit sausage you made a few days ago, and we’re set.”

  I could have kissed him. Actually, I realized I would have loved to have an excuse to go over and kiss him, but I wasn’t sure dry pasta and pre-made sauce were a good enough reason. I had to settle for smiling and saying, “That sounds perfect. Can you feed Dutchie while I get this going?”

  He nodded, setting the pasta and the jar of sauce down on the countertop. The dog, seeing that he was heading toward the pantry, got up from her rug and went bounding over to him, tail wagging wildly. At least she wasn’t the type to turn up her nose at kibble. She still got as excited about it as though we were feeding her T-bone steak or something.

  While they were occupied, I filled a big stock pot with water and set it on the stove, then found a smaller pan and dumped the sauce into it, setting it on low heat on the back burner. The sausages were being stored in an airtight container in the fridge, so I got them out and started them cooking, too. Actually, I was sort of surprised that they’d turned out as well as they had. Let’s just say that making sausages hadn’t exactly been in my cooking repertoire before this, but they really weren’t that difficult, once you figured out how it all worked.

  They were just starting to sizzle away when Jace came over to the stove and paused to sniff the air. “Those smell good.”

  “You said the same thing two days ago when we had them for the first time.”

  One eyebrow went up. “So? Two days shouldn’t make them taste any less good.”

  Maybe not. I wasn’t going to argue the point, especially with him standing that close to me, barely a foot away. He’d taken off his jacket, and I could see the way the knit henley shirt he wore molded to the muscles in his arms and chest, the smooth golden-brown skin where he’d left one button undone.

  Shit. I shouldn’t be staring. Was I staring?

  I had a feeling I was staring.

  Blood rose to my cheeks, and I turned back to the skillet, making something of a show of turning the sausages over. I also took a pot holder and lifted the lid on the pot of pasta water to check on it, but it wasn’t boiling yet.

  As I was setting the pot holder down on the counter, I felt a hand settle on my waist, turn me around. Jace was even closer now, dark eyes fixed on my face. The touch of his fingers through the long-sleeved T-shirt I wore seemed to burn like fire.

  I swallowed, thinking I needed to say something. But words had fled, leaving me alone with him, with the need I now saw in those dark eyes. I recognized it at once, because I’d felt the same thing myself.

  And then…oh, God…he was bending toward me, his mouth suddenly on mine, his lips strong, urgent. I tasted him, felt him taste me, and then I was pressed against him, feeling the shocking solidity of his body, the power of the muscles in the arms that were now going around me, bringing me even closer, as if he needed every inch of me to be touching every inch of him.

  Why now? some part of me asked, but the rest of my mind and body and soul, all those parts that had been aching for him for days…for weeks…they didn’t care so much. It was enough that here, in this moment, Jace was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, letting him know I’d wanted this, too, more than he could ever know. Every nerve and cell in my body seemed to be responding, pulsing with heat. Had it ever felt like this before? I didn’t know, because Jace kissing me seemed to have wiped away my memories of every other kiss I’d ever experienced.

  A hissing sound interrupted us, though, and Jace let go of me abruptly. “The water’s boiling,” he said.

  That’s not the only thing boiling, I thought, but I didn’t answer, only lunged for the pot holder so I could lift the lid on the stock pot and then turn down the heat to a more reasonable level. Those mundane tasks helped me gather myself a bit, although I could still feel the blood thrumming and throbbing in my veins. That wasn’t the only thing throbbing, either. I wouldn’t say I was the kind of person who got turned on easily — as my asshole ex-boyfriend had complained on more than one occasion — but right then I was so aroused that Jace probably could have laid me out flat on the kitchen counter and taken me there with absolutely no complaints.

  He’d backed away slightly, though, seemed content to watch as I dumped some fettuccini into the boiling water and then turned the sausages over once again. It was only after I gave the vodka sauce a quick stir that he said, “You didn’t…mind that, did you?”

  “Mind it?” I asked. We now stood facing one another, my back to the stove. He looked calm enough, but I thought I could detect a certain hard, bright glint in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Arousal? I couldn’t tell.

  I realized I didn’t know him well enough to guess. Yes, we’d been living under the same roof for almost three weeks now, but we’d always been careful around one another, making sure we didn’t cross any lines, didn’t blunder through any barriers.

  Well, those barriers were pretty well knocked down now.

  “I didn’t — I didn’t want you to think I was forcing you or anything.”

  Now he appeared almost worried, the gleam gone from his eyes, leaving them sober and dark, so dark I couldn’t really tell where the pupils ended and the irises began.

  Forcing me? That was a joke. I’d wanted that kiss, but had worried that my growing feelings for him weren’t reciprocated.

  “I mean, after what happened to you in Albuquerque — ”

  Time to disabuse him of that notion. I set the spoon down on the little stone rest we used to keep our cooking utensils off the counter, then went over and took his hands in mine, right before I went on my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. A fast kiss, not like the breath-stealing, knee-knocking one we’d shared a few moments earlier, but still enough that he should understand that I liked kissing him very much indeed.

  “This isn’t Albuquerque,” I told him. “And you’re nothing like…either of them.” To be fair, I didn’t even know for sure that the man who’d wanted to steal the Cherokee had the same designs on me that Chris Bowman did, but I’d gotten the impression his intentions weren’t exactly benign. “And I’ve wanted…this…for a long time. I just wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.”

  The tense set
of his shoulders seemed to relax slightly, and he even grinned. “Oh, I wanted it, too. But I didn’t want to push you. I could tell you’d been through a lot.”

  “We both have,” I said simply. No need to go into it any more than that. He’d lost everything, and I’d lost everything. Through some miracle, though, we’d both come to this place, come to the one spot in the world where we’d be safe to grow into knowing one another, caring for one another.

  And again I couldn’t help wondering if this was somehow the doing of my guardian angel, the voice. Had he given Jace the same prompting he’d given me?

  Eyes flickering as he seemed to study my face, Jace asked, “What is it?”

  Did I dare mention the voice? We’d just opened up so much to each other; the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was crazy, or at least slightly unbalanced by everything I’d experienced since the Heat stole everything I loved. But I didn’t want to keep it a secret from him, either.

  “Did you….” I began, then stopped. He was still holding my hands, fingers strong and somehow comforting. I never wanted him to let go, although I knew he’d have to at some point, just to let me get back to making dinner. But that could wait another minute or two. His gaze was still resting on my face, expectant, wondering what I was trying to ask. And there was simply no good way to ask.

  “Did you ever hear anything?” I blurted. “Afterward, I mean. Like a voice guiding you, telling you where you should go. Telling you should come here.”

  A long, long pause. At least he hadn’t let go of my hands, but I could see him weighing the question in his mind, trying to see if I was serious. “No, nothing like that,” he said at last. “Like I said, I came to Santa Fe because no one seemed to be left in Taos, and I had a friend here. The world’s longest shot, I know.” He hesitated, then asked, his tone soft, “Did you hear something like that?”

  I wanted to deny it. But that would also seem like a denial of all the assistance the voice…guardian angel…whatever…had given me. “Yes,” I said. “It’s how I found this house. I would never have gotten out of Albuquerque alive if not for the voice.”