Cherry Creek (27 page)

“Want to talk about what's on your mind?” Adelaide asks me as she pauses near the island counter, her blue eyes filled with motherly affection.

I set down my fork. “I feel like a complete stranger. I've always had a mild temper. Now, I find myself getting in stupid arguments with everyone.”

Adelaide looks amused. “That's because you've got your hands full with the Deveroux men. They can drive a sane woman to insanity.”

“They're keeping stuff from me. Again,” I tell her unhappily.

“They are frustrating,” she agrees. “But Khristos doesn't do anything without good reason. If he's not telling you whatever it is you want to know, there's a reason for it. It's not to upset you, Livvy. He's doing it because he believes it's what's in your best interest.”

“That's what he said,” I grumble.

“Then that's why. Livvy, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you, but I didn't want to add to everything you're dealing with,” she says delicately.

“Okay. I'm all ears.”

“Now that you're aware of what you are, your pheromones are getting stronger. Boys and men are going to start finding you very attractive. Some may not take no for an answer,” she says deliberately in a meaningful tone.

“So you're saying...” My eyes widen. “Are you serious? Now I have to worry about would-be rapists?”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “I think it would be wise to carry some items on you so you can defend yourself.”

“Like pepper spray?”

“Among other things. I'll speak with Khristos, see what else we can do to keep you protected.”

I nod numbly and glance at the clock on the wall. I have to leave for work soon. When I glance at my plate, I realize I am no longer hungry.

I've already forgotten what normal feels like.

***

At work, my mind is pre-occupied, but I still manage to do my job. Since I only work until six, I decide   to run to Minneapolis real quick. After my conversation with Adelaide this morning, I'm kind of antsy to get some pepper spray and whatever else I can get my hands on. Plus, I have yet to pick up the money Kramer has to give back. I'd called him earlier on my break, and he's expecting me around six-thirty. I figure I'll meet with him and then do some shopping.

The meeting with Kramer goes smoothly. Afterwards, I pick up a couple small cans of pepper spray and a loud whistle that attaches to my key chain. I can't get any of the fun stuff like a taser until I'm eighteen. It's frustrating, because I am so limited in what I can do. At least my birthday is only a couple months away rather than several. I should be thankful rather than resentful.

As I drive back to Cherry Creek, I'm aware that the same car has been following me for a while now. I'm assuming it's Trace, and I'm comforted knowing I'm being watched. Now that I know what school will be like and that Khristos evidently has some enemies from what Tatum hinted, I like knowing I have some sort of security. All this is new to me, and I'm grateful that Khristos cares about my well-being even if we don't get along.

The lights behind me grow brighter, causing me to glance in the rearview mirror. I wince as I realize Trace has turned on his brights. Why would he do that? I blink a few times and focus on the dark road before me. That's when I see headlights flick on only thirty feet in front of me. My eyes widen with horror as I catch sight of the two cars sitting in the middle of the road with their noses facing me.

With a cry, I jerk the wheel, swerving to avoid the cars.

The sound of squealing tires fills the night, and I just barely avoid the cars blocking the road. Unfortunately, I can no longer control the sports car. There's a steep ditch that I can't stop from sliding over, and the car immediately begins to roll. There's no time to prepare or to even comprehend what's happening. I have the sickening sensation of being airborne, and then there's temporary blackness.

When I come back to consciousness, I hear a hissing sound and smell gasoline. Everything hurts, and I can feel that I'm hanging upside down. Being trapped as I am causes my head to throb painfully, and I can taste blood in my mouth. It doesn’t help matters that the seatbelt holding me in place digs into my belly and shoulders as it prevents me from falling on my head. The pain in my abdomen has me fighting back a moan as blood trickles down the side of my face from a cut on my jaw. I can feel the warmth of it pooling in my hair.

It's a struggle to open my eyes, and when I do, I see twisted metal and glass thanks to a dim light that seems to be coming from an unknown source outside. For a brief moment, I feel the beginnings of panic fill me as I realize I’m trapped among the wreckage. Claustrophobia automatically creeps up on me since there’s hardly any room to move. The roof of the Aston Martin is now the ground, and I can feel my head brushing against it slightly when I cautiously turn my head. I suddenly feel scared and alone. What if the car catches fire? A whimper of panic escapes my lips, and I lower my palms to the ground below my head, trying to brace myself slightly as I try to shift my legs. Agony streaks up my right leg, and I cry out.

An odd scraping sound reaches my ears, and something thuds near me. “Trace?” I ask hoarsely. I turn my aching head and peer towards my shattered window. There's a shadow outside the wreckage, and hands are gripping at the metal door and pulling.

Relief sweeps through me as I realize Trace is here.
Everything will be
okay.
Now that I know help is on the other side of the door, I find myself concentrating on my injuries. Everything hurts. Mostly my abdominal area, and it hurts just to breathe. I close my eyes and try to stay calm, because I know panicking will only make it all seem ten times worse.

My door is wrenched off its hinges, and I turn my throbbing head to peer at Trace. The face that greets me is one I’ve never seen before as I take in the man’s reptilian features and beady eyes. I stare at him with confusion, and when he sees me, he gives me a smile of pure evilness. His expression has my heart skipping a beat. That's when I remember the car turning on its brights behind me, and the two cars that had been in the middle of the road. Trace would never do anything like that.

Large hands reach in for me. I try to flinch away, but pain radiates through my battered body, and I cry out. His hands are on my seatbelt, and as he slides his broad shoulders in further through the window, I can feel him searching for the release button near my hip. I weakly try to push his hands away, and I realize my hands feel wet and sticky. Probably from my blood. I'm bleeding from various places that I have yet to notice. I can barely see anything of myself, but I can see the man thanks to the light that streaks in from headlights pointed at the twisted remains of the car.

“Just cut the seatbelt. We don't have time—ah, hell. We've got incoming,” a masculine voice mutters from just outside the now non-existent driver’s side door.

“Take care of it, and I'll get her out,” the man says as he pulls out a knife.

“Please don't,” I beg as he grabs the seat belt from my chest and slices it. My body falls forward slightly, but my legs are trapped. I can't help the scream that wrenches from me as pain blazes through my legs. It feels like someone’s cutting off my legs with something sharp as my newly released weight pulls on them painfully.

“Livvy!” I hear Trace shout from somewhere, and I can hear the rage in his voice.

“Trace!” I scream back desperately as I realize he’s out there fighting to get to me. I bat at the man with the grabby hands. He's trying to pull me out, but my legs are caught. “Stop. Please!” I plead as tears slide down my cheeks while I fight him with as much strength as I can manage to dredge up.

His hand lifts and smacks me across the face, stunning me. “Shut up.” He twists further in, his face next to mine as his hands slide down my thighs and further along my knees, searching for where my legs are caught.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask hoarsely as I try to brace myself against the car’s ceiling. My body is in agony, and there’s not enough room for me to rest my weight comfortably. I’m desperate to try to relieve some of the weight that is pulling on my injured legs. I can hear the sounds of fighting outside, and knowing Trace is near makes me braver than what I would be under normal circumstances. I use one free hand to start pulling at him to get him to stop what he’s doing while I try to brace my weight with the other.

The man ignores me and starts pulling on my legs, trying to tug them free. I fight back screams of agony, and I start to hit whatever parts of his body I can reach with both fists. He suddenly twists back, and his fist slams into my head, causing me to spiral downward into blackness.

When I wake up, someone's touching the side of my face tenderly. I gasp, my eyes flying open as I brace myself for a fight. I look up to see Trace leaning over me, his hair hanging in his face slightly. Headlights still light up the darkness and cast eerie shadows across his face. He looks relieved to see that I'm awake. “We need to get out of here. My car's just down the road, but it's a bit of a walk, because I had to take them by surprise. Backups coming, but we can't stick around. I'm going to carry you okay, and it's probably going to hurt like a bitch,” he warns.

I swallow hard. “How bad is it?” I ask, referring to my injuries. There's so much pain...

“I don't know, but you'll be heal,” he promises as he slips his arms carefully beneath my shoulders and knees. “Try not to pass out,” he orders right before he lifts me up into his arms.

A strangled scream escapes me as fire streaks through my abdomen and back. The second my legs begin to swing, agony engulfs me and everything goes hazy.

Trace curses. It cuts into the blackness that wants to engulf me, and I concentrate on his voice. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Livvy. I tried to get to you sooner, but they were well organized,” he grits out as he walks. “How the hell they got past all our security is beyond me. None of this should have happened,” he growls.

Waves of pain rush through me, and I continue concentrating on what he's saying instead of the pain that wracks my body. I look up at his face. I can't see his expression, since we are walking away from the headlights that had brightened up the night near the wreckage. “What's...going on?” I ask weakly.

“It all comes down to revenge,” he says grimly. “Khristos knew he was opening you up to this kind of danger, but we all assumed we could protect you. Bloody hell, keeping you safe should be a piece of cake. No one expected them to ever get this close to you. Someone somewhere fucked up.”

“I don't understand,” I mumble as I rest my aching head against his shoulder. My legs are starting to go numb, and I don't know if I should be relieved I get a reprieve from the pain or worried. I'm guessing the numbness is a bad thing.

A sudden flash before us brightens the night, and I flinch. Trace curses, and I find myself being set on the ground. “Keep going. Crawl if you have to. The car's just down the road,” he orders before he lunges toward shadows that are darting for us.

I stare blindly out at the darkness. The light has faded, but I feel blinded. I can see shadows that resemble men, but I can't make out anything else. Trace's order echoes in my head.
Keep going. Crawl if you have to.
I try to push my feet beneath me, hoping that I can walk, but I can barely feel anything below the knees. I give up and brace myself on my hands and knees. It hurts, but I think I'm getting used to the pain. I struggle to crawl in the direction we'd been walking. Gravel digs into my palms and knees. Nausea tightens my gut and I pause, breathing deeply as I try to keep from vomiting.

Someone suddenly grabs me around the waist, and I cry out as I'm swung over a broad shoulder. The shoulder digs into my belly, and I feel myself passing out as pain explodes within me.

***

I wake up with a gasp and look around my room. It's dark but for the lamp on the nightstand. At first I think it was all a dream, but then I become aware of the dull ache in my stomach. My lower legs throb, and my head still hurts.

The accident had been real.

After a moment's hesitation, I slowly sit up and find the pain is bearable. I cautiously peel back the sheets and look down at myself. Someone had changed me into my usual sleepwear—a tank and shorts. Ugly bruises mar my legs below the knees, and I can see healing cuts and gashes that are nothing more than pink scars. What had happened tonight? Who had been after me? Had they been trying to kill me? For the first time since I found out I'm a succubus, I am grateful for the otherworldly part of me that I'd resented up until this point. I remember the extreme pain in my abdomen earlier, and I'm sure I had been suffering from internal injuries. If it weren't for the succubus genes that resides within me, I'd likely be dead.

I need to know what happened, and Khristos can't keep me from the truth anymore. I won't allow it. With that thought in mind, I gingerly climb out of bed. I'm relieved I can walk, and I make my way to my door.

When I open it, I find Marko standing out in the hall, looking bored but very formidable with his arms crossed. He glances at me and pulls out his cell phone. He presses a button and puts it to his ear, promptly saying, “She's up.” He listens for a second and then disconnects the call, pocketing it. “He's waiting for you in his office,” he tells me.

“You were guarding my door?” I ask with narrowed eyes.

He doesn't say anything, he just mutely stares at me with those eerie hazel eyes of his.

After eyeing him for a moment longer, I turn and begin to walk barefoot down the hall. As I take the stairs, I run a hand through my tousled hair and it snags on strands that are clumped together from something sticky. When I pull my hair away from my shoulder to peer at it, I see dried blood in it. Ick. Answers first, then a shower.

Strangely enough, I don't see anyone else as I approach Khristos's office. His door is wide open, and when I pause in the threshold, I see that Khristos is standing in front of his window, his back to me. His shoulders seem tense as his arms brace against the wall. “You woke up early. Sit, you must still be feeling a little weak,” he tells me without turning around.