Authors: Maryjanice Davidson

Derik's Bane (16 page)

BOOK: Derik's Bane

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“I don’t know,” she said, “but I think it’s going to be all right.”

“When we don’t have a ticket? What am I saying. The ticket guy won’t notice us, or will pretend like we have tickets, because his wife left him this morning, or Amtrak’s entire computer system will crash, and they’ll be too distracted to worry about two strangers on a train.”

“Exactly.”

“So, this is like instinct?”

“Exactly.”

He was following her past the ticket windows. “Okay.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Really okay?”

“Sure. I’m a huge believer in instinct. Besides”—he smiled at her—“you haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

“YOU KNOW, I COULD GET USED TO THIS,” DERIK said, climbing into the sleeping berth beside Sara, who was propped up on one elbow, looking out the window. “No ticket, no money? No problem!”

“I was wondering if it would work,” she said, not looking around. “I’m sick of my power—my whatever-it-is—being passive, you know? I wanted to see if I could make it work.”

“And you did.”

“I
think
I did . . .”

“And say, hon, can you see anything out there?”

“
I
can’t,” she said, looking over her shoulder and smiling at him. It was ridiculous what a gorgeous smile she had. “Come here and narrate.”

He curled up behind her and peeked over the top of her head, out the window. “Well . . . that’s a farm . . . and that’s another farm . . . oh, there’s a herd of cows, sound asleep . . . mmm . . . cows . . .”

“Don’t start, you just ate.”

“What, ‘just’? Half an hour ago. Oh, now look here, the land’s thinning out, probably because . . . yep, there’s a river . . . you can see those lights, right? Probably a town right on the river. Where the hell are we?”

“Somewhere in the Midwest.”

“Well,” he said, nuzzling the back of her neck, “that narrows it down.”

“Off my case, hose head, I’m not a walking atlas. You know, this time tomorrow, we could be getting stomped by Arthur’s Chosen.”

“What a cheerful thought. Thanks for the subject change.”

“It could all be over in just another day or two,” she said, sounding weirdly neutral. “Just think.”

“Yeah. All done. And either the world ends, or we go back to our lives.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Um . . . Sara . . . this is going to sound dumb . . . and slightly retarded . . .”

“Thanks for letting me brace myself.”

“. . . but I’m actually having a great time with you. I—I sort of don’t want it to end.”

“You asshole,” she said, and he was startled to see she was crying.

“What? Jeez, don’t do that. I freak out when you do that. Actually, it’s the first time I’ve seen you do that, and I’m definitely freaking out.”

“Shut up,” she sobbed. “You talk too much.”

“Sara, what’s wrong? Besides, um, everything.”

“That about sums it up,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Everything. I don’t want it to end, either. I’d rather stay on this train forever than fight and mess up and maybe die, or maybe the world dies, or maybe you die.”

“It’ll be all right,” he said with a total lack of conviction.

“You’re a terrible liar. Really. The worst I’ve ever seen.”

“What can I say, we’re not bred for it. Not like you guys. You guys are total experts,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “Homo sapiens is the most deceitful, rapacious species the planet has ever—”

“Shut up. And have you—have you thought about—I mean, what if you’re wrong?”

He snuggled closer to her in the berth. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, darling girl.”

“Maybe you should kill me tonight,” she said quietly, and he nearly fell off the bunk. “Save the world.”

“Bullshit!”

“Don’t yell, I’m right here.”

“You’re not evil, Sara. Not even a little bit evil. So how can you destroy the world?”

“What if it’s not a conscious act?”

“What if it is?”

“Quit that,” she snapped. “We’ll get nowhere like this.”

“Exactly. So drop it, all right? I didn’t go through all this crap to kill you now. Besides,” he pointed out, “I probably couldn’t, remember? I mean, really couldn’t. In addition to feeling just awful about it and not being able to make myself try again.”

“Oh. That’s true,” she said, cheering up. “Your heart would probably explode if you tried.”

“Yeah, so quit crying, okay?”

“Shut the hell up and kiss me. Dumb ass.”

He did, and she kissed him back, fiercely, almost desperately, and he smelled her fear and anxiety, and soothed her as best he could with his mouth and hands. And after a while, her anxiety gave way to lust, which kindled his own.

They shed their clothes and slid against each other, whispering, nibbling, teasing, sighing, and toward the end, he closed his eyes and breathed her perfume, and they rocked together as the train rolled through the Midwest.

“IF I TELL YOU SOMETHING,” HE SAID JUST AS SHE was drifting off, “you have to promise not to get mad.”

“Could you sound more like a big girl? What? What is it?”

“You have to promise not to get mad.”

“Whenever somebody says that, it’s code for, ‘you’re gonna get mad as hell, so watch out’.”

“Yeah, well, you have to promise you
won’t
get mad.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s right.”

“Shit. Sara, I’ve got to tell you this. I mean, it’s been, like, haunting me.”

“So tell me.”

“But I don’t want you to get mad,” he whined.

“Tough.”

“Cripes.” He took a deep breath; the berth was so tiny she could feel his chest heave. “Okay. We didn’t have to have sex at Jon’s. Or the night before, in the woods.”

“We didn’t have to what what at where?”

“We didn’t have to have sex. He knew you weren’t really my fiancée.”

“And you kept this little tidbit to yourself, because . . . ?”

“Well, because I wanted to get laid,” he said reasonably. Then, “Owww!”

“What? I didn’t lay a finger on you.”

“Oww, damn it, Sara!”

“You jerk! You creep! You ass! Oh,
fuck
!” When she thought of the way she threw herself at him . . . dropping the robe and pulling the quilt back like a big old slut . . . telling herself they were Doing It for a good cause . . . she was furious with embarrassment.

And what did it say about him, that he just boned her and never told her the truth? Other than the fact that he was a lying, sneaking, opportunistic—

“Owwwwww!”

—bastard.

“What are you whining about?” she snapped. “I haven’t even gotten started. You son of a bitch! You piece of shit! You—”

“Ow, my fucking sac!” He was cradling his groin and rocking back and forth, as much as their crowded berth would allow. “Sara, will you stop it?”

“Stop what?”

“Calm down,” he begged. “For the sake of our unborn children.”

“I told you, I’m not doing anything.” But was she? She was certainly angry enough to picture a groin-related disaster. Possibly more than one.

Though his yelps of pain were doing wonders for her temper. “Quit complaining.”

“Ow, ugh, ow! Oh, man.” He moaned piteously. “I think my testicles just imploded.”

“Serves you right,” she snapped.

“I’m serious, Sara. This is the worst pain I’ve ever known.”

“Good.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Really, really, really, really sorry. I was sorry before you blew up my balls.”

“I did
not
—”

“It’s just, I couldn’t have this hanging over us anymore. Especially not after what you said, about how tomorrow might be the big day, you know?”

“So?” she sulked.

“So, I wanted to tell you.”

“So, you did.”

“Yeah, but you promised not to get mad.”

“I did not.”

“Okay, well, you got your revenge, right?” He gingerly felt himself. “Oh, boy. I think I’m out of the Sexual Olympics for a while, Sare-Bear.”

“Serves you right,” she said again, and flopped over on her side, as far away from him as she could get, which wasn’t very far. “Asshole.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he coaxed. “I said I was sorry. It’s not my fault I wanted to fuck you so bad I was willing to—”

“You’re not helping your case,” she said grumpily, but when he snuggled contritely behind her, she let him.

“AH, BOSTON, THE SWEET SMELL OF—SARA, WHAT the
hell
!”

She had tripped, and he was too close on her heels, and went sprawling down the steps and over her. She hit the platform with a thump that made him wince and bit her tongue, hard.

“Oww!” she cried unnecessarily. “I mit my mongue!”

Derik rolled over, quick as a cat. “You what your what?”

“My mongue! I mit it!” She rolled it out, crossing her eyes in an attempt to look at it. “Ith it mleeding?”

“No,” he said, pulling her to her feet and ignoring the curious stares of their fellow passengers.

“You nint even look!”

“Sara, if you were bleeding, I’d know it. Now what’s the problem?”

“The
mroblem
ith that I nipped over my own two eet an—ow!”

She’d said “ow” because he had grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and hauled her back up onto the train, brutally shoving passengers out of his way and ducking behind the window.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it Arthur’s Chosen? They’re waiting for us, aren’t they?” She clawed frantically in her pocket, came up with a Kleenex, dabbed her tongue, checked for blood, then readdressed the situation at hand. “It’s them, isn’t it? Funny how imminent death totally took my mind off my sore tongue. Which still hurts like hell, FYI. It’s the Chosen, isn’t it?”

“Worse,” he said grimly, peeking out the window. “It’s my Pack leader and his wife.”

“Really? More werewolves? Oh, that’s so cool. And terrifying. Where?”

“Get
down
, idiot.”

“Idiot? How’d you like another broken testicle?”

He was ignoring her, peeking out the window. “They’re downwind . . . thank God. But how in the hell did they know we’d be here at this particular train station at this particular . . . Antonia.”

“I don’t think so,” Sara said, looking up at him from the floor. “From what you told me, it sounded like she was keeping your secret.”

“How else can you explain it?”

“Well. There’s me. I mean, my power.”

“Maybe.” He peeked out the window again. “Is it possible? Would your luck have brought them here? But how come? If Mike sees you, he’ll try to kill you, and Jeannie will back him up. I mean, Mike’s a toughie, but Jeannie’s
insane
, especially when she’s knocked up. So why would your luck put you in that position?”

“Are you actually having a conversation with me?” she asked. “Or thinking out loud?”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” he continued. “The whole point is that we’re trying to avoid my Pack. So what would bring them here now, right before we’re about to go after the bad guys? Why are they here?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Sara replied. Then she waved, looking past him. “Hi there.”

“Don’t kill her!” he screeched before he even turned all the way around.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Derik,” Michael said, yellow eyes glinting in amusement. And . . . something else. Surprise? No. Shock. They were both shocked, and covering.

“Uh . . .”

“This is the part where he says, ‘I can explain’,” Sara said helpfully.

“I sure as shit hope so,” Jeannie said. She was looking bodaciously gorgeous as usual, with that shoulder-length mess of sun-colored curls, freckled nose, and flinty gaze. Terrifying
and
beautiful, the perfect mate for his alpha. Right now she was nervously chewing on her lower lip. “Start talking, or I start shooting.”

Sara was slowly getting to her feet. “Did you guys hear all that? You know, what he was babbling while you were walking up to us? Because I’m kind of curious, too. Not that it’s not nice to meet you. Because it is, I’m sure. But what brings you here?”

Jeannie and Michael looked at each other, then looked at Sara. “We had to drop off a friend. She doesn’t fly. Then I saw you, so we came over.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Sara said. Derik was amazed; she wasn’t scared at all. Meanwhile, his adrenal gland had dumped what felt like about six gallons of fight-or-flight into his system. “I can’t imagine werewolves like to fly. Stuck in an iron tube hurtling through space. I mean, it freaks me out to think of it, and I’m not claustrophobic. I don’t think.”

“Just . . . everybody stay calm,” Derik said.

“We
are
calm,” Michael pointed out.

“Everybody relax, and I can explain everything.”

“Derik, we’re fine,” Sara said.

“Just, nobody panic.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Jeannie asked. “You’re all twitchy and sweaty. You’re usually much more laid back.”

“Well. You’re armed, which makes me kind of nervous. And, uh, I didn’t—we didn’t—expect to see you here. Today, I mean. At the train station.”

“We didn’t expect to see you, either,” Jeannie said. “And with a friend.” Blond eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

Michael stepped close and sniffed Sara. “A
good
friend,” he said.

“Quit that,” Sara said, throwing up an elbow. “It creeps me right the hell out.”

Jeannie cleared her throat. “Please note how I restrained myself from smelling your butt.”

“For which I will be forever grateful,” Sara giggled. “Seriously, cut it out.” She shoved Michael back, gently enough. “If you want to know something, just ask me.”

“Are you Morgan Le Fay?”

“Well, um, yes.”

BOOK: Derik's Bane

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