Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) (35 page)

He grabbed hold of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t get too close. You never know what diseases it might carry or . . . who sent it.”

If Veridan had bewitched the animal to spy on them, would that trigger an alarm in his instincts? Greg felt nothing and had no definite answer to that question, but . . . better safe than sorry.

“Who sent it?” Sam took a step back. “You think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible. We’re Morphids, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

They stared at the bird and the bird stared back. It hopped along the railing, twisting its head this way and that, as if examining them through a lens. After a long moment, it opened its tiny, curved beak and let out a gentle hoot.

“Oh, my God, I could eat him,” Sam enthused.

“Let’s. We could make owl soup.”

She slapped his thigh. “Don’t be so mean.”

“Get!” Greg said.

The owl gave him a dirty look.

“Get!” He waved a hand, but the bird didn’t budge.

“Let him be,” Sam protested.

“That’s a gutsy bird.”

With as much attitude as Brooke, the owl turned around, its small claws
clinking
against the metal railing. Its tail flipped upward, then it gave Greg a backward glance, its neck practically coming around full circle.

“That thing is evil,” he said. “The Exorcist has nothing on you, little bastard.” He pointed a threatening finger at the bird.

“Oh, please.” In spite of her disapproval, Sam chuckled.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as the owl took a poop and flew off into the night, flapping its little wings one, two, three times until it caught a draft and soared away.

Sam laughed and laughed as she hadn’t in a long time. She held her stomach with one hand and wiped tears from her eyes with the other. Her abandon turned Greg’s frown upside down, and soon, he was laughing, too. If only their lives could always feel this light and happy.

He would give anything for that chance.

Chapter 45 - Brooke

Brooke wrapped a gloriously soft bathrobe around her body and took a whiff of its lapel. Her eyelids fluttered as its understated floral scent filled her head.

“Heaven, just heaven,” she said, making her way toward the king size bed that ruled the center of her room.

She threw her body across the bed, arms splayed at her sides. There were so many pluses about this little adventure that she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing. No annoying calls from her parents wondering where she was (
thank God for magical deletion of their memory stick!
), fancy hotels, sushi in New York, a hot guy interested in her—this last one was a bit questionable, but still, there was a distinct possibility.

A light knock on the door jolted her out of some complicated daydream involving Perry and a less grouchy Ashby. She sat up, heart already hammering at the thought of who might be at the door.

Like a good girl, she looked through the peephole before opening. Her pulse skittered faster when her suspicions where confirmed.

Her fist went up in the air in triumph. “I knew it!” She pressed a hand to her mouth. Perry snickered on the other side of the door. She shook her head at her amateur move.

Idiot!

Well, he’d come. She’d thought about going to his room, but talked herself out of it when she imagined Ashby sending her packing. Now that Perry was here, she felt somewhat vindicated.

Pulling her hair out of her pony tail, Brooke mussed it around before opening.

“Hey, Brooke,” Perry drolled. He was leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glinting.

All her excitement and nerves congregated in her throat, and she barely managed a “hey” back.

“May I come in?”

Suddenly, having this predatory-looking male in her room didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Um, maybe just for a few minutes.” There were some questions she wanted to ask him, after all. She let the door swing open all the way. He waltzed in and looked around.

Brooke closed the door and played with the tie belt, feeling very much aware of how little she was wearing under the bathrobe. Perry looked her up and down, his insistent gaze making her feel as if he had x-ray vision.

Oh, my God! What if he does?

No! Don’t be stupid, of course he doesn’t.

Anyway, if he did, what difference would it make if she had on a robe or a proper outfit? Duh!

“I’m wondering . . .” he strolled in her direction, “what you are or
aren’t
wearing under that robe.”

Before he got any closer, Brooke spun and walked to the other side of the bed.

“Um . . .”

Snap out of it, you ditz.

She wasn’t going to turn into a bimbo just because a hot guy wanted to see under her robe. She had no problem with that, not as long as her expectations got themselves in line.

With a deep breath, she resolved to show him she could be perfectly calm and collected. “Why are you here, Perry?”

He cocked his head to one side. “I thought that would be clear.”

“I’m not dense, so don’t worry about that. I just want to get a clear picture in my head, especially since you’ve been acting so hot and cold. Expectations are everything in . . . things of this nature.”

Perry nodded. “True. Setting expectations from the beginning can save a load of heartache in the end.” He paced from the night table to the end of the bed and back again. A hand to his chin, he seemed to be pondering what to say.

A boat of lies, most likely.

Brooke struck a pose and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself for his play.

“I’m really sorry about the hot and cold treatment, love.” He stopped and faced her from the other side of the bed. “It’s why I’m here, really. I wanted to explain. Ashby forbade me to . . . pursue my interest in you, because
I am
interested. I want to make that clear.”

Oh, it was clear. There was no mistaking the intensity in his green eyes and the set of his jaw. Brooke’s stomach filled with butterflies the size of overfed bats.

“I have to do what Ashby says,” he continued. “I swore an oath to serve him, to be his adviser. He thinks I will . . .” Perry paused and looked down at his feet, “. . . break your heart, and he doesn’t want to have to explain that to Sam once we find her.” He met her gaze again, but only for a second.

“And will you? Break my heart, I mean?” she asked, although from his attitude the answer was already clear.

He sighed. “If past experience is any indication, yes, I will.”

So, no sugar coating it, huh?

This was the God’s honest truth. Well, she’d asked for it.

“What do you say now?” Perry asked.

A big, sensible part of her was screaming for her to turn and run away as fast as possible from this green-eyed heartbreaker. But when had she ever done the sensible thing when it came to boys? And who was she kidding, anyway? This was no ordinary boy. There was no way she would deny herself a taste of him.

Perry must have seen something in her expression, because he smiled and strolled to her side. He pried one of her hands away from her crossed-arm position and planted a smooth kiss on her trembling fingers. From his lips, he moved her hand to his chest and planted it right over his heart. He flexed his pectoral muscle as it landed there and smiled wickedly. Brooke’s cheeks went hot in a flash.

His directness and self-confidence were alluring. All the boys she’d ever dated or tried to date had been shy, clumsy, incoherent or all of the above. Perry’s approach took away all the second guessing and uncertainty, and she liked that. Besides, who was ever guaranteed an intact heart after any type of relationship?

“What do I say?” Brooke asked in a suggestive tone. She placed her other hand on Perry’s chest and marveled at his solidity. He felt nearly inhuman.

She chuckled to herself.

He frowned at her.

Of course he
is
inhuman, you fool.

Brooke licked her lips. “Well, I say that . . . I’m up for it, but you’re the one who’d better watch out.”

He cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.

“Unless you heart is made of stone.” Brooke peeled her hands away from Perry and walked around him.

She’d only gotten a couple of paces away when he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. She smacked against his chest, and it was like running into a steel door. Perry pressed a hand to her lower back and another to the base of her neck.

“I think my heart
is
made of stone,” he said, his lips a few millimeters from hers. His hot breath smelled of cinnamon and honey.

Brooke blinked, intoxicated by the sweetness spilling from his lips. “Oh, I see. This is how you do it. You use your sorcery. Cheater!”

He chuckled deep in his throat, then moved his large hands to either side of her face. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the time you slapped me.”

She blinked. “Wait! What?! I slapped you?”

“Uh-hum,” his gaze didn’t move away from her mouth. “The first time I met you. When Ashby asked me to make you forget about Sam for a bit.”

“Well, then, I guess you deserved it.”

“I was so tempted to kiss you and make you forget. But, in the end, what would be the point of that? I want you to remember.”

Oh, and I want to remember. Kiss me already.

He leaned forward. She closed her eyes, ready to taste his sweet lips.

“Brooke!”

Three strong knocks at the door.

Really?

Ashby needed to die, and at the moment, she was more than willing to do the killing herself. Not without a little torture first, though. Something like plucking his long, blond eyelashes out. One at a time.

Perry exhaled, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed his forehead to Brooke’s. “We’ll finish this. I promise.” He walked away and opened the door.

Ashby barged in, his black eyes glaring disapprovingly at Perry.

“I invited him, in case you’re wondering.” Brooke wasn’t about to play this game anymore. She didn’t need Ashby or anyone to babysit her. She and Perry could make their own decisions.

Ashby opened his mouth, then shut it again. After a moment, he said, “That’s not why I’m here.”

He glanced at Perry for a beat, then turned away toward the door, hiding his expression of . . . of what?

Disapproval? Anger? Disappointment?

“Joao has news,” Ashby said, then left the room.

Chapter 46 - Ashby

Ashby’s watch read 10:45 P.M. It wasn’t an optimal time for this, but he couldn’t wait. Bypassing the building’s main entrance to knock directly on M. Espina’s front door, whoever he was, wasn’t optimal either. Yet, here he was.

He looked back over his shoulder. Everyone was watching impatiently off to the side, except Brooke, of course. She had insisted her presence would keep Sam’s freak out to a minimum.

“Are you certain this is the right place?” he murmured.

“Yes!” Perry and Joao stage-whispered at the same time.

Joao had gotten the address from one of his owls—as absurd as that sounded—and Perry had transported them straight into the building.

Brooke lifted a hand to knock, but he held her back.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“No. I’ll do it.”

They slapped at each other’s hands like preschoolers fighting over a toy.

“Guys!” Calisto chided, shaking her head.

Ashby straightened his jacket and inclined his head, inviting Brooke to knock. She gave a satisfied raised eyebrow, making him regret acting like a gentleman. She knocked twice.

He stared at the door as if he were at the threshold between two different dimensions.

One without Sam and one with her.

No response.

Brooke knocked again, harder this time.

After a moment, sounds came from inside: rustling, stomping, a thwack followed by a curse, and finally, silence.

Ashby lifted his chin to ensure whoever was on the other side of the peephole could see his face clearly. They waited for several beats until he was convinced they weren’t going to get into the apartment by conventional means. Just as he was about to ask Perry to force the entrance, there was a click and the door opened.

He pushed Brooke aside and stepped forward.

“Hey,” she protested, but had the decency to stay back. This moment was his.

A middle-aged Morphid stood on the other side. He had thinning blond hair and eyes as dark as night that gazed at Ashby in a very strange manner.

Ashby cleared his throat. “Good evening. I apologize for my presence here at this hour, but my business couldn’t wait.”

The man’s mouth parted, yet he said nothing. The unrelenting strangeness in his expression made Ashby fidget self-consciously. He was staring at Ashby as if he were some kind of ghost.