Tempest’s Legacy (41 page)
Authors: Nicole Peeler
Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General
“Nope,” he grunted. “Chased her to the edge of Nell’s territory, but then her scent faded. She must have holed up somewhere I couldn’t get to. Underground, or in the water.”
“Do you think she can do thaaaaaaa,” I tried to ask, before my whole body turned to goop as Anyan’s fingers started running through my long black hair. It was ridiculously erotic, until I winced as his fingers found a knot.
“Did you pack a brush?” the barghest chided.
“Did you raid a dog food convention to acquire your wardrobe?” I countered, jerking my hair out from underneath his hands in punishment.
After all
, I thought with irritation,
I’m supposed to have sexy, postcoital bed head. Not “I slept on your couch” head.
His hands stilled in my hair as he looked down at his chest. His now filthy T-shirt sported an advert for Eukanuba. I’d already seen shirts for Alpo, Iams, and Purina, among many others.
“Okay, I admit, the joke got out of hand. But I’m not going to go out and buy myself a whole new wardrobe. These shirts are perfectly serviceable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Serviceable? Anyan, I get it that you’re utilitarian. If we were in the old country you’d write odes to factories. You’d sing the praises of the communal farm while you gnawed on a perfectly ‘serviceable’ radish. But this is the new millennium. In America. Buy a button-up.”
The very tip of his crooked nose twitched, something
that would never cease to amuse me. The hand on one knee shifted to pinch my outer-thigh fat, something that I found significantly less endearing.
“Jane, I’m a barghest, not a Stalinist. And what do you mean by ‘the old country’? I was born in this Territory, as you well know. And you should talk about writing odes to factories. You were practically committing sex acts on my range.”
I cast a long, lascivious gaze at the Wolf. God, it was gorgeous. I had to come clean.
“I can’t help it, Anyan. I’ve never felt this way about a machine. It’s just so big…” My voice trailed off as my hot eyes roved up from its sturdily planted legs to the boldly flaring expanse of its saucy extractor fan.
“Jane, you are starting to creep
me
out. Someone who pees on the local flora in order to mark his territory. That says something.”
I eyed the Wolf, suddenly inspired.
“And no,” he added hastily. “If you pee on it you do not get to take it home.”
I pushed my bottom lip out in a pout, feeling a thrill up my spine when I noticed Anyan stare like he wanted to bite. His hands, resting right above my knees, squeezed lightly and I was happily visualizing pulling him in tight to make that bite a reality, when he spoke.
“Speaking of ‘home,’ do you still want to tell your father today?”
And just like that, the libido crawled back into its hole. I’d asked Anyan if he’d be with me when I told my dad about my mother’s death, mostly for support but also because the barghest—even with sticks in his hair, like he had now—oozed authority. I was going to have to tell my
father a combination of truth about my mom Mari’s death and careful omission, and I figured Anyan’s presence would make the idea that I had outside sources more credible.
But mostly you just want him there
, reminded the part of my brain that always insisted on being brutally honest. I frowned, quashing the thought; unwilling to examine my emotions regarding the barghest too closely.
“Yes,” I replied finally, my chin dropping to my chest. “I need to get it over with.”
Anyan’s big hand found its way under the heavy wing of my long, black hair, stroking gently at my nape. It felt as comforting as apple pie tasted, and I marveled at how easily he touched me now. My own hands itched to reciprocate, but I still had to get used to the idea that touches were okay. Anyan had been a fantasy for so long; it was going to take me some time to adjust to the reality.
“Come on, then. Let’s clean up. You use my bathroom. I’ve got a shower out in my workshop I can use.”
I raised my black eyes to meet Anyan’s iron gray gaze, letting all my anxiety shine through. The hand on my nape squeezed, gently, in response.
“It’s going to be okay, Jane. We’ll find a way to tell your father so he understands. You’re doing the right thing; he can’t live in ignorance and false hope for the rest of his life.”
I nodded. Anyan stepped back so that I could hop down off the counter, then we went our separate ways to clean up. I’d already used his upstairs bathroom once, so I knew where everything was located. The only thing that took awhile was finding something clean(ish) in my duffel, but soon enough I came downstairs to find Anyan all spiffy, sitting on his sofa and waiting for me.
We walked outside to his motorcycle. I slung my arms through my duffel bag’s straps, wearing it like a backpack, then plunked the helmet Anyan held out to me on my head. I fiddled with the straps, watching as Anyan started to set his own helmet down over his still-wet hair.
I was just imagining the helmet head he was going to wind up with, when he suddenly lowered his arms, breathing deeply and looking around with confusion written across his face.
“Why do I smell strange humans?” he asked, a split second before we were attacked.
As always, huge thanks to my family and friends. I love you and thank you for your unfailing support.
My students and colleagues at LSUS have been an inspiration, especially considering the upset of the current budget crisis. Thanks for being so excited about my work and so understanding about my propensity to stare off into space and mutter.
To my Alpha Team of beta readers—James Clawson, Mary Lois White, Christie Ko—You’re amazing and I adore you. Thanks for keeping Jane on her toes.
Same goes to my fabulous critique partner, Diana Rowland, whose Demon series rocks my socks. You’re a fantastic influence and friend, and I thank you.
To everyone at the League of Reluctant Adults for inviting me in, letting me get comfortable, and never once making me comb my hair. I adore you all and am so grateful to you.
And to my teams at McIntosh and Otis and at Orbit
Books, thank you! Rebecca and Ian, you’re beautiful. We’ve accomplished so much and I have you to blame. At Orbit, thanks to Jack and Alex for making things fly. To Lauren, as always, for making such beautiful covers with the talented Sharon Tancredi (Thank you, Sharon!). Thanks to Jennifer for greasing the wheels, to Devi for keeping me honest, and to Tim for signing my contracts.
Finally, thank you to my fans. Those of you who really “get” Jane and understand what I’m trying to do in these books have made this process such a pleasure. Thanks for writing and sharing your own stories and for being so warm and encouraging. Because of your support, Jane’s adventures—and my own—have only just begun.
A PREVIEW OF
EYE OF THE TEMPEST
J
ANE
T
RUE
N
OVELS
Tempest Rising
Tracking the Tempest
Tempest’s Legacy
Eye of the Tempest
T
EMPEST
R
ISING
:
Copyright“Witty and fun, with a dash of dark suspense.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Nicole Peeler
Excerpt from
Eye of the Tempest
copyright © 2011 by Nicole Peeler
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: January 2011
ISBN: 978-0-316-07602-9
