Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (66 page)

Flagging a taxi down took less time than catching her breath. She wasn’t surprised when a hand reached out and opened the cab’s door for her.

Tyr.

They exchanged grim looks as they loaded themselves and the laptop into the cab.

“
Fisherman’s Wharf,” she said, pulling a bill out of her wallet. “And there’s a hundred in it for you if you get us there before eight.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 73

After being slammed forward as the cabbie squealed to a stop at the corner of Taylor and the Embarcadero, Sal pulled out the money. Granted, the ride had been mildly nauseating. It involved driving in bus-only lanes, plus going the wrong way up a one-way street, but he had delivered them at the Wharf with five minutes to spare.

Tyr was already out of the taxi when she handed over two twenties to cover the fare, and then the hundred to cover the expediency. On second thought, Sal gave the guy another twenty.

Just as she had hoped, a lone boat waited at the dock, held back for those urbanites who wished to be fashionably late and miss the bay tour. The ferry looked ready to launch. Grabbing Tyr’s hand, she ran toward the gangplank.

They were about to make it onto the boat when an usher stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry madam, but this is a private event.”

“
Yeah, yeah. I’m Dr. Calon, representing San.Francisco General Hospital.”

The man looked at her jeans and sweaty T-shirt. “Not in those clothes, you’re not.” He then looked at Tyr’s wide shoulders, broad belt, and tight leather pants. “Now him … He can do anything he wants.”

“
Down, boy,” Sal warned the salivating usher. “I’m sure you’ve got extra costumes for latecomers.”

Looking disappointed, the man waved them aboard. “Down on the lower deck, you’ll find what’s left of the selection. But I’ve got to warn you that in your size …” He emphasized “size” as long as he could, then continued, “There’s just a scullery maid, a strangely Marilyn Monroe inspired number, and something that would have horrified Liberace.”

“
Fine,” Sal said as they made their way up the plank. What did it matter? She wasn’t here for a fashion show. She just needed to blend in.

But as they boarded the boat, the quality of the costumes surprised her. Clearly, the theme of this year’s gala was a medieval masquerade. There were knights, maidens, jesters, and even a king, on deck. She forgot how full-out everyone went for this benefit. Socialites jostled for position in front of the photographers.

Eschewing the press, Sal guided them through the costumed throng.

Finally, they were nearly to the stairs that led to the lower deck when the “king” passed by with his golden crown.

Tyr dropped to one knee, bending his head in supplication. “Sire.”

The elderly gentleman chuckled, thinking Tyr a really enthusiastic partygoer. “Now that’s what I call getting into character.”

Even though Sal tried to tug him to his feet, Tyr would not rise until the man was out of sight.

“
He’s not a real king,” she hissed. “He’s in costume.”

Tyr’s brows knitted together. “He wears the crown of coronation.”

Sal didn’t have time to explain the intricacies of a masquerade. They needed to get below deck, find an adequate costume for her, then get Lionel the hell off the island before the beast consumed the physicist’s knowledge.

“
What is this costume?”

Trotting down the stairs, she answered, “It’s something you wear at a party to look different than you normally do.”

“
Explain party.”

Clearly, he had never been to grad school. Sal opened her mouth to explain, then shut it again as she found the rack of costumes. Tyr would just have to figure it out later. The guide hadn’t been exaggerating. There wasn’t a great selection left overall, but in a size eight? An ugly, green shift hung beside a very non-medieval red satin cocktail dress, right next to possibly the most hideous purple and blue gown. The thing was lined with sequins and feathers.

If only she could fit into a size four. There was a noblewoman’s velvet dress. And a size two? The most gorgeous fairy-like gossamer gown she’d ever seen hung at the end of the rack.

Sal shook her head. Heaven forbid that a woman actually had hips.

Snatching the rough-spun shift off the rack, Sal went behind the dressing screen and changed as the boat’s horn announced their departure. The coarse wool scratched at her skin. However, comfort wasn’t highest on her priority list.

Smoothing the ugly cloth, she stepped out from the screen. Tyr’s eyes were impossible to read. Barefoot, Sal trudged over to the mirror. She hadn’t been expecting Chanel, but dear God, she looked frumpy. There was absolutely nothing attractive about her, or the dress. Her looks really shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow they did. After all, they were hunting the beast—and saving a professor’s life,.

But there was no getting around the mousy green shift. Sal went to head back upstairs, when Tyr stepped in front of her.

“
This costume is essential for us to move freely amongst the nobles?”

“
No. Yes …Well, kind of.” Sal really didn’t want to discuss it.

He closed the distance between them. “Then this will not do.”

“
You know that you’re not exactly in silk and lace yourself.”

“
I am dead blood,” he said, and, for the first time, used the term with a sense of pride rather than shame. “Lowly servants and mighty kings alike invite me to their hearths. I stride fiercely where others fear to tread.”

So enamored by his tone was she that Sal didn’t react in time when he grabbed her right shoulder seam and tore the sleeve off.

Sal gasped. For one thing, a fantasy brewing in your subconscious coming to life was startling. And for the other, well, she wasn’t sure what the other was. “What do you think you are—”

Before she could argue, Tyr tore the other sleeve off. The shift was still salvageable, though. Then he ripped a strip out from the skirt. The dress was officially ruined.

“
It suited you not.”

Sal felt on the verge of tears. “Then what would? A witch’s robe?”

Tyr gave her his by-now-patented sideways glare.

Anxiously, she looked over to the nearly bare rack. The only other options were the slinky cocktail dress or the gaudy Vegas number.

“
What am I going to do?”

Tyr’s jaw clenched. “Hold.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 74

Sal tried to look down at the piecemeal dress that Tyr was putting together out of bits and pieces of all the other costumes, but he put a finger under her chin and lifted it back up.

Frustrated, she growled, “The boat’s going to dock any second.”

“
Is patience not a virtue taught at your elders’ feet?”

“
Oh, do not get me started.”

But a grin played at the edge of his lips. For all his stoicism, Tyr seemed to be enjoying having her under his tutelage way too much.

“
Put these on,” he said as he handed her a pair of vinyl boots. When last she had seen them, they were Madonna-gaudy. Stripper quality, but somehow Tyr had weathered them in such a way they were not only aged, but tasteful as well.

He wouldn’t allow her to kneel, so his strong hands pulled the zipper up her calf. It was a good thing that the usher hadn’t come with them.

She really couldn’t have kept a straight face.

“
It is done,” he stated.

Sal rushed to the mirror and stumbled to a stop, shocked at what she found in the reflection.

Somehow, some way, Tyr had transformed the drabbest of dresses into the most exotic of gowns. Using the shift as scaffolding, he used the silk from the Monroe dress for the sleeves. The beading from the Liberace number crisscrossing her midsection not only glammed it up, but beautifully defined her waist. And the skirt? He’d taken the gossamer blues and greens and made a scarf skirt of unparalleled beauty.

Sal couldn’t help but turn to and fro. The delicate material spread outward like a blossoming flower. Grateful to the point of tears, she looked at Tyr.

“
My thane arose from a people who called no land home.”

She didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

Tenderly, he pulled her hair up off her neck. “They called themselves the Romani.” Tyr used a set of beads that matched her midriff to tame her long, dark locks. “Like a dead blood, they travel the world without apology.”

The finishing touch came in the form of a single strand of silver with a pearl-drop pendant. After clasping the lock, he stood back, appreciating her in the mirror. She felt her cheeks burn under his scrutiny.

After what seemed like a century, he broke his stare.

Tyr offered his arm. “If it pleases the lady.”

Sal wrapped her arm through his.

It pleased the lady very much.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 75

Sal hesitated at the top of the plank. They were the last to disembark, but still, she hesitated. She wasn’t ready for the pageantry onshore. This year, the planning committee had pulled out all the stops. The steep path up the hillside to the prison was not only lined by torches, but trumpeters as well. Tyr urged her forward. “The beast awaits no one.”

He was right. They made their way off the boat and passed under the torchlit path, trumpets announcing their arrival. The switchback trail up “the Rock” was nearly as steep as the university campus. In heels this time.

Her annoyance was quickly dispelled as they crested the ridge to look down upon the gala. Tents upon gaily colored tents dotted the otherwise rocky hillside. The bright colors stretched as far as the eye could see, while the normally austere, hulking, three-story prison had been transformed into a medieval castle. Torches lined the “ramparts,” and banners fluttered along the edge of the roof. Quite a difference from the usual tour. Even the old lighthouse on the far side of the island glistened like a silver spire.

Roaming performers entertained the revelers. In the distance a “fire-eater” spewed flames high into the sky. Closer, two warriors clashed in simulated battle. And attendance? There must have been over a thousand people scattered over the island. It was all too much.

A cluster of partygoers had formed at the entrance, clapping as new guests entered the grounds. When it was finally their turn to enter, the applause died off. Suddenly self-conscious, Sal felt herself pull inward, away from the embarrassment that she had dared to think that she was something she could never be, if for even a night.

But then a collective exclamation burst from the crowd, and everyone gathered around the pair.

“
Where did you get that dress?” “Is it a designer gown?” “Were the boots from Bloomingdale’s?”

The questions were too many, and came too quickly, for her to answer a single one. Women, and a few men, looked jealous of her, or at least of the man at her side. Sal was so unused to such attention that she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

Just as she was starting to feel overwhelmed, Tyr gently backed the crowd away. “My lady has pressing duties. If you might excuse her?”

That laughter again, as they assumed that Tyr was just that good an actor.

Once past the press at the entrance, the gala spread out into the night. A light breeze kicked up the fire pits and fluttered the edges of the tents. It would have been perfect, if they didn’t have to find one scientist out of a veritable sea of revelers and then save him from a deadly beast.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 76

Sal stopped the first jester she saw. “Do you know where the San Francisco State contingency is hanging out?”

The guy’s Bronx accent sounded weird coming out from under his belled cap. “Athletics or Academic?”

“
Academic.”

As he shrugged, his entire costume tinkled. “Sorry. I just saw the football team on the far side of the prison playing some medieval game where they hit cones with a stick.”

“
Shinty,” Tyr stated as he scanned the crowd.

“
Yeah, that is what they called it.”

Yep, chalk up another person who was impressed by Tyr.

“
Thanks. If you happen to see a short, Asian physicist, could you tell him that we’re looking for him?”

The tinkling shrug again. “Sure.”

“
We’re—”

“
The hot gypsy couple. I’ve got it dialed in.”

They suffered through a few similar interactions without getting any useful information. The more they mingled, the more impossible their task appeared. Every college or university within a fifty-mile radius was in attendance. They were trying to find a professor in a haystack full of academia.