Читать книгу Possessed by a Wolf - Sharon Ashwood - Страница 15

Chapter 6

Lexie looked anyway. There was a dark gray sedan behind her—which was not by itself a suspicious fact, but when she changed lanes, it changed with her.

“Told you,” Faran said. “I’d give him five and a half out of ten.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Even before she’d known he was a real spy, he’d liked to give a play-by-play review of the covert ops on TV. “What do I do?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know who it is?”

“No.”

“Think you can lose him?”

Irritated and apprehensive, Lexie looked behind her again. The sedan was still there. “Maybe.”

“Go for it.”

Conversation died. Full of curves and switchbacks, the scenic road had been used in more than one sports-car commercial and Lexie needed all her concentration. The first chance she got, she made a left turn off the highway, picking up a smaller road that wound through the hills. The sedan didn’t change course.

“Wait a minute,” she said, oddly disappointed. “Did we completely misread the situation?”

“I dunno,” Faran said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Disgruntled and feeling as if she was missing some punch line, she let the road take her along a twisting loop that wandered back toward the city. It wouldn’t take long to reach the suburbs—Marcari’s capital was small. No place was more than ten minutes to the countryside and bad roads.

Lexie looked for another turnoff to take her back to the highway, but there was nothing in sight—not that one could see very far in front or behind with so many twists and turns.

“I don’t like this,” Faran said. “It’s like driving blind.”

“I’ll get back to the highway as soon as there’s a turnoff.”

But there were just lanes here and there leading to farms or the wealthy estates that were hidden along Marcari’s coastline. She drove along the hilly, bumpy terrain, sometimes surrounded by clumps of scruffy pine and other times overlooking the blue sea and whitewashed houses below. Another day, she wouldn’t have minded getting semilost, but right then she wasn’t in the mood.

Apart from everything else, Faran’s presence in the passenger seat was reminding her of too many road trips that had ended up at little wayside inns. There had been magical evenings—sometimes with long walks or music festivals or just a local dinner and bed. They had all started out in a car going nowhere in particular with the whole world ahead of them.

Those scattered images of their past made the space between them far too small. Faran had a formidable presence, but Lexie was especially aware of his square, practical hands resting on his knees. Those hands had often told her so much more than his words. They were capable of incredible tenderness, but right now their nervous fidgets said he was every bit as uneasy as she was.

“Lexie!” Faran shouted, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Behind you!”

She glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see a car speeding into view around a steep curve. Instantly, she swerved to avoid it, but the road was too narrow. The car clipped her back bumper, jolting her against her shoulder belt. The Peugeot lurched forward, the front tire sliding off the road and slewing into a sapling. Wood snapped as Lexie cranked the steering wheel hard, forcing the vehicle back onto the road before it skidded completely out of control. She felt the bump as the car regained the solid surface, and only then saw the gray sedan speed past. Furious, she leaned on the horn. Faran swore.

The sedan disappeared around the bend, going far too fast for the sharp curves. Lexie fell back against the seat with a gasp, almost deafened by the thunder of her own pulse. She lowered the windows a few inches, allowing the cool breeze to chill her sweat-soaked skin.

“Good driving,” Faran said. His voice sounded almost normal, but his fingers gripped her forearm as if he would never let her go.

“If you hadn’t spotted him, I wouldn’t have been able to get out of the way.”

“That was a close call. He meant to run us off the road.”

Lexie’s hands turned to ice. It wasn’t just the idea of being targeted that bothered her—she’d lived with her brother’s malevolent temper for years. She just couldn’t understand how a random attack on the road connected with anything. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew. A warning, maybe. Against what, I don’t know.” He cursed again.

She put her hand over his, trying not to meet his eyes. At first she simply meant to reclaim her arm, but his touch was electric, as if that small span of skin against skin was all it took to loan her a bit of his unnatural strength.

“It’s okay,” Faran said finally, though which one of them he was reassuring wasn’t clear. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers.

She didn’t reply, not trusting herself. Words never worked well between them. With every heartbeat, she became more aware of the purr of the idling motor, the chirping of the birds hopping from branch to branch in the trees. The world was still there.

“I should check the bumper,” she said.

“Don’t get out,” Faran said, his voice tense. “Not yet. Drive slowly until we get someplace where we can turn around and go back the way we came.”

Spooked again, she inched the car forward, looking for a wider spot and wishing she could see more than a few car lengths ahead. She cautiously rounded a fork in the road. Tall poplars framed both sides of the avenue, turning the late winter shadows to a purplish blue.

“There,” Faran said, pointing. He indicated a dirt lane that led through an old arched wooden gate in a high fence. Judging by the thick growth of grapevines shrouding the gate, it probably went to one of the local wineries. “Careful, though, visibility sucks.”

She slowed, thinking she’d drive past and then back into the lane to turn around. It would take good aim, but the Peugeot was nimble. Even though she was on high alert, she didn’t see the dark gray sedan speed out of the gate until it was too late.

With a yell, Lexie slammed on the brakes, swerving the car to the side. It was the only thing that saved them. The Peugeot skidded and slid, finally bumping to a stop.

A horrible noise followed, like a giant pop can crunching in an ogre’s fist. That had to be the other car.

Lexie sat frozen, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Breath came in short, sharp gasps, her pulse pounding in her throat. At first she felt nothing, just a remote sort of panic. How bad was the damage? Was she hurt? Faran? What about the other driver?

The other driver had turned and waited to ram them on purpose. Why? Her vision focused and found the sedan. It had crumpled against one of the poplars, which was now leaning at a dangerous angle. The motor was silent, the door open and a man sprawled out of the driver’s side.

“Oh, God!” she breathed.

Faran reached over and killed the motor of the Peugeot. “Are you okay?”

Lexie made a mental check of her limbs. “Yeah.”

“Stay here.” He opened the door and slid out, drawing a gun from beneath his coat.

Lexie watched him prowl toward the other car. She managed to wait five seconds before she followed. Her door jammed on the uneven ground, but she wriggled out, sucking in air as if she’d been drowning. As she stood, the smell of dust and gasoline assaulted her, and then she fell against the Peugeot, her knees weak with shock.

Faran circled the driver, gun pointed at the downed man’s head.

Lexie drew in a slow, shaking breath. Her mind raced as she forced herself forward a step, eyeing the driver. His face wasn’t visible, and he was wearing a plain black suit that told her nothing about his identity. It looked as if he was alone in the car.

Who was this guy? Her fear was draining away, pushed out by a rising anger. She’d been dragged out of her bed, questioned, locked up and now run off the road. If the driver hadn’t been flat on the ground already, she was furious enough to put him there. She marched toward the sedan, wanting answers.

Faran kicked a stone toward the unconscious man. The prone figure didn’t flinch. “Take the gun and cover him,” he said to Lexie. “I’ll check for a pulse.”

“I hate guns.” And she was in no mood to take orders. Despite Faran’s protest, Lexie came forward and crouched, pressing her fingers to the man’s neck. She gasped and yanked her hand away. “He’s icy cold!”

His gun still aimed at the man’s skull, Faran bent and felt for himself. His mouth flattened into a grim line. “This one’s been dead awhile. No wonder his driving sucked.”

“Is he one of yours?” Lexie asked in a tight voice.

“I don’t recognize him,” Faran replied. “Besides, he followed us from the palace. Vampires are banned from there now and, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s broad daylight. Not even the old ones like moving around in full sun. This one has a tan.”

“Are you saying he’s not a vampire? Then what is he, a zombie?”

“He doesn’t smell bad enough.” Faran holstered his gun. “Stand back while I turn him over.”

This time Lexie didn’t argue, and she retreated a step. The countryside fell eerily silent. Only the ping of the cooling engines interrupted the shushing breeze. “Why do you think he followed us?”

“That depends on who he’s working for.” Faran grabbed the man’s hip and shoulder and flipped him so that he was faceup. The limbs splayed lifelessly. Faran gave him a critical look, then bent and peeled back his upper lip. There were no fangs. “Not a vampire for sure. Let’s look for a name.”

“I’ll check his pockets,” Lexie said. “You take the car.”

Faran raised an eyebrow, but left her to it. Caution and curiosity warred inside Lexie. She folded her arms, fingers curling into fists as she knelt beside the man. There was something compelling about the still form, which was why she wanted to be the one to check him over. Maybe it was because she finally had the upper hand in this bizarre chain of events. Maybe it was because she felt as though she was on the brink of an understanding she couldn’t define. The guy was weirdly familiar. Not his face but...

She gave up trying to capture the thought and got to work. Gingerly, she reached over and pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, snagging a wrapper for salted peanuts along with it. He must have been a pack rat, because the wallet was stuffed with more wrappers and receipts. There was a Vidonese driver’s license showing the same bland, round, brown-haired face.

“His name is Serge Gillon and he’s thirty-two,” she said.

Faran looked up from searching through the sedan. “Probably fake but it’s a start.”

Out of force of habit, Lexie pulled out her phone and snapped pictures of Gillon, the cars and the scene. She knew she’d forget half the detail any other way. She pocketed her phone again and tried to stuff the wallet back into his jacket pocket. A crumpled snack food bag blocked the way—apparently Gillon liked salty treats. She tossed that aside and tried again. As she reached into the satin lining of the pocket one more time, her fingers brushed something cold and metallic. With a sudden leap of suspicion, she grasped the metal object and plucked it free.

“Faran!” Her brain stalled as she gaped at Amelie’s ring. Dumbfounded, she staggered to her feet, holding it up to the sunlight. The rubies sparkled like fresh blood. She slid the band over her finger, afraid she’d drop it otherwise.

Faran stepped over Gillon’s body and grasped her hand, angling it to see the ring better. There was a flash of bloodred fire. “That’s the ring, all right. There can’t be two sets of rubies like that.” They stood like that for a long moment, hand in hand but for all the wrong reasons.

Finally, Faran spoke again. “Who was this guy and why did he have the ring?”

Lexie didn’t have a chance to reply. With a sudden grunting roar, Gillon surged from the dirt and grabbed Faran from behind. Faran’s eyes widened with surprise, but he twisted in the dead man’s grasp and grappled with him. With a snarl, Faran rammed Gillon against the tree with enough force that Lexie heard a crunch of splintering wood. It would have knocked an ordinary human senseless, but Gillon just wrapped his hands around Faran’s throat and started to squeeze.

Lexie had no weapon, so she dove for the cars to find one. The trunk of the sedan had popped open in the crash so she scrabbled inside, peeling up the carpet and grabbing the tire iron. She took a two-handed grip and whirled to face the two men.

Whatever Gillon was, he was as powerful as a werewolf. Faran was wrestling himself free of the choke hold, but it was taking all his strength. Gillon had him against the tree now, and Faran’s hands were on the man’s shoulders, holding him off. A fierce, feral snarling came from the combatants, but Lexie could not be sure which one was making the sound.

Faran’s foot snaked out, hooking Gillon’s knee. Gillon stumbled and Faran pounced, but the dead man kicked, launching Faran through the air. With animal grace, Faran twisted in the air, landing on all fours. Rocks and leaves skidded from beneath his feet, but he was up in an instant, braced for the next attack.

It came with terrible ferocity. Gillon bounded through the air, arms and legs arched the way a leaping spider splays its legs. His lips drew back from his teeth in a savage rictus. He might not have had fangs, but it was no less threatening.

But just as he leaped, Lexie skidded forward and swung the tire iron, putting all the weight of her body into the motion. It caught Gillon right in the ribs with a loud crack. For a moment, she thought the sound was her shoulder joints separating as the force of the impact shuddered all the way to her spine. But then Gillon seemed to fold in midair, ripping the iron from her hands as he fell.

That gave Faran all the time he needed to draw his weapon. The instant Gillon hit the ground, Faran fired two shots into his skull. The sound tore through Lexie, but that was not what shocked her most.

Gillon’s head exploded. Instantly, an acid smell hit Lexie’s senses, making her cough. Through stinging eyes, she could see the shadow of his bones appear through his flesh. As she blinked, the shadow grew darker, seeming to pulse from behind skin that grew more and more translucent. His hands and the remnants of his face—anywhere flesh showed from beneath his clothes—quivered like something made of gelatin. And then, with a sickening slurp, Gillon’s flesh oozed away into a glistening, yellowish puddle. A moment later, bones, clothing and even Faran’s bullets dissolved in an ashy smoke.

“That’s new,” Faran said, his voice brittle with disgust.

Lexie’s lips moved in a silent curse. She took a step toward Faran. His arm circled her waist and pulled her away from the smoking ruin. He’d gone pale, but his hand was firm and warm against her. They stopped a few yards away, Lexie stumbling against Faran. She leaned into him, grateful for the solid wall of his body. Lexie wanted to bury her face against him like a child and wish the world away, but instead she simply stood with her head bowed, her back against his chest. His support, at least, was something she could accept.

For that instant, she could almost believe that everything would be all right. They’d stopped fighting each other and conquered a common enemy. But now her nerves were jittering, flooding every muscle with the need to move. She curled her fingers, nails biting into the palms of her hands. It was as if a spring was overwound inside her and fighting that energy would only make her crack.

In the distance, Lexie heard the wail of distant sirens. Had somebody on one of the nearby farms heard the gunshots? “Do you think that’s the police? Are they coming for us?”

“Do you feel like trusting our luck?” Faran replied in a weary tone.

She looked at the crumpled car, the stinking smear on the ground where Gillon had been, and at the glittering—stolen—rubies on her hand. Even with no actual dead body, there was no way this would end well.

Her hand gripped Faran’s. “You know how I like to run?”

Pressed against him, she felt as much as heard his reply. “Yup. I’m right behind you. Let’s get out of here.”