Cynthia Cooke - Lying with Wolves

Damn. They were everywhere.

He hurried past, aware of the black shadows surrounding the man’s head and what was moving within them. A beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Malcolm’s eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t have time for this. He had to find Celia. He had to tell her the truth about her mother, and about what was happening back home. If he didn’t, none of them stood a chance. He jerked out of the man’s grasp, turned and crouched down just as the man swung at him. And missed. The second swing didn’t. Malcolm felt the blow to his head, like a hammer pounding against a nail. The ping echoed through his brain, sending a spray of white dots behind his eyes.

Malcolm wasn’t a big man, but he was agile and quick on his feet. He managed to avert the third blow and the fourth, jumping to one side and then the next. The man swung again, this time landing the blow, knocking Malcolm flat on his back.

The Abatu fell on top of Malcolm, pushing the air from his chest in a painful whoosh. He hit him again, a series of blows, pummeling his face. A burning pain stitched his face as his eyebrow split and blood poured into his eyes. He had to get away. He reached forward blindly, searching for the man’s eyes, hoping if he could just grab hold, push his fingers deep enough, he could get the beast off him.

The pressure on his chest from the man’s knees was becoming unbearable. He felt a rib snap as the man pushed down, leaning forward, using his bulk, his weight, as a weapon. Pain screaming through his system, Malcolm jerked up, snapping his head forward, smacking it into the man’s cheekbone and nose with a dull, squishy thud.

The sound of crunching bone was immensely satisfying. He rolled quickly, jumped to his feet, then attacked the Abatu viciously with his feet, kicking him over and over until finally he had the upper hand. The demon lay on the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his middle. Knowing he wouldn’t be down for long, Malcolm turned and ran back down the hill and toward his truck. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t believe the Abatu was back on his feet, chasing after him. What the hell?

Malcolm reached his truck and unlocked the door, the Abatu almost on him. He could practically feel the big man’s hot breath rushing down his neck. Without looking, Malcolm jumped inside his truck, slammed and locked the door and turned over the engine. The Abatu slapped a meaty hand against the side of the truck with a loud thunk as Malcolm peeled off down the road.

He’d made it maybe a mile when he caught sight of his wrist. Staring in disbelief, he hit the brakes and the truck screeched to a stop. The string of crystals, his protection against the Gauliacho, was gone. Should he go back and try to find it? Would the Abatu still be there? Could he make it all the way home without it? No! Every Abatu for miles around would be coming for him, and if they didn’t get him, the Gauliacho would.

He would have to go back.

* * *

Like a bug trapped in a jar, Celia paced the small shop. She had to run. But where? This was her home. Her shop. Her new life . She wasn’t going to let Malcolm chase her out of it. Besides, she couldn’t disappear without rejuvenating his crystals. If she did...well, that was more than she wanted to be responsible for. She didn’t want anything to happen to him. She just wanted never to have to see him again. Why couldn’t he have just stayed where he was?

“It’s going to be all right,” Ruby said, patting Celia’s back.

“I know,” she whispered. But she didn’t know.

“You want us to stay?” Jade asked.

Celia shook her head, though part of her wanted to say yes. To have them as a buffer. But she had to face Malcolm on her own. They couldn’t hear that conversation. “No, thanks.” Celia watched her cousins walk out the door and was sorely tempted to call them back. But she didn’t. Instead she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and sat back down behind the counter to wait for Malcolm to arrive.

* * *

By the time Malcolm pulled to a stop in front of the shop, he was furious and hurt everywhere. He was still bleeding, and worse, he’d never found the stones. He was working on borrowed time. Time he couldn’t afford to lose. He jumped out of the truck, wincing at the arc of pain slicing through his ribs, and hurried toward the shop.

He pulled open the door, cringing as the bells pierced his throbbing brain. “Celia!” he bellowed.

Silence greeted him. He was about to call her again when the door to the back room opened and she stepped into the doorway. His breath caught in this throat, strangling the yell that had been perched on his tongue.

“Hello, Malcolm,” she said, her warm, brandy-laced voice washing over him. She walked into the room. As if nothing had happened. As if he weren’t covered in red dirt and blood.

“Celia,” he said, not trusting himself to say more.

She walked forward, her long, gorgeous legs hidden beneath a gauzy dark blue skirt. Graceful. Elegant. And yet, as her chocolate-brown eyes caught his, they were filled with wariness. He’d done that to her. Her eyes used to be wide-open and filled with joy. Now they were guarded and hard.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. She looked beautiful, her copper hair a wild mane bouncing around her shoulders. How he’d missed that hair tickling his skin. How he missed her.

“What are you doing here, Malcolm?” A note of coldness entered her voice, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

“I needed to see you—”

“That’s not a good enough reason to intrude on my life. I don’t want to see you. To have anything to do with you. Not now. Not ever.” Fire flashed amber in her dark eyes as they took in the cut on his brow, the blood on his face. “I would have thought your little field trip into the canyons had made that clear.”

Anger fired like a .22 bullet ricocheting off his insides, bouncing within him. “You sent me there on purpose?”

“Of course.”

What had happened to her? The Celia he knew never... “You could have got me killed,” he said evenly.

“Oh, please, men like you don’t die, Malcolm. They live on to make everyone else suffer.”

Her sharp words cut him deep. “My protection is gone. I lost the bracelet of crystals in the canyon when I was attacked by an Abatu .”

“Then you’re in a helluva lot of trouble, aren’t you?”

He sucked in a quick breath, disbelief thick in his throat. “What are you saying?”

“Get out, Malcolm. And don’t ever come back.”

He stared at the hard, cold fury in her eyes and wondered what had happened to the soft, caring woman he loved.

He was what happened. He’d made her like this. “Do you really hate me that much?” he asked, his voice breaking over the words.

“Yes,” she said without missing a beat.

He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. She was being absurd. Childish. “I made some mistakes...some misjudgments—”

“Don’t kid yourself, Malcolm. You are a coldhearted, self-absorbed, power-hungry ass, and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t ever want to see you again. So I’ll tell you what. I will find your bracelet. I will rejuvenate your crystals. I will do whatever it takes to get you out of here. To go back to the Colony and never return. Is that clear?”

He took in the stiffness in her spine, the hardness in her jaw, the white knuckles of her clenched fingers, and knew there would be nothing he could say or do that would get through to her. And right then, he wished he could leave. Wished he could turn around and not have to face her, not have to break her heart any further. But he couldn’t. The Colony needed her. And they needed him to bring her to them.