She’d had it with the Underworld. Her time was now.
She took another deep and calming breath. The prophecy would never come to pass. She had stopped it before. She would do so again at all costs.
A smile worked its way across her face as the knowledge relaxed her further. And ice, as cold and wintry as the winds that blow across the Arctic in the human world, solidified in the space that had once held her heart.
Casey was halfway to the living room, where she planned to lie down on the couch and get at least thirty minutes of sleep before she went to check on the mystery man in her bed again, when she heard a knock at her front door.
She froze, glanced at the clock on the wall—3:14 A.M.—then at the door. And for a moment had a paralyzing flash of seething wild animals in the lot behind XScream.
Which was off-the-charts insane, because such things just didn’t exist.
The knock turned to a heart-thumping pounding. Her adrenaline shot through the roof.
Oh, God. What if that was…
“Casey?” A muffled voice called from beyond the door. “I know you’re in there. Your light’s still on.”
Nick.
Panic turned to bewilderment to apprehension. What was Nick Blades doing at her house at three o’clock in the morning?
“Nick?” She took two steps toward the door.
“Open the door, Casey,” he said in a more forceful voice.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she glanced down at her feet and suddenly realized she was wearing nothing but ruined Keds, blood-stained jeans and her bra. “Um. Hold on. I need to get, um…I’m not decent. Just…wait.”
She ran to the hall bathroom and grabbed her white terry robe, only to realize her hands were covered in dried blood. Crap. She didn’t have time to scrub them. Nick’s earlier warning zipped through her mind, and she knew for certain she couldn’t let him know about the injured man in her bed.
She tugged the robe on over her bra and cinched it tight, curling the collar up so it hid any blood that might have splashed onto her chest. Then she unrolled the sleeves as far as they’d go until they hung over the tips of her fingers. Confident her hands were now hidden, she glanced in the bathroom mirror and swallowed a gasp at what she saw.
Her hair was standing at odd angles, and dark circles had formed under eyes, but she figured, screw it. Whatever Nick wanted, she’d just find out quickly, then send him on his way.
On a deep breath she hoped would calm her nerves, she walked to the front door and at the last second remembered her shoes.
“Dammit,” she muttered under her breath as she toed off the bloody Keds and kicked them behind the door. Then she pulled the heavy wood back a crack and peered through the darkness to where Nick stood on her front porch.
And this time she did gasp. Silhouetted by utter darkness, his scarred face highlighted only by the light coming from her kitchen behind her, he was huge. Like a Mack truck come calling. He towered above her, a dark and dangerous badass biker dude, just as Dana had pegged him, with narrowed eyes studying her as if he expected her to do something completely unpredictable, like attack him.
That night three months ago flashed in her mind without warning. And as it did whenever the memory hit, her stomach pitched all over again. She’d left the club at two A.M. that night, headed for home. Halfway to her car, the two drunk guys who’d repeatedly tried to manhandle her inside stepped in her path and not so politely offered her a ride home. She said no, but they had other plans. Three minutes later she was flat on her back in the dirt of the adjacent empty lot, not more than a hundred yards from the club where she served drinks night after night. She knew they were going to rape her, possibly kill her, just as she knew there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
And then like out of a dream—or a nightmare—Nick had materialized behind them. A towering, menacing threat from above. Even now she could hear the screams. Smell the blood. Conjure up the horrifying sounds that still woke her sometimes in the night. She’d covered her ears and rolled away in the dirt to get away from the horror. Where, thankfully, she blacked out.
She’d awoken in the hospital the next morning. Dana was there, holding her hand. Her friend told her one of the dancers had found her in the parking lot moments after she’d left the club, that she’d slipped on an oil patch on the pavement and hit her head. But Casey knew that wasn’t true. She still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened to those two losers, but she’d never seen them again. Nick, on the other hand, hadn’t missed a night at the club since.
This is Nick, she reminded herself. He saved you once. He’s not here to murder you in your sleep.
“Um, hi, Nick,” she said in what she knew was an unsteady voice. “It’s a little late. What can I do for you?”
It’s three a.m., her mind warned. What the hell do you think he wants you to do for him?