Lucian turned back to peer at him with one eyebrow raised. “When?”
“Never mind,” Justin muttered, starting forward again. Of course, Lucian Argeneau hadn’t made a joke. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.
“You have five minutes to pack your things,” Lucian announced, stopping at the door across from Justin’s and digging a keycard out of his pocket. “Then we have to leave.”
“But—-” Justin broke off. Lucian had already unlocked and entered the opposite room and was kicking the door closed behind him.
Mouth tightening, Justin turned to unlock his own door, muttering, “She’s my damned life mate, or would be if she wasn’t married. And first it was, ‘She’s your responsibility, you have to train and watch her.’ Now it’s, ‘Go pack, Justin, I’ve got her in my caveman grip.’ ”
“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.”
Justin whirled around just in time to catch the bag of blood that Lucian tossed at him.
“For the road,” Lucian announced and then closed the door again.
Heaving a sigh, Justin popped the bag to his fangs and went into his room. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but if Lucian said pack, it was probably best to do so.
Five
Holly turned sleepily onto her side and burrowed into the blankets with a little sigh. The bed was so warm and comfortable . . . too comfortable, she realized suddenly and pushed against the darkness trying to reclaim her, swimming for consciousness as her mind listed off what was wrong with this bed. The bed she shared with her husband was a cheap one she’d got on sale at eighteen. It had lumps and bumps and sagged in the middle. It was not this comfortable.
Managing to fight her way back to consciousness, she blinked her eyes open and simply stared at the pale blue wall before her, a sense of déjà vu creeping into her mind. Her bedroom was not pale blue. She was waking up in another strange place.
This definitely wasn’t a hotel room though, Holly decided, as her gaze slid around what she could see. There was a closet door, an overstuffed royal blue chair, an attractive and antique oak dresser and not a single generic print on the wall. Instead, there was a lovely painting of a woman in white, curled up sleepily on a wicker chair in the sunlight streaming through a window. Not a hotel then.
“No. Not a hotel,” someone agreed as if she’d spoken the thought aloud.
Holly turned on her back to peer wide--eyed at the woman seated in a second overstuffed royal blue chair on the side of the room she hadn’t yet examined. The woman was petite, with bleached blond hair and twinkling eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Giacinta Notte. But you can call me Gia.”
Holly raised her eyebrows. That told her absolutely nothing. This was a repeat of that morning in the hotel all over again, only with a woman there instead of a man. Feeling at a disadvantage on her back, Holly sat up abruptly in the bed. She pushed the sheets and blankets aside as she did, and was relieved to find that while she was waking up again in a strange bed, this time she was at least dressed.
“Were you not dressed the last time you woke up in a strange bed?” Gia asked curiously. “That sounds an interesting story.”
“You have no idea,” Holly muttered, swinging her feet over the side and grimacing as she noted that while she was still wearing the black dress pants and the red blouse she’d donned that morning, or what she presumed was that morning, they were a complete and utter wrinkled mess.
“I can help with that. Your clothes I mean,” Gia announced.
Holly peered at the woman solemnly. Gia’s eyes were twinkling as if Holly had just said something amusing. Since she hadn’t, the expression was a bit unsettling.
Repressing her amusement, the woman offered an apologetic expression. “My apologies. When I said that sounds an interesting story, you reacted by—-”
“By saying you have no idea,” Holly interrupted. “I know. I am awake, I promise.”
“Yes, you did, but you also thought of the last time you woke up in a strange bed,” she explained. “That was an interesting story, by the way,” she assured her with amusement and then mimicked in a deep voice, “ ‘You have won a lotto of sorts. The Bricker lotto.’ Yeesh, idiota.”
Holly’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you can read my thoughts?”