Night Falls on the Wicked

EIGHTEEN

It was dark the following day when they reached Edmonton, so they went straight to the hotel. It was late and no one thought anything of Darby carrying a sleeping child through the lobby and to the elevator.

Aimee had woken earlier that afternoon. It had been difficult to calm her. There had been no avoiding telling her some bare facts. She was smart and had lots of questions. It had to come out. At least an abbreviated version of what was going on. It was difficult for her to accept, but she’d seen those monsters, remembered the agony of her attack. She’d cried until no tears were left, her small body shuddering against Darby. Darby held her, rubbing her back, stroking her hair, assuring her that she wasn’t alone.

I’m here. I’m here and not going to leave you. You’re going to be okay.

Niklas and I are going to make everything right and get you to your grandmother. I promise, baby, we’re not going to let anything else happen to you.

You’re going to be all right.

As she’d uttered the words, she felt Niklas’s stare on her through the rearview mirror. She felt those eyes, cold and penetrating, but she didn’t meet his gaze—didn’t dare look at him, guessing at the recriminations she would see there. She’d made a promise on his behalf. He didn’t need to say anything for her to know that he didn’t approve or appreciate the fact.

The suite Niklas procured for them was far more elegant than anywhere she’d ever stayed. On her wages it wasn’t even a consideration.

“Why don’t I order room service?” he asked after Darby tucked Aimee into bed in the second room. She closed the door quietly behind her and joined him in the lounging area, marveling how sitting in a car for hours could make her feel so weary.

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

He scanned the menu. “Burgers okay?”

She nodded, flipping on the television, eager to do something—anything to occupy her hands. Anywhere to stare but at him. Hours in the car and he’d barely spoken two words to her.

She’d flipped through countless channels when he finally asked, “Are you going to settle on anything? You’ve passed every channel at least three times.”

She lowered the remote to the sofa and shot him a glance. It was all he needed to begin.

“Don’t speak for me again.”

She knew instantly what he was referring to—knew why his jaw was set with tension. She’d pissed him off with that promise to Aimee.

“Would you rather I had not reassured her? Would you prefer I’d let her panic in the backseat of the car? I’m sure it would be an easy thing to travel with a hysterical child on our hands.”

“Make all the promises you want, just leave me out of it.”

She clenched her hands at her sides. “You can’t just pretend … you can’t just—just …” She waved her hands, fighting for words to express her frustration with him.

He arched a dark eyebrow.

She blew out a heavy breath. “You can’t just disengage from us. You can’t act like we’re not here.”

He looked her up and down, his gaze blistering. “Oh, I’m very aware that you are around. And the child—”

“Aimee!” She shoved to her feet and stamped her foot down. “You can’t keep pretending that—”

He rose and moved on her in a blur of movement, his arm seizing hold of her arm and reminding her immediately of who she was dealing with. “Stop telling me what I can’t do. You’re here because I agreed to bring you along. I haven’t had to answer to anyone since I was sixteen. I’m not about to start now.”

“Fine,” she bit out, twisting her arm free of his searing fingers but holding her ground—not backing down from his looming nearness. “Keep being an a*shole,” she blurted. The moment the words were out, she gasped at her boldness.

His lips quirked, which only made her angrier.

She pulled back her shoulders. “I don’t like you very much.”

He shrugged. “Why should you?”

“Don’t mock me,” she snapped.

“Who’s mocking? We’re not friends here. We’re united in purpose. We have one mission here and once that’s finished, we’ll go our separate ways.”

She shook her head. Her anger was still there, but buried beneath it was hurt, too. “Can’t wait,” she replied, giving each word a smack of decided relish.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. She felt a surge of satisfaction that he didn’t look quite so ready to smile anymore.

An uneasy silence fell between them. She glanced around the room, sliding her palms along the thighs of her jeans. Finally, when she couldn’t handle the tension anymore, she said, “I’m going to see if I can find an ice machine and soda. You want anything?”

She held her breath, forcing herself not to flinch beneath his regard, all the while fighting the memory of them together. Now, alone, Aimee no longer a comforting shield, she couldn’t fight it. That kiss was there, a boulder in the room she couldn’t ignore. And not just the kiss, but also that dream of them together. Yes, a dream. She had decided it had to be a dream. No way could it have been a vision. No way would his icy reserve thaw so that he took her to bed.

He stared at her coolly before shaking his head. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

With a single nod, she grabbed one of the extra key cards and left the room.

She instantly breathed easier free of his proximity. Her steps fell silently down the carpeted corridor. As she passed one room, a man and woman’s laughter floated on the air. For some reason, the sound made her feel only worse.

She didn’t want to fight with Niklas. She wanted him the way he was before he knew what she was—before Cyprian and Aimee. When she was just a waitress … when he would watch her, talk to her, even smile a little—without mockery. And, yes. Kiss her. He liked her then. She was sure of it. Now he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

She came to the end of the hall with no sight of an ice or soda machine. She blew out a breath. For all she knew, this floor didn’t even have one. Not that it really mattered. She mostly needed an excuse to get away and clear her head.

She started to turn, hardly paying any attention to the fancy double doors of an executive suite to her left. Until one door opened and a man stepped out into the hall. Impossibly tall, broad of shoulder and lean-hipped, he commanded attention.

She stopped cold when her gaze met his. When she locked eyes with ice-cold pewter. Her chest tightened.

Another lycan.

She quickly told herself to act normal. He wouldn’t expect her to recognize him for what he was. And he’d have no reason to harm her now, days after the full moon. Not when he was no longer in full shift and driven by hunger.

Still, her gaze must have lingered too long. She gave something away.

He arched a dark eyebrow and asked in a deep voice that struck her at once as refined and cultured, “Can I help you?” A faint accent clung to his words that she couldn’t place.

She shook her head perhaps too fiercely. “No. I just got turned around, I guess … looking for a soda machine.”

He stared at her in an intense way that made her want to run. It brought to mind all the terror she and Aimee had endured, and she started to tremble.

With a curt nod for the dark-haired lycan, she turned and strode quickly down the long length of hall to their room. She pulled her key card from her pocket and fumbled to slide it inside the slot. She didn’t look over her shoulder, didn’t dare. But she felt him there. A great ominous force at her back, watching her flee. Her only thought was to reach Niklas and alert him to the lycan mere feet away.

She finally got the door open and shut. She fell back against the door, still shaking from coming face-to-face with a lycan. Here, several rooms down from them. As the reality of that washed over her, bile surged in her throat.

“Darby? What is it?” Niklas unfolded his lean frame from the sofa.

She pushed off the door and motioned behind her. “A lycan. Out there.”

“What? Cyprian—”

“No.” She shook her head, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. “Some other guy.”

Niklas strode to a chair where he had tossed some of his gear. “This is no coincidence, I’m sure. If this bastard is here, I’ll bet Cyprian isn’t far.” He slammed a fresh clip into a gun as he pronounced this.

“What are you doing?”

“Going out there to introduce myself,” he said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

He tucked the gun into his waistband, letting his sweater fall over the weapon.

She blocked him as he moved toward the door. “You’re just going to walk right out there? And what? Start shooting?”

“Let me pass,” he commanded, his voice hard.

“You need to think this through. You have more to consider than yourself here.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes and she thought her words had reached him. “Step aside, Darby.”

Inexplicable fear clogged her heart, lodging itself there along with the disappointment his words caused. She shook her head no.

He must have read some of her feelings on her face, for he gentled his voice. “Darby, let me go. This is what I do. What needs to be done if you want to win Aimee back.”

His words penetrated, broke through her resistance, her silly urge to keep him safe, close to her. And that was her true fear in his going out there. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was afraid for him.

“Be careful. He’s big.”

“Bolt the door,” he instructed, pulling the door open—and coming face-to-face with the dark-haired lycan waiting on the other side.

Darby clapped a hand over her mouth to drown out her scream.