Banishing the Dark (The Arcadia Bell series) (15 page)

Lon opened his mouth to argue but changed his mind.

“We can check in the morning,” I said. “What’s done is done. If my mother detected what just happened, there’s nothing I can do to undo it.”

Traffic picked up as Lon headed into Old Town, where a handful of late-night pedestrians strolled down sidewalks lined with bars and restaurants. Lon was asking me something, what I’d learned from Rooke. But I couldn’t concentrate for all the worries clamoring inside my throbbing head. Rooke’s insights about my mother. My dead brother. The serpent temple. My screwed-up memories. The jealousy I felt over Lon. The barely restrained power coursing through my veins.

A keening panic gathered in the pit of my stomach.

“Pull over,” I pleaded, desperately punching the button to lower my window. Why wasn’t it working? Stupid safety lock. “I need air.”

The SUV turned sharply off the main road onto a small side street and swung into an empty parking space. I lurched out of my seat and onto the curb, slamming the door behind me. For a second, I thought I might throw up. But after I took a few steps and focused on my breathing, the nausea faded.

I slowed down and rested my hands on my hips, glancing around for any nearby Earthbounds who might spot my insanely bright silver halo. Not a one, but then, I’d only seen one since we left Big Sur. So strange. I’d become used to Earthbounds outnumbering humans in La Sirena; it was easy to forget the rest of the country wasn’t like that.

Palm-tree shadows striped the sidewalk below my feet. Lingering scents of expensive tapas and wine hung in the air as I passed the last sidewalk café on the block, which looked to be closing up for the night. Live music pulsed from a neon-lit club across the street. Beyond here, the noise petered out.

Unhurried, steady steps approached me from behind. A few seconds later, Lon’s deep voice floated over my shoulder. “You okay?”

“I think so,” I said.

“You ready to talk about what happened back there?”

I swung around to face him. “I lost control.”

“Did Rooke say something to make you angry?”

“Nope.”

“Because you looked pissed as hell.”

“Well, you looked like your tongue was going to fall out of your mouth.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. I saw Evie flirting it up with you.”

Lon squinted down at me with a puzzled look on his face. “She was trying to get information out of me.”

“
O-o-oh
, she was trying for more than that. And clearly, you weren’t discouraging her, because I saw her giving you her phone number. Were you going to drop me off at the hotel while you called her up for a nightcap?”

Lon’s head slowly tilted to the side, as if he couldn’t believe what I was saying but was trying to make sense of it. I knew at that point that I sounded like a crazed, clingy harpy, but I just couldn’t stop myself.

“Her hands were all over you,” I said. “You practically had your nose wedged between her breasts. Which weren’t real, by the way.”

“Whoa,” Lon warned as his brows snapped together.

“Don’t ‘whoa’ me. I’m not stupid. I know—” What? What exactly did I know?

My head pulsed as it tried to make sense of the hurt clawing at my chest. I was insanely, painfully
jealous, and it didn’t match what was in my head. He was not my boyfriend. He was just an overly generous man who’d opened his home to me and taken me in, as if I were some ragamuffin orphan who needed shelter.

I knew this.

But I didn’t care. I was still hurt.

“Is that what you like? Women who look like that?” I asked as angry tears stung my eyes. “Can’t you manage to spend a couple of days alone with me without sniffing after the first oversexed bitch who shoves her tits in your face?”

“Cady—”

I grunted and shoved at his chest. “I got naked in front of you—I let you take
pictures
of me, for the love of God! Maybe you think of me as just some oddity that Father Carrow foisted off on you, but I have feelings. I have pride.”

“Cady, will you just shut up for one second—”

“If you want her so badly, go back and get her. But don’t be surprised when she lassos an entrapment spell around your horns. You can’t trust magicians.”

His lips quivered. “Oh, is that right?”

“Most of them,” I corrected irritably.

He burst out laughing. Laughing! And it was the most open, joyful laugh I’d ever heard out of him. I was horrified. Where was the damned moon power when I needed it? Because I really could have used a little telekinesis to pick up the nearby city newspaper rack and bash it over Lon’s head.

“Is this just a joke? Am I a joke to you?” I said.

“Oh, Cady, I’m not laughing at you,” he said, still grinning. “I’m happy.”

“Happy?”

“Very.” His hand reached out to touch my hair.

“You’re an ass,” I said, slapping his hand away.

“Maybe I am, because I damn sure like seeing you jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” I totally was. “I’m . . . angry.”

“No, you’re angry because you’re jealous, and you don’t understand why.”

“That’s right, I forgot—you know my feelings better than I do. Screw you.”

He chuckled. “You have
no
idea how much I’d love to.”

Was he making fun of me? I honestly didn’t know. But in case he was, I shoved him again, hard. His eyes tightened as the smile fell away from his face. Crap. Before I could move away, he grabbed my forearms and yanked me closer. “Go on,” he murmured in a rough voice near my ear. “Push me one more time.”

I tried to think of a sharp retort, but several seconds passed, and all I did was hold my breath and stare at the collar of his jacket while my pulse swished in my temples. When I finally drew in a quick breath, I smelled leather and soap and the intoxicating scent of
Lon.
My body liked that smell quite a bit—so much it temporarily forgot about being angry.

“Listen to me,” Lon said in a low voice. “I’ve got
about as much interest in seeing Evie Rooke again as I do in getting chicken pox, so I hope you pried some helpful information out of her father. And just so we’re clear, I haven’t touched another woman since I met you.”

Oh. Wait . . . “Why?”

He released one of my arms to tentatively trace a lock of hair framing my face. “Because I haven’t wanted to.” The hand holding my other arm slid around my back and held me closer. “You might have trouble believing this, but I spend most of my time being grateful you’re near me or counting the minutes until you will be again.”

My heart fluttered wildly. “You do?” I whispered.

“I do.”

“Lon . . .” I rested my hands on his chest when he pulled me closer. His heart pounded under my palm. I surveyed his face for some sort of proof. My gaze shifted over the hard jaw darkened with stubble. The long hollows of his cheeks. The narrowed green eyes and the fine lines radiating from their outer corners. It was a heart-stopping, wildly handsome face.

One that I desperately wanted closer to mine.

And as if compelled by my will, that face did come closer.

“Please don’t let this be a mistake,” he murmured.

His lips grazed mine, light and soft. Seeking permission. I exhaled a shaky breath, and he kissed me. Slowly at first. Reverently. A kiss that would be
forgiven with a single Hail Mary. But it was enough to send goose bumps over my arms and a rush of joy through my chest. My arms wound around him as if they’d done it a thousand times. And as I molded my hands to the hard planes of muscle covering his back, he crushed me against his chest.

And just like that, all bets were off.

Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. We kissed each other like desperate addicts who’d stumbled upon a forgotten stash of drugs, grunting and moaning with pleasure—too lost to care about the headlights that crossed over us as cars sped by or the distant drunken laughter from the club at the end of the block.

None of it mattered.

When I momentarily pulled back to gasp for breath, he dragged his mouth down my neck, kissing me like someone intimately familiar with every architectural detail of my body: the underside of my chin, the pillar of my throat, the shell of my ear, and the hidden alcove of sensitive skin below it. By the time he’d circled back to my mouth, my knees were wobbly, and I was wetter than the ocean.

I don’t think I’d ever wanted anyone so badly. If he’d asked me to, I would have stripped off my clothes in the middle of the sidewalk.

He pulled back, chest heaving. “We can’t do this.”

“Too late,” I said with a lazy grin. “I think we just did.”

He gripped my jacket tighter, trying to stop our
bodies from swaying together like magnets. “We need to focus. This is a distraction.”

“And a damn good one,” I murmured, dipping my head to capture his earlobe between my teeth. Christ, he smelled good. He groaned and palmed my ass, holding me against the substantial hardness between his legs.

“Yes,” I encouraged wantonly.

“No.” He pushed away again and rested his forehead against mine. “I mean it, Cady. This is weakness and . . . complicated. We’ve got other things we should be focusing on. We need to be on guard, in our right minds.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, breathless and frustrated.

“Let’s just cool off,” he said, but that was hard to do when his hands were stroking up and down my back. “Think of something else.”

“Like what?” My fingers trailed down his chest, trying to cop whatever feel I could get over his T-shirt. “Something boring like baseball? Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day?”

“Gonna need more than that,” he said with a slow grin, peeling away my straying hand to thread his fingers between mine.

“Hmm, what about all those flying cockroaches in the abandoned cannery?”

“That’s better. What else?”

“Smell of wet dog,” I suggested. “No—smell of Foxglove after she rolled around in that dead animal carcass she found in the woods.”

He laughed. “Christ, that was disgusting.”

“I couldn’t stop gagging.”

“You weren’t the one who had to bathe her.”

“I held the hose! And I never could figure out what was worse, Foxglove’s fur or Jupe barfing all over the grass after he handed you the shampoo.”

Lon grinned. “Jupe was worse, hands down.”

“Ugh, so gross.” I squeezed Lon’s hand tighter. “I remember you took two showers afterward, and no one felt like eating dinner. Then we watched that old stop-motion movie with the fighting skeletons.”

“
Jason and the Argonauts.
”

“Right. Then . . .” I remembered something else happening after Jupe went to bed, but it was fuzzy. “You were wearing this T-shirt,” I said, running a finger over the faded graphic.

Lon blinked several times, almost as if he’d gotten sentimental. “It doesn’t matter.”

I felt strangely sentimental myself. “I sort of miss Jupe.”

“Me, too,” he mumbled, so low I barely heard it. He cleared his throat. “But what we need to be thinking about right now is your mother.”

Talk about a cold shower.

He cradled my face in his hands. “We’re going to find a way to stop her. Come hell or high water, I will not let her take you away from me. You got that?”

I nodded.

He dropped one last lingering kiss on my
forehead, then pulled back and slung his arm around my shoulders. “Why don’t we go get some food?” he said, leading me back to the SUV.

“And while we find a place that’s open, you can tell me everything you learned from Rooke.”

Downtown Los Angeles was a twenty-minute drive from Pasadena. And since Lon had spent a lot of time there for work—doing shoots, booking shoots, or catching planes to shoots—he drove us to a hotel he’d stayed in before, a swank building on Flower Street with a twenty-four-hour restaurant inside. Even at two in the morning, a handful of people filtered in and out of the modern lobby, so I donned my sunglasses again.

At Lon’s suggestion, instead of heading straight up to our room to continue what we’d started, we camped out on the restaurant’s outdoor patio, eating, talking, and using the hotel’s Wi-Fi to research our next plan of attack. He stayed on his side of the table, and I stayed on mine. I tried my damnedest not to think about the kiss or how much I wanted seconds. I truly tried. When I occasionally slipped, Lon wouldn’t even glance up. He’d just smile to himself and say, “Focus, Cadybell.”

Somewhere between all my nonsaintly thoughts,
I managed to tell Lon everything I’d learned from Rooke. But even knowing now that the Naos Ophis group had roots in an ancient Gnostic sect, we still found zero information about a local group online. And I do mean
nothing
. The thought crossed my mind that just because the temple existed before I was born, that didn’t mean it still existed now. Because it was one thing if Rooke never found it in the 1980s but quite another if we couldn’t now. What doesn’t have an internet trail? Either they were an insanely tricksy lot, or we were on a fool’s errand.

“Look at this.” Lon scooted his chair closer to mine and showed me his laptop screen. “A splinter group of Ophites popped up in Crete in the late 1600s. After a brutal war and the longest siege in history, the Ottomans ousted the ruling Venetians. In doing so, they raided a hidden temple whose congregation killed snakes during rituals. The Ottomans found ‘hundreds upon hundreds of serpent-skin banners.’ They destroyed the temple, but after studying the Ottoman records, scholars now wonder if the group had combined Ophite beliefs with the older cult of the snake goddess—this one. From the sixteenth century BCE.”