Downside Rain: Downside book one (19 page)

That’s
not true of all with a shifting nature. I sometimes think Angie’s conscience kicks
into high gear only when it suits her.

River
pushes off from the door frame as I pass him. The bed looks inviting but I won’t
sleep. My mind whirls, my muscles refuse to relax.

He
captures my hand as I walk past; I try to withdraw it but he holds on. He looks
into my eyes. “Do you know how amazing you are?”

Coming
out of the blue, his words make my jaw drop and I’m immediately flustered, which
rubs me the wrong way. My voice is gruff. “Don’t let touching become a habit.”
Castle and the stiletto in his neck flash behind my dipped eyelids. “We don’t
touch casually, for obvious reasons.”

His
gaze is intense, yet unreadable. “There is nothing casual about it.”

I
halfheartedly tug. “Forcing flesh on someone else is never a good idea.”

He
exhales gently and continues in a lower tone. “It’s forcing when one party is
unwilling. I’m not. When we touch, you make me whole.”

Fingers
tracing the back of my hand, his tone and words entrance me. “Your skin is so smooth,
fine, I can feel your bones beneath, tiny like a bird’s. I like . . . the feel
of you.”

When
Castle explained why we shouldn’t touch spontaneously, he made sense because it
takes our free will, but every living thing in some manner communicates with
touch, and truly, I find it pleasant. And remembering how I enjoyed solidity
when Castle and I got under the covers, heat warms my skin and my pulse jumps.
I have a little trouble breathing.

We
remain outside the bathroom, River holding my hand, until he flashes a quick look
from beneath his brows and lets go of me.

I
don’t know who is more embarrassed.

Dropping
my chin to avoid his eyes, I kneel, unzip the duffle and look inside.
Yuk.
In a rush to quit a square littered with werekin bodies, I put my sword in the
bag and blood smears a few of the other weapons. I lay them on the floor and
get my cleaning kit.

“You’re
good with that,” River says as I sit cross-legged, working on the sword blade.

I
doubt it. I like a sword because it gives me reach but have never used it on
anyone armed with more than claws and teeth. I don’t fight with style, there is
no finesse in the way I hack and jab. I’d use a gun if it came with a guarantee
not to blow up in my hand.

“Thanks,”
I say with a tic of my lips.

His
gaze drifts past me. “Are you done with the bathroom?”

I
rub the back of my aching neck. “All yours.”

After
stowing the clean blades, I sigh and sit on the edge of the mattress

“You
can’t keep doing this,” Castle says.

I
slide off the bed and my tailbone hits the floor. Castle is stretched out on
the bed, hands beneath nape, ankles crossed. His boots look dusty.

“You’re
not going to leave ghost smut on my bed, are you? Doing what?”

“Ghost
smut? Where do you come up with this stuff?” He stares at the ceiling. “Getting
yourself in trouble. This is the second time I couldn’t lift a finger to help
you.”

“You
did help. That’s twice you’ve warned me in the nick of time.”

“But
all I could do was watch and pray. I can’t deal with it, Rain.”

“I
didn’t
ask
werekin to attack me,” I say resentfully.

“And
you were off your game tonight.”

“I
know. I was worried about River.”

“He’s
a distraction. Cut him loose.”

“You
don’t mean it.”

“Nah.
You were green when I found you. Did I ditch you?”

We’re
silent for a moment, until I ask, “Were you in the attic?”

He
sits up. “Attic? No. What attic?”

“We
had a job earlier today.” I rest my arm along the edge of the mattress and drop
my chin in my hand. “Thought it was a job. A goblin who called himself Tipola engaged
us to remove a pixie hive from his attic. But no hive, just a big ugly demon.
It nearly had us.”

I
describe what happened in detail until the shower cuts off and I haul myself
back up with a hand on the mattress.

“We’ll
talk about it later, poppet,” Castle says, and disappears.

You
were off your game. He’s a distraction. Cut him loose.

I
stay awake through the night and have reached a decision when River stirs the
next morning. Someone is trying to kill me and it endangers him. He fights well
and cannily but has not been Downside long enough to develop an instinct for
danger. I can’t live with his death on my conscience. And he might get both of
us killed.

~*~

Lying
in bed, River is heavy because Rain’s arms cradle him. Her body presses to his
spine, her thighs nest into the backs of his. They fit together like two
spoons. Eyes closed, breathing controlled, slow and even, he dare not move for
fear of disturbing her. His breath catches when her hand smoothes up his arm to
his shoulder, her fingers twine his hair.

He
can’t banish the image of her, naked, in that filthy attic.

He’s
bereft when she rolls away. The bed creaks as she leaves it. Shuffling, and
something bumps the bed, making it vibrate. A muffled “
fuck!”
comes from
beneath.

Through
cracked eyelids, River watches her pull a dusty black backpack from under the
bed. She crawls to the storage cubes and begins to pack his new clothes in the bag.

“What
are you doing?” He lifts up on one elbow.

Her
voice is sharp. “Packing.”

“So
I see. My things.”

“You’re
leaving.” Her lips are so tight, her chin puckers.

Confusion
hikes his voice a decibel. “I am?”

Her
chin jerks sharply. “Walk east till you hit the first crossroad, take a right,
take the second left, you’ll be on Kings Way. Head north to the bus depot. Take
a bus as far as it’ll go. Take another, and another. Don’t stop till you’re a long
way distant.” She crams in the rest of the clothes. “You have enough money to make
a start for yourself.”

He
jumps out of bed and drops on his knees next to her, snatches the bag and dumps
his clothes on the floor. “Stop it.”

Rain’s
hands are fisted on her thighs. “This is my place. I tell you to get out, you
go.”

“I
will when you give me a good reason.”

“I
don’t have to tell you anything except
get out!”

River
folds his arms, sets his jaw and says nothing. He can’t believe she acts on a whim.
He’s not going anywhere till he knows what is behind the abrupt decision to
evict him.

She
looks past him with arms crossed on her chest as if in defense, speaking firmly,
spacing out the words. “Someone is trying to kill me. You are a target if
you’re with me.” She shakes her head and hair threshes her cheeks. “I can’t let
that happen.”

She
stuffs the clothes back in the duffle. River tries to grab them again and she
eels up off her knees with the bag. Before he can climb to his feet, she’s at the
door, opens it and slings the backpack into the passage.

With
her back to him she says, “Go.”

He
glares at her for a moment, then sits on the damn bed. “No.”

She
looks over her shoulder, their eyes lock, before she wrenches her gaze away.
Pushing her fingers into her hair, she steps from the threshold.

Finally,
she lets out a gusty breath and comes to sit with him. “Please go,” she says
quietly. “For me. If you got hurt . . . I couldn’t live with it.”

“I’m
not helpless.” He tries to make his tone reasonable, not resentful of how she
treats him like a child who can’t take care of himself. “I thought I proved it,
in Manhattan and last night. If you’re in trouble, I have your back.”

“You’re
not my partner.”

“I
can be.”

She
looks at his hand next to hers on the mattress, as though she wants to touch it.
For someone who told River they shouldn’t touch, this is not the first time he’s
seen that yearning on her face.

“You
don’t understand. You really don’t. You can’t. Whatever’s after me is amazingly
powerful and I doubt they’re going to give up.”

“All
the more reason for me to stick around.”

She
braces her hands on the mattress, pushes her shoulders back and looks at the
ceiling. River waits.

“I
should get out of Gettaholt but I need to know who killed Castle, who’s after
me and why,” she eventually says. She drops her head, presses fingers to
temples and closes her eyes, and continues in a quiet, steely voice. “If I’d
been alone tonight, I’d have lost flesh and escaped the werekin with no
bloodshed. But I couldn’t leave you. Tonight, when I should have been able to
take out three werekin, I let one under my guard because I worried what was
happening to you behind my back with the other two. You’re a liability, River.
You’ll get me killed.”

Stunned,
he can’t at first find words, then opens his mouth to say,
Don’t worry about
me. If someone comes at us again, look out for yourself and forget I’m here.
But had she been alone, Rain could have easily escaped the demon in the attic.
She fought the demon for him. She could have died, and he nearly did.

His
mouth is dry, a lump has lodged in his throat. His stomach drops. She’s right,
and he didn’t comprehend till now. He’s a distraction when she needs to
concentrate on survival, not babysit him.

“Do
you see?” she asks. “You have to get far away, not only for your sake, for mine.
If this weren’t happening we’d have time to get to know each other, train
together, possibly team up. But not now.”

He
can’t run and leave her to deal with this on her own. She’s not infallible,
indestructible, nobody is. Her partner’s death proves that. “Okay,” he lies. He
can find somewhere to live in Gettaholt, where he can at least watch her from
the shadows.

She
meets his eyes, hers surprised. “Okay?”

He
gets to his feet and faces her. “You’re right.”

The
clothes he wore yesterday are in the yellow chair. River dresses with his back
to Rain, checks his pockets and takes the cash from the kitchen counter. He kneels
to unzip one of the duffel bags and retrieve the big pistol in its box.

He
gets up off his knees. “I’m taking this.”

“Fine.”
Her chin comes up. “Don’t kill yourself.”

River
gets the backpack from the passage and brings it inside to tuck the box in,
which makes it heavier. Pulling it over his shoulders with a grunt, he faces
her and tries to smile, and is suddenly tongue-tied. “Good-bye, Rain.”

“Take
care, River,” she says in low, harsh tones, and he knows she doesn’t take his
departure lightly. He knows it by her teeth on the indrawn lower lip, how she
clasps her hands so sinews pop on the backs.

He
dips his chin. “You, too. And . . . thanks.”

She
gives him a wan smile. In a crushing silence, he holds her gaze for a long
moment before he strides from the apartment.

A
pure, sweet note tingles up the stairs, followed by another. River doesn’t hear
it as much as feel it. It twines around him like vines laden with nectar. The
song plays him, strumming through his veins, plucking his limbs, carrying him
along the landing. The descent has a dreamlike quality, hypnotic, soothing, as
if the bliss in his chest expands and envelops, an encompassing cloud which
floats him down the stairs.

Her
door is open. She waits for him.

She
is so beautiful and all his. River’s lips seek her neck as he crushes her to
the wall. She tilts her chin to accommodate him and laughs.

“You
wonderful, impulsive child.” Hands on his chest firmly push him off. “But come
inside, my lovely boy.”

He
follows her into the apartment. The backpack slides off his shoulders and hits
the floor. Closing the door with one hand, she cups his cheek with the other
and brushes her lips over his.

She
turns as he reaches for her, slipping through his hands, unlatches the tiny
jeweled clasp which holds together one strap on a gown the color of autumn
leaves, followed by the other. The material slithers down, baring her back and
shoulder blades, the delicate line of her spine, a tiny waist, curving hips and
buttocks, and long slender legs.

River
can’t take his eyes off the dimple above her mounded cheeks.

She
laughs and walks away from him. He follows her to a bedroom on legs like limp noodles.

Angelina
lies on her back on a bed, her voluptuous body hairless but for cascading
copper locks. Smiling, she parts her thighs. Her hand glides over her silken belly
and between her legs. Caressing herself, she gently moans, eyes rolling back, hips
lifting from the mattress.

River
burns. Sweat slicks him. He can’t form a thought. Need pounds his loins and he
is painfully rigid.

Her
body relaxes, she smiles with wickedly curving lips and opens her arms. “Come
to me, my love.”

River
goes to her.

~*~