Evermine: Daughters of Askara, Book 2 (27 page)

“Mama?”

Eden shushed her. Rambo’s eyes flicked down to the kids huddled half beneath her, and her hands tightened on the rifle. Then he dismissed them—faster than she’d ever seen anyone look away from the miracle children before—and met her eyes again. “You okay?”

That remained to be seen. Eden wet her lips. “How long have you been following us?”

His expression, so hard to read beneath the camo paint, didn’t change, but she had the impression she’d managed to surprise him. “What makes you think—?”

“I’ve seen your dog.” Only the one time, but he didn’t need to know that.

As if on cue, the wolfhound reappeared in the narrow clearing where she and the kids had taken cover. Its jaws hung loosely in a canine grin as it loped over to Rambo’s side. Its butt thumped down and it listed heavily against his thigh. They fit together, the oversized dog and its oversized master. He reached down to absently scratch the enormous animal’s head, and something in Eden’s chest unknotted. He couldn’t be evil if he was good to animals, right? And he hadn’t shot them yet. Maybe he wasn’t so terrifying, though he had been following them…

“Been keeping an eye on you since you started running circles on my land.”

His concept of possession startled her a bit. It had been a while since
my land
meant anything to most people. Then she caught up to the
circles
part, and her heart thudded against her ribs. Just how lost were they?

“Who are you? What do you want from us?”

His face twisted with what might have been exasperation without the camo paint to make it look foreign and terrifying. “Look, lady, I don’t want anything from you. You just looked like you could use a hand.”

God, how amazing would it be if she could believe him?

She reminded herself he’d come out, made a target of himself and stepped in to help them. He hadn’t had to do that. He could have just walked on by. Or if he’d wanted to hurt them, he could easily have killed them all without stepping a single foot out of cover.

His eyes flicked down to her white-knuckled grip on the rifle. “You ever fired that thing?”

“Yes,” she replied too fast, defensively.

His mouth moved in what could have been a half-smile, but with the face paint she couldn’t really tell. “Ever hit anything?”

“
Yes
.” A moose. Her dad had loved to hunt and taken her when she was a teen. She’d shot the poor thing dead. Then puked all over the place for the next hour.

“Uh-huh.” Rambo pointed his machine gun toward the sky, propping it back against his shoulder.

Eden’s barrel didn’t waver, though she did let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She wasn’t going to shoot him and they both knew it, but she still felt stronger, more prepared, with the muzzle aimed in his general direction. He didn’t seem to mind.

But she didn’t know how she would be able to tell if he did. The man made robots look emotive.

“Where’re you headed?”

“We’re just passing through,” Eden said, trying to keep her own voice as even and emotionless as his.

Rambo jerked his chin toward the dirt track they’d been walking down all morning. “Nothing down this road to pass to.”

Which meant she’d gotten them just as lost as she’d feared. “We’re going south.”

She couldn’t read his expression past the camo paint, but his voice was dry. “You need a new compass. You’re going west.”

West. Back toward Spokane. Back toward Seattle.
Shit
. She’d tried to stay on small roads because they were easier for the kids to manage, but the country lanes didn’t always run straight, and she hadn’t been very good about watching the angle of the sun and all that shit to make sure they were staying headed in the right direction.

Suddenly she felt weary to her soul. It was too much for one person to do everything, to be wholly responsible for three lives when the world was spinning upside down. How had she thought she could do this?

Eden swallowed back the self-flagellation and defeat. She needed to focus on moving forward. Getting the kids to safety. Building a life for them somewhere that didn’t involve guns or cults or fear.

Hannah Rose made a small sound of complaint, and Eden shifted so she wasn’t smushing the little girl quite so much. Lucas sat up at her side as Eden crouched in front of them, still defensive.

She jutted her chin up the road back the way they’d come. “So that’s east, huh?”

“East-north-east.”

So south was right in front of her, through the dense forest where this man had appeared. He didn’t look like he was in the mood to play tour guide, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. He was too imposing, too obviously deadly for comfort. This didn’t look like the kind of man who had picked up a gun and some hunting gear out of desperation and self-defense the way she had. He was too calm. He’d probably been living the curmudgeonly mountain-man existence for the last two decades, reading the Unabomber’s unauthorized biography and taking shots at anyone who trespassed on
his
land. No doubt he was delighted that only one person was living today for every three thousand who’d been alive a year ago.

But he was plainly capable. He knew the area. He’d tracked them easily, so it wasn’t like she’d be able to escape him without a car anyway.

“Could you give us directions to Boise?”

He snorted. “On foot? Honey, you’ve lost your mind if you think you can walk to Boise this time of year.”

“What about someplace we can get a car? Is there a town near here?” She’d pretty much exhausted her knowledge of Idaho towns with Coeur d’Alene and Boise.

The sense of hopeless defeat rushed back in. How was she supposed to get the kids south for the winter if she couldn’t even figure out which way south was?

A tiny hand plucked at Eden’s jeans, Hannah Rose trying to get her attention. She shifted her leg away.
Not now, babygirl. Mama’s holding a gun on the nice man.

“Look, I’m sorry, lady…”

“Mama?” The little plucking fingers were back. Hannah Rose poked her head around Eden’s shoulder.

“Not now, Hannah Rose.”
Don’t call attention to yourself, babygirl.

But it was already too late. The mountain man was staring at Hannah Rose’s rosy cheeks, his fierce frown evident even through the camouflage paint. “What does she want?” His voice was gruff, choked.

And a note in it set off warning bells in Eden—a note that made him simultaneously a dozen times more likely to help them and a thousand times more dangerous. Not a loner mountain man after all.
This man was a daddy once.

How far into darkness will he go to reclaim the light?

Interview with a Gargoyle

© 2011 Jennifer Colgan

Melodie McConnell’s night shift couldn’t get any more bizarre. First, a commotion behind the bakery lands her in the arms of a slimy demon. Then she’s swept into hiding by a demon hunter…and discovers she’s been swallowed whole by a world she never knew existed.

In the decade since he inherited a centuries-old family curse, darkness has ruled Blake DeWitt’s life. By day he’s encased in the form of a hideous stone gargoyle. By night, desperation drives him to search for the Witch’s Cabochon, a gem with the power to permanently lift the curse.

He’s seconds away from claiming it when the dying demon transfers it to a human woman whose beautiful body is no match for its wild, darkly sexual power. And whose innocent attempts at seduction he finds hard to resist.

As the demons swarm closer, they find safety in each other’s arms. Until Blake discovers the only key to his freedom…and must face a soul-rending choice.

Warning: Take two parts demons, one part demon hunter, one part witch, and a heaping helping of sexy gargoyle. Spontaneous combustion may occur. At least you won’t need to wait for the oven timer to enjoy!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Interview with a Gargoyle:

“Run! Get out of here while you can.” Palmer’s strangled command stopped Melodie halfway around the front display counter. She skidded to a halt and glanced back over her shoulder. DeWitt had Palmer by the stretchy collar of his T-shirt and was lifting his linebacker body about a foot off the floor.

Ignoring Palmer’s gasping and his ineffectual kicks, DeWitt turned his predatory gaze on Mel. “I only want the jewel. Don’t make me hurt him to prove how desperate I am.”

And there went her escape plan. In a strange way, Palmer had saved her life, and weird as he was, she couldn’t let him suffer on her account. “Jewel? You’re looking for a jewel?” Why hadn’t he just said so in the first place?

“The Cabochon is a cursed jewel. It will bring you nothing but tragedy. Hand it over to me, and you’ll escape its curse.”

“Ah, okay. I think I know what you’re talking about. The Gogmar gave me something in the alley, right before he…died.”

Tortured eyes searched hers, and she had the distinct impression he could see into her soul. The oddly naked feeling made her shiver.

“It
gave
you the Cabochon?”

“It gave me a sapphire. Now, put Palmer down gently, and I’ll give it to you if you promise to leave us alone, okay?”

She made a “down boy” gesture with both hands.

“If you give me the Cabochon, I promise, you’ll never see me again.”

That seemed reasonable to Mel, but apparently not to Palmer, who still dangled in midair.

“Don’t do it, Melodie. He’s pure evil. He’ll kill us both if we give him what he wants.”

“Oh, please.” DeWitt dropped Palmer then, totally ignoring the “gently” part of Mel’s request. “Get over yourself,
demon hunter
. There’s nothing
pure
about me.”

Clutching his chest, from which DeWitt had likely ripped a handful of hair, Palmer slithered away along the floor. With a lot more bravado than she felt, Mel inched back into the kitchen and put herself between DeWitt and Marty, who still sat grinning like a fool on the very edge of the center workstation.

“Okay. Nice and easy,” she said, holding up her hands like this was an old-fashioned stickup. Since it appeared the only weapon DeWitt possessed was Palmer’s sword, she probably could have made a break for it, but she really was more than willing to part with whatever it was Creature Boy had given her.

“It’s in my pocket.” She reached slowly for the gem that the Gogmar had pressed into her hand. DeWitt’s tawny gaze followed her movements, skeptical but anxious.

Judging by his expression, Mel held all the power. He wanted the cursed jewel just as badly as she wanted to get rid of it. When her cold fingers scraped the crumb-dusted bottom seam of her apron pocket, her heart shriveled a little. With a reassuring smile for DeWitt, she felt to the left, then to the right. Nothing.

She held open her pocket and glanced inside. There was nothing there but a few shards of antler and a little ball of bright green lint. “Um…”

DeWitt’s accusatory glare made her spine tingle. “You lied to me, lass.” The timbre of his voice brought to mind the windswept hillsides of Scotland and the icy depths of a cold hell. He was not amused.

“I
did
have it. I swear. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the alley. It’s probably still out there under the…ooze.”

DeWitt wasn’t buying it. His ire wilted her. Under his alluring golden gaze, she
felt
guilty.

“I swear, I don’t have it.”

“Yes, you do.” The accusation hung in the sweet-scented air of the kitchen for a second; then DeWitt lunged for her.

Melodie ducked out from under his two-handed grasp, leaving Marty to take the fall for her, and fall was exactly what he did.

Two handfuls of chocolate-fondant-coated coconut sponge cake went flying.

Mel dove, and just as she hit the floor, Palmer jumped up. He grabbed the naked stainless-steel handle of the double boiler and flung caramelized sugar and boiling water at DeWitt.

The pots clattered to the floor, colliding with what was left of Marty. Melodie yelped. DeWitt roared and clutched the hot goo now plastering his T-shirt to his chest. Before she could decide who needed her help more, Palmer grabbed her hand and dragged her out the front door of the shop.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you did that.” Mel struggled to keep her arm attached to her shoulder as Palmer pulled her along the darkened street toward a bright blue Jeep Wrangler parked on the corner.

“He would have killed you. I appreciate you buying time, but it’s a bad idea to lie to Blake DeWitt.”

“Well, if he was evil before, he’s going to be a little more evil now with third-degree sugar burns all over his front. And I wasn’t lying. The Gogmar did give me a jewel, a big one, right before you skewered him.”

Palmer yanked open the passenger door of the Jeep and literally shoved Mel inside. She had a split second to recall all her mother’s warnings about never getting into a car with a stranger before she settled in and pulled the seat belt across her chest. Palmer threw his empty scabbard in the backseat and slid behind the wheel with a backward glance at Gleason’s front door.

A second later, the engine roared, and the vehicle lurched into the empty street. “So you’ve still got the Cabochon?” he asked.

Mel grabbed the dashboard as the Jeep careened around a corner and took the straightaway of Garden Street at a cool sixty miles per hour. “No. Like I said, I must have dropped it in the alley. DeWitt will probably find it, and then we won’t have to worry about him, right? Who the hell is he anyway, and why are you so scared of him?”

Her dubious savior gave her a sour glance. “I’m not scared of him, though anyone who knows of him probably should be. He’s cursed. Seriously cursed. And rumor has it he can transfer his curse to someone else through the Cabochon. Oh shit, he’s following us.”

The rumble of DeWitt’s Harley tickled the hairs on the back of Mel’s neck, and she turned in the seat to look out the Jeep’s back window. A single headlight glared back at her. “How fast can this thing go?”

Palmer grinned wickedly and stomped on the gas pedal. “Just watch—and hang on!”