Flame's Dawn (15 page)

Barnaby hit the man square between the shoulder blades, and the gun went off in a splinter of wood inches from her head. Jane yelped. God, if she'd been hit ... Barnaby leveled Thompson with a few good blows and a cracking kick to the shin. Then Thompson planted his meaty fist into Barnaby's cheekbone, enough to make stars spin around Barnaby's head. Whoreson minion was tremendously strong.

Thompson cocked the gun again. “All right, you first, Mr. Hero. I'll take my time finishing off Ms. Rat afterward.”

Not acceptable. Barnaby drove Thompson into the far wall, indenting the solid wood wall and knocking the gun out of the man's hand. The desire to reconnect with the cursed knife drove Barnaby insane. He wanted to kill the minion, but he needed to have the knife in his hand when he did it. Separation from the knife tore Barnaby apart.

In the split second he turned his back on Thompson, the minion pounded Barnaby in a commendable set of kidney punches. Barnaby would piss blood later. If there was a later. He hauled air into his lungs and braced for another impact when he felt the man loom over him. Barnaby couldn't discern much with his swollen eyes and addled brain.

Then, a bang and thud.

Then nothing.

Because he didn't know what he would find, Barnaby raised his head slowly, praying that the gunshot had missed Jane.

Her tear-streaked face and wide, teal eyes smashed his heart to pieces. Thompson lay gasping on the cabin floor, a spreading bloom of blood soaking his shirt. Jane's hand shook, but she kept the gun aimed at Thompson.

Then the damned minion planted his meaty hands on the floor and pushed to a sitting position.

He was getting up.

And his furious gaze had locked on to Jane.

No
. Barnaby grabbed his knife and plunged it into Thompson's chest, right below the sternum. The knife flared as it drank the corrupt soul into the metal. Barnaby sighed in blissful relief.

At a strangled cry from Jane, though, his joy at the kill drained into the floor to mingle with Thompson's blood.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly. Easing the gun out of her grip, he set it far away from the now-still body on the floor. Quickly, he cleaned and stowed his knife.

“Barnaby? You came back.” When her voice cracked like that, his heart flipped over.

He pulled her into his arms and held on until she squeaked in pain. His grip was too tight. Couldn't help it. This was Jane. He'd nearly lost her because of his pride. She was his last anchor to humanity.

Without her, he would be a husk of a man. A sham of a living creature.

He brushed his mouth over her forehead, almost to convince himself that she lived. Her skin, clean and vital, reassured him.

“Oh my God, those men—Thompson—was going to kill me. What happened to Thompson? He looked bigger, meaner ... possessed, almost,” she said. “You killed them so quickly? With that knife?”

Leaning back, he blew out air he didn't know he'd been holding. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

“You really are a killer, aren't you? That whole story was completely true.”

“I wouldn't lie to you.”

She pushed a fall of hair off of her face. “Well, I'm a killer now, too.”

“It's not the same. What you had to do was different.”

Her voice registered as barely a whisper. “I killed him.”

“He would have hurt you, Jane. Besides, you only slowed Thompson down so I could finish him off.”

Staring at her shaking hands, she said, “It's still a crime.”

“No. It's self-defense. Truly.” How refreshing to see someone care about their kill. Barnaby had lost that sensitivity a hundred or so years ago. “Let's get out of this room,” he said, helping her step over the two bodies in the bedroom doorway.

He deposited her on the couch, knowing he should clean up the cabin and dispose of the bodies. But he couldn't do it right away. He couldn't let go of her.

That damned knife warmed his leg in sated satisfaction, almost taunting him.

Because the reason Barnaby hadn't been here to protect her would be an issue until the end of time.

Which was more important? Feeding the incredible knife lust and retaining near-immortal status?

Or Jane.

After dropping a kiss square on her soft lips, he stroked her long, tangled hair. What would life be like, spending every day with her in his arms?

Damned amazing, to be honest.

He eased her away from him with another kiss and worked on setting the cabin to rights. When he moved the bodies, lifting each one like it weighed nothing, the horror in her eyes indicted him more than any uttered phrase ever could.

A monster. He'd become a monster.

Hours later, as false dawn made the sky glow, Barnaby had removed all traces of blood and glass. He'd run the Chrysler off a cliff and scattered the bodies all around. Hopefully carrion birds would take care of the evidence well before anyone discovered the dead men.

All that remained was to replace the window, and the cabin would be back to normal.

Only, truth be told, he never wanted to come back here.

This cabin represented his attempts to escape his empty existence. This place represented where he nearly lost what he held most dear in this world.

God willing, this cabin would soon be part of Barnaby's distant past.

Slumping into the couch cushion, he leaned back.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked.

“You're alive, so yes.”

“Yes, well ...”

So he went for levity. Anything to smooth the furrows from her brow. “Hey, great shooting, by the way.”

“Thank goodness they taught us women
some
useful skills.” Her tiny smile gave him hope.

“You were perfect. I'm only sorry I wasn't here before Thompson found you.”

“You had to go. Your job.” She held up her hand. “Look, it's okay. I understand that some things are out of your control. Lord knows, I get that.”

Pushing back to his feet, he paced. “I want to try for a future with you, but not as the creature I am right now.”

“I don't understand.”

A caged animal. He'd become trapped between what he wanted most in this world and the monster he had become. He pivoted and stared at her. “I can't live like this anymore.”

Even in the early morning light, he couldn't miss how her cheeks paled.

“Live like what?” she said.

“Jane, I ... need to collect my thoughts.”

“What?” she whispered, wrapping thin arms around her legs.

He'd do anything to remove the stark fear on her lovely face.

Anything?

The answer whispered, like a gossamer thought floating just out of reach.

What did his instincts tell him? His traitorous sixth sense had gone to sleep.

No help there.

A new kind of panic, different from what he'd felt since finding Jane, grabbed hold of him and didn't let go. He couldn't breathe.

“I'm sorry. I, um, need a little space.”

The downturn of her lips hurt more than anything he'd felt in four centuries. But he had to get his head screwed on straight.

“You need space?” Her flat voice drifted in a hopeless, gray tone.

He reached out, then dropped his hand. “It's not like that.”

“It never is, Barnaby.” Her lips pressed into a sad, straight line.

“No, Jane, it's not what you think.”

“You presume to know how I think?” She didn't meet his eyes but stared somewhere over his shoulder. “Go. Get your space.”

“Jane—”

“Go.”

He walked to the table, looked straight at her, deliberately placed his car keys on the table, and strode out of the cabin.

Like an idiot, she'd sent Barnaby packing. Again. Apparently, she couldn't learn.

How did things turn out the last time you made him leave?

Beyond disastrous.

What about his safety, though? Maybe she could find him and make certain that he was okay.

He was a supernatural immortal being. He didn't need her help.

What
did
he need from her?

Absolutely nothing.

The sun rose and lit up the cabin in a cheery glow that taunted her melancholy mood.

Several times, Jane scooped up those damned keys and opened up the front door, ready to drive away. He'd given her a clear choice.

Could she accept Barnaby, an unnatural being?

She had no right to judge.

Real question was, could he accept a broken person like Jane?

Afternoon crawled into evening. Restless, she couldn't sleep, couldn't get comfortable.

The problem had less to do with the man who exited the cabin and more to do with the woman remaining inside.

I can't live like this anymore,
he'd said.

Cold fingers of fear slid over her neck and squeezed.

I can't live like this anymore
.

How far would he go to fulfill that promise?

Twilight darkened the skies, and she shivered in the light breeze through the broken window. She'd long since stopped jumping at each tiny noise outside.

Who cared? The man she loved, her calm in the storm, the man who had challenged the devil's own henchman to save her life, had left.

She sniffed. Nope, tears had long since dried up. She had nothing left but a sucking emptiness that started out small and expanded until it wormed its way through her entire chest.

How could he have done this?

To her,
the little voice in her head whispered.

How selfish could she be? He left.

Because she told him to.

What the heck did she expect?

God, she wanted Barnaby back, cursed existence and all. She wanted his jaunty smile and twinkling blue eyes. What she'd give to feel his muscled arms around her again.

She peered out the window into the moonlit night.

Like he'd never existed, Barnaby was gone.

The cruelty of the entire situation hit her like a truck plowing her over. She sagged against the porch door frame. Her entire soul had been ripped in half.

Her anchor. Gone.

Her sanity, following.

• • •

The next morning dawned cool, bright, and cheery, much to Jane's disgust. Her sleep had been horrendous, partly due to the open window allowing chilly air to move unimpeded through the house. And partly due to ... yeah.

Shaking her arms and legs to warm up, she shuffled into the kitchen. Even with a spoon, bowl, powdered milk, and a cornflakes box laid out on the counter, she couldn't pull it off. She kept staring at the items, not certain what to do.

So instead, she sank to the floor with a death grip on the spoon.

He hadn't returned.

Well, there you had it.

She couldn't stay here. Eventually, someone would figure out that Thompson's crew had disappeared near Santa Cruz. They would eventually find Barnaby's cabin. Which would lead a curiosity seeker directly to Jane and a whole lot of things she couldn't explain.

The spoon clutched in her hand blurred into the image of Barnaby's smiling face. She squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed her eyes with the other hand, trying something—anything—to remove him from her memory. It didn't work.

When her head lolled back on the cabinet and she finally opened her eyes, darned if she didn't see his face again. She blinked hard. It didn't help. She gripped the spoon harder, as if doing so would bolster her sanity.

Even now, she could swear the muscles of his arms flexed and his chest rose with a sigh. She even saw the corner of his strong mouth rise in a wry smile.

With every nuance of behavior in her imagined vision, the vice around her heart cranked down tighter and tighter.

“Jane.”

Oh great, now she was hallucinating sounds. Maybe the LSD from the People's Palace had come back to haunt her.

Maybe Barnaby haunted her.

The burn in her chest amplified when she blinked and he didn't disappear.

“Jane. I'm here.”

“No, you're not.” The metal utensil dug into the skin of her palm.

Even though he smiled in the usual Barnaby manner, sadness creased lines on his face.

When he knelt down and touched her on the arm, she yelped. It felt too real, too immediate, too painful.

“It's really me.”

“No, it's not.”

“Jane.” His mellow voice broke her heart. “Do you trust me?”

The imaginary vice loosened half a turn.

He had come back.

“I trust you, Barnaby.”

She buried her head on bent knees.

“Where did you go?”

“I never left. Not really.” He sank down to sit near her on the floor. “Z'wounds, Jane. I couldn't leave you.”

Snapping her head up to stare at him, she said, “What?”

He took her free hand in his big, rough one, turned her palm up, and dropped a gentle kiss onto her wrist.

The screws on the vice around her heart unwound with each swipe of his lips on her skin. As the pressure eased up in her chest, the emptiness faded. She relaxed her grip on the spoon but couldn't let it go yet.

“You're really here,” she whispered.

“You bet I am.” The light in his eyes returned, along with ... fear? “So, Jane?”

“Yes.”

“I was always in sight of this cabin. Every time I tried to go farther away, you were like a magnet, pulling me back.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Do you even understand what I'm trying to say? I couldn't leave you if I tried.”

“I understand.”

“Really?” His boyish grin made her toes tingle.

“Yeah. For real. I tried to leave several times, but couldn't.”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

His eyes shone. “In four centuries roaming this earth, I have never loved a woman the way I love you, Jane.” He swallowed. “I have no right to ask. I'm a monster. Criminy, I have no right—”