Hunter's Rise (48 page)

Joss had heard her. He had. But the one thing his mind focused on was
more than a ghost-talker
.

Shit.

Without even look at the man, without opening his mind, he knew. “You’re going to head-fuck me again, aren’t you?”

Silence stretched out between them.

Finally, Taylor sighed. “Joss, I don’t have much choice. You’re the only man I’ve got who can do this. Nobody else has the ability to pick up any needed gift at any given time; I need multiple abilities and I need them now.”

“Where?” He didn’t bother trying to talk his way out of it. There was no point. He was in this line of work because he had to be. He wasn’t in it for fun, for kicks or for the money. If he was needed, then fuck it. He was needed. Shooting one last glance back toward the stone that kept calling him back here, he looked toward Taylor. The pull had been stronger this time… so much stronger…

“Here,” Taylor said quietly. “It’s right here. In Orlando.”

*  *  *

F

Her heart skipped at little at the way the lights danced over it. That whimsical part of her, that little girl who’d yearned for that fairy-tale prince, melted inside as she stared at the castle and the longing in her heart just didn’t want to let go.

But the more practical, cynical part of her was in control as she turned away from the window and made her way toward her bedroom. She wasn’t here on a leisure trip and she wasn’t here to stare moon-eyed at some child’s pipe dream, either.

She was here to get married.

And it was going to be a debacle. Her prince charming didn’t exist and she wasn’t expecting that to happen now.

Drucella Chapman knew that much, even though she wasn’t required to do much of anything. The bloody wedding planners were taking care of everything, from her one-of-a-kind designer gown, to the invitations… what the planners weren’t doing, her fiancé was handling.

It didn’t feel like her wedding at all.

But then again, her life didn’t feel like her life, either. “Why should my wedding be any different?”

The knock at the door caught her off guard.

It could be one of two people… her father, and she hoped it was him.

It could be her fiancé. She suspected it was him and she rather hoped it wasn’t.

It was a good thing she didn’t let herself put much faith in her own hopes, because she was able to keep a smile on her lips as she opened the door and smiled at Patrick Whitemore, the man she was to marry in just under a month. It was going to be at the wedding pavilion, she’d ride in the silly carriage…

Her heart ached even thinking of it. Her father had mentioned to Patrick that she’d always wanted that fairy-tale wedding and here her men were, in the position to give it to her, so by God…

“Hello, darling,” Patrick said, dipping his head to brush his lips against her cheek.

She resisted the urge to flinch and smiled at him. “Patrick, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you so late.”

“I just wanted to see you, see how you were settling in, Ella.”

Dru looked down so he wouldn’t see the way she frowned. She hated that name. She’d rather be called
Drucella
than Ella. Why couldn’t he just call her
Dru
? Oh, yes. She remembered now… it was another way for him to remind her just how much he controlled her.

“How are your rooms?”

She smiled at him. “They are quite lovely, thank you.” She missed her flat in London. Her parents had divorced when she was young and Dru had spent most of her childhood flying back and forth over the Atlantic— she’d gone to school in London, but she’d spent the summer months and most holidays in the States with her father.

Turning away, she glanced down at the sophisticated, elegant ring he’d given her a year ago. It weighed down on her heavier and heavier these days. She wished she’d never accepted it— wished she’d never accepted that first date. Wished she’d never laid eyes on him.

“I was thinking that I might fly back in a week or two, just for a few days, settle a few things with my flat,” she said quietly, stroking a finger over the stone.
Get away from you for just a bit
.

“You were supposed to have all of that dealt with already.” He lifted a hand, laid it on her shoulder. The touch was light. But there was no mistaken the threat there.

He didn’t need to touch her to remind her.

But that touch… bile churned its way up her throat and images, bloody and dark, flashed through her mind.

“Yes. Most of it,” she murmured. “I’m likely just nervous. I suspect it’s just part of being a bride.”

A bride who doesn’t want to be one…

Plastering a smile on her face, she turned and faced him. “I’ll just have a friend check on things for me, shall I? I’d feel better.”

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” he said, touching a brow to her forehead. “It will give you wrinkles.”

She only wished that were the least of her problems.

Wrinkles…

Marrying a man she hated.

She could always run away, she knew.

But if she did, he’d go after her father.

And worse, he’d track her down. And then, he’d kill her.