Midnight (5 page)

Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: Midnight

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Chris peered at the dirt floor while Rio popped open the wood doors that covered the pit. Quicklime and wooden supports kept the packed dirt in place. The root cellar smelled of clean clay. She climbed down the rope ladder, leading the way. Like the kid he was, showing off, Rio leaped. He found and lit a candle, which cast a snapping dragon of a shadow. The other three bravos forced Chris down. When he hit bottom, he didn’t look frightened as many men did. Not in the least. Rosa’s stomach did a flip.

“Are you going to torture me?” He sounded remarkably composed about the whole thing, more than anyone she’d ever encountered. His tone was almost academic curiosity, and maybe a quirk of amusement.

“We’re not monsters.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to his weapon.

Rosa closed the shadowy distance between them. They locked gazes for far too long. “Hand it over.”

A cat’s grin shaped the masculine lips she’d admired. “If I’m gonna get rolled, I expect to get laid first.”

“Excuse me?”

“If it’s true that I’m just here for a test, then you can leave them with me. I don’t want them stolen—no offense. They won’t give me any advantage if I’m a skinwalker, and I’d have used them already if I wanted to cause trouble.”

“You seem to think you’re the boss of Valle. Funny.” She snapped her fingers.

Rio and Manuel grabbed his arms, but again he offered no resistance as they bound him with rope. That took the satisfaction out of claiming his satchel and his Beretta.

“I’ve never run across a skinwalker that could keep from shifting when he’s tied up in the dark,” Rosa said. “Something about the stress brings the change.”

“How long?”

“Eight hours will do it. Not long enough to cause you any harm. If you need to piss, Rio will help you before he leaves.”

The kid shot her a look that said he’d rather die, but she already knew what Chris would say. “I’m fine. Water’s been scarce.”

She nodded. “For a human, this is uncomfortable. For a skinwalker, it’s pure hell. We have to know the truth, and this is the easiest way. See you on the other side.”

He shrugged again, with a carelessness that was fast getting under her skin. “Lights out, then.”

“Yep. Lights out.” Rosa scaled the rope ladder, not looking back. She already knew that whether he proved human or skinwalker, Chris Welsh was dangerous.

FOUR

The darkness in the root cellar was complete. Chris lay on a lumpy mattress, weary beyond all bearing, but hunger wouldn’t let him sleep. He had given up on looking for shadows and shapes, but noises came to him in choppy bursts, keeping him company: an impatient shout, chains being dragged along concrete, laughter, distant music.

To think these people had Rosa Cortez to thank for such a miracle of humanity made Chris a little nauseous. What, exactly, had he managed? When all the columns were tabulated, he’d caused more harm than good—the opposite of the doctor he’d claimed to be.

His stomach grumbled, so he closed his eyes and allowed a moment of pure indulgence. He considered Rosa. A deceptively small woman built for battle, but she also offered intriguing hints of softness. Something about her turned his mind to sin.

Rather than think about her all at once, which was like ripping open every Christmas present as fast as possible, he picked her lips. For now, just her lips. Sneers and smirks were not the stuff of poetry, but Shakespeare had never seen a smile like hers. The upper curve had been rimmed with sweat, while the full flesh of the lower lip was chapped—or gently gnawed. Did she get nervous? Was that her release?

He couldn’t wait to see more. She was succulent fruit in the midst of a wasteland.

Literally.

Of course he was hard. Eight months was a long time to go without. The last woman had been anonymous, someone he’d fucked for the release and a night’s shelter. She hadn’t told him her name and he hadn’t asked. Such encounters had marked his years alone. His last loving touch had come from Ange—who was dead because he’d failed her. He exhaled heavily. His burgeoning arousal withered. Eyes open, he found only more darkness, but it was better than memories of blood.

How many hours had passed? Chris wondered how long Jenna would have been able to stomach being bound and abandoned in the dark before going wolf. A hell of a lot longer than eight hours. No matter how successful Rosa had made her small desert community, it wasn’t safe—not if they were working on superstition and incorrect data. Part of him, the Before part, wanted to set them to rights. But working against entrenched prejudice tested his patience and would get him skinned. Scared, angry villagers didn’t like hearing that Frankenstein’s monster was just like them.

That hard-eyed kid opened the hatch and threw something down, then disappeared again. Despite hands bound before him, Chris groped in the dark until he found a sack that contained a skin of water and some flat bread. They didn’t intend to spoil him, it seemed, until they knew his nature. Such a primitive waste of time, but he didn’t let that deter him. He devoured his meal, then rolled onto his side and went to sleep.

“You’re napping?” The light of purple desert dusk flooded the cellar, which meant he’d passed their absurd test.

It hadn’t been bad, actually. The cool cellar was far from the worst place he’d slept since leaving Mason and Jenna’s home. At least it had been dark, safe, and out of the sun’s heat. Having food in his belly helped too.

Still groggy, Chris rolled to face Rosa. He wasn’t surprised to see her checking on him personally. The possibility of facing a feral, thoroughly pissed-off shifter? No problem.
La jefa
was the first down the rope ladder.

Two sets of male hands grabbed his upper arms. Rio and Brick forced him to his knees, but he didn’t resist. Their trust would be hard-won.

Rosa stood before him. Later he’d dwell on how she smelled, like caramelized sugar and pure sex.

Instead Chris squinted up at the gun she held against his forehead. “Time’s up?”

One look at Rosa’s face should have sobered him, but he liked how fast she breathed when she was pissed. “Get him up,” she said. “I can see he doesn’t take this seriously.”

“What? I was tired.”

Rio and the other man yanked him up. Blood rushed to Chris’s head and spots blinked as rapidly as he did—lack of food, lack of water. What they’d given him hadn’t been enough to stave off the effects of long months of deprivation. But he couldn’t give in to the dizziness. He had too much to prove, though he had no idea why he wanted to impress this woman.

Rosa stood toe-to-toe with him. She barely reached his chin, but confidence made her seem divine. She’d bring the whoop-ass no matter her stature. Chris found himself wanting to grin again.

“You’ll have to take the test again. There’s no stress in sleep, therefore, there’s no telling what the hell you are.”

“Don’t be dense.” He shrugged out of his guards’ hands. “If you’re using this to determine citizenship for your town, then I guarantee your population is roughly ten percent shifter.”

Those ripe, full lips fell open. She nodded toward her guards and said, “Get out.”

“
Jefa
—” Brick started.

“Wait for us outside.”

Brick and Rio climbed out of the cellar. A match flared and Rosa lit a candle. Chris resumed his seat, fingers laced in his lap.

She leveled the gun at his chest—a big fucking gun, one more suited to Mason than her small hands. He felt sure he couldn’t rush her without Rosa ventilating his chest.

“Talk.”

“I’ve been wearing the same clothes for a long damn time. A wash, a shave, some food—I’d appreciate it.”

“I bet you would.” Her words were deadly sweet.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He chanced another look up and down her compact body. “Not that it’ll matter.”

Her fingers tightened on the grip of the gun. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re throwing people into a basement in the hopes they’ll shift. It’s like dunking a woman to see if she’s a witch. You’re working off hearsay. It’s not worth my time trying to correct so much bad information.” He stretched his legs. “So maybe I’ll just trade for a few things and move on.”

“You’re mistaken if you think you’re in charge here.”

“No mistake,
Jefa
. You are.”

He could see her mind working, testing his words for the sarcasm or disrespect she wouldn’t find.
Chew on that one, boss lady.
Frustration replaced anger on her face, and she readjusted her grip—practically fidgeting from someone so cool and calm.

“You have some nerve,
pendejo
.”

“I thought a woman like you would appreciate candor.”

She scowled. “A woman like me?”

Chris spread his hands, palms up, submissive. But he didn’t feel that way. He was charged up. Sparring with Rosa felt . . .
vital
. A reason to wake up in the morning—and that was something he hadn’t known in a long time.

“Your decisions affect everyone in town. I don’t intend to make that job any harder.”

“Jefa!”
came Brick’s voice. Then a tolling bell rang out.

“An alarm?” Chris asked.

Rosa hesitated. In one quick sweep, her gaze crossed from Chris to the door above. “We call them hellhounds.
Dios
, we haven’t seen them in six months at least. I don’t know exactly what they are.”

I know what they used to be.
The hellhounds had once been human beings, driven to shift into monsters by the magic of the Change. But worse than that, they’d once been people of a criminal mindset—humanity’s worst given a feral form to match their bestial natures.

But she might not be ready to hear that, and maybe it was better if she didn’t know. God knew he wished he didn’t.

“Let me fight. If I turn on you, plug me with that cannon you’re holding. I’ll deserve it. But that’s not going to happen.”

She didn’t respond, simply spun toward the promise of battle. Seconds later she was up the ladder and gone. Chris snuffed the candle and scrambled up the ropes. He took her silence as acceptance.

Goddamn dogs.

Adrenaline boiled in his veins, and his muscles prepared for a fight.

Outside the cellar, Chris witnessed a miracle of defensive organization. People holding shotguns and pistols ringed each building, six meters between each primed body—no more, no less. From teenagers to old men, they stood stone-faced like sentinels. Determination outweighed even the most obvious expressions of fear.

“Hold your positions!” Rosa commanded.

She strode down the middle of the dusty street, her body swathed in twilight. A sniper rifle she hadn’t been wearing in the basement hung between her shoulder blades. Chris fell into step behind her. If she didn’t like it, she could shoot him. But the sight of her alone on that deserted street set him off.

“Team One, report,” she called.

“No hellhounds,” came a shout from the southernmost building.

“Team Two.”

The call-and-response continued as she traversed the town. Chris eyed every shadow as if it might spring to life. Not too far from the truth. With every negative call-and-response, the tense muscles of his neck and upper back eased.

But at the pop-pop sound of small-caliber shots, he sprang into a full run.

“Hold positions!” Rosa shouted to the others. “Hold until the all-clear!”

Chris rounded the corner of what looked like an old-time tavern, something out of a John Wayne movie. He snagged a handmade broom and snapped off the bristles. The stout handle would make a passable weapon. Nobody was paying him any attention.

A trio of two men and a woman ringed the rear of the building, still in formation. An injured monster writhed in the dirt some two hundred meters away. By its side, another two lay dead.

Rosa strode to the fore, her weapon leveled. Chris grabbed her arm. She looked ready to spit, but he held fast. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Only three out there.”

“What—?”

“They hunt in pairs.” He scanned the area, senses screaming.

“They’re animals,” she hissed.

“And animals follow set behaviors. Cougars hunt on their own, lions in packs. With these . . . hellhounds, it’s pairs.”

“There it is,” a man on the left said under his breath. He squinted through his rifle’s sight. “One hundred meters out. Ten o’clock.”

Rosa’s face seemed carved out of marble, but Chris read the understanding and appreciation in her eyes.

“Take the shot,” she said softly.

One crack later and the dog yelped, fell.

Chris hoisted his makeshift club and strode out into the scrub.

“You idiot,” Rosa shouted. “You don’t even have a gun.”