Scratch (6 page)

Despite telling herself she wasn’t interested in the
designer finery hanging on the portable racks, Alexia couldn’t help but admire
the array of styles and colors.

“What takes your fancy?” Blake asked.

She stepped forward and flicked through the hangers on the
rail, stopping at an off the shoulder, yellow chiffon dress that flared out
from the waist.

“That one is lovely,” agreed the young shop assistant,
looking every inch a pencil-thin model straight off the catwalk.

Blake flipped another frock off its hanger. “And we’ll take
this one too.”

“Oh, great choice,” the assistant agreed. “That style and
color will suit her perfectly.”

Alexia’s eyes widened. The long, slinky flame-red dress was
cut to the thigh at the front, the plunging neckline that was layered in
ruffles, drawing the eye.

As Alexia snagged a handful of lacy thongs, the assistant
retrieved two pairs of stilettos from the shoe racks beneath, the little gems
along the straps winking under the lights.

Blake selected a dark-gray suit and crisp white dress shirt,
along with shoes and a swirling-patterned red and gray tie.

Another knock sounded. Blake repeated the careful procedure
of before, and then opened the door to room service dining. “Ah, great timing,”
he murmured to the waiter who pushed his cart inside.

The smiling shop assistant left with her wheeled clothes
rack, the waiter following soon after.

Once they were alone again, Alexia’s skin goose bumped under
Blake’s burning stare. She gestured weakly toward the food. “That looks
delicious.”

“Delicious, yes,” Blake murmured, his eyes not on the food.
“It’s a warm night, would you prefer to eat out on the balcony?”

Outside, where darkness might shadow at least some of her
true feelings from him? For now at least, her love for him was a discovery that
was still too raw, too new and wild for her to share. “Okay, yes. Sure,” she
managed to utter.

A few minutes later they were seated under the stars, a
squat candle burning faintly on the table and a vista of glowing city lights
spread out before them.

Blake speared a moist piece of barramundi from one of the
plates and proffered her the morsel. She took it, subliminally aware the food
was superb, but barely tasting it.

Anxieties for the danger he was about to put himself in
continued to play at the back of her mind. She chewed and swallowed. “Aren’t
you worried about snipers, someone attacking you out here?”

He cracked apart some lobster. “Honestly, no. These men
aren’t organized crime. They’re individuals who’ll come after me the old-fashioned
way.” His broad shoulders lifted, and even in the weak candlelight his
honey-gold collarbone gleamed beneath the white robe. “At least for now.
Besides, they’ll be busy chasing a phantom trail for a while yet.”

She grinned at the image. She only hoped every single room
of every motel would be checked and double-checked before Blake’s enemies
realized they’d been duped.

She managed one more bite of the duck coated in some kind of
orange-zest crumb, before declining anything more.

Blake methodically polished off all six plates.

His smile gleamed behind the sputtering flame when he
explained, “It takes a lot of fuel to shift shape, for cells to alter and
heal.”

She couldn’t help but smile once again in return, though she
wondered how the scant trail mix they’d shared back at the barn had been near
enough fuel for him. “There’s always the strawberries and champagne, if you’ve
got any hole left in your belly to fill.”

He stood, moving behind her to pull out her chair. He took
her hand and drew her close. “They’re for later,” he said huskily.

“Oh?”

“For after we meet the elusive shape-shifter hater, where I
can hopefully resolve things with him.”

She arched a brow. “So you’re planning to sweet talk your
way out of him hating you?”

He shrugged, looking at ease for someone who’d been sent
into hiding thanks to her father’s findings. “I can’t run forever.” His eyes
caught hers under the candlelight. “Not if I have any hope of settling down.”

She exhaled slowly, trying not to let emotions rule her
head. “Is that what you want?”

He nodded. “With you. More than anything.”

Her breath caught. A strange lump settled in her throat. She
only hoped his optimism paid off.

An hour later they climbed out of the taxi. Alexia entered
the club on Blake’s arm, dressed in the slinky red gown he’d chosen. Red wasn’t
just passion, it was power—something she’d need plenty of if she hoped to get
through the night with her nerves still intact.

At a tiny stage set near the downstairs bar, an
ebony-skinned man in a tweed jacket serenaded patrons in a low, crooning voice,
his fingers gliding across the keys of a grand piano.

Blake led her past the pianist to the escalator nearby,
which took them upstairs to where booth seats offered views of the floor below.
They ordered a drink from the main bar before sliding into one of the leather
seats opposite each other.

Down below, groups and couples were already spilling in
through the front glazed doors from the street. At the other end of the room,
long-haired musicians, tats gleaming on their bared arms, were setting up on a
big stage.

None of it soothed the fear escalating within, and she
chewed her lower lip, decidedly sick inside. Blake was putting his life on the
line to ensure there was a future for them. But was the risk too great?

Blake took hold of her hand. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head and confessed, “I’m scared.”

He squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to fear. I won’t let
anything happen to you.”

I’m scared for you!

“I brought you here for good reason.” He nodded toward the
cameras mounted in strategic places on the ceiling. “They are all the proof we
need if our man tries something underhanded.”

She didn’t want proof. She wanted him safe. And she didn’t
doubt for one second that underhanded tactics would be the order of the night.

But she had no time to believe his reassurance. Blake
gestured to the heavyset man lumbering through the opened doors, a white cane
tucked under one arm. “Speaking of whom…here’s our man.”

Her mouth dropped open. Leon. She knew that man well!

He’d been her father’s biggest supporter and closest
confidant. Her heart squeezed tight, a painful lump in her chest. Surely it
couldn’t be true? Leon couldn’t possibly be behind the thugs who’d tried to
kill them. He’d been like an uncle to her. And had been the moneyed, driving
force behind her dad’s exploratory digs.

Damn it! He’d comforted her after her father’s death.

He’d also been noticeably absent at the funeral, a little
voice reminded.

She screwed her eyes shut, shocked beyond reason. It was all
too surreal. Leon had paid men to kill Blake? To kill her?

Her eyelids flicked open. The man below looked around. When
his hard gaze lifted and connected with hers, recognition was instant. His
brows snapped together, and he stepped onto the escalator.

Blake tapped the seat next to him. “Sit beside me, on the
outside.”

On legs gone weak, she changed seats. “Why?”

“In case you need a quick exit.”

“I thought you said—”

“It’s just a precaution.” His grin was self-assured. “Cats
are cautious by nature.”

The man who finally stood beside their table was on the high
side of fifty, bitter dislike stamped onto his face as though a permanent
scowl.

Blake didn’t stand, and the antagonism between the two men
was palpable. He indicated the seat opposite. “Take the weight off your feet.”

He wasn’t being polite.

The man hesitated. Suspicion glinted behind his cold stare.

“I guess you know me now.” Blake swept a hand toward her.
“And this is Alexia—”

Leon glowered. “I’m well aware who you both are.” He swept
her a look of deep scorn. “Your father was a hero of mine. He was
great…honorable.”

He said the word “honorable” as though she was now the
antithesis.

Repressing a shiver of revulsion as the older man moved
stiffly into the booth opposite them, she turned to Blake. “This asshole is
Leon Tane. I thought he was a good friend. Guess I was wrong.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, his appraisal every bit that of a cat
ready to pounce. “I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, Leon, but then I’d be
lying.”

Leon jerked straight back to his feet. His cane clattered
onto the floor. A vein in his forehead bulged as he leaned forward, pressing
his weight on outspread hands at the edge of the table. “The feeling is all too
mutual, you piece of shifter scum.”

“Tell me,” Blake asked, seemingly unaffected, “what do you
have against me and my kind?”

The older man’s eyes flashed with hatred and deep distrust.
“You mean you don’t know?” He settled back into his seat with a shake of his
head before taking his time to retrieve the cane. “One of your filthy kind
murdered my father, left him for dead in a government reserve in the outback.
He was mutilated almost beyond recognition but he fought to stay alive.”

The nostrils of Leon’s bull-like nose flared, the whites of
his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Wild dogs got the blame. But he managed to croak
out the words ‘shape-shifter’ and ‘panther’ to me just before he died.”

Blake expelled a breath, not denying his accusation. “I
see.”

“No, you don’t!” Leon snarled. “Your species are noxious,
dangerous. A threat to the entire human race. And I for one can’t wait to kill
every last one of you before it’s too late.”

Alexia’s hand balled into a fist beneath Blake’s hold. How
could this demented man possibly think all these deaths would bring his father
back? “Does that include killing every human sympathizer?” she asked coldly.

“Fucking the enemy isn’t going to make them go away,” Leon
said, turning a leering stare her way. “Pity though. While Thomas had droned on
and on about his work I had plenty of dirty fantasies about your pretty piece
of ass.”

Alexia gritted her teeth against the surge of vitriol that
threatened to erupt. She and her dad had trusted this man. More fool them.

Blake leaned across the table, and the two faced off like a
pair of dogs snarling before attack. “You’re just the same as your father,”
Blake ground out. “He was the reason one of our tribeswomen—a normally shy,
gentle shape-shifter—went rogue.”

“You think I give a shit my father wanted a piece of timid
pussy? That rogue shifter needs to pay for his death!”

Raw pain and regret momentarily slashed Blake’s face as he
gritted, “Her name was Vivianna. And she
did
pay.”

Alexia sucked in a breath.
Was
? Past tense? Her belly
clenched, dread coiling deep inside. “Blake, what are you saying?”

He lowered his voice, but grief made it harsh when he pushed
back into his seat and turned to her. “I’m saying she’s dead. By killing a
human she broke ancient shape-shifter laws.” With his free hand, he tossed back
his drink in a single swallow. “Her shifter partner, Shad, was given the
‘honor’ of eliminating her.”

Oh, shit.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Sudden comprehension swirled through her mind like the
coming together of a fragmented dream. “The shape-shifter bones my father
found, they were hers, weren’t they?”

Blake nodded. “She was our historian, our scroll keeper. She
knew better than anyone what punishment would be meted out. After
she…afterward, we buried her at the mouth of a sacred aboriginal cave. Right
where we knew she’d want to be at rest.”

Was that why Leon had backed her father? He hadn’t been
interested in her father’s beliefs at all, and certainly hadn’t feared the
unknown entity that was a shape-shifter. Revenge had been his only motive.

Blake rubbed at the condensation on his glass. “Vivianna
fled back to our ancestral home in the bush, not far from where she murdered
Leon’s father. Shad never spoke of what happened, but I’m guessing when he
found Vivianna, she instinctively began shifting shape in an attempt to
escape.” Blake shook his head, as if to clear it. “But no matter the motive, no
matter what the human did to her, she went rogue, became a murderer.”

Alexia resisted clapping a hand to her mouth in horror. Just
who was the real victim here?

Blake focused on the hostile man opposite. “The shape-shifters
would have devised a suitable punishment for your rapist father, but Vivianna
took matters into her own hands just hours after the event.”

Leon stood, jeering, “Sounds to me like she got what she
deserved. Animals shouldn’t have rights or privileges. They’re not human, never
will be.” He turned to Alexia. “Perhaps your father wasn’t any better than them
after all—imagining the shifter maggots as something to be revered.” One side
of his lips curled. “At least your father had his pride though and didn’t beg
for his…”

“Beg for his
what
?” she croaked, feeling every bit of
her blood drain from her face.

Leon smirked and added, “Life.” He leaned even closer and
murmured, “Before I murdered him.”

Roiling sickness pulled at her belly from bleak, black,
horrified fury. Blake put a hand over hers, stilling her. He squeezed gently,
pacifying her. Somehow, in her haze of shocked emotions, she understood he
wanted her to stay calm, to outwit the enemy—her father’s murderer.

Leon grinned, but it was the cruel mirth of a madman.
“Frankly, it was amusing seeing his precious only daughter imagine he’d taken
his own life. So easy really, what with his depression after I blackmailed Liz
into stealing his information then giving false and unsubstantiated reports.”

Her soul shrank. What did this monster have over Liz and God
knew how many other reporters? “How did you think you could ever get away with
it?” she whispered starkly.

“
Think
I’d get away with it? Oh please, you stupid
girl. I did get away with it.” He straightened with a wink, so cocky and sure.
“It’s always handy to have high-ranking police officers under my pay.” He
clucked his tongue. “Flash a bit of money to the right ones, the desperate
ones, and they are all too easy to corrupt.”

Unlike my father.

Somehow, despite the fact he’d been murdered, she was
comforted by the knowledge her dad had stayed strong, had never committed
suicide. Her doubts about her father taking his life had been warranted. Of
course they had. She should never have even once believed otherwise. “Well, if
you lowlifes will excuse me,” Leon announced grandly, “I have your murders to
plan.”

Blake squeezed her hand once more as Leon retrieved his cane
and hobbled away in a drift of chilling laughter. Standing, Blake announced.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to go anywhere just yet.”

Leon pivoted, his expression both amused and annoyed. “What
makes you think that?”

Blake pulled out an audio recording device from his jacket
pocket. “Your confession at committing a murder, perhaps?”

The surprise that flickered across the older man’s face was
almost instantly replaced by rage. All consuming, murderous fury. “You
bastard!” he roared.

Alexia sat in stunned incomprehension as Leon charged toward
them, too fast surely for a man of his age and size. She cried out as Blake
thrust her forward, away from danger. She fell to the floor and twisted around,
watching the drama unfold as though it were acted out in slow motion.

Leon wielded his cane like a spear, and she abruptly
understood why. Tipping one end of the cane, she caught the flash of a lethal
blade beneath the bright lights.

There was no time to yell a warning, no time for anything at
all. She could only watch as Blake vaulted nimbly onto the table. In a blur of
speed, he sidestepped the blade, took hold of its long handle and, making use
of Leon’s momentum, wrenched it high.

Leon held tight—and that was his undoing. He tumbled up and
over the table, over the half wall of glass. She heard his outraged shout,
immediately silenced by a dull, heavy thud as he hit the floor below.

A stunned hush filled the club. Then chaos.

Everyone scrambled to either assist the man below, or reach
for their phones, calling for help.

“Hey, are you two all right?” asked a young man, his
bleached-blond hair offset nicely by a tweed suit. His brow furrowed with
concern. “Don’t worry, I witnessed him pull that blade on you. You acted in
self-defense.”

Blake nodded. “Thank you.” He turned his attention on her
when she clambered to her feet, swaying unsteadily. “You’re okay?”

“I think so.”

He moved from the table and pulled her into the refuge of
his arms, keeping her there for some minutes until sirens could be heard in the
distance and Leon’s sudden, horrified cry echoed below. “I can’t feel my legs!”