Sins of the Night (36 page)

Marguerite's heart sank as she realized the waitress wasn't going to help her. No wonder she was shy. It was hard to be otherwise when people could be this rude and off-putting. It was so much easier to be alone. “Just, please, see that Wren gets this.”

As she turned to leave, the woman stopped her. “Hey, were you there when Wren got shot last night?”

Marguerite went cold at the question. Did she hear that correctly? “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” the blonde said as she turned away with the bag in her hand. “I'll make sure he gets this.”

It was Marguerite's turn to stop the waitress as concern welled up inside her. Surely Wren wasn't hurt. She would have known had he been shot last night.

“What were you talking about?” she asked the waitress. “Wren didn't get shot last night. The bullet missed him … didn't it?”

The look on the blonde's face confirmed Marguerite's fear. The bullet hadn't missed.

“What happened to him?” Aimee asked.

Marguerite swallowed as guilt consumed her. “I was being mugged and he came out of nowhere to chase them off. One of the guys had a gun that he fired, but Wren told me that he wasn't hurt. I didn't see a wound on him.” Surely she would have seen a gunshot wound, wouldn't she?

If he'd been badly wounded, he would have said something. After all, no man took a bullet without complaint.…

“Wren saved you?” The waitress asked the question as if she couldn't believe he would have ever done such a thing.

Marguerite nodded. “The bullet just grazed him, right?”

“No,” the waitress said firmly. “Wren almost died last night.”

Marguerite felt sick at the news. This couldn't be real. Surely the waitress was just playing with her. “What hospital is he in?”

She could see the debate in the woman's expression about whether or not to answer her, and she couldn't blame her. Good grief, she'd gotten Wren insulted, assaulted, and shot—all in less than an hour. That poor man most likely never wanted to see her face again as long as he lived.

Aimee narrowed her eyes at Marguerite before she took a step back. “You're the one who sent him all those flowers today, aren't you?”

“Yes. Had I known he was hurt, I would have sent even more.”

That seemed to amuse her. “Hang on.” Aimee handed the bag back to Marguerite before she took her to stand by a door behind the bar. “You wait right here and I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Marguerite nodded as she noticed the hostile looks the bartenders were giving her. They were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, and though they were handsome, there was an air of lethalness about them. They appeared to resent her presence there in the bar area, but she couldn't imagine why …

Unless they knew about Wren and they blamed her for it.

Nervous and unsure, Marguerite turned to see the man with long black hair from last night. Justin. That had been his name. Like the others, he was staring angrily at her. He didn't say anything while he put away clean glasses.

It seemed to take forever before Aimee came back to beckon her through the doorway. “Follow me.”

Marguerite let out a relieved breath as the woman led her into the large commercial kitchen. There were five cooks buzzing around pots and ovens while two men washed dishes in a large sink. None of the workers paid any attention to either of them.

At least not until they reached another door at the end of the long steel tables. A tall blond man was standing in front of it, and he appeared less than pleased that Aimee wanted to take Marguerite through it. He looked just like the man who had thrown them out of the bar last night, except he didn't seem to remember her at all.

“What are you doing, Aimee?” he asked in a growling tone.

“Move, Remi.”

“Bullshit.”

Aimee put her hands on her hips. “Move, Brother, or you'll limp.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don't scare me, swan. I could tear your head off and not flinch.”

“And I could hurt you in a much more permanent way.” Her gaze dropped to his groin. “Now move it or lose it.”

Curling his lip, he reluctantly complied.

“Ignore the scowl,” Aimee said as she opened the door. “It's his natural countenance. Believe it or not, it's far more becoming than his smile. That just looks creepy.”

Marguerite didn't know what to think as Aimee led her into a posh old-fashioned parlor. The house was absolutely beautiful. Weirdly enough, it looked as if it were in some kind of time warp or something. There was nothing on this side that looked modern at all. Nothing.

Her eyes fell to the door that held five Stanley dead bolts and an alarm system that would rival NASA's.

Okay, not entirely antique. But other than those telltale items, it was like walking onto an old-fashioned movie set.

Aimee led Marguerite up an intricate hand-carved stairway to the second floor, which was lined with mahogany doors. The waitress didn't pause until they were halfway down the corridor. She knocked on the door, then cracked it open.

“You decent?” she asked, keeping her body so that Marguerite couldn't look into the room.

There was no answer.

“Yeah, well, you have a visitor. So you need to be human for a while, okay?” After a brief hesitation, Aimee stood back and opened the door wider. “I'll wait out here until the two of you are finished. Just call out if you need anything.” Then under her breath she added, “Like a priest, cop, or lion tamer.”

Marguerite frowned. What an odd thing to say, but then, she was quickly learning that everyone here was a bit strange.

She stepped past Aimee, into the room, and froze as she caught sight of Wren lying on a large sleigh bed under a black comforter that matched the black curtains covering the windows. His skin was ghostly pale. The flowers she'd sent earlier were lined up on his dresser and before it, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing personal in the room to mark it as his. It looked as if he were nothing more than a visitor just staying a night or two.

Her heart hammered as she went to him. His breathing was labored and a large Ace bandage was wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. With the black comforter draped over his lower half, he was bare from the waist up, showing her a remarkably toned chest and arms. The man was incredibly well built, with a full six-pack of abs. The only hair on his chest was a small trail of dark blond hair that ran from his navel down to disappear under the covers.

But what held her attention most was the amount of obvious pain he was in.

Marguerite knelt beside the bed as guilt tore through her. This was all her fault. All of it.…

“Why didn't you tell me about this?”

He didn't answer. Instead he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “You shouldn't have come back here, Maggie.”

His hand was rough and callused. Unlike the guys she knew, his hands were used to hard work, not oiled manicures. “I wanted to give you a small token to say thank you for last night.”

Wren glanced at the flowers in his room. The bears and other Were-Hunters had been harassing him unmercifully about them. Not that he cared. To him those flowers were unbelievably precious.

No one else had ever given him a present before. No one.

He started to push himself up, only to have Maggie stop him.

“You shouldn't move.”

The concern on her face tore at him. “It's okay.”

“No.” She gestured to the bandage, where a red spot was forming again. “See, you're bleeding. Should I call someone?”

He shook his head. “I'll heal.”

Her beautiful brown eyes castigated and doubted him. “I can't believe you didn't tell me you were shot last night. What if you had died?”

He snorted at that. “I've been shot enough to know when it's not fatal.”

Marguerite gave him a stunned look. Was he serious? With him she was never quite sure. He tossed things out at her in passing conversations that would be horrifying if they were true, and the bland way he spoke of them led her to believe that they just might be.

“Shot by whom?”

He didn't respond to her question as he propped himself up in the bed. His dreads fell back into his eyes, obscuring his face from her view. She was beginning to suspect that he did that on purpose so that he could watch the world while no one could watch him.

Even so, she saw a small bead of sweat fall down the side of his face from the strain of being awake. “I won't stay long,” she said, handing him the bag in her hands.

He stared at it as if it were an alien being. It was actually rather comical. One would think the man had never been given a gift before.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Open it.”

She thought he might be frowning as he picked up the tissue paper on top and held it to his face. He seemed to be savoring it.…

“What are you doing?” she asked with a frown.

Without responding, he set the paper aside, then reached in and pulled out the gray sweatshirt inside. She smiled at his confusion.

“I know you said you're taking classes at UNO, but I couldn't bring myself to put a pirate on you. I saw the LSU tiger shirt in a store and had to buy it. I know it's weird, but I've always had a thing for tigers and I thought it'd look good on you.”

He cocked his head to the side as if completely perplexed or intrigued by her words. “Thank you, Maggie.”

The sound of that nickname on his lips brought a shiver to her. She loved the way he said it—sure, deep, and protective. It was almost like an endearment.

“So is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

Wren stiffened at her question, in more than one way. The one thing he wanted from her was the one thing he could never ask—to have her naked in his bed. And that added a deep, inexplicable burning to his chest. “I'm fine.”

“You sure? I could get—”

“Aimee?” he called, interrupting her.

The door opened instantly to show him the bear-swan. She passed a quick look between them as she drew near the bed.

“She needs to leave,” Wren told her.

Aimee nodded, then reached for Maggie.

She shrugged off Aimee's touch. “Wren…”

“I need to rest, Maggie. Please.”

Marguerite hesitated at the strain she heard in his voice. How could she argue with that? He was in extreme pain because he had saved her life when most men would have turned the other way and not bothered.

“Okay.” She moved back toward the bed and leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

Wren couldn't breathe as desire roared through him. It was all he could do to not pull her into his bed.…

Before he could think better of it, he caught her head as she started to pull away and pulled her lips to his. He growled at the sweet taste of her. At the softness of her lips under his. It was the first time in his life he'd ever tasted a woman, but even so he couldn't imagine any woman tasting better than this one. She was incredible.

Maggie's lips were soft and decadent. They awoke a fierce hunger inside him that craved nothing but her. It was a hunger that both scared and thrilled him in a way he would never have thought possible.

He shouldn't feel this. Not for a human. Not for anyone.

God save them both from his ragged emotions.

Marguerite moaned as she tasted the feral wickedness of Wren's mouth. His tongue swept against hers, making her shiver. He smelled of patchouli and antibiotic cream.

More than that, he smelled of raw, earthy male. Of wicked midnight delights that she wanted to spend the entire day sampling.

He pulled away with a deep snarl. “Go, Maggie. Before it's too late.”

His words confused her completely. “Too late for what?”

“Aimee,” he said between clenched teeth as he refused to look at Marguerite.

Aimee pulled her back. “C'mon, Maggie. He really should rest.”

Wren watched as the women left. His heart ached at the loss. Even now Maggie's scent clung to him. It filled his nostrils, making the beast inside him roar with possessiveness. It wanted her in a way that was hard to deny.

Also Available from #1 Bestselling Author Sherrilyn Kenyon

The Dark-Hunter Series

Fantasy Lover

Night Pleasures

Night Embrace

Dance with the Devil

Kiss of the Night

Night Play

Seize the Night

Sins of the Night

Unleash the Night

Dark Side of the Moon

Devil May Cry

Acheron

One Silent Night

Bad Moon Rising

No Mercy

Retribution

Time Untime

Styxx

The Dark-Hunter Companion

The Dream-Hunter Series

The Dream-Hunter

Upon the Midnight Clear

Dream Chaser

Dream Warrior

The Guardian

The Chronicles of Nick

Infinity

Invincible

Infamous

Inferno

The League

Born of Night

Born of Fire

Born of Ice

OUTSTANDING PRAISE FOR SHERRILYN KENYON AND HER NOVELS

NIGHT PLAY

“Without question, [
Night Play
] is one of the most original and thrilling paranormal series today … the complex world of the Weres adds more depth and excitement to an already intense saga.”

—
Romantic Times Book Club,
(4½ starred review)