Stealing Time (17 page)

I tilted my face to look up and meet his black gaze. “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.”

Flecks of pale green lightened his eyes as he got a grip on himself. “You’re quoting Ruth to me?”

“Seems to me, Ruth had it right.” I shrugged. “So. What needs to be done before we can get the heck outta Dodge?”

James breathed in and out a few times, his face in profile to me. Squeezing his eyes shut, he murmured, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Not waiting for an answer, he shook himself. “Would you mind packing for us, enough clothes for a week? We’ll buy some more along the way—things we’ll need in the Rockies. I have to complete a few preparations downstairs and we can begin loading the SUV.”

Shortly after my change, James had given me a tour of his home, finishing in his private underground garage. This was where he kept his Range Rover, the SUV he mentioned, as well as a Porsche and an exquisite silver and black bullet on wheels. Even now, I wrestled with the knowledge that this car alone, a Bugatti, cost over two million dollars.

On so many levels, I was proud of James, proud of his intellect and judgment, proud of his incredible talent as an acclaimed master artist. But I was also a little in awe of his investing skills, since it was clear he’d amassed a stunning fortune. Although he never talked about it, the Bugatti’s presence alone spoke volumes.

With a quick kiss, we split up, with James heading downstairs and me going to put some clothes together for both of us. About forty minutes later, we met back in the kitchen and he led the way to the rear elevator. We stepped in and rode with our bags and supplies down to the garage.

“Three cars,” I remarked, unable to resist teasing him. “When you can drive only one at a time.”

Not rising to the bait, he shrugged. “I like cars.”

“Yes. But most guys who like cars buy car magazines.”

With soulful seriousness, he looked me in the eyes. “But magazines are much harder to drive and they get soggy when it rains.”

I cracked up and bumped him with my shoulder.

He smiled and opened the back of the SUV, and in short order we’d loaded everything inside. Walking with me to the front passenger door, I sensed his increasing tension and knew he wanted us on the road.

“Evie, built into a hidden well in the back there is a supply of blood that should last two months if we are careful. There is also a great deal of cash and travel documents in both our names. I used the photo from your driver’s license to make yours and it’s good enough to pass all but the most thorough inspection.”

“You got a lot accomplished in less than an hour.”

“Just being careful so we have fewer things to be concerned about.”

In moments we were in the Range Rover, driving up the ramp and onto the street outside. I glimpsed the figures cloaked in shadow at either end of the block, and was comforted to know that they’d stayed true to their word to James and remained until we left.

“I’m curious about something,” I said as we stopped for a red light. At his quizzical look, I continued, “Your friends. I get that things are different among vampires. But why haven’t I met them?”

The light changed and he accelerated. “We may go several decades without seeing one another, although we make it a point to check in periodically. When everything changes around us, it is comforting to have such ties. But we rarely socialize other than the occasional rave or, even rarer, Gathering.”

“What’s a Gathering?”

“A formal meeting, called by our Ancients.” He glanced at me and I was intrigued to see that he was blushing. “But my primary reason for not introducing you to my friends is an ignoble one. Just the idea of having other males around you is difficult to contemplate. While I had hoped to have better control than this, it’s not uncommon among our kind, especially for the first few years.”

I smiled, charmed by his instinctual possessiveness and that he wrestled with it. “So should we send out invitations for our own rave in, what? Five years?”

He laughed ruefully. “At the moment, eighty sounds better.”

Once we cleared the city, James pushed the Rover to higher speeds, and I didn’t miss the fact that he was carefully checking the rearview mirror. Beginning to feel lethargic and knowing that the stasis was creeping up on me, I lay my head back on the headrest. Watching the night fly past my window, I allowed my eyes to lose focus so that the view became a blur of tree trunks and sign posts flashing by.

As I closed my eyes and drifted off, his warm fingers twined with mine. There was a weird impression of the outside world speeding past, then just the darkness behind my eyelids.

But James was here and all was well with my world.

Although it was a long drive, James’s lodge in the Canadian Rockies was unknown to both Philippe and Lilith, and its extreme isolation suited us quite well.

I was also amused at having quoted Ruth, “where thou lodgest.” Who’d’ve thought it would be literal?

James changed the SUV’s license plates after we cleared the city. Pin-striping down the sides, a political bumper sticker on the back, and a parking garage permit sticker to the windshield did a surprisingly good job of altering the Range Rover’s appearance. This exercise in subterfuge—some of it illegal—made my reporter’s instincts twitch and I quizzed James to learn how he got the tags and license. His equable answers made clear that staying undetected for so long was not accidental, but the result of careful and precise planning.

Part of that planning was stowed in the SUV’s hidden well. In addition to the already-packed vampire necessities, we stopped along our route to buy human camouflage for a late-winter trip—parkas, ski boots, gloves, dark-tinted goggles and our skis, strapped to the roof luggage-rack. James used cash.

Other than the one shopping spree and the need to periodically refuel the Range Rover, we made excellent time and crossed into Canada with no difficulty, using the IDs James created. As far as the border officials in Portal, North Dakota, were concerned, we were Michael and Beth Donahue from Chicago.

It was early afternoon when the SUV climbed the last long rise through the heavily forested dirt track and arrived at the lodge. James had named it
Asile,
which was French for haven. My first sight of it explained why—it felt like a natural part of the forest, eternal and beautiful. There were patches of snow on the ground, up under the trees where the sun could not reach. The crisp, clean air and restful quiet soothed my acute senses and I relaxed, not even aware of my own tension until then.

The lodge had a broad front porch and a massive chimney mid-structure, with two smaller chimneys on either end, and all made of fist-sized river rocks.
Asile
was constructed of enormous logs and its windows had huge wooden storm shutters to protect the glass during rough winter storms. We were surrounded for miles in all directions by one of the world’s heaviest, old-growth forests. Because of its extreme isolation, the lodge had no electricity or telephone, although James had brought a satellite phone with us.

I stood staring at the lodge from the Range Rover’s still-open door. “It’s beautiful. Did you build it?”

“No, it was a retreat for a wealthy Canadian family. I bought it from them in 1910. I liked it so much that I’ve made no changes except for the generator and putting in plumbing. It already had a well.”

This made me smile—a hot shower later would be awesome.

“Would you like to see the inside?” His eyes sparkled as he offered me his hand. I took it and we went up the stairs and onto the wide, covered porch.

He unlocked the door and we stepped in. The interior was open to the heavy-beamed rafters overhead and the floor was made of wide, hand-hewn boards laid with great skill. The interior walls were polished to a honey gold that, even covered with dust, gleamed in the light streaming through the front door. There was a bedroom on either side of the main room, and each had a stone fireplace and its own bathroom; the main room, itself, had a fireplace and hearth so large, it dominated an entire wall.

The central room was sparsely furnished—James was already pulling heavy sailcloth covers off a sofa. I couldn’t believe the cloud of dust this dispelled and watched it rise high into the air. The removal of two more covers from matching chairs made it look as if a fog had rolled in with us through the front door.

“How long since you were here last?” I asked, eyeing the dust as it began to settle.

“Over fifty years. But I have a caretaker check on it periodically.”

Opening the windows wide, I watched as the dust was swept out by the resulting breeze. I helped James fold the covers he’d removed so that we didn’t send any more clouds billowing. We took them out onto the front porch to be aired tomorrow, leaving them folded for now against the outside wall.

For the next few hours, we cleaned and made the lodge livable again. Sure, we could have done the house-cleaning at vampire speed and gotten it over faster, but we were both enjoying the domestic chores and felt no need to hurry. It was strangely comforting, working together to reclaim
Asile.
Especially when we’d put away the fresh linens we’d brought with us, the beds were made, towels were hung in the bathrooms…and the lodge looked like a
home.

James took several containers of gasoline and went out to start the generator. If I listened very carefully, I could hear it—even with my sensitive ears, it was difficult because the little building that housed the generator was well-built and muted the sound. After our work reclaiming the lodge, I was really looking forward to a hot shower, so the dim throb was welcome.

When he came back in, James had cobwebs in his hair and was filthy. I laughed at the sight of him. “You look like you could haunt a house!”

He crouched, bared his teeth and started toward me. I saw his intent and streaked for the bathroom, with him close behind. No sooner had I shot through the door than his arms were around me, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

In a really bad, old-Hollywood vampire accent, he whispered, “Don’t be afraid…”

I groaned, “That’s awful!”

He lifted his head from my neck and made a face. “You’re covered in dust.”

“Nobody told you to get it in your mouth.”

Turning me toward him, he smiled wickedly. “We should have hot water by now.”

I rubbed a clean spot on his lips and did the same with my own. He saw my intent and lowered his head for me to kiss him.

“Want me to wash your back?” I asked.

“Mmm, for a start.” His grin deepened as he drew me close.

Later, feeling deeply loved and completely sated, I sat in front of a roaring fire in the main room. James wrapped his arms around my waist and I laid mine on top, holding him against me. He put his face in my hair and sighed happily.

What a great time this would be to say those three, all-important words…if only I could choke them out past the sudden panic tightening my throat. This, despite my grand resolve. My magnificent epiphany.

James lifted my hand to his lips, nipping my fingertips and nuzzling my palm.

The sensations were surprisingly decadent and distracted me from my anxiety. Breathless, I asked, “Do you have a hand fetish?”

“I have a
you
fetish.”

I gasped and tried to pull away. “That tickles!” I choked through the laughter.

“Baby,” he murmured before releasing my hand and caressing my cheek with his own. “Do you need to rest?”

I lifted my head to smile at him. “No, I’m okay.”

His expression was pure sin. “Perhaps we can find some way to occupy ourselves.” He fitted his mouth to mine.

When he let me up for air, I turned a little and was captivated by his beautiful, emerald eyes. Without conscious thought, I brushed a fingertip along his cheek and traced the line of his nose down to his perfect lips. I continued my exploration, skimming my fingers down his throat and to the neck of his robe, enjoying the way his muscles quivered under my touch. I pushed the robe open and trailed my palms across his well-muscled chest, eliciting a shudder from him. My hands fanned out across his flat stomach, spanning his waist before moving lower.

“Evie,” James whispered. I looked up from studying his chest to see that his eyes were dark and wild. He lowered his head to kiss me, stopping when I made a noise in my throat.

“My turn.”

His power surged against his control, and the sensation of heat and need had me blushing.

I closed the small distance, nuzzling my cheek against his and exploring along his jaw to his throat. His heart was thundering now and I thrilled at his reaction. Trailing kisses along his throat, I felt his pulse thrumming under my lips. The rhythmic vibration was intoxicating—drawing back my lips, I gently nipped him.

And almost fell over before I caught my balance. Bewildered, I looked around and saw James on the other side of the great room, a shocked expression on his face.

That weird echo was back and my own heart pounded in response. I pressed a hand to my chest, irritated.

“What are you doing over there?”

With a visible effort, James smoothed his expression and returned to me. “It was entirely instinctive, my love. I felt your teeth and…”

“But why would that bother you?” I asked, perplexed. “I’ve touched you with my teeth before.”

“But never at my throat. Our instincts for self-preservation are very strong…”

I growled, “I’m kissing you and you’re paying attention to the wrong damn instincts. Besides, you’ve put your teeth to my throat before. Your fangs, even.”

“Yes, but that’s different.” At my arch look, he huffed. “It was part of the claiming. And you’ll recall that your instincts reacted rather emphatically to my doing so before you submi…um,
accepted
me.”

Stifling my irritation—he’d almost said submitted—I pointed at the hearth where he had been just moments earlier. Eyeing me carefully, he sat down.

“Now be
still,
” I warned as I leaned in again.

James was rigid and held himself with iron control. I wanted to laugh at his reaction, but understood that his survival instinct had kept him alive a very long time.

I kissed down his throat until I reached the same patch of delicate skin. Very, very gently, I nibbled there once and heard his sudden sharp inhalation. Emboldened, I nibbled a few more times before leaning back just enough to see his face. “Was that so bad?”

His expression was equal parts surprise and alarm. “Umm…”

“Baby,” I purred and nipped his chin.

He was about to retort when his head jerked up. I caught the sound too and turned toward the front door.

“Someone is outside,” he said and sprinted into the bedroom to dress, with me fast behind him. In moments, we were down the porch steps and moving across the front yard. It was still a few hours from sunrise, so the night was deep and dark. We could see quite well, of course, and spotted the figure coming up the lane. James met my eyes, and we fanned out a few feet and moved to intercept the intruder. A gentle breeze confirmed that this was a vampire and I heard James’s low growl as an answering snarl built in my own chest.

The male’s head lifted at the sound and he staggered to a stop, weaving unsteadily. We moved to stand in front of him, poised and ready. But when we realized he was no threat—just remaining on his feet required all of his concentration—we relaxed our aggressive stances and straightened.

“My name is James and this is my mate, Evie,” James asked. “Are you injured?”

The stranger turned toward him and opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I looked a question at James and he shrugged.

“Can you speak?” I asked. The stranger turned his face toward me and swayed, almost falling.

Without warning, my senses screamed danger and everything in me went alert. James tensed and moved closer, his eyes scanning the dark woods even as he unleashed his power to fill the air around us.

The newcomer tried to spin to face the way he’d come, but lost his footing and went down. Scrabbling in the patches of snow and rotting leaves, he knelt, his breath coming in harsh rasps as we all sensed some…
thing
bearing down on us.

I whispered subaudibly, “What is it?”

Before James could answer, undulating shadows emerged from the trees, close to the ground and moving fast. As they drew closer, I could make out individuals and realized it was a pack of some kind, creatures I’d never imagined—not even in my worst human nightmares.

James ripped out a snarl and his eyes flashed as the threat bore down us. With both hands, he grabbed a tree that stood easily thirty feet tall and jerked, snapping the trunk off near the ground with a sound like an explosion. Where the limbs branched off, he broke the trunk again, leaving a ten-foot-long post bigger than one of his hands could wrap around. One more snap and he handed me half of his makeshift weapon.

His moves had been decisive and quick, with no more effort expended than the brief flexing of muscle.

“What?” he asked, noticing my stare.

“Wow.”

And then they were on us, four-legged shaggy creatures the size and shape of a black bear. Each of their paws was tipped with lethal-looking claws, but it was their heads that freaked me out—the creatures were eyeless and their jaws, impossibly wide and filled with rows of serrated teeth, more shark than land carnivore. How they could see was beyond me, but they unerringly zeroed in on us as we stood, crouched and ready.

James bellowed his rage, charging forward to meet the leader and swinging his tree trunk like he was a batter going for a record-setting home run. I shook myself and dodged a black shape hurtling for my face, instinct making me spin and follow through with my own weapon, nailing the damn thing and adding velocity to its leap.

The newcomer got swarmed by no fewer than four of the nightmare forms and I surged into the mass of them, swinging and pounding with my club until it disintegrated into jagged shards in my hands. With my instincts fully engaged, those spiky bits turned into excellent stakes and I planted every one of them into the beasts as they just kept coming, apparently oblivious to how quickly James and I were decimating their numbers. It was like they were incapable of retreat.

“What the hell are these things?” I yelled as ravening teeth missed my arm by inches. Whirling, I snapped a kick into the creature’s head, snarling with savage pleasure to hear its neck shatter.

The answer came from the last place I expected—the newcomer stirred by my feet, safe in the space I’d created as James fought his way to us. It took the male several tries, but he finally got the word out. “Bodach.”

The word echoed in my head, stirring memories I couldn’t quite access past the aroused fight instincts. Something to do with Celts…