Taken

Chapter 18

He supposed he might’ve felt lucky if she’d wanted to sit next to him, but he hadn’t given her much of a choice. He’d dropped down in the semicircular booth next to her, and with Julia squeezed in on her other side, she didn’t have a say in the matter.

“You mean you steal?” Her pretty eyebrows drew together, and she pushed a few stray curls out of her face. At least she was taking an interest in things, instead of just going all pale and glaze-eyed. Some food in her perked her right up, thank God.

Julia gave a contemptuous little laugh. “We’re scavengers, honey.” His sister took a giant bite of her cheeseburger, and Zach suppressed the desire to strangle her. “We pick up the bits and leavings. How do you think we live? Nothing’s free.”

Brun signaled the harried waitress and asked for another side of fries. The bleached blonde looked about to protest until Brun gave her puppy-dog eyes, and the woman melted. Sophie’s quick eyes took this in, and she hurriedly took a sip of Diet Coke. Zach tried not to hit her with his elbow, but it was close quarters with all of them crowded into the diner’s biggest booth.

It was good to feel a shaman in the Family again, good to see Eric stop twitching and Brun open up a little bit, the ice and moonlight smell calming both of them. Julia was on her best behavior, making girl talk and acting world-weary. The only thing missing was Kyle’s quick grin and sharp good humor.

Kyle would have liked this woman. The thought was a hurtful jab.

She won’t see a hunting run for a while. Let’s be happy about that. “Enough.” He decided to stop trying to give her some space, and leaned a little closer. “We don’t just fleece, Sophie. We do leatherworking, Julia’s a fair seamstress, too, and I’ve fixed cars before. We’re jacks-of-all-trades.”

“Oh.” Sophie nibbled at a French fry. “Like Gypsies.”

Djombrani are different, and there’s no love lost between us and the Rom. “Kind of. And now that you’re with us, we can settle down and get real jobs.” He almost smiled when she shifted her weight, almost tipping herself into Julia’s lap, and settled back down next to him, her arm brushing his. Her hip bumped against his, and the flush that went through him was pleasant and frustrating in equal measure. She just smelled too good, and he was finding out that he liked her.

Every once in a while she would stop, look over the top of those glasses, and take a deep breath, as if readjusting the world. Each time, the ice and moonlight intensified, a powerfully soothing pulse spreading through them all.

When she did that, he wondered what it would be like to taste her breath. As it was, he got a drenching wave of her scent whenever she moved—healthy, brunette spice with that silver thread of shaman running through.

It was enough to drive a man crazy. Especially with one of those curvy little hips touching him. And when she picked up her turkey sandwich, her elbow brushed his again and she gave him a quick glance of apology.

Jesus. He was actually sweating. Not much, but enough to drive home the fact that she smelled too good to be left wandering around alone. She’d already blooded him, so that was all right—not that he thought Eric would try to muscle in, and Brun was far too submissive for her. She needed someone who could bully her into taking care of herself, someone who—

Wait a second. Bullying her around is the worst thing to do. He listened with half an ear as Julia chattered at her, Sophie’s soft interested responses like music. Slow and easy, Zach.

He almost wished Kyle was around to give him some advice. Women liked Ky—it was the little-boy smile and the stubble when he was wearing his rough face.

Zach’s hands tensed. There was that, too—revenge for Kyle. A way for them to all avenge their brother, their alpha, one of their own.

The upir were working in concert, had killed his brother, and were after his mate. Never mind that she didn’t know she was his. Yet.

He turned it over inside his head for the rest of the meal, watching the restaurant and keeping vague track of the conversation. Eric paid and tipped the waitress, Julia dragged Sophie off to the restroom, and Brun took one last, long pull at his milk shake. “You’re awful quiet.” His face hadn’t lost its baby look yet, smooth-cheeked and with only a suggestion of the strong jaw he’d eventually have. The paleness beginning over his left temple marked him as young, too.

Zach could remember the kid in diapers, with his open sunny smile. “Thinking.”

“About Kyle.” Brun nodded. “Julia thinks it’s her fault.”

It was. But it wasn’t—if I hadn’t let Kyle take the alpha, he might still be alive. Goddammit. “It’s not.

Upir are nobody’s fault. They’re just carrion.”

“I know. But she doesn’t.” Brun slid for the edge of the booth. “I like the shaman. She’s nice.”

And she’s got no choice, she admitted it herself. “She’s seen reason, I guess.”

“Or something.” Brun grinned, and was gone before Zach could ask him what the hell that meant.

Zach made his way up to the front counter, and eyed the newspapers in their little metal hutches. He was contemplating getting a toothpick when something snagged his attention.

What the hell?

The headlines were screaming in thick black ink. MILLIONAIRE’S ESTRANGED EX-WIFE DEAD IN FIRE, ARSON SUPECTED.

And right under the headline, next to a block of dense text, was a spotty black-and-white picture of a younger Sophie, probably a wedding picture since a small band of white held a veil on her head. She was smiling, and it had obviously been cropped out of a larger photo.

He dug in his pocket for quarters, found none, and took a quick look around. Nobody was watching—the place was packed for dinner, waitresses hopping to and fro but nobody at the front just now. There was a clatter from the kitchen, and one of the cooks cursed as steam hissed.

Zach curled his fingers around the top of the door and gave a quick downward yank. There was a popping zing! lost under all the other noise, and it burst open pretty as you please. He grabbed a paper and shoved it closed.

It was righteously purple prose, especially since the millionaire in question—Mark Harris, who didn’t rate a picture for some reason—owned a good chunk of the town. A few more pieces of the puzzle that was their new shaman snapped into place. It was a “bitter divorce,” but the accusations of domestic violence and stalking apparently weren’t news.

Why didn’t she move further away? But then he thought of her bare apartment, and how it took money to stay on the run. And just how jealously a rich man would guard his money during a divorce. Sophie probably hadn’t had a choice. She was damn lucky to have had a friend to help her escape.

Her dead friend. Another thing to hold the upir to account for.

He scanned the rest of the article. They’d recovered a body identified as hers, but Sophie was alive and well.

You know, that just about screams “coverup.” He mulled over this for a few seconds, a shape he didn’t much like turning inside his head.

They needed a defensible place to stay, and they needed to make contact with any other Tribe in town. There had to be more. With other Tribe backing them and a place to stay, they could handle upir and make their shaman comfortable.

Think quick, Zach.

Julia’s voice floated across the restaurant. “He’s right there. Let’s ask.”

“I don’t—” Sophie began, and he hurriedly folded up the newspaper, sticking it under his arm just as Julia bounced up.

“I want a cinnamon roll. There’s a place down the street. Can I take the shaman?” His sister bounced on her toes, her hair swinging. She sounded about twelve years old again, and for a moment he wished they’d found the shaman sooner.

Wishes don’t feed your Family, though. Or protect them.

Sophie’s shoulders slumped, and she looked away, out the plate-glass window of the diner. Rain spattered dully, and Eric arrived, picking at his teeth with a mint toothpick and looking supremely unconcerned.

“Can I?” Julia persisted.

“Later.” His eyes met Eric’s. “Take Brun. You three need to find a place for our shaman to live. Fleece a crowd if you have to. Get us a house. Somewhere in the suburbs, okay?”

Eric nodded. His eyes narrowed a little, but he wasn’t about to ask questions.

“But I want—” Julia subsided as he eyed her. She’s giving up way too easily, you know. Storing up trouble for later.

“Later,” he repeated. “Pick us up downtown, near the fountain, at eight sharp. Got it?”

“Eight sharp. Where are you headed?” Eric dropped his eyes in case Zach didn’t want to say. Sophie pulled her new jacket—one of Kyle’s, actually, and far too big for her—up on her shoulder. Her black vinyl purse was still damp.

“We’re going to ask a few questions. I’m taking our shaman with me and looking for Tribe.”

“But why? What’s the—” Julia shut her mouth so fast she almost lost a chunk of her tongue.

The growl retreated under Zach’s skin. Sophie was hugging herself now, her pale eyes wide as plates, staring at him. He wanted to reassure her, tell her she wasn’t alone anymore, calm the rabbit-thumping of her pulse and the fear that was so much a part of her scent it almost canceled out the calm a shaman could bring. “Come with me, Sophie.” He didn’t phrase it as a request, which was wrong—the alpha didn’t give a shaman orders.

Still, she nodded, a curl falling in her face. It hurt to see how she almost-flinched, her shoulders coming up, when he stepped close to her.

Well, he knew one thing for certain now. Someone wanted her dead. Maybe it was the upir, maybe not; it didn’t make a goddamn bit of difference. What mattered now was protecting her, not just to keep his Family alive but also because of the way she glanced up at him—her eyes stuttering to his face to read the emotional weather there, bracing herself for God alone knew what.

She shouldn’t have to look like that.

He was inside her personal space before he realized it. She almost backed into Julia, who stepped smartly away. Zach caught Sophie’s arm, his fingers closing gently but irresistibly, and he realized what he was about to do only when his mouth met hers.

It was a brief pressure of lips, tasting of spearmint gum—how had she gotten hold of that? It didn’t matter, because the contact burned right through him, the smell of her filling his nostrils and the animal in him circling once, a fierce sweet pain running through the center of his bones.

He inhaled just as she let out a soft, shapeless, shocked sound; her breath touched his mouth and for a moment he was drowning in it. The rest of the world—diner, Family, the sound of the rain and traffic a formless hum outside—vanished in a white glare, and he wouldn’t have cared if the whole world had gone up in flames just that moment. He inhaled again as she breathed, the air touching his skin laden with her, an unfamiliar weakness spilling through him.

She was shaking like a rabbit. He blinked, loosening his fingers one by one and straightening. It took him two tries to find words.

“Everything’s okay, Sophie.” He wanted to rub his cheek against hers, bury his nose in her hair; the conflicting desires shook him before he clapped a lid on both of them.

She blinked. Her mouth slightly open, she looked dazed and adorable. Those eyes of hers behind the glasses were velvet winter sky, with fine threads of gold in the iris. If he looked closely he could see a very, very light feathering of paler hairs at her right temple. She’d have a streak before long, when her body finished settling into the balanced chemistry of a shaman’s.

Just looking at her this close made him want to kiss her properly, but she wouldn’t be ready for that. He heard, very dimly, Brun saying something and the diner’s door closing behind his Family.

They were alone now, just him and his shaman, standing in front of the cash register and the broken newspaper hutch. “We’re going to go visiting. I’ll ask the questions, you just sit and look pretty. Okay?”

Sophie blinked again, losing that dreamy look. She didn’t smell like fear now, which was a blessing. “I…I guess so. Why on earth did you do that?”

What, you can’t guess? His smile widened. He didn’t quite let go of her arm, and she didn’t resist as he pulled her toward the door, the newspaper tucked safely away. “Maybe I like you, shaman.”

“Maybe?”

You sound so surprised. “Definitely. Try to get used to it.”

She muttered something vaguely uncomplimentary, and he was surprised into a laugh. He really did like her. And there was an edge of something else creeping through her scent now, replacing that maddening tang of fear. Something warm and familiar, the first thread of a Carcajou’s musk.

All in all, Zach reflected, things were looking up. Though he still had to figure out who was trying to kill her.