That thought firmly in mind, Justin leaned forward and gave her shoulder a shake to wake her. He barely touched her arm, though, before she moved. The woman struck like lightning, thrusting up out of her seat and launching at him, driving him back against the driver’s door as she crawled into his lap like some nightmare creature. She was going for his throat, fangs bared when the driver’s door suddenly opened behind him and they both spilled out onto the pavement. Justin was on the bottom, his head crashing into the black tar surface with enough impact to briefly stun him.
By the time the pain in his head receded enough to allow him to open his eyes, Lucian was standing over him with an unconscious Holly in his arms. There was a quickly fading red mark on her forehead. Scowling, he scrambled to his feet and reached for her at once. “What did you do?”
“Took control of the situation,” Lucian said calmly. “Grab her purse and close the car door.”
Justin hesitated, but then did as instructed, quickly snatching her purse off the car floor where it had fallen and then locking and closing the door. It was a waste of time though, since the front driver’s window was broken.
“You hit her, didn’t you?” Justin asked grimly as he turned back toward Lucian. But Lucian wasn’t there anymore. He was already halfway across the parking lot, heading swiftly for the hotel door. Cursing, Justin scrambled to catch up. He wanted to demand Lucian give her to him, but that didn’t seem a good idea. Holding her close when he couldn’t claim her was likely to be torture for him so instead he asked again, “You hit her, didn’t you?”
“She was about to tear out your throat,” Lucian said mildly. “I prevented that.”
“By knocking her out with a blow to the head,” Justin said grimly. “Why the hell didn’t you just take control of her mind and stop her that way?”
“She was mad with blood lust and beyond controlling in that moment,” Lucian answered and when Justin continued to glare, asked, “Would you rather I had let her tear out your throat and then executed her for doing it?”
Justin scowled, but then said, “I was raised that it isn’t right to hit women.”
“It isn’t,” Lucian agreed. “Unless they’re new turns who don’t know better than to rip out the throat of the first walking blood bag that comes along.”
“I am not a walking blood bag,” Justin said through clenched teeth as they entered the hotel.
“You were to her,” Lucian said with a shrug.
Knowing he couldn’t win the argument, Justin let it go and briefly fell silent as they crossed the lobby to the elevators. Other than a quick glance from one or two employees of the hotel, no one paid them any attention, and Justin knew Lucian was quickly taking control of minds and changing what was seen.
Justin let him concentrate on the task and didn’t speak again until they entered the elevator, and then it was to ask, “What were you doing in the parking lot anyway?”
“Decker and Anders had just dropped me off when you pulled in.”
“And where did they go after dropping you?” Justin asked.
Lucian shifted Holly over his shoulder to free up his hands. He then grabbed his phone out of his pocket, punched a button and lifted the phone to his ear, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that his arm rested under Holly’s sweet derriere . . . and that Justin was growling deep in his throat with displeasure at that fact.
“He’s here,” Lucian barked into the phone and then added, “So is she, so finish your business quickly. Call when you’re done and we’ll meet at the airport.”
“The airport?” Justin echoed.
Lucian stepped through the opening elevator doors and started up the hall.
“Why are we going to the airport?” Justin asked, scrambling after him.
“Because we’re done here. We’re going home,” Lucian said as if that should be obvious.”
“But—what about Holly?” Justin asked with concern.
“We’re taking her with us.”
“And her husband?” he asked with amazement.
“He can’t come.”
Justin stopped walking briefly and gaped after him. “Did you just make a joke?”
Lucian turned back to peer at him with one eyebrow raised. “When?”
“Never mind,” Justin muttered, starting forward again. Of course, Lucian Argeneau hadn’t made a joke. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.
“You have five minutes to pack your things,” Lucian announced, stopping at the door across from Justin’s and digging a keycard out of his pocket. “Then we have to leave.”
“But—” Justin broke off. Lucian had already unlocked and entered the opposite room and was kicking the door closed behind him.
Mouth tightening, Justin turned to unlock his own door, muttering, “She’s my damned life mate, or would be if she wasn’t married. And first it was, ‘She’s your responsibility, you have to train and watch her.’ Now it’s, ‘Go pack, Justin, I’ve got her in my caveman grip.’ ”
“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.”
Justin whirled around just in time to catch the bag of blood that Lucian tossed at him.
“For the road,” Lucian announced and then closed the door again.
Heaving a sigh, Justin popped the bag to his fangs and went into his room. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but if Lucian said pack, it was probably best to do so.
Five
Holly turned sleepily onto her side and burrowed into the blankets with a little sigh. The bed was so warm and comfortable . . . too comfortable, she realized suddenly and pushed against the darkness trying to reclaim her, swimming for consciousness as her mind listed off what was wrong with this bed. The bed she shared with her husband was a cheap one she’d got on sale at eighteen. It had lumps and bumps and sagged in the middle. It was not this comfortable.
Managing to fight her way back to consciousness, she blinked her eyes open and simply stared at the pale blue wall before her, a sense of déjà vu creeping into her mind. Her bedroom was not pale blue. She was waking up in another strange place.
This definitely wasn’t a hotel room though, Holly decided, as her gaze slid around what she could see. There was a closet door, an overstuffed royal blue chair, an attractive and antique oak dresser and not a single generic print on the wall. Instead, there was a lovely painting of a woman in white, curled up sleepily on a wicker chair in the sunlight streaming through a window. Not a hotel then.
“No. Not a hotel,” someone agreed as if she’d spoken the thought aloud.
Holly turned on her back to peer wide-eyed at the woman seated in a second overstuffed royal blue chair on the side of the room she hadn’t yet examined. The woman was petite, with bleached blond hair and twinkling eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Giacinta Notte. But you can call me Gia.”
Holly raised her eyebrows. That told her absolutely nothing. This was a repeat of that morning in the hotel all over again, only with a woman there instead of a man. Feeling at a disadvantage on her back, Holly sat up abruptly in the bed. She pushed the sheets and blankets aside as she did, and was relieved to find that while she was waking up again in a strange bed, this time she was at least dressed.
“Were you not dressed the last time you woke up in a strange bed?” Gia asked curiously. “That sounds an interesting story.”
“You have no idea,” Holly muttered, swinging her feet over the side and grimacing as she noted that while she was still wearing the black dress pants and the red blouse she’d donned that morning, or what she presumed was that morning, they were a complete and utter wrinkled mess.
“I can help with that. Your clothes I mean,” Gia announced.
Holly peered at the woman solemnly. Gia’s eyes were twinkling as if Holly had just said something amusing. Since she hadn’t, the expression was a bit unsettling.