“You’re going with him?” Wide-eyed and a little too amused to suit her, Chelsea asked the question with artful innocence. “On the back of a motorcycle?”
Yeah, Liza could clearly understand her friend’s confusion. Liza had always refused to ride in even a convertible because of the accident she’d been in as a teenager.
She’d almost been a wild child, she and Claire both. The first time they had slipped out and taken Joe Martinez’s car for a joy ride had been their last, though. Being a wild child was stopped short when Claire lost control of the car and went careening over a desert cliff, nearly killing both of them.
A motorcycle had always been out of the question.
Until Stygian.
“I’ll change clothes.” Giving him one last look, Liza turned and left the room, wondering rather desperately if she had somehow lost her mind.
Stygian watched her go, a smile wanting to tug at his lips as Chelsea eyed him warily.
He could sense the questions she wanted to ask, and he sensed her hesitation.
“Liza doesn’t ride motorcycles.” Propping her hand on her hip, she frowned up at him.
“It appears she’s in an adventurous mood today then.” He could sense that about her, her need to reach out and do more, to live dangerously.
There was a courage inside her that she didn’t allow the world to see. The only ones who saw it were the team she worked with in the Navajo Underground.
He knew of the Underground. Jonas knew of the Underground.
The organization had, and on occasion still did, rescue Breeds from high-level Genetics Council labs and advanced security experimental facilities for more than a century now.
That was about the extent of the information they had. Despite the Breeds the Bureau had in place to investigate the organization and identify its members, so far the only suspected member was Liza. And only because it had been painfully obvious that she was doing more than taking a nice little run when John Malcolm had moved in on her.
“She’s not in an adventurous mood,” Chelsea shrugged as she leaned against the door frame. “You’re bewitching her, just like Malachi Morgan did with my sister. Breeds should be shot for stealing a woman’s will and common sense as you do.”
That was pretty much why the Alphas refused to verify the tabloid rumors of mating heat.
That was exactly how it would be seen—as a form of rape or mesmerism.
“And does your sister believe she’s been bewitched?” Arching his brow, he kept his tone tinged with amusement.
“Her sister believes in happily-ever-after and the man she’s in love with.” It was Liza who answered his question as she stepped from her bedroom.
She was dressed in jeans that cupped and loved her delectable ass while giving her a leggy, exotic look. The white cotton top was sleeveless, tiny straps holding it in place, and he was betting the bra she wore beneath was strapless.
She was wearing one, as much as he hated the thought of it. He could see just the faintest outline of it beneath the material of her blouse.
“Then there you go,” he commented to the answer she gave to the question he had asked Chelsea. “All’s well, because I know for a fact Malachi is dedicated to Isabelle.”
“And isn’t that so unusual as to be unbelievable.” Chelsea snorted. “Breeds are the ultimate bad boys, and we all know the ultimate bad boys really can’t be tamed.”
Arching his brow, Stygian turned back to Liza. “Are you ready?”
“Where exactly are you taking her?” Chelsea demanded then. “That way, I know where to send the search party to find her dead body when she doesn’t return home.”
Scratching at the side of his jaw, he momentarily debated assuring her that Liza was in zero danger. Chelsea though, was in definite danger of being gagged.
“Come on, Chelsea,” Liza chastised her gently. “I don’t think Mr. Black’s going to allow anything to happen to me.” Smiling back at him, he almost winced at the look in her eyes. “After all, his boss is far too interested in all that lovely information he refuses to accept that I don’t have.”
Yep, he knew it was coming, he just wasn’t certain which form the smart-ass remark would be in.
Now he knew.
“Exactly.” Shooting Liza, then Chelsea, a tight smile, he agreed with her mockingly. “If it wasn’t for that, I’d have nothing but murderous intentions.”
His intentions might not be pure, but the last thing she had to worry about was coming to harm in his bed.
“I’d like to know where we’re going, though,” Liza informed him as she shoved a few bills and her ID in the back pocket of her jeans.
He could have sworn they were snug enough that even a breath of air wouldn’t have fit.
“I thought we’d take a ride out by the lake,” he told her. “I go out there every few days to feed the ducks.” That, and to investigate the area several miles to the west where Liza and Claire had gone over a barren cliff and nearly died in the resulting accident.
Even twelve years later, Stygian had found evidence of the accident, but he’d also found evidence that something more had gone on during that time.
A sweat lodge had been set up not far from the wreck in the canyon below, though great effort had gone into ensuring all evidence of it was wiped away.
Certain things couldn’t be wiped away, though.
The large rocks used in the fire pit had been scattered about the canyon, but even more than a decade later the scars and discoloration of certain herbs used in ritual sweats held to the rock.
Those particular herbs and medicinal roots were such an odd combination, their scent so powerful, even after such time had passed, it had sent a chill racing down Stygian’s spine. Confused by it, he’d had Braden bring his empath Megan to the canyon, to help sort it out. The moment she’d picked up the first stone she’d dropped it as though it still held the heat of the fire and refused to advance any farther into the canyon.
“Fine then, you know where we’ll be,” Liza stated as she turned back to Chelsea.
“Yeah, thankfully, the lake isn’t really that hard to drag. When old man Dunkirk fell out of his boat and drowned himself last summer, they even found that bag of bones secured to the bottom. Remember that?” she asked Liza.
And Liza did remember it. The discovery of that bag of bones had literally preceded the nightmares and odd flashes of someone else’s memories.
A year’s worth of tortured dreams, of waking, screaming, certain she was dying in the flames of the crash, only to have the dream twist, to morph into something far more sinister. It hadn’t been a crash she was burning within. She had been burning from the inside out, restrained to a metal table, screaming for mercy—
“If you’re ready, we can leave then,” he offered, those blue-black eyes seeming to see straight into her soul as he met her gaze.
The urge to wipe her palms along the sides of her jeans was nearly overwhelming.
“Be careful, for God’s sake,” Chelsea called out as Liza stepped from the house. “The last thing I need to do, Liza, is watch you die again.”
Liza flinched, the reaction nearly strong enough to steal her breath at the memory.
The overwhelming darkness, the sound of voices, singing—or was it chanting?—and then the feeling of her soul being ripped from the security of her body.
“Liza.” Stygian was there, one hand gripping her arm, the other going around her waist as she felt her knees threatening to buckle.
Concern filled his voice as she realized she was gripping the door frame desperately, dragging in hard breaths, her chest tightening in something akin to panic.
“I’m fine.” Giving her head a hard shake, she forced herself to ignore the fact that he was the only reason she was still on her feet, despite her hold on the heavy wood encasing the door.