Sabrina's Clan (10 page)

Jake’s request that they bring back his gear make Nick relax and Nyanther knew why. Nick didn’t want to let Jake Summerfield out of his sight. He knew just enough to be dangerous and not enough to be useful. Yet.

There was no question they would not include him in future hunts. Besides, he had some cool shit.

Nyanther looked through the big duffel bag as they drove back to New York. The netting was ingenious—it was actually sticky in the middle, which would help ensure it fully tangled with whatever it was thrown at. In all the years Nyanther had been hunting the gargoyles, no one had thought to use the gladiators’ trident and net in this way, even though they had been standard Roman arena weapons for bringing down an opponent that was bigger or heavier.

There was a bottle of the “spray” Jake had referred to in the backpack inside the duffel bag. Nyanther sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. It was an acidic smell. There was no denying it worked, because Jake had merely looked tired when he had left. A bite left unattended would have had him on his back within an hour.

There were other objects in the duffel bag and backpack, including the knife. Nyanther couldn’t figure out their use. “There’s something to be said for research and development if it can come up with these goodies,” he told Nick. He spoke quietly because Riley was deeply asleep on the reclined passenger seat next to Nick.

Nick caught his gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Exactly,” he said flatly. “He’s in a position where he can cover his tracks. It’s not something we could ever take advantage of.”

“Until now,” Nyanther added, sensing the direction of Nick’s thoughts. Neither of them gave a damn that the man was well-monied and privileged, except that it gave him access to unique resources.

“He doesn’t like me,” Nick said.

“No one likes you, Nicky,” Nyanther said. “Not when you’re being yourself.”

“Celt,” Nick growled. It was supposed to be an insult.

“Pict, you Norman bastard,” Nyanther said, finishing the traditional round of insults. He zipped up the duffel bag and sat back to look at the trees flashing past and the thick line of traffic. Even on a weekday, the highways were heavy with cars and trucks rushing across the face of the earth.

It reminded him of the first time he had ridden in a car and how strange and unsettling it had been.

“If he doesn’t like you, then it’s up to me,” he concluded.

“He gave Riley his contact information,” Nick said.

“That’s where I’ll start, then.” Nyanther said.

“Albany in ten minutes,” Nick announced.

Albany. In two short hours they had already travelled a distance greater than any his wandering tribe of people had crossed in their entire lives, even with Romans goading them at the point of their short swords.

Changes. The changes between that life and this one were so immense he still could not accept some of them. It wouldn’t be a problem for much longer, not if this new ally of theirs cooperated.

Ny was confident he could make Jake cooperate. He had a strong sense about the man and understood how he worked.

Then he remembered how he thought he had understood Sabrina…and how wrong he had been about her. He could still taste her on his lips.

They reached New York by early afternoon and while Nick and Riley hurried to their apartment to see Damian and Chloe, Nyanther made his way down to the next floor. He was dying to wash the stink of gargoyle off his skin, even though most of the stench was in his imagination. Being near the demon-spawned beasts always made him feel unclean and that was a good enough excuse to rid the world of all of them, as far as he was concerned.

He stripped off his clothes in the borrowed bedroom and took a long shower. At this time of day, Sabrina was at work and no one else needed the water. Hot showers were still the peak of human civilization, in his estimation. So were flushing toilets, although he had little use for those, while showers were a luxury that cost barely anything.

Still dripping, he padded back to his bedroom and sorted out the clothes from the weapons in his bag. Thanks to the high security scanning at airports these days he had been forced to leave his favorite weapons behind in Scotland. Blades of any sort, though, were easy to acquire, especially in New York. He had found a replica Roman sword his first day here and while he didn’t like using the preferred weapon of an old enemy, it was a good length for tucking away in the bag. Also, the workmanship and balance of the sword was good. Whoever had built it had known what they were doing. The blade was still long enough to reach the soft part of a gargoyle brain, too.

“You do it deliberately, don’t you?” Sabrina said from the door.

He spun around, genuinely started. He had let down his guard. He hadn’t heard her at all.

She was standing in the open doorway, her shoulder against the frame and her arms crossed.

Then he realized what she was doing. This was some sort of pay back for the day they had met, when he had tried to apologize and fucked it up.

“You’re supposed to be at work,” he pointed out.

“You’re supposed to be dressed, when your door is open.” She was barefoot and her hair was messy. The slim pants she wore were far more casual than her work clothes. Had she been sleeping? It seemed all the humans he knew were short on sleep lately.

Nyanther went back to sorting and folding, piling the weapons to one side.

“I heard you killed one,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder. “Riley told you that?”

“Text, early this morning.”

He really should get a phone. People used them far more in America than they did in Scotland, where conversation still happened face to face more often.

“Can you at least put on a pair of pants?” she complained.

“You’re in
my
room,” he reminded her.

“In
my
apartment.”

“It’s not your apartment,” he shot back. “Why are
you here, anyway?”

“Perhaps I like playing with fire.”

He hesitated, then finished folding the shirt and put it on the pile. His heart stirred sluggishly. “Not you,” he said slowly. “You’re the one who wants to beat the world at its own game, just to get even for your childhood. Playing with fire would upset your plans.”

“Maybe I’ve had my plans changed for me.”

He looked at her, startled by more than her bitter words. She had moved across the room and was now just behind him. She had distracted him so much he hadn’t noticed her movements.

“What
did
happen to you on Monday?” he demanded. What could have been so dire she would throw a long-cherished dream away with both hands like this?

“It was the day before you kissed me,” she said.

Nyanther shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”

“It did happen.” She was way too close now. “I remember it well.”

He took a step back, his body tightening. She smelled far too good and he was completely exposed. “Go back to your room,” he said shortly.

“Maybe I want another kiss.”

“I need to feed,” he lied, knowing the reminder of his vampire nature would disturb her enough to make her forget whatever she was planning to do…and his body seemed to know exactly what she wanted. His cock stirred, giving him away.

Ah well, she was sophisticated enough to appreciate the compliment. He hoped.

She was looking down at his thighs, absorbing the truth. Her intense stare only made him harder. She didn’t reach for him. Instead, her fingers curled into small fists by her sides.

“You don’t want me in your life,” he said quickly, keeping his voice low so she wouldn’t mistake his intentions. “Trust me on this. I was wrong to tease you yesterday. And Monday, too. I didn’t understand you properly and I thought I had you completely figured out. That makes me a fool, for which I apologize. The rest…you’ll just have to take on trust. I am the last man…the last
thing
…you want happening to your life. I’ll destroy it in a way your shitty childhood barely managed.”

Her gaze was direct and steady. “You weren’t teasing. Not yesterday. Not when you kissed me.”

He was usually better at lying. Or else she was better at sensing the truth than he thought, which fit with everything he had learned about her. Sabrina was a mass of contradictions, cemented together by the unexpected.

He wasn’t going to admit the truth to her, not about the kiss. Not that he had engineered the moment just so he
could
kiss her. And certainly not that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since he’d taken it.

Instead, he changed the subject. Well, it was sort of a change of subject. It was still about her and about the kiss, only she wouldn’t recognize it as even being related. “The man you bedded on Monday night. You said his name was Jake?”

She blinked and drew in a breath. He’d broken the moment. Good.

“Why?”

“You really did toss him back into the ocean?” he asked.

“A fishing analogy? From you?”

“My people lived by the sea,” he said defensively. “Sometimes,” he amended, for they had gone fishing only when they were hungry enough to battle the stronger tribes who claimed the sea for their own. He shook it off. “A man who would one day run his own corporation, you said.” He couldn’t help adding; “The perfect husband material for your daydreams.”

“Except for the complications in his life,” she replied.

You have no idea how right you are.
“You’ve got good instincts,” he said. “You’re probably right about him.”

“I’m never going to find out. My boss took me off the Summerfield portfolio this morning.” She shrugged.

“I’m sorry.” He was.

“It’s on me. I’m the one who fucked up.” Then she grinned. It was a charming little quirk of her mouth and a twinkle in her eye that was almost irresistible. “Literally,” she added.

Nyanther laughed. It was pulled out of him unexpectedly. Contradictions. Unexpectedness. If only he could spare a few years to plumb the depths of her….

Regretfully, he turned and picked up the fresh pair of jeans and shook them out, then slid his legs into them. “I have to drive out to Long Beach,” he said. “We have loose ends to clean up after dealing with Bero last night…this morning, I should say.”

“That’s why you’re packing weapons?” she asked. Then she held up her hand. “You know what? I don’t want to know. It’s murky in your world.” Then her face fell. “Shit, it’s murky in mine, now, too. I thought I had this all figured out.”

Nyanther slid his arms into a shirt, tossed one of the smaller knives into the bag and zipped it up. Then he kissed her temple because he couldn’t resist touching her even in some small way. “You’re strong,” he told her. “You’ll figure it out. I have no doubt you will get exactly what you want, in the end.”

“As long as it isn’t you,” she replied and sighed.

“I’m not what you want. You must believe me.”

“So you said. You don’t really need to feed at all, do you?”

She had seen through that lie as well. Nyanther sighed. “And that’s why you don’t want me in your life.” He went to the door and just as she had done with him, he took the last word. “Keep your dreams,” he told her. “They’re good dreams.” Then he got the hell out of there before the tiny edge of his self-control crumbled completely.

Long Island should be far enough away from her to be safe.

* * * * *

The Hamptons were only two hours’ drive from Manhattan, yet it was so utterly different from the stone canyons of New York it might have been on the other side of the continent. Nyanther had heard about Long Island before, although he had only listened with half his attention. Beaches were for catching fish to feed a tribe, not for sunning and dipping into the water. It seemed unnatural. He’d chosen, instead, to live among the highlands, where the sun was watery at best for most of the year. At least he could concentrate on his work, there.

Here, though, the sun was bright and bounced off the water in an irritating way that made Nyanther wish he had sunglasses. He’d never owned a pair.

Once he turned off the highway, following the direction Jake Summerfield had given him, he started to spot beach sand. Lots of it. There were low bushes anchoring some of the flat land, while the almost completely white sand claimed every other square inch. It was dry and blowing across the road in places. The sea was rolling in big waves right next to the road. Seagulls soared overhead and there was a strong wind pushing at the car, making him constantly adjust the steering wheel.

Houses were few and far apart and none of them were the manicured mansions he had passed earlier. Beach houses, mostly. All of them were modest in size.

Jake’s house was tucked in among bushes that looked as though they had been allowed to grow wild, right up to the house itself. There was no formal garden. The driveway was a narrow gravel path pushing through the bushes, ending in a wider spot where a Jeep was parked. The Jeep’s top was down.

Nyanther parked next to it and got out. Instantly, the scent of salt and seaweed assailed him and he wrinkled his nose and sampled the air. The wind was dispersing the more interesting scents. There was a dead animal to the west, something domestic, possibly a cat. There had been humans nearby recently, probably on the beach. The desiccated salt and dried weeds, along with the acidic scent of the bushes all around him drowned out everything else.

The sound of the surf was loud and rhythmic, muffling all other sound except for the wind.

He was wrong, he decided. This was a different world, yet it shared the same wild elements as the highlands. Civilization had not yet tamed it. Not all of it.

“Hey, you found the place.”

Nyanther looked up at the house. It was clad in gray siding, with white trim and a deep verandah wrapped around the three sides he could see. Maybe even the fourth, too. The basement level was built up high, putting the main floor and the verandah nearly ten feet above the white sand. There was a big set of stairs leading up to the verandah. Nyanther spotted a path leading through the bushes to the stairs.

Jake was standing on the verandah, looking down at him. His appearance was considerably different from the last time Nyanther had seen him. No suit, no combat clothes. He was wearing jeans so old and faded they were nearly white and the knees
were
white and looked thin enough to see through. His shirt was white cotton, short sleeved and billowing around his torso in the breeze.