Beauty and the Brute [Werescape III] (10 page)

She studied me with a budding awareness in her green eyes.

An understanding I was anything but privy to. If only I had strangled myself with the dangling rope. But then I wouldn't live to suffer the humiliation of a man who'd suddenly forgotten how to ignore his Wolf and a woman's wiles. So much for becoming wizened by age. At least her burn didn't appear bad. Probably because the distance involved was so short. And her hands were just so soft. “I'm sorry. I should have lowered the load myself."

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

The place a man loved to nibble. The little minx. She even toyed with me when I'd been in the wrong. “Let's go.” Back in the blessed saddle.

The saddle did one thing right. Kept me in the lead. And her in my shadow.

We traveled until midday and stopped at a rusted windmill. If the machine worked, Normals would live here. They nucleated around technology most of them had no idea how to create.

Luckily for us, half the top of the turbine's fan had broken off. This left the lower blades pointing down, thanks to gravity. Hopefully pointing at a forgotten water well. I left Beauty standing with the reins in hand and began scouting through the young green meadow vegetation for the pipe or pump at the base of the trestle's scaffold supporting the fan's blades.

"I can help you if you tell me what to look for,” she called.

The last thing I needed was her shaking her ass in my face. “Just mind Trance.” I waved a dismissive hand her direction without a glance.

The grass hid all sorts of rusted metal parts. Parts to vehicles. Kitchen sinks. Tools. Sheeting.

A person could slice a foot or leg open with the wrong placement of a foot. Hers.

"What's that?” Beauty asked from behind me.

I should have noticed her shadow stretching a bit to my left. Forgetting her before we dismounted had been impossible to do. Why did I suddenly forget about her now? “Trash."

"Trash? But people don't throw anything away."

"Not now.” Not after AEI. “They used to leave everything laying around their houses. Piles and piles."

"It's a shame,” she whispered.

Normals never cared about anything until they didn't have it. I glanced her direction.

"I love trees. There were never enough trees inside the barbed-wire.” She tickled a strand of golden brown hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, only to have the wind knock it loose again.

No. Cities had no room for luxuries like trees. After an extermination ray took out all living things and holed people up behind barbed-wire walls, every space in the city's walls was used for survival. Normals planted food inside and outside the walls. But rarely did they have room for trees. The Wild. All but Shifters.

Her green gaze rolled up to mine.

Attentive. Or observant. Like she sensed my hands itched to learn how silken that hair of hers was.

"What do you think you will find here?” she asked.

The curve of her lips teased me with every flutter of her words.

Mine, Wolf yapped.

If you want her, behave. Or I won't do anything about your needs. As if I could blame my attraction to the Normal on my inner beast. Only a fool would pretend not to be the sole origin of such thoughts when his Wolf was part of him. All my thoughts. Yes, for a Normal. But

Beauty wasn't just a Normal. No. She seemed innocent of Normal evil. She had been a pawn in a grander scheme to work with extraterrestrials.

Beauty. She could be mine. If I didn't screw up and talk like an ass. Did I want her? I turned back to the knee-high blades of green grass and scanned the ground for a pipe. “Stand back.

A man can slice his leg off searching here."

"For what?” she carefully asked again.

"There might be a water well. We need water."

"So, the well looks like?"

Pampered Normal females. See. Just a lot of extra work. “A pipe."

"Like sticking up out of the ground?"

Women. “Curved to point down on the end—"

"Like this?"

Those two words could have knifed me in the back. And if she'd found the pipe ... I rose, turning to where she stood staring at the boot that tapped a pipe.

A faucet. Out in the middle of nowhere. Without a house.

She slid her green gaze sideways.

Conspiratorially.

"Is it okay if I try to turn it on, Brutus?"

Nothing bad ever happened to a person who cranked a valve on a water faucet. But she needed to be more careful. Needed to watch what she did out here in one of the warlord-free

Territories. I strode to the valve and tried not to glower. “You should be more careful,

Lorelei."

She planted her brown boot back in the grass next to its partner. “Well, it's just a pipe."

Females. I leaned toward her smug little smile and pressed so close to her small pointed nose that she backed away. “What if it has been booby trapped?"

Her jaw dropped open. She glanced back and forth between the faucet and I. “But, Brutus, it's just a pipe."

The smooth way my name rolled across her lips almost made me back down. Almost demanded my leniency. But she could be killed in a blink. I grabbed her chin between my fingertip and thumb and tilted her gaze upward. “Little woman, this place out here is nothing like where you've lived. Nobody gets a second chance. You live or die. Nothing in between."

Her gaze flicked back and forth between my lips and eyes. “Unless,” she whispered, “a little woman is fortunate enough to find a Guardian like you."

That sassy little mouth required kissing. A lot of kissing would shut it tight. Keep it closed, busy thinking about what it should and shouldn't say. “One wrong move out here, and you're dead, Lorelei."

Her gaze lowered.

Not anchored on my lips?

"You're right. I'm sorry, Brutus."

She proved wise again.

"But,” she snapped that green gaze back to mine, “If you told me these things before I

encountered them, I wouldn't cause you so much frustration. I'd behave more safely."

How much more could a man be asked to take? I'd saved a Normal who thought I'd teach her how to survive. No Gods-be-damned way. I grabbed her tiny waist, threw her up into the saddle, and ignored the little grunting gasp she made.

Water. Where's a fucking bucket? Anything to get my mind off of the temptress. I scanned the swaying grass.

She'd learn who was in control.

What was wrong with the man? He treated me like an invalid and stuck me on his horse when I

found the pipe. Was it my fault the bloody thing was right at my feet? Men. You could solve their problems all day long and be blamed for doing their work for them. Unless they wanted to fuck. Then you'd be blamed for not spreading your legs fast enough.

Brutus kicked around in the grass a bit, hefted a chunk of dirty white porcelain, a basin, rubbed it with a fistful of grass, and placed it beneath the pipe.

To catch the water. Nice idea. If he could imagine I said so, then he could pretend I

complemented him. That's all he'd get from me.

He cranked the valve on the pipe.

Without moving Trance and I were merely an inch away from the suspected booby trap. Like that's a safe distance. Men. Men. Men.

The water sputtered to life.

Dripping. Spraying. Coughing. Running into a steady stream that swirled in Brutus’ makeshift bucket.

He took a few steps without gracing me with a smug or impenetrable glance, grabbed

Trance's halter, and lead the animal to the water. Trance had no problem with drinking as the water spewed to the basin.

Apparently, I wasn't supposed to care the horse did either. Just sit there. Keep my mouth shut.

Brutus foraged through the saddlebags, produced two 8-inch plastic bottles with lids, and filled them in the stream of water while Trance had his muzzled buried in the miniature pool.

Fine. He could just wait on me. Hand and foot. I was used to that kind of treatment as Yale's daughter before my betrayal.

Brutus rose, stuffed the bottles where he wanted them, and produced two more. Then two more. By the time he'd reclaimed his seat in the saddle, he'd managed to fill ten bottles with water.

Why now? Why here? We'd stopped at countless pools and streams. But I wasn't asking anymore questions. He could just handle everything. He obviously enjoyed being the master of someone.

The afternoon's brilliant sunshine waned into the dying light of sunset.

A picture of stacked clouds painted pink beyond the limbs and leaves overhead. And we had yet to stop. But I still wasn't questioning his choices. He supposedly had everything figured out. When we stepped free of the forest, everything fell into place.

A walled structure, maybe another trading post, jutted skyward from a flat meadow.

Manicured fields encircled the vertical tree trunks the occupants used for a palisade. Since no barbed wire glinted in the fading sunlight, we'd discover a gate any moment.

The air had cooled so much I managed to find enough forgiveness deep down in my soul for

Brutus’ strange behavior earlier and leaned into the heat from his body. Although, I could have asked for my jacket. That entailed speaking to him. And having him stop to extract the garment from wherever he'd stuffed it. Bothering him for the favor just seemed like something an annoying needy female would request.

Trance's ears perked, and he quickened his step, walking right up to a well-trodden path, and the gate at the path's end.

"Hello.” Brutus stared at the wall's jagged top.

Trance sidestepped then stood still.

Brutus’ inhaled and exhaled against my arms around his chest. “Shifter seeking sanctuary,” he yelled.

A man's head popped above the tips of the posts.

A bald head. Maybe another Shifter. The expiring sunset didn't help a girl's unenhanced vision.

"Who goes there?” the man called.

"Brutus and my charge."

"Well, fancy meeting you here,” the man behind the wall laughed. “Just a moment.” His dark form vanished against the deep burgundy sky.

And I wasn't informed of any part of Brutus’ plan. Just sit. Shut up.

Some sound noted the man behind the scene monkeyed with something to open the gate.

Levers? Ropes? Who knows? I'll just sit here and keep my mouth shut.

The gate slowly slid open.

Creak by agonizing creak. Until two feet allowed for Trance's passage.

The stallion passed through the gap without a care in the world.

As if he knew this place. This man.

The gentle sway of the horse's hips didn't lessen my fear this could be a trap. Nor did Brutus'

lack of concern. Especially when I made out all the shadowy forms in the darkness of the fortress's interior with eerie eyes glowing like coals in the murky transitioning light of dusk.

Shifters. I tightened my hold around his waist.

The figures wore pants. Men. Small domed buildings circled the inner wall. One large square log cabin jutted up in the center.

Trance halted.

The men stepped closer.

Studying us.

A tall one near Trance's head snaked his arms across his chest. “I knew we'd see you again,

Brutus. Not so soon. And not with a woman."

Why did I not want to know his implication? I tightened my hold on Brutus’ chest even more.

The ring of males, all bald, rumbled with laugher.

"Don't frighten her,” Brutus said.

Nice to hear him speak in my defense. Maybe he did because my breasts were smashed against his back. Like that would change things with him? He's already proven his attraction to me with that steel pipe he had stuffed in his pants. But still he ignored the sign. Me. A

Normal.

"Everyone, to your beds,” the tall man said. “I'll show our guests to theirs."

The ring of men broke and dispersed to the small domed huts.

Brutus’ hands draped my wrists where my arms circled his waist, pushing gently, freeing himself of my grasp.

Well, since the danger seemed to have taken care of itself, I could let go.

His boots landed with a thump on the ground and he grabbed my waist, swinging my boots to the firm ground.

"You haven't marked her yet?” the man said with a touch of accusation.

Brutus’ hands fell free of my body as he turned to face the man. “Why does it Gods-bedamned matter?” he snarled.

Not a lovely tone to hear from my Shifter.

"Unwise, my friend.” The man's body turned toward the large cabin. “Come on inside. Marcus has a stew on. You're welcome to all you can eat."

Thank God.

"Go on. I'm right behind you with Trance,” Brutus said softly.

Almost gently. I couldn't read that impassable mask he wore. So, I followed the friendly man's back.

Inside the cabin roared an amazing fire. Light. One thing nobody could live without. Unless you were a genetically-altered Shifter. Must be nice. But I'll take the light tonight. The heat.

The ability to rest without worry something crept across the floor. Under my blanket. Okay, his blanket. Oh, what it would be like to sit and wonder about tomorrow and stare at objects.

Not blackness with so much light in the room.

The door thumped at my heels.

What am I doing? I just stood there like a moth staring at a flame before the large stone fireplace's flames licking over logs.

The whisper of Brutus’ boots grinding grit into wood in crossing the floor's beams heralded his approach. His hand nudged my lower back around to face the tall man.

The stranger eyed me, sitting in a ladder back chair, long stick and knife in hand, one hand holding the stick, the other whittling the wood. A long table flanked by two benches ran along the shadowy wall behind the man.

"Lorelei, this is Octavius.” The level of Brutus’ voice had bumped back up to normal. “He leads the Shifters of this outpost."

Better Shifters than Normals. Shifters got that wonderful protective Guardian gene with the rest of their handy otherworldly tweaks. “Hello. Thank you for permitting us to stay."

"We'll be leaving at sunrise,” Brutus added.