First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) (25 page)

Whatever else Baker said was lost in the roaring noise between her ears.
Omigod, the pets.
Every hapless creature that was ever adopted by the Ross family had vanished. Turtles, fish, parakeets, cats, dogs…all ran away or were “lost.” As an adult, Neva figured the pets were probably dying and her parents were just covering it up, unwisely trying to spare their kids. But what if Meredith was involved with the disappearances? Was she practicing magic on them? Or something even worse?

Neva felt ill, but gave herself a mental smack in the head.
I’m asking all the wrong questions
, she told herself.
It no longer matters when it started or how. There’s only one question to consider—can Meredith control me or not?

“I think you might be right,” she said to Baker. “Meredith put a helluva lot of effort into controlling everyone around me, but I don’t remember any occasion where
I
did something against my own will or something out of character.” It was an epiphany. She’d spent her growing-up years in a whirlwind of drama, far too busy struggling with the latest nastiness inflicted by Meredith to notice that
everyone was a puppet but her
. Perhaps that was the real reason Meredith hated her so much.

“Damn, but I’m starving,” Baker said suddenly.

“We ate everything I had in my backpack,” she said. Even some tins of sardines in mustard she’d chosen for protein and portability—and they’d tasted every bit as appealing as the labels promised.
Not.

“Can’t we get some real chow someplace?” Baker clutched his stomach like he was in pain. “And I need some clothes, too. I’m not cold, but I sure as hell can’t go to many parties dressed like this.”

Party. Dressed. Party dress.
An outrageous thought occurred to Neva right then, and she wondered if she was gutsy enough to follow through on such a plan. It would only work if Baker had
been right and Meredith couldn’t magically control her, or use her position as Neva’s sire to compel her. If Baker was wrong, the plan
still
might work if Neva could just stay under her sister’s radar as long as possible. Meredith couldn’t command her if she didn’t know she was there.

“You know, I think I need a new outfit, too,” murmured Neva. “An expensive one.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Come on, we’re going to town.”

His concrete cell had all the comforts of a morgue locker, but Travis was relieved to be back in it. Even if he
had
been thrown onto the unforgiving floor like a bag of potatoes. He crawled up onto the cold metal bench and lay there with every cell in his body yelping at him at once, but it was
still
a relief. He’d lost track of how many hours he’d hung upside down in Meredith’s dark, death-filled room while she worked happily away on her spells like a first grader absorbed in finger painting. It hadn’t been fun, but he got through it by focusing all his thoughts on Neva—her dark, wavy hair that was so soft to the touch, her espresso-brown eyes, her freckles, and even her smart-ass mouth. She was going to be so pissed when he explained how his wolf had claimed her. That thought alone sent a ghost of a smile across his face. He drew strength from his feelings for her, even looked forward to her kicking his ass, and he felt confident he’d get through his present situation…

Until Meredith decided to summon up some company…and a pair of orange-eyed demons with shining iridescent scales stepped from the deep shadows to answer her call.

Elliptical pupils like those of a cat fastened on him immediately, but no cat ever had eyes the size of a frickin’ coffee-cup
lid. He never saw the creatures move. In one heartbeat, they towered over the woman who had called them, and in the next beat they were hovering over
him
. Small but scythe-like talons began scraping off tiny fragments of skin from his chest and arms, like bloody snowflakes, which they licked up daintily with long, anteater-like tongues.

Meredith had been as delighted as a child with a new puppy. Still naked save for her necklace, gold hair tumbling from the clasp she’d bound it with, she’d squealed and laughed and clapped her hands as she watched him writhe under the effects of those hellish claws. Christ, it was like being worked over with miniature vegetable peelers. Travis gritted his teeth and determined not to make one single sound—damned if he was going to add to the crazy bitch’s enjoyment. If it could be called a good thing, the demons’ mouths were very tiny in proportion to their size. There’d be nothing left of him in short order otherwise.

Of course, that just meant it was gonna take a whole lot longer for them to kill him.

Without warning, the creatures vanished like greasy soap bubbles, leaving behind nothing but an oily mist that drifted back into the deep shadows. Meredith cursed, and Travis figured they’d used up whatever magical pass she’d bestowed on them. Still cursing, she added notes to her book with vicious strokes of the pen before throwing it to one side and striding out of the room. The guards rushed in almost immediately then, which cheered Travis considerably. He appreciated their speed even when they’d punched him in the head and gut a few times. And he was still thankful for the guards’ efficiency even though he was dragged from the room by his feet, facedown along the marble floor tiles.

Because several sets of enormous orange eyes were watching him from the blackness of the shadows.

Neva had no idea how Travis managed to live with his light-fingered lifestyle. Did he hate it as much as she did? She hadn’t thought so at first, but she saw him differently now. Between his fierce independence and the mile-wide streak of decency he tried to hide, he probably despised stealing as much or more than she did. He claimed it had become necessary from a sheer lack of ID, but couldn’t he buy some fake ID?
Oh, crap, that’s illegal, too.
Maybe a person could get used to thievery, but she didn’t want to find out. If Changelings really lived as long as Travis said they did, she promised herself she’d figure out some other way of getting along, even if she had to sell macramé bracelets by the side of the goddamn road.

Of course, if her plan didn’t work out, she wasn’t going to live long enough to worry about little details like ethics.

Early evening in Jackson, Nebraska, meant that the bar was open for sure. A green-and-orange neon sign on the roof proclaimed it to be ELO. Not a very catchy name, she thought, until she got closer and read the simple painted letters over the door:
El Lobo Oscuro.
If there was such a thing as omens, this had to be one, although it was hard to tell if it was good or bad:
The Dark Wolf.

Neva opted to walk down both sides of Main Street first, sauntering casually as if sightseeing. The town was quaint. The facades of the old buildings were brick, and the street itself was made of brick paving stones. There were few stores and fewer
window displays, but at least she learned that everything was open late tonight. She watched everyone out of her peripheral vision, looking for just the right person. And by that she meant, sadly,
victim
. She had to have money, and she had to spend some of it right here in this little town. Therefore, it would be a very bad idea to snatch a credit card from anybody local.

Eventually she spotted a brand-new SUV with out-of-state plates, and followed a young couple into El Lobo Oscuro. Their clothing was casual but expensive—the woman’s purse alone was easily worth five hundred dollars—making them exactly the kind of folks that Neva was looking for. She couldn’t stand the thought of taking money from someone who would really miss it.

The pair sat up at the bar instead of getting a booth or a table—and there was an empty stool right next to the woman. Neva couldn’t have asked for a better opening—maybe the Dark Wolf
was
a lucky place. “Hi, I’m Janet. Are you new here?” she asked.

In less than a minute, she knew all she needed to know. Jack and Linda Ballister, a tax attorney and a software programmer. Heading home from a three-day business seminar that had featured an open bar, they’d stopped at ELO simply to maintain their buzz.

Thirty minutes later, she escorted a very tipsy Linda into the cramped restroom and offered to hold her purse for her. As soon as the stall door closed, Neva began rooting through the large handbag for a wallet. Fumbling badly from nerves, she almost dropped it twice. Finally she found what she was looking for and selected a single credit card from a large repertoire of them, hoping its absence wouldn’t be noticed. On second thought, she took the driver’s license, too.
Just in case I get asked for ID.
The photo was bad enough that it could be almost anybody, and Linda had dark hair.
Besides, Linda definitely should not be driving
. Neva
nearly snorted at the irony—here she was, a
thief
, passing judgment on what somebody else should or should not do.

She managed a smile when Linda emerged from the stall, and handed the purse back to her. They returned to the bar together, and Jack bought another round of imported beer. As before, Neva made small talk and only pretended to drink from the cold, green bottle. When she judged that enough time had gone by, she stood up and stretched. Had to get going, she said, had to get her errands done and go home. Linda hugged her before she left.

And didn’t that just make her feel like
crap
.

Heat rose in Neva’s face as she left El Lobo Oscuro. She knew that two telltale spots of color marked her cheekbones, signaling her embarrassment and guilt to the entire world. Stealing and lying were Meredith’s specialty, not hers. She assuaged her conscience somewhat by reminding it of future lives she hoped to save by her actions now—and hoped her conscience didn’t bother to calculate her pathetic chances.

Three doors down, she entered the farm supply store and bought the highest-fashion items she could find for Baker: loose-fitting work jeans, wool socks, a plaid flannel shirt, a black tee, and some dark construction boots. She rounded out the outfit with a denim jacket sporting a black corduroy collar, plus a black baseball cap that announced
Farmers Do It in the Dirt
. There wasn’t much for chow in a place like this, so she threw a half-dozen chocolate bars and a fistful of beef jerky sticks onto the pile on the counter.

At the edge of town, where Main Street officially became US-20 again, Neva crossed a field and entered the small stand of trees where Baker was hiding. Her knees jellied the moment she was safely out of sight, causing her to sit abruptly on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I have no future as a thief, that’s all. Here, get dressed.” She thrust the bags at him, and he began going through her purchases and laughing.

“Jesus, I’m going to look just like my dad.”

“You don’t like what I picked out, you do the shopping next time.”

His favorite item seemed to be the hat, which he promptly put on backward, skater style, and began yanking tags and stickers off the clothes. He held up the jeans and looked around. “What, do I have to go commando?” He grinned.

“Don’t paint pictures like that in my head,” said Neva. “I’m afraid the only underwear that Sandhills Farm Supply stocks is thermal long johns.”

“Check. None is better. I like to be cool in the crotch anyways—”

Ugh.
She stuck her fingers in her ears and turned her back to him. “La la la la la la…” When she figured he’d had enough time to dress, she glanced over her shoulder.

Baker didn’t look half bad. She’d chosen the colors of the outfit well. The black tee and hat highlighted his dark hair. His deep-gray eyes borrowed some blue from the plaid shirt and denim jacket. In that outfit, he looked like a typical farmer’s son: big, muscular, and unfailingly cheerful—unless you knew what to look for. She guessed that the humor he displayed so readily was only partly due to his nature. The rest was likely a way to cope with the horrors he’d witnessed.

“Well, am I gorgeous or what?” he asked as he bit off half a Butterfinger at once, narrowly leaving the wrapper. Jeez, he looked young, much younger than she was—or perhaps she was just feeling old these days.
Destiny’ll do that to you.