Secret Worlds (511 page)

“Do you need anything?” Holbrook asked, the gentle tone of his voice tearing through my flimsy fantasy like a knife rending gossamer threads.

“A large pizza and a six-pack of beer,” I joked, cracking my eyes open just enough to watch him, the long hours of the last few days darkening the skin beneath his eyes, but doing little else to detract from his handsomeness.

“I’m on it,” he replied with a smile. “Buzz me if you need anything.”

As the door swung shut behind him, I thought I’d be glad to finally be alone. My nerves felt frayed and my temper was dangerously short. Instead, I felt an emptiness in the center of my chest that hadn’t been there before. Holbrook’s earthy cologne lingered in the room, but there was a sense of something missing. It was like his presence had warmed the room, and his departure had left it feeling cold and empty.

“Man, I’m losing it,” I mused, rubbing my hands over my face in an attempt to wipe away my sudden sentimentality. In the span of just a few hours I’d gone from jilted lover to lovesick adolescent.

Figuring that a shower might help ease the tension in my shoulders and the dull ache behind my eyes, I bounced up from the bed and grabbed my toiletry bag and some clean underwear. Shedding my clothes along the way I slipped into the bathroom, my toes curling against the cool tile floor, and felt the first layer of stress ease out of my shoulders at the sight of the glass encased shower.

Now
this
is what I’m talking about
, I thought, eyeing the large showerhead appreciatively.

After fiddling with the faucets and showerhead to get the water almost blistering hot and the spray turned to the massage setting, I stepped into the shower and moaned in sheer delight. Hot water pummeled my skin, easing the knot of tension in the muscles across my shoulders, thickening the air around me until I could barely see my hands through the steam.

I’d considered upgrading my bathroom at home a few times over the years since I moved back. As ugly as the old mint green bathtub was, it held a lifetime of memories. It also held a horrendous ring of soap scum that I’d been meaning to attack for weeks.

Yeah, I’ll add that to my to-do list, right after “Survive maniac ex-boyfriend.”

Thirty minutes later, when my fingers resembled a bunch of prunes, I managed to pull myself away from the amazing shower, figuring that I should leave some hot water for the other hotel guests. Dressed in a pair of comfy sweats, I wrapped a towel around my hair, and sprawled out on the bed. Turning on the TV, I flipped through the limited range of channels before settling on reruns of
The Big Bang Theory
.

***

Several hours later, the sun had sunk below the buildings across the street, and the
Big Bang Theory
marathon had transitioned into some crappy made-for-TV movie. Uninterested by the new show, I sat up and stretched until a series of pops rippled down my spine, my back and shoulders feeling loose and liquid in a way they hadn’t in days. I almost felt as good as I did after shifting and letting the wolf run free.

To hell with the memories, I need one of those showers at home!

A curt knock on the door interrupted my channel surfing. Getting up, I checked my reflection in the mirror above the writing desk across the room and frowned. At some point during my binge watching the towel around my hair had unraveled, leaving me sporting a tangled mess of dark curls. Not the best I’d ever looked, but by far not the worst either. Another knock at the door put a stop to my fretful primping, forcing me to shrug it off as a loss.

I padded on bare feet to the door, pausing to look through the little peephole, though from the smell wafting into the room from beneath the door, I already knew it was Holbrook. His familiar cologne mingled with the warm caramel scent of his skin invaded my senses along with the mouthwatering smell of pizza. My stomach growled loud enough for the entire hotel to hear in response to the scent of melted cheese and tomato sauce.

“Room service!” Holbrook said, beaming wide when I opened the door. He held up a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of Mountain Dew with the other.

“No beer?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Sorry, this is about as exciting as it gets while I’m on duty,” he replied with a shrug and lopsided smile.

Stepping back, I let him into the room, not sure what smelled more delicious—him or the pizza. Shooing Loki off the bed, I snatched up the remote to mute the TV when Chrismer’s face appeared, dominating the screen.

“That’s right, Kelly,” she was saying, somehow managing to sound both cheerful and solemn at the same time. “Reports are coming in that there has been another werewolf attack. Law enforcement officials believe that Samson Reed, who recently escaped from the White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary, was the perpetrator of this horrific and senseless act.”

The remote fell to my side as my jaw dropped open.

“What the…”

“The attack took place last night around ten p.m. just outside of Bailey. The FBI has not yet released the name of the victim,” Chrismer continued. “For those of you who have been following the latest developments of Reed’s escape and flight from justice, it would appear that he is making a beeline for Denver. We can only assume that he is searching for his one surviving victim, Ms. Riley Cray.”

“Is this true? Was there another murder?” I demanded, rounding on Holbrook.

The guilty look on his face was answer enough.

“Fuck!”

I flung the remote across the room in a fit of rage. It broke when it hit the wall, raining plastic and electronics onto the carpet. As quickly as the anger had risen, it faded away, leaving me hollow and fragile. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to think that it…” he said, trailing off.

“Think what? That it’s all my fault?” I asked as I sank down onto the edge of the bed, tears already tracking a hot path down my cheeks.

Setting the pizza and soda down on the dresser, Holbrook crouched in front of me and said, “It’s not your fault.” Cradling my chin, he turned my face to look at him, his own full of conviction.

“Yeah, it is,” I argued, pulling my chin out of his grasp and turning my face away. “Everyone knows that Chrismer’s right. He’s looking for me, and he won’t stop until he finds me.”

“Chrismer’s an idiot. She wouldn’t know the truth if it jumped up and bit her in the ass.”

I couldn’t help snorting at that and gracing Holbrook with a smile.

“But it’s true,” I said, sobering.

“Riley, stop torturing yourself,” he sighed.

“I can’t,” I confessed in a whisper, focusing on a small scar on the underside of his chin, unable to meet his gaze.

“What can I do to make you believe me?”

I had no answer for him and could only shrug in reply while fighting the sob that had risen in the back of my throat. Squeezing my eyes shut, tears streamed down my cheeks, falling on the hands clasped in my lap.

The brush of his lips against my forehead was unexpected, but welcome. My breath hitched in my throat at the brief spark passing between our skin, and then it was as if cool water was spreading out from where his lips pressed against my forehead. A shudder rippled down my spine as a wave of calm moved through me, flowing down into my fingers and toes.

His hands moved down from my shoulders, gliding along the length of my arms and I felt a deep pull inside my body, akin to the sensation that rose through me as the wolf emerged, and yet wholly different. Where the wolf was full of heat and fur, the sensations rippling through me now were cool and liquid, gentle in its exploration of me like fingers tracing an unfamiliar path. The scent of hot caramel swelled around me, sweeping over and through me, touching the most intimate parts inside me.

As the feeling drained away, so did my fear and tension. It was as though it had swept through me, pulling my fear along in its powerful undertow, leaving me feeling light and drowsy in its wake.

My eyelashes fluttered against my cheeks as I opened my eyes and looked up, startled by what I saw. Holbrook’s face was flushed as if he’d just come back from a run, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his brow. Dropping his hands, he stepped back and swayed for a moment as his eyes appeared to lose focus. Blinking a few times, he shook off whatever had affected him, though his gaze stilled seemed a little unfocused.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my hands hovering in the air between us, ready to catch him if he fell.

“I—I’m fine,” he stammered, his voice thick as if he was fighting against exhaustion.

“What was that?” I asked, certain that I should be concerned but unable to muster any emotion other than a deep sense of calm.

“We…ah…should eat before the pizza gets cold,” he said, choosing to ignore my question.

“Sure.”

Something had happened, but I had no clue what, and Holbrook didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood.

Situating myself near the headboard, I arranged the blankets over my feet as I muddled over what had just happened. I watched through the haze of my eyelashes as Holbrook toed off his shoes, setting the pizza box in the middle of bed like a barrier, as if it could hold back the questions that hung on the tip of my tongue. Tentatively climbing onto the bed, he mirrored my position on the other side of the pizza box.

“I hope sausage and bacon is okay,” he said, breaking the silence.

“You can never go wrong with bacon. It’s like meat candy,” I said, snagging a piece. My grandmother would have scolded me for just shoving it in my mouth, but I was suddenly ravenous and eager for anything that would distract us from the lingering awkwardness. “Oh man, that’s better than sex,” I moaned around a mouthful of pizza, savoring the hot cheese and tomato sauce.

“Does that mean I have to try harder next time?” Holbrook asked.

Snapping my eyes open, I somehow managed to keep my jaw from falling open in surprise. A single dark brow was quirked in mischievous amusement, his lips curving into a smile that would give the devil himself a run for his money. It was an expression that sent a spear of ferocious arousal straight into my core and left me breathless.

Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Where do I sign up?

Echoing my thoughts, I swallowed the chunk of pizza in my mouth and replied, “Where do I sign up?”

Now it was his turn to blush, the bravado seeping out of his shoulders as the color rose up his face to the tips of his ears, making his eyes appear brighter than ever. He valiantly maintained eye contact for several heartbeats before looking away, shifting his attention to adding red pepper to his pizza. Triumph swelled in my chest, curving my lips in a wide smile.

“Eat your pizza,” he said, still staring down at his slice.

“You started it,” I said before turning my attention back to my food.

Still grinning, I tore a large bite off of my slice, victory making it taste all the better.

Companionable silence stretched out between us, and I soon found my thoughts turning inwards. In addition to the expected fear and anger that had risen with the reappearance of Samson, I was experiencing another, unexpected emotion: uselessness.

From the moment Holbrook and Johnson had shown up on my doorstep with news of Samson’s escape, I had been shuffled from one location to the next, all the while not knowing when the hammer would fall. It had been years since I’d felt that I had so little control over my own life, as if I was a just passenger along for the ride. But what could I do? As fast and strong as the wolf made me, it didn’t account for an utter lack of fighting skills.

Jackie Chan, I’m not.

I was distantly aware of the sound of Loki purring relentlessly as he rubbed back and forth along the side of the bed, hoping that I would take pity on him. Absently, I picked a couple nuggets of sausage off my pizza and tossed them on the floor.

I wanted to do something to help catch Samson, but other than dangling myself out a window as bait, I didn’t appear to be of much use.

Hell, we don’t even know for sure if the attacks
are
Samson. Unless...

“I want to go to the morgue,” I announced, hiding my fear by snatching up another piece of pizza, shoveling congealed cheese and dough into my mouth. Across from me Holbrook tried not to choke on his soda.

“What?” he croaked. “Why?”

“I’m tired of feeling useless. I want to do something to help.”

“I don’t see how punishing yourself can possibly help.”

“I can confirm if Samson is the one behind the attacks,” I said, tapping the side of my nose in reference to my heightened senses. “And if we’re lucky, maybe I’ll be able to pick up something else.”

“I really don’t think—”

“I’m having visions,” I blurted before I could chicken out. “I mean, I think they’re visions. That, or I’ve finally snapped and need to be committed.”

Staring at me intently, Holbrook asked, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’ve been having these dreams for years, ever since Samson attacked me. Well, not like the ones I’m having now exactly, but weird, you know?” I began to explain, setting my half eaten slice of pizza aside, the smell of it making me queasy.

Drawing my legs up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my knees, wishing that Holbrook would wrap me up in the comfort of his embrace.

“I used to dream that I was somewhere in the dark, trapped, and I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t see the sky or feel the wind on my skin, and it hurt so much to be there, locked away and forgotten. They didn’t happen all the time, and they’re weren’t always very clear. It’s just that lately they’ve been different.”

“Different how?”

“I’m not trapped anymore.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked, setting aside his own slice of pizza, giving me his full attention.

“No, it’s bad…so bad,” I whispered, afraid to close my eyes and see the bloody visions dancing across the inside of my eyelids, but unable to look him in the eye either.

“Riley, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he said, leaning across the distance between us to squeeze my clasped hands.