"Then I'll pay him a visit tomorrow. Better to do it once I've cooled off and he thinks he's gotten away with it. If he shows up at the clubhouse before then, I want a call. Good?"
Technically, being sergeant-at-arms, Wallace was in charge of enforcement and discipline, so it made sense for Ricky to run this past him. But more than that, he was wisely asking advice of someone older and more experienced. Wallace nodded, and even if he only grunted, "Yeah, that works," there was a glow in his eyes, his star pupil proving, yet again, why he deserved the extra attention.
Ricky rolled his shoulders, his gaze swinging to the forest behind the clubhouse as he leaned toward me. "If I walk it off, will you come with me?"
"Of course."
--
This wasn't an amble through the woods. Ricky was pissed, temper rolling off him. Finally, he stopped and peered into the forest, his shoulders tight, as if expecting attack from all sides. Then he took my other hand and tugged me in front of him. He met my gaze, his dark eyes like a tumultuous night sky, clouds roiling through, no hint of that moonlit glimmer I'd seen before. He blinked and the clouds dissipated, but only for a second before gathering again.
"I'm okay," he said.
"I know."
"It should be easier. Shaking this. I did the right thing, letting him go for now."
"You did."
"So why--" He bit off the word and made a noise in his throat.
I stepped closer. I didn't try to kiss him, even to touch him, but as soon as I made a move his way, those clouds shifted and twisted, lust flaring behind them. He blinked hard and shuddered.
"You don't want to do that," he said.
I moved closer. "Why not?"
"Because I'm still . . ." He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off again, but it held fast, and when he met my gaze, his breathing came harder. "You don't want me like this."
"You need to shake it. I'm offering to help."
He tugged me to him, just close enough for me to feel his chest brushing mine as he took deep breaths.
"I want to shake it," he said. "Not vent it on you."
"How about a compromise?" I disengaged my hands from his and unbuttoned the top of my shirt. "We'll get a little more fresh air first . . ." I backed up and undid the next button, flicking open my front bra clasp with it. "A little more exercise . . ." I opened two more buttons. "Work off the edge . . ." The last button. "But just the edge. I'll take the rest." I let my shirt hang open. "Or I will . . . if you can catch me." At last I saw that glitter in his eyes, moonlight behind the clouds. "Is that a yes?"
He lunged. I wheeled, laughing, and raced off into the forest.
GONE
Ricky was dreaming of the Hunt. He was in the forest, chasing Liv, adrenaline pounding, the snap and jab of branches only making his breath come harder, lust and excitement tingeing the forest red.
He could see her ahead, naked, the chain around her neck glittering in the moonlight. Hell, he swore he could smell her, her own excitement and adrenaline pulsing from her like threads that threatened to break each time she rounded a tree and disappeared from sight, and he'd barrel forward, fear licking through him, fear that he'd lose her, and when he spotted her again, that relief mingled with a fresh surge of resolve, and he'd find a little extra speed, determined to catch her before she . . .
Disappeared.
He slowed. Liv had darted around a big oak ahead, and when she hadn't reappeared, he thought it was his line of sight, but now he'd come around the tree and found himself staring into empty forest.
He weaved one way and then the other. She had to be there. She never went far. This was a chase, not hide-and-seek. That's what he hungered for and she knew it, as she always knew, absolutely and instinctively. So if she was gone . . .
His heart jolted so hard pain shot through his chest.
No, it's a mistake. She misjudged and thought I was closer. She'll realize it any second now, as she looks back to laugh, to grin, to tease . . .
But the forest stayed silent. No questioning cry. Not even the thump of running feet.
"Liv?" he called.
His heart thudded again, and he gritted his teeth against it. Unreasonable fear. Ungrounded fear. Yet he couldn't help it. If he woke in the night and saw her side of the bed empty, he'd scramble up, dread filling him, a black wave of it that stole his breath, until he'd hear the flush of the toilet or the pad of her footsteps, and he'd sink down again, closing his eyes so she wouldn't see the lingering fear. He'd wait until she crawled back into bed and move against her, as if in sleep, his heart slowing only when he felt her there, nestled against him.
"Liv?" he called. Then, "Olivia!"
His voice thundered through the forest, and even after it died away, he swore he could hear the four syllables of her name, pounding like hoofbeats. Then it was actual hooves. The ground shook with them, seeming to come from every direction.
The hoofbeats stopped. Ricky stood there, watching the forest shift as the moon slid between cloud cover, the trees going light and then dark, the branches above and all around rolling like waves. A horse snorted. He turned fast but saw only trees. Even when the moon snuck out, one patch of forest stayed night-dark. He strode toward it, one hand clenched in a fist and the other holding his switchblade, the weight comfortable and reassuring. He flicked the blade then shut it again, never looking down, no need to look, the move reflexive.
A horse whinnied and stamped. Still the patch of forest stayed dark. Ricky pushed aside branches and stepped into a clearing to see a man astride a stallion. The horse was as black as the surrounding night, and it towered above Ricky. Its eyes glowed a faint red. The man wore a cloak so dark it looked black until Ricky's eyes adjusted enough to see it was black and green, decorated in a swirling Celtic design.
I know that design.
The connection wouldn't quite close, and he turned his attention to the man instead. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark beard stubble obscuring the bottom half of his face, but even at a glance Ricky knew it was no one he recognized.
And yet it was . . .
Again, the connection wouldn't form, like a smashed bridge over rapids, no way across, the thunder of water drowning out thought. The thunder of one question drowning out all others.
"Where is she?" Ricky said.
"Gone." The man looked down at him. "He couldn't stand to lose her and neither could I, so in the end, we both did." Pain darkened the man's eyes to black pits of grief and guilt. "But no one lost more than she did. No one."
"I don't under--"
"Find her."
Ricky jolted from the dream. He pushed up so fast one hand buckled under him and his foot slid in the dew-damp leaves. He patted the ground beside him, not trusting his eyes despite the moonlight flooding through the trees. He reached and he looked, but he knew what he'd see: an empty spot where Liv had been sleeping.
He scrambled to his feet.
"Lose something?" a voice asked.
Ricky spun as Beau sauntered out of the forest. His gaze slid down Ricky. "I'll give you a moment to get dressed."
"Where is she?" Ricky advanced on Beau.
"You sure you don't want to put some clothing on?"
He grabbed Beau by the throat. Fingers closed on warm skin, and he felt the throb of a jugular, and then his hand snapped shut on air. He blinked and stared at the empty space in front of him.
"We do have time for you to get dressed," Beau said, now ten feet away to his left.
I'm still dreaming.
Except he wasn't. Everything was as it should be--the forest lit by moonlight, the distant glow of the clubhouse, the smell of burnt rubber from someone tearing out, the whistle of wind in the treetops, even the fact that he was naked. All normal . . . except for a man who could disappear.
Not a man. Not human, at least. When he looked at Beau, he knew everything Liv had told him was true. He hadn't doubted it, not really. If she believed it and Gabriel believed it, then it must be tr
ue, because they were two of the most sensible and grounded people he knew. Yet he had still felt, if not doubt, then confusion, a sense that maybe, just maybe, there was another explanation. Now he knew there was not.
"I really feel we could do this better if you were dressed," Beau said.
"No," a woman's voice whispered from the trees. "That would be such a shame."
"He's so pretty," another giggled.
A third echoed with a lilting, "So very pretty."
Fingers grazed his ass. He wheeled, but no one was there. He could hear more voices, whispers, and giggles, and feel tickling touches and strokes, fingers running down his cheeks, his thighs, his biceps . . . and elsewhere. He resisted the urge to shove them away. There was no one to shove.
Beau came close--too close. Smirking, as if expecting Ricky to back away. He stood his ground and let Beau step up until his hand brushed Ricky's hip.
"Where is Olivia?" Ricky said.
"You are pretty." Beau stroked his cheek. "Such a shame, really. There are so many powers. So many skills and abilities. And this is all your kind get. A pretty face and charming ways. That's how you won her, you know. Fae charm." His gaze slid down Ricky, lingering as it went. "As for the rest, if you're going to fuck it, it helps if it looks deliciously fuckable. But mostly, it's the charm. That really is all you have."
"It's served me well so far."
"True. You're very good at what you do. And what is that, again? Right, you're a biker. The bar isn't set too high there, is it? A pretty face and false charm. It's not enough. Not nearly enough."
"But he's Arawn," one of the women whispered. "He doesn't need power. He is power."
Fingers slid across his thigh and stroked him. He held his ground and met Beau's gaze. "Tell me where she is."
"Mmm, what's the rush? She's safe. I promise you that. Relax." Beau grinned. "Enjoy yourself."
More fingers touched him. More hands fondled him. Beau leaned in, lips coming to Ricky's, chuckling when Ricky tensed. Beau kissed him. Ricky let him. He parted his lips, and when Beau's tongue slid in, he chomped down. Beau screamed. It wasn't a man's scream--not even a human scream. It sounded like the wail of some creature flying overhead.
Beau fell back, but Ricky didn't let him go, just kept biting down. Beau flailed and shrieked, his eyes rounding and bugging. Blood filled Ricky's mouth and he kept biting down until, at last, Beau pulled free, and Ricky spat out the bit of flesh in his mouth.
"Arawn," one of the women whispered. "He is Arawn."
"Lord of the Underworld?" Beau snarled, his face barely human now, barely bothering to keep it human, blood dripping from his mouth, spattering as he spoke. "No. This is a boy. A foolish, stupid boy. Not a king. Not even a prince. Page of the Underworld. A pretty page boy, suited only for getting on his knees and wrapping his pretty lips--"
Ricky grabbed Beau, again by the throat. There was no rage in it. No surprise. Just cold resolve. His fingers wrapped around Beau's throat, and he concentrated on holding on to him, willing him to stay where he was, not to disappear. And he did. Beau hung there, suspended by the throat, eyes rolling. Then whatever held him broke, and he flashed away, gasping and growling like a wounded animal.
Beau railed at Ricky, his insults tinged with fear now, coming fast and hard. The women cooed and flattered him, whispering in his ears, stroking him, fingers everywhere.
Distracting me. Whatever works. Insults or fawning. Threats or come-ons. Distracting me from finding Liv. From . . .
He tensed and looked around.
Distracting me from figuring out what the hell is going on. From realizing she's not gone--I am.
He looked around the clearing. He couldn't tell whether it was where they'd fallen asleep. When he'd caught Liv, he'd been so intent on claiming his reward that they could have been in an ice-cold stream and he wouldn't have noticed. Not before. Certainly not during. And even afterward, when he'd collapsed beside her, thinking of nothing but her and them, and how good it felt being with her.
He hadn't even taken a look around before dropping into sleep. But one thing was certain: when he'd caught her, he'd still been dressed. In his jeans, at least, the jacket and shirt coming off as he'd gotten close, not wanting to waste a second once he had her. But his jeans and boxers should be here. And they were not. Which meant he hadn't woken up to find her gone. He'd sleepwalked away from her, lost in his dream.
Lured away.
"Liv!" he shouted, as loud as he could. "Olivia!"
"Calling for your girlfriend's help? That's very sweet in a modern-guy kind of way. Not exactly manly, though."
"Liv! Stay where you are."
"Oh, you were warning her. My mistake. If you honestly think she won't come to your rescue--"
Ricky pounced. He caught Beau around the neck again and concentrated as he squeezed. His fingers dug in, blood flecking him as Beau coughed and sputtered.
Can I choke him? Do they breathe?
It was only a momentary thought, but the doubt was enough to break whatever mental hold he had. Beau vanished. This time, he reappeared behind Ricky, leaping on his back. Teeth dug into Ricky's neck. Ricky bit off his howl mid-note and flipped Beau. Blood sprayed. His blood. Streaming down his neck.
Don't worry about that.
Beau sprang at him. Ricky slammed him in the gut, but it seemed to have no more effect than if he'd hit him in the ribs, and he jumped on Ricky again. Ricky caught him by the hair and wrenched him off. He was throwing him down when Liv came at a run, dressed only in her shirt, half on and unbuttoned. She skidded to a stop as she saw Beau. Her hand flew out and light seemed to flash from it. It was the switchblade, moonlight striking the blade as it flicked out.
She ran at Beau. He disappeared.
"Not human," Ricky said, clamping a hand to the side of his neck.
"So I see." Her eyes widened when she saw the blood. "You're--"
"Watch--!"
He didn't have time to say more. She was already spinning.
Beau rushed her and Ricky was too far away. Liv's hand swung back. The blade flashed as she drove it into Beau's gut. Then Ricky was on him, Beau screaming that nightmare scream as he fell, the blade stuck in his gut. Ricky grabbed the handle and wrenched it up, blood spraying, Beau screaming. Around them, the forest seemed to erupt. Dark shapes poured out, shadowy wraiths, flying at them, shrieking.
Ricky knocked Liv down and fell overtop her. The things struck him, battered him, claws ripping into his back. He tried to grab one, but his fingers passed through it.
Then hooves thundered. A dozen hooves, pounding the dirt, coming so fast the horses were almost upon them as soon as Ricky heard the sound. Then the forest erupted from the other side, huge black dogs barreling out of the trees, charging at the wraiths as the creatures screamed in terror and the hounds snarled. There was one moment of sheer deafening sound, driving into Ricky's skull, the shrieks and the growls crescendoing and then . . .
Silence. So sudden it was almost as disorienting. He squeezed his eyes shut until he felt a hand against his neck, Liv wriggling out from under him.
He opened his eyes as she pressed her shirt hard to the wound.
"I'm okay," he said. "If he hit anything vital, I'd have bled out by now."
"Comforting."
She scowled, but she swung the look away and directed it at the figure climbing off a horse. It was not the man he'd seen in his dream. While he wore a similar cloak and rode a similar horse, this man was older, maybe his father's age, similar in size and even in looks. As Ricky watched him, he heard his grandmother's stories about the Wild Hunt, and he had no doubt what he was seeing, no more than he'd doubted Beau was not human.
Liv strode toward the man. "What the hell is that?" She pointed at Beau, who lay on the grass, not moving.
I've killed a man.
No, not a man. Not really.
Does it matter?
It didn't, but when Ricky looked at Beau's corpse, only a pang of intellectual horror
darted through him. He'd done what he'd had to. Beau attacked him, attacked Liv, and there was no doubt his intentions had been lethal. The response had to be equally strong.
"Dokkalfar," the man said.
Ricky looked up sharply, then realized he was answering Liv's question about Beau.
"Which is . . . ?" she said.
"A dark elf."
"Elf?"
"Not from the North Pole." The man's lips tweaked in a smile. "Before you ask."
"I was thinking Middle Earth, but both come from the same place. Norse, Germanic . . ." She looked at Beau. "I'm guessing he does, too?"
"Originally. Another immigrant, from centuries past."
"And those other creatures?"
"Disir. Also known as wights. Norse as well. They're usually protective spirits, guarding land or water. Here, being dispossessed, they often protect a being, such as a dark elf."
"Fascinating." Liv's tone ought to have warned the man, but he only nodded, pleased at her attentiveness. She stepped in front of him. "That elf tried to kill Ricky. It lured him away from me and tried to kill him."
"Yes, it does seem--"
"Does seem? You never gave me a word of warning. Never told me he could be a target. Never. Said. One. Word."
Liv shook with fury, her voice barely above a whisper. She stood there, wearing only the open shirt, the necklace glittering in the moonlight, furious and fearless and magnificent, and the man smiled, pleased again. Ricky strode to them, his hackles rising. The man nodded, and Ricky had no idea what that nod meant, but he relaxed.
The man took off his cloak and held it out to Liv.
"No, thank you," she said. "If you're offended, turn around. I don't usually wander around the forest naked, but then I'm not usually ambushed and forced to fight for my life quite so soon after waking."
"You weren't in danger." He glanced at Ricky. "Their target was clear, and I apologize for that. If I'd thought there was a serious risk that anything would attack--"
"Serious risk?" Liv said. "How about any risk? Better yet, how about admitting why there would be a risk? And, yes, I know why. No thanks to you. I had to figure it out for myself."
The man tilted his head, his gaze meeting hers. "Is that not the best way? The way you'd prefer? Because it seems to me--"
"I should have been told." She clasped Ricky's hand. "We should have been told."
The man looked at Ricky. "So you also know . . ."