A witch. It made sense now. The defenses at the town weren’t random—they were planned with experience of protecting such a location.
“I saw. Nice touch with the devil’s trap on the main gate. Almost didn’t spot that. Good setup, I’m guessing you’re ex-military?”
Surprise filled his eyes. “You saw that? It’s invisible.”
“To a human maybe. As we’ve already established, I’m not human.”
“Good point. What are you?”
Blunt and to the point. She liked that in a guy. The smile that had been trying to break free for the last couple of minutes spread across her lips. She tapped the side of her nose. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”
Mason looked at her for a long moment, the corners of his lips twitching suspiciously. Then, as though he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he burst into laughter. “Oh, I intend to, sweetheart, I intend to.”
Andy’s heart, an organ she’d long thought dead, skipped at the warm smile and flirtatious look on his face. Oh hell, this man could charm the birds from the trees if he wanted. A second later though, it was gone as he flicked a glance down at her arm. His jaw tightened, and she could sense the inner battle raging from the tenseness of his body.
“You should come back with us. You know…in case that gets infected.”
“Breaking your own rules, Mason? Tsk, tsk. Shame on you.” She softened her refusal with a smile. “I’ll be okay. You get your guys back to safety before the rest of this lot come looking for their friends.”
“Of all the stubborn, mule-headed, bloody stupid…”
Bloody women. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them and most of the time they drove normal, sensibly minded guys completely insane.
“You aright, hun?” Cleaning tables on the other side of the room, Valerie paused and looked up at his outburst.
He grimaced as he leaned back in his chair. Maps of the local area spread over the table in front of him, highlighted by a shaft of sunlight from a nearby window. He watched, his thoughts in turmoil, as dust-motes danced in the sun.
He couldn’t concentrate. All he could see was the blood running down Andy’s arm. She was paranormal. What type Mason didn’t know—his usual acuity in spotting what a person really was seemed absent in this particular case. Whatever she was, so far she hadn’t harmed any of them.
In fact, she not only had not harmed anyone in town but she’d come riding to the rescue when they were in trouble like some kind of white knight. Mason sighed and ran his hands across the short stubble on his scalp. The way she moved… Pure lethality and grace in motion. Like a combination of a ninja and the hottest super model he’d ever seen all rolled into one uber-sexy package. His perfect woman…and he’d let her go injured into the wilds alone. What kind of f**king idiot was he?
“Nothing. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
Valerie looked less than convinced. Giving the table in front of her a last swipe with her cloth she picked up the bottle of cleaner and headed towards him.
“Mister-I-don’t-need-sleep-invincible-Mason-Callahan is tired?” She plonked the bottle and cloth down on the table and flopped onto the seat in front of him. “Yeah, right. Try something believable...like…you moonlight as Santa Claus. That I might believe.”
He gave her a blank look, but the expression on her face said she wasn’t having any of it. He swore. The vicious curse did nothing but elicit laughter from the blond bar-keeper.
“It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one that was in here last night. What was her name...Andrea or something?”
“Andy,” he replied begrudgingly. No point in trying to hide anything. If V was confronting him about it, then she already had the answers. Just like a woman to work that way, and V was as manipulative as they came.
He sighed and rearranged his maps for the tenth time since opening them up. He was trying to plot a route to the nearest town. Something that wouldn’t leave them in the open too long, was on the least blocked highways and avoided both the local Werewolf packs and Vampire nests. That just left the other stuff to worry about—wandering Were-packs, nomadic creatures like banshees and plain weird shit he didn’t have a name for.
“Andy. I knew it was A something. Julie says she was out there today.” V ran her finger along a deep grove in the tabletop. “Said you lot would have bought the farm if she hadn’t turned up.”
Mason just nodded.
“Had us surrounded. Must have been stalking us for a while. I just didn’t see it. Julian broke formation, so they got to him first. They were about to take us all out when she showed up. Took on three herself, like there was no stopping her.”
He shook his head, still amazed at what he’d seen. “The rest ran. Like they were scared shitless of her. Don’t blame them, I would’ve been too.”
Valerie looked up, her expression serious. “So, what do we think? Vampire?”
He shook his head. “Not the right vibe for a Vamp.”
“Something worse?”
“Worse than a Vamp?”
Mason chuckled, but Valerie’s words struck a chord deep within him. There was something dangerous about Andy. Something Werewolves ran from, something he was sure would scare the un-dead crap out of Vampires too. It was the same thing that called out like a siren to him.
He stood in a lithe movement and gathered his maps.
“She helped us, and she got hurt. Wouldn’t come into town because of our rules. That doesn’t sit right with me. Human or not, the last thing anyone needs out there is to be bleeding from a fresh wound. I’m gonna go look for her…she’s on foot. Can’t have gotten far.”
“Fucking…hell!”
The sound of Andy’s curses reverberated back at her, echoed nicely by the concrete of the old bridge she’d made camp under. There was a small tent in the backpack next to her sleeping bag but she rarely bothered to unpack it unless the weather was crappy.
More curses spilled from her lips as she glared at the bloody mess that was her shoulder. Small knife in her hand, not one of her sickles, she squinted and tried to spot the pellet she knew was in there.
“Stupid cow. You should have dug it out there and then, not let it heal over.”
Gritting her teeth, she probed with the knife again. Just because she couldn’t die didn’t mean she couldn’t feel pain. Right now, she was feeling shed-loads of it. Her blade scraped against bone, sending razor sharp needles of pain through her, and twisted her gut into a cat’s cradle of bile and nausea.
Not throwing up, not throwing up, she chanted the mantra in her head as she tried to force the feeling back down. She hated being sick. Hated it with a passion. Always had, and always would. Leaning back against the rough concrete wall, she tried to use the cold surface to leech some of the heat from her body as she waited for the feeling to subside. By slow degrees it did, until she could think straight again. Grimly she gathered the courage to try again. Finally she lifted her head to study the edges of the wound again.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Andy jumped, and lost her grip on the knife.
“Oh bollocks! Look at what you made me do,” she snapped, searching in the folds of her sleeping bag for the bloodied knife. It came away from the fabric with a wet smear that made her wince. “Great, that’s gonna need sponging off or the flies will have a field day. What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Thought you’d be tucked up all nice and safe in your little town?”
Mason stalked into the circle of light cast by the small fire. “Looking for you, that’s what. Wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid…like trying to carve up your arm with a god-damned butcher’s knife!”
She frowned at the blade in her hand. Sure, it was a little on the long side but it was the only straight blade she had. Her sickles were sharper, but knowing her luck, she’d probably amputate her own arm.
“Huh? This thing? It’s nowhere near heavy enough for a butcher’s knife.”
Ignoring him as he squatted in front of her, she dug the knife into her arm again. The pellet was still in there…she could feel it.
After her second bout of swearing Mason reached out and plucked the knife from her hand. “Here. Let me. I’ll make less of a mess than you are. You trying to end up with a scar?”
Andy shrugged. “Wouldn’t make a difference. I don’t scar.”
“Yeah, right. Everyone scars…only things that don’t are Vamps. And you aren’t a Vamp. I might be human, but I’m not stupid.”
His voice was amused as he studied her arm. Light from the fire behind him caught the tips of his cropped hair, casting the hard plains of his face into shadow and giving him a fiery-red halo. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Felt nice to let someone look after her for a change.
“I could be a day-walker Vampire.”
He chuckled. “Sorry sweetheart. This is reality, not a Hollywood blockbuster. Only Vamps we got are the ones who don’t tan well.”
Fingers moving gently, he probed the ragged edges of the wound in her arm. Then he paused. “This looks different. What have you been doing to it?”
“Doing to it? You mean, other than digging around in it with a sharp implement?”
It was sarcastic and she knew it. But Andy couldn’t help it. She’d always had a sharp tongue and spending years traveling with only herself for company…that was bound to warp even the healthiest of minds. She didn’t want to think too closely on her mental state. If a psychiatrist assessed her, she was sure the words homicidal and possibly fruit-loop would feature heavily in their report.
He shot her a look.
Andy grinned, unrepentant. “What? Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Owww! Lay off with the squeezing, would you? That bloody hurts.”
“Cry-baby. It’s just a scratch. Remember?”
He ignored her glare with an innocent expression and carried on manipulating around the wound. Blood oozed thickly down her arm.
“It was just a scratch. Earlier. That was before I opened it up to dig a hole the size of freaking China to find the pellet one of your friends shot me with.”
“It’s the wrong shape.”
“What do you mean it’s the wrong shape?”
Andy winced and tried to wriggle away as he put more pressure on her upper arm and dug in with the knife. Bloody hell, with friends like this, who needed enemies? Pain lanced down her arm as he went after the pellet. Fire and ice shot through her body and brought a slick of sweat to her skin. She clamped her jaw shut to keep from crying out until she was sure the pressure was going to crack her teeth.
“Ahh, there it is.” Mason sat back on his heels, the small pellet between his bloodied thumb and forefinger. With satisfaction, he threw it into the fire.
“It’s the wrong shape for China. So, what do you mean by you opened it up? Had it already scabbed over?”
She recognized a leading question when she heard one. Humans healed slowly but still, most paranormal races would show some sign of such a recent injury—a healing wound, or a scar—something.