Halflings Page 4

  Her scent assaulted him again.

  Above them thunder rumbled, the heavens sending a warning of their own. Mace glanced at the sky; dark clouds swirled, announcing an oncoming storm. Across the road, a barn anchored an overgrown cornfield and an ancient farmhouse sagged at the edge of the street. Mace scanned the buildings with narrowed eyes. No one outside. No one inside. The entire area seemed uninhabited, absent of even a skittering rodent.

  Will and Raven won’t find out. He slid a hand beneath her knees and effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Smooth steps carried them toward the house. Less than two hundred feet away, he stopped.

  Alarm prickled across his shoulders, heightening his already-tuned senses. The cold of death, torment, and evil swept past. He angled away from the house and toward the barn as thunderheads rolled closer.

  He shifted her weight as angry, fat drops fell from the sky only feet from the entrance. When he fumbled for the door handle, she stirred. Her head fell back and a tiny moan escaped her lips. Her breath feathered across his face.

  Mace staggered. He pulled the sugar-sweet aroma into his being. The breath of life. As a boy, Mace carried the scent — all Halflings did. But as he’d gained his angelic power, the breath of life disappeared. One more reminder that earth was not his home.

  Leaning against the doorframe for support, he inched his face closer to hers. Again, her breath fanned him, weakening his strength and reminding him of all he could never have. Deep yearnings drove him to close the distance to her mouth where the cloying air hissed from her lips. Nothing smelled so satisfying, so alive — or so unattainable. And at the moment, nothing looked so inviting.

  Only inches from kissing her, her eyes flittered open. The faintest smile touched soft, pink lips. “I’m floating in a pool of blue-green water,” she whispered, “drawn from the Mediterranean Sea.” Her eyes blinked, still glassy but concentrated. “You know what?”

  He shook his head.

  “The water is perfect.” Lashes fluttered. She slumped against his chest.

  Mace had to draw several calming gulps of air before attempting to transport her into the barn. Admire, but from a safe distance. I’ve already wrecked that plan. He tried to remind himself of all that was on the line. Normally, he liked boundaries. Boundaries were the safety net. Boundaries kept people on the right path. But right now, he felt like rules were made to be broken and consequences were miles and miles away.

  If journeys came with rulebooks, he’d probably just disobeyed every word.

  Chapter

  4

  Raven stretched out on the bed and locked his hands behind his head. Heavy rock rumbled from a stereo in the corner, though he’d turned it down to insure he’d hear the footsteps — and the explosion — he was waiting for.

  When the giant started up the stairs, Raven couldn’t help but smirk. The booming footsteps halted at Mace’s door. Let the fun begin. He jumped from the bed and swung his door open to watch the fireworks in the next room.

  Without pausing to knock, Will threw open the door to Mace’s room.

  Raven stepped into the hallway from his own domain and followed Will’s gaze into the empty space. Trying, really trying, not to laugh, he mumbled, “He’s so busted.”

  Will spun and took a menacing step toward Raven. Ooh, scary. “From the time the Ancient of Days created me, I’ve roamed first the heavens, then the earth. I’ve comfortably breathed both the scent of death and that of life. I have endured multiple generations. But one thing I cannot abide is insubordination.”

  Raven sighed, simulating heartfelt sorrow. “I understand completely.”

  Will darkened. “When I give an order, I expect it to be respected.”

  “Yeah, I feel ya.” Hand flat on the doorjamb, Raven shook his head as if disappointed. “Where’d we go wrong? I thought we’d raised him better.”

  Will’s eyes blazed. “And when I lead, I expect those under my command to resist mockery.”

  Uh-oh. Should have left it at concerned brother. Raven flashed a brilliant smile and shrugged.

  With no Mace present to absorb his frustration, Will returned his attention to the empty space. There was only one likely explanation: Nikki Youngblood. Raven could practically feel the concern crawling up Will’s neck. The giant’s wings fluttered at the tips, each feather rising like hair on a dog’s back.

  Will’s reaction zapped the fun of watching Mace — the good one — bumbling into mistake after mistake. Though Will had faced all manner of disaster throughout millennia, Raven couldn’t ignore the apprehension — so thick it spiked from Will’s flesh — that signaled trouble surrounded Nikki Youngblood.

  When Will turned to face Raven, a cold chill scraped the length of his spine. In the depths of Will’s lightning blue eyes, a painful secret rested. And Raven was pretty sure it said this journey would take the life of one of the Lost Boys.

  A crash of thunder woke Nikki. Foggy headed, she tried to grasp and hold the edges of her reason. Where am I?

  Heaviness filled her body, making it almost impossible to rise from the floor. Eyes still unfocused, she teetered on panic until those cool, cerulean orbs filled her vision. Was she dreaming again? Everything seemed to be melting around her as if the world was made of carnival glass and she could only view it through a rain-streaked window.

  “You’re safe,” the voice said.

  She’d heard that deep, velvet voice before. She’d even heard those exact words, but where? Why can’t I concentrate?

  An arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her to a seated position, where she could see his face. He possessed a sculpted jawline and a perfect nose that seemed to be crafted by Michelangelo himself. Two high cheekbones rested above a mouth that looked capable of pleasing any girl’s lips, but also able to draw into a tight line of defense when necessary. And then there were those lose-yourself-in eyes. Though he appeared to be her age, she’d never seen anyone like him. Even his knees, visible through the holes in his faded jeans, seemed perfect.

  But it was his eyes that begged trust. Each time she looked at them, a little more tension eased from her muscles. “What happened?” She glanced up. Above, a giant dome of wood slats cupped around them. The sweet smell of hay hovered in the space. Are we in a barn?

  “You spun around the corner and lost control of your bike,” he said.

  A frown slashed her forehead. “I wrecked?”

  “No, you spun out but you didn’t crash. You did lay the bike over, though. It’s at the edge of a field.”

  She stiffened. This was wrong. Why was she in here and why were they alone and why did she feel drugged?

  “It’s okay. I made sure it was off the road, and I doubt anyone can even see it.”

  That bit of information didn’t inspire confidence. If no one could see her bike from the road, no one would be looking for her. Her eyes shot around the barn, things beginning to sharpen into focus. “What am I doing here?” She eased away from him, hands pushing against the hay-strewn ground.

  Lightning, accompanied by a blast of thunder, answered her question.

  He gestured toward a window. “Storm. A serious one.” His shoulder tipped into a tentative shrug and she had to marvel at the sudden vulnerability he seemed to exude. She really did feel safe with him.

  Bursts of angry light flashed through the barn’s slat walls, scattering blue-white beams in all directions and fracturing her short-lived confidence. You’re still in a barn with a guy you don’t know and you have no recollection of getting here. “They’re all serious ones in Missouri,” she said, hoping to engage him in conversation until she could determine the best course of action. She needed to get out.

  “So I hear,” he said.

  “You’re new?” she asked, forcing her shoulders to relax.

  “Just moved here.”

  His face was so very alive. Like moonbeams captured in flesh. She tried to separate her emotions from her sanity, because the two seemed at odds. Then the room spun.
The blood supply to her brain careened first to her stomach, then down to her feet. In what was becoming a habit, she dropped her face into her hands, where all thought of action, escape — and boys too cute to be lurking in abandoned barns — faded.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she managed, but it was a pitiful reply. “No.” She pressed her palms into her eyes. “It’s weird, like my strength is being zapped.” It reminded her of when she was twelve and had laid her hand against an open light socket while helping her dad fix a broken switch. It had caused her muscles to falter throughout her entire body. While she barely remembered the incident, she remembered that strange weakened-feeling vividly. She also recalled the next hour. After some argument, her parents called a family friend rather than the paramedics, which Nikki had always thought weird. She remembered the dark-haired, dark-eyed man who had hovered above her like a watchful mother hen. After several minutes, he announced her fit and life returned to normal.

  This sensation was different, somehow more internal and less harmful than the jolts of electric current. But she still had the sense something freaky was going on.

  The boy moved closer to her, scooting across the dirt floor. “Here, lean on me.” Her trepidation again waned as the soothing vibrations of his voice filled her ears.

  Her head returned to the spin cycle, and she collapsed toward him, tucking her shoulder beneath his arm. His chest was a breathing concrete wall against her cheek, and she thought she felt him shudder. She felt herself weaken even more but couldn’t muster the energy to mind. Heat rose from his thin T-shirt, warming the side of her face.

  Low volts zapped her, causing drowsy, hazy flashes in her mind. This was how she’d felt yesterday. He’d been there. Him and a pack of wolf-things. As if every synapse were suddenly aflame, Nikki pushed away from the stranger.

  He tensed. “What?”

  “Who are you?” she demanded, rolling onto her knees to make it easier to stand. But he was still too close. A balmy hand fell on her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Nikki. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She’d studied six years of martial arts, ensuring no man on the planet could hurt her. She backed away from him, his touch, his warm body, and stood on al dente spaghetti legs. Right, like I could throw a punch or land a kick right now. The first sign of potential support was the wall near the barn door. Surely her legs could carry her that far. She stumbled toward it and dropped her hand to the slat handle to stay upright. And to make a quick exit. As soon as she could walk without staggering, she’d make a run for it. Until then, she’d get answers. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

  “My name is Mace.” He stood and attempted a tentative step in her direction, as if trying to corner a skittish cat.

  To which she shook her head. Adrenaline coursed and Nikki drew on its potency. Her hands opened from the fisted position they’d maintained while vulnerable. Open hands were hands of war, hands of control and conviction.

  Mace frowned, recognition seeming to register in his eyes.

  Determined to avert her gaze from the blue-green sea, her right foot slid back, knees bent, weight shifted, left foot ready to strike. Ridged hand ready to follow. Fact was, she really, really didn’t want to fight the cutest guy she’d ever met. The fact that she’d noticed he was cute was a big deal. She usually stayed oblivious since they seemed an immature lot. One she rarely had the time or inclination to indulge. Her best friend Krissy referred to her love life as the black hole, where possibilities were devoured by its bleakness. Why, in the midst of a potential attack, am I thinking about my love life? Lack of blood flow to the brain, no doubt.

  The boy took a step back, his jeans shifting over muscled thighs. He lifted his hands, palms facing her. “Look, you don’t have to be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said with a voice sounding much more confident than she felt.

  He raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “Whatever. I brought you in here so you wouldn’t get drenched.”

  She nodded, heart hammering. “Right. You could have just called for help, you know.” She tossed a glance through the window. “In the time it took you to drag me here, the police would have arrived.”

  “Have you watched too many horror flicks?” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t drag you here. I carried you because you couldn’t walk. And just how would I have called the police?”

  Seriously? She pinned him with a dead stare. “You own a cell phone, don’t you?”

  “Uh.” His cheeks flushed and he looked down, intensely examining the barn floor then several steps away to the spot where her helmet had been neatly placed on a hay bale.

  She’d caught him off guard. Interesting. But he had her on the edge too. In fact, as she studied him, it seemed like the uncertainty between them created a canyon of doubt, but there was a curiosity that forged a bridge neither seemed able to completely ignore.

  A chuckle slipped from her lips, surprising them both. “No cell phone? Are you, like, Amish or something?”

  His hands came together, fingers interlocked at his waist.

  The term little boy lost slid into her mind. Good. She had the upper hand after all. Confidence renewed, she pulled her phone from her front pocket and flipped it open. She pretended to mash buttons.

  He raised a hand. “Nikki, wait.”

  His eyes pleaded. Her heart fluttered. And suddenly, the thought of being locked in a hand-to-hand scuffle with him seemed a gratifying way to spend a rainy afternoon. Alone in a barn.

  Whoa there.

  “Please, wait.” Again, his lean, strong fingers slid through hair cut into a shaggy style that fell into exact position. Exact order. Yes, there was something decidedly ordered about him. Like he wasn’t used to breaking rules but had recently found himself unable to keep them. He was as out of place in the barn as she was, and again this gave her the edge.

  Well, kind of. She found herself fixated on the long bangs that dusted his forehead, slightly creased by a distant frown. Apart from the uncertainty he exuded, his chiseled bone structure and smooth skin radiated perfection.

  The idea of sketching him whipped into her mind. Charcoal, maybe. To capture the light and shadow of his carved features. But a shadow hid his heart as well, of that she was certain, and she had no idea how to depict that with paper and pencils — or even what it was for that matter.

  He took a step closer.

  Her jaw shifted, her eyes splitting glances between him and her cell phone. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  Mace’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll explain what I can.” He seemed to catch himself. “I’ll, uh, explain what I know.”

  A peculiar sadness entered his gaze. Beyond little boy lost. Little boy … never to be found. Again, her heart reacted.

  “First, about the accident.” He stumbled over the words. “Not really an accident. I mean, your bike’s fine. Some jerk was chasing you in an SUV.”

  The incident flooded her mind. Gas station. Crazed guy. Red, smiling face. Flash of light, and … Mace … sitting behind her on the bike. Her cell phone dropped from her hand and landed on the ground with a thud and a dust puff.

  Her knees buckled and once again the world went liquid. She glanced down at her phone, how it had fallen; she was bound to trace its path and land on the barn floor. Sliding, sliding her back against the wall … then a sudden stop. Mace’s face once again was before her; he’d caught her and trapped her between the barn wall and himself. Her world darkened to a tiny tunnel of light. Everything faded except cerulean eyes.

  “No,” she whispered. Then, she saw nothing at all.

  Chapter

  5

  This is so bad — Uncle Will’s going to kill me. His warning echoed in Mace’s head: “The longer she’s around us, the more she can tolerate our atmosphere.”

  Well, that didn’t seem the case. She’d fainted, like, fifty times, and was completely out. Mace’s hands rested flat against
the wall, keeping her arms draped over his as they stood face-to-face. With no one watching he could take a minute to study her. He could find interest in a spider on a web if he gazed at it long enough, though Nikki Youngblood was far more interesting — and even more dangerous — than any web or poisonous spider this world could offer. And the danger lingered on two levels: first, because he seemed unable to stay on task whenever she looked at him; and second, because he was sent to protect her, and it was quite obvious by her attitude Nikki didn’t feel she needed any protection but her own.

  He willed her to exhale. Just one more breath. Again, his lips hovered only a few inches from hers. Sculpted brows framed her eyes, now closed but no less beautiful with their thick crescent moons of dark lashes. A small nose, turned up slightly at the tip, and pink lips. Artist’s hands had sculpted this daughter of man.

  He had to grin at her vintage T-shirt. He’d always felt that retro clothing hinted at some deep appreciation for the past, for history and its richness. She wore a light vanilla-scented fragrance, but it paled to the aroma of Nikki. Clear, alive. Wind and fire.

  When she opened her eyes again, he smiled. “Welcome back.”

  Glancing down at her predicament, she exhaled a long breath as if surrendering.

  Mace’s heart responded with a series of fierce beats.

  Her head tipped back, resting against the barn wall and mashing her long hair. A strand flittered across his arms, and he hoped she didn’t notice his skin reacting to the feathery touch.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she said in a small voice.

  Finally, the fighter in her had conceded. He needed to seize the moment. “I want to ask you something.”

  She nodded, and the tips of her hair danced over his skin. She’s making it monumentally difficult to concentrate.

  He opened his eyes wide, allowing her to read his intention. The eyes were the mirrors of the soul, after all. “Can you trust me?”