“I think it’s too late to escape,” said Lexi. “He’s looking this way.”
Helen lowered the menu enough to peek over it and sure enough, Lexi was right. Vision Man was looking right at her.
Drake saw the pretty young woman trying to hide from him. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have looked twice at a human—pretty or not—but something about her tugged at his attention. Every time he looked at her, some of the grinding pressure inside him eased. The fact that she was trying not to get noticed only added to his curiosity.
“Have either of you ever seen the woman with the braids before?” he asked his buddies, Thomas and Zach.
Thomas swiveled his head around, leaning so he could see past Zach. He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Not that I can remember.”
“Sorry, man,” said Zach, an appreciative grin on his dark face.
“You’re looking at the waitress,” scolded Drake.
“Yes, I am.”
Unapologetic as ever, Zach rubbed a hand over his jaw and watched the waitress with the name tag that read LEXI wiggle her behind.
Drake thought about calling Zach on how easily he was distracted, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, nothing important ever got by Zach. He could look at all the women he wanted and if things went to hell, he’d still have his sword in his hand faster than any of the three men at the table. Which was good, considering their mission.
He, Zach, and Thomas were hot on the trail of the Synestryn demons that had taken Kevin’s sword after they’d slaughtered him, and the last thing he needed right now was a distraction. This suburban Kansas town was crawling with demons. Literally. Or at least it would be once the sun set.
Drake checked his watch. Eight thirty-two. Nine minutes to sunset. Then Logan would show up and they all could get back to work. That left him eight minutes to figure out who this woman was and why she was hiding from him.
Drake got up and went to do just that.
The waitress stepped in his path as if she could actually stop him. How cute. He doubted there was a whole five feet of her unless he included those ridiculous blond spikes sticking out from her head.
“Can I get you some more coffee?” she asked with a cheerful, fake smile.
“No. My friends could use a refill, though.” Zach had been eyeing the waitress all night, and as far as Drake was concerned, he could have her. She was just a little scrap of a woman—too fragile for any of the really fun stuff.
The shy brunette on the other hand . . . she had potential. He’d seen her come into the diner with the old lady, being so careful to help her walk without damaging the older woman’s pride. She was all soft curves and glowing warmth. Her light brown hair fell forward over her shoulders in twin braids, drawing his eye right to her breasts. As if he needed any help finding those. She filled out her tank top and then some, which he dutifully noticed. She was a couple of inches taller than average, and all that extra height was in her legs—long, curvy, bare under the cuffs of her khaki shorts. All of her was curvy and soft and feminine and Drake hated that he’d noticed.
He had more important things to think about—like killing off a slew of demons—and it was hard enough to keep his focus on his work when the pain was getting worse every day. He sure as hell didn’t need some soft, curvy distraction.
The waitress hadn’t taken the hint and she was still barring his path. Not a good idea considering he never let anything get in the way of something he wanted—certainly not something that weighed about as much as a week’s worth of laundry.
“How ’bout some more pie?” she asked.
“No, thanks.” He picked her up under her arms, like a child, and set her aside.
“Hey!” he heard her sputter behind him, and almost expected her to jump on his back.
“I got her,” said Zach, his voice deep and satisfied with the task of keeping Lexi at bay.
Drake glanced over his shoulder and saw the waitress staring at Zach as if he were about to eat her whole. Maybe he was. Zach was into human women. As often as possible.
Drake felt a half smile tug at his mouth. “I just bet you do.”
The brunette had given up hiding behind the menu and had started to gather her purse and sunglasses to leave. Not bloody likely. At least not until he was ready to let her leave.
Drake covered the distance between them and placed one hand on the back of the booth and the other on the table, caging her in. She’d scooted to the edge of the seat, but with Drake standing in her path, she had nowhere to go. He leaned down, letting her know with his body language that she was trapped.
He liked her face, the smooth curve of her cheek, the fullness of her mouth. She’d stayed out in the sun too long today and her nose and the top of her cheeks were pink. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she was lovely. From here, it was easy to see fear brighten her hazel eyes, bringing out chips of gold and green.
She was afraid of him. He had no idea why, and he sure as hell didn’t like it.
“Please let me go,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Soft, like the rest of her, and it stroked over his senses like a caress.
A weightless warmth shimmered through him, washing away decades of tension and torment. For the first time in more than a century, Drake was no longer in agonizing pain. He let out a slow breath of relief. The ever-expanding pressure of the power he housed no longer beat at his insides, seeking an exit, trying to pound its way through flesh and bone. Every rioting bit of energy inside him quieted at the sound of her voice as if listening.
Without the pain that had been his constant companion for more years than most people lived, a wave of dizzying relief threatened to buckle his knees. He gripped the seat and table to keep himself upright, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from closing, just for a moment. The joy of simply not hurting was so intense it was nearly its own kind of pain. He wasn’t sure how long it took him to regain his senses, but when he did, she was staring at him, wide eyed and trembling.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She blinked twice as if shocked by the question. “Please. Just let me go. I don’t want to die.”
Die? What the hell? “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her, his tone a little more gruff than he’d intended. He’d spent his too-long life defending humans from the Synestryn at great personal cost. There was no way she could have known that, but it still pissed him off that she would jump to the conclusion that he was here to hurt her.
What he really wanted was to touch her and see if she felt as soft as she looked. All those smooth, womanly curves were driving him a little crazy. And crazy was the only explanation for what he was feeling—this uncontrollable need to touch a woman he didn’t even know. A human woman. Maybe she was blooded—a descendant of the Solarc—and that’s why his reaction to her was so strong. He’d never experienced anything like it before even with a blooded human, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. The pain-free part was nice, really nice, but nothing that good came without a price.
“I need to get Miss Mabel home. It’s getting late.” Her mouth quivered a bit and damn if he didn’t want to bend down and kiss her to make it stop.
This was insane. Drake pulled in a deep, steadying breath, but only managed to fill his lungs with her scent. Lilacs. She smelled like lilacs.
Drake didn’t have a freaking chance of resisting her. He was a goner, completely over-the-edge insane. He leaned down until his nose was tucked into the curve of her neck, and breathed her in. There was nothing he could have done to stop himself, and the fact that she didn’t flinch away only made him that much crazier.
The silky strands of her braid teased his nose and the supple band of the luceria around his neck hummed happily, sending a shiver shooting down his back. He felt something shift inside him. Deep and hard, almost painful. This woman had changed him somehow, with her mere presence, and he would never be the same again.
Whoever she was, he was keeping her.
Helen didn’t dare move. Not with Vision Man standing so close, nearly touching her. She felt his warm breath spread out over her neck, swirl up around her ear.
He was purring—a low, deep sound of satisfaction—and that purr resonated inside her.
All she could see was the side of his thick neck where it joined his shoulder, the curl of his dark hair, and a section of the necklace he wore—some sort of iridescent choker about a quarter inch wide. Every color imaginable swirled inside the supple band as the lights of the diner played off its surface. She felt the urge to touch it to see if it was as slippery as it looked, if it was warm from his skin.
Instead, she hugged her purse more tightly against her chest, holding still, praying he’d move away from her before she lost her head and stroked her finger over the band.
She was breathing too fast, making herself dizzy. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him so she could calm herself, but instead the vision flashed in her head, driving everything else away.
He was standing a few feet away. It was dark all around them and the only reason she could even see his face was that the fire that consumed her body reflected off the sharp angles of his cheeks, the shadowed ledge of his jaw, the strong tendons in his neck, the wide span of his shoulders. Mirrored flames danced in his golden brown eyes and a proud half smile tilted his mouth. She could smell her flesh burning, could feel the heat consume her. The pain of her blistered skin as it blackened was too much to bear. She screamed, begging death to come claim her.
Reality snapped back into place, washing the vision away. Helen sucked in a desperate breath. She wasn’t dead. At least not yet. The bright lights of the diner seared her retinas, and the smell of burning flesh was replaced by that of onions and french fries. A draft from the air vent overhead cooled her skin, making her shiver.
She forced her body to relax, to remember where she was. Just breathe.
Her lungs expanded, pulling in the scent of the man who had her trapped. Soap. Coffee. Clean male skin. He smelled nice. Safe. And if that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing she’d ever thought, then she didn’t know what was. If there was one person on the planet who wasn’t safe for her to be near, it was him, no matter how he smelled.
He was still only a scant inch away, giving off that low purr that resonated in her chest. Helen wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or stroke her finger over the intriguing curve of that choker he wore. Something about it tugged at her memories, though she was sure she’d never seen anything like it before.
He hadn’t been wearing it in her vision. The realization dawned on her. His throat had been bare. His shirt had been different—not the black cotton he wore now, but lighter. Tan. With some kind of tree printed on it.
The details of her vision didn’t match what was happening right now, which meant she was safe, at least for the moment.
Some of the panic drained out of her, making her feel weak, boneless. She knew she should push him away or scream or do something. Even if he wasn’t here to watch her die tonight, he was still too damn close.
He leaned a fraction of an inch closer and wrapped his long fingers around one of her braids. On his finger he wore a ring that matched his necklace and it flashed in an intriguing pattern of swirling colors that made her want to stare. An insistent tug on her braid tipped her head back and she was sure she’d felt his lips brush along her neck, her cheek.