скачать книгу бесплатно
And then she heard the sound of brakes squealing, loud as a dozen screeching owls. The motorcycle stopped a few yards ahead. Chulah lifted off his helmet and swung one leg over the bike until he stood in the street, facing her.
Hot cinnamon eyes raked her from head to toe. April gulped, her throat suddenly dry. Did she look weird? Was something off in her manifestation? The Fae court had explained that her appearance and clothing would reflect her individual nature, yet be acceptable and appropriate for the human world. And nothing like her last earthly appearance.
So why was he staring at her so intently? The Council had assured her that this current manifestation was unrecognizable from her unapproved earthly sojourn at age sixteen. If he remembered their first meeting, her mission was over before it started.
Shaking off the apprehension, she walked forward and extended her hand. “Hi. My name’s April. Thanks for stopping.”
His gaze shifted to her outreached hand, but he made no move to extend a return greeting. April dropped her hand by her side and cleared her throat. “Would you mind giving me a lift to town?”
“What the hell is a woman doing alone out here?” he asked incredulously.
“I, um, went for a walk in the woods and got lost.”
“Got lost,” he repeated, brows drawn together. “Where do you live?”
“I have an apartment above my shop on Main Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Pixie Land.”
He shook his head, as if in a daze.
“I’m not surprised. We just opened last week.” The Fae had been hard at work setting up that shop and all her living arrangements. She stuck out a hand again. “My name’s April Meadows.”
“April, huh?” he asked, eyes narrowed and assessing.
A surge of warmth flowed through her body when he said her name. The name she’d made up by taking the time of year she loved best and combining it with her favorite place. Perhaps he needed proof that she was who she said she was. She remembered the forged paperwork and patted the slender purse across her shoulder. Good. Everything should be in order. She opened the purse and riffled through it. “Here,” she said triumphantly. “Want to look at my driver’s license? Well, it’s not really a driver’s license. I don’t drive. Occasional migraines prevent that. They just come out of nowhere and incapacitate me.”
His expression of pained incredulity hadn’t changed.
“Anyway, it’s a picture identification card if you want to see it.”
“I don’t want to see your ID.”
“Oh, okay, then.” April dropped it back in her purse. “About that ride?”
“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to walk alone in the woods—especially in the late afternoon? It’ll be dark in an hour or so. What if I hadn’t come along?”
“But you did.” As she knew he would.
Chulah crossed his arms. “I could be a psychopath, for all you know. A serial killer who preys on young, lost women.”
April laughed. “You could never be like that.”
“And how would you know?”
She tapped her sandals on the red clay dirt. Thinking. “I can just tell. You’re a nice man.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “I bet Ted Bundy’s victims thought he was nice when they first met.”
She blinked. “Ted Bundy?”
“Seriously? He’s probably the most notorious serial killer ever.” Chulah shook his head. “You must have been living in a dark hole all your life.”
A fairy mound instead of a dark hole, but he was close. April nodded at once, eager to correct her mistake. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Ted. Of course.”
Chulah gave her a hard, calculating kind of stare, as if debating the wisdom of letting her hop on his bike.
An idea struck. “Are you afraid I might be a killer?”
She should have thought of that before. Quickly, she raised her arms, familiar with police procedures after the fairy council’s crash course on human behavior and customs. They’d spent an entire day on what to do should one become embroiled in the legal system or a person suspected of a crime. “You can pat me down if you want to check for weapons.”
Chulah snorted or laughed; April wasn’t exactly sure which. The sound was rusty, as if infrequently employed, and his lips twitched.
She walked closer, arms still raised, until their bodies were in arm’s length of each other. “Really. It’s okay to search. I’m completely unarmed.”
Not entirely true. She had an inner, secret weapon of casting fairy enchantments, but she’d resolved to employ it only in emergencies. April winced, recalling her disastrous attempt at enchanting Chulah all those years ago. Quickly, she thrust aside thoughts of the past. It was a new day, and she had to focus on the matter at hand.
Enchantments. Chulah had no way of detecting such magic from a pat-down. She frowned, remembering the fairy’s cross crystal in the purse. Would he count a stone as a primitive weapon?
He gave an exaggerated sigh and strode back to his bike.
April’s mouth dropped open. She’d been so sure he’d give her a ride. “Are you leaving me?”
He unbuckled a side bag from the bike and pulled out a spare helmet. “For crying out loud, just wear this and hop on. I don’t know how you’re going to manage in that skirt, though.”
Not the most gracious invitation, but it would have to do. April eyed the helmet with distaste. How could anyone stand to have their head wrapped in such a tight bubble? “Do I have to wear it?”
“Nobody rides this bike without a helmet. It’s the law. Besides, only an idiot would ride without one.”
There went her fantasy of the wind blowing his long black hair in her face, covering her like a blanketing caress. And actually, she’d seen him riding around his yard without a helmet, but it might not be prudent to mention that fact. A female member of the Council had taken her aside and explained about the male ego thing. Which was much the same in the fairy realm, so point taken.
She didn’t want Chulah to think she was an idiot, so she stuffed the torture device on her head.
It was stifling. Her hot breath steamed the windshield thingy. Chulah lifted the helmet’s flap and she sucked air.
“I’m ready,” she announced bravely. She was used to flying, the wind fanning her face and hair, free and wild. Had dreamed of a motorcycle ride as a new kind of flying, human style.
His hands were suddenly at her throat and she gasped, taking an involuntary step back.
“Relax. I’m just tightening the straps.”
“Oh.” She glanced down, mesmerized by the sight of his olive-skinned fingers so close to her pale neck. Fantasies that had nothing to do with motorcycle riding filled her mind, and she shut her eyes. His hands were warm and competent, and a little shiver of pleasure rippled through her as they accidentally brushed against the vulnerable hollow of her throat.
“There. You’re good.”
Did she imagine his voice had a huskier edge, an undertone of desire? Her eyes flew to his face, but his back already faced her as he straddled the bike, putting on his own helmet. Chulah motioned with his hands. “Let’s go.”
Now she would get to wrap her arms around his waist. April almost licked her lips. She walked to the bike, assessing it, before lifting her skirt and swinging a leg over the side. The skirt rode up to her butt, but she should be fine. She’d often observed human women exposing much more skin at the beach.
The motorcycle lurched forward, and she wrapped her arms around his trim waist. Damned helmet prevented laying her face between Chulah’s broad shoulders. She itched to explore the muscles that she’d seen many a time as he worked outside in his yard. Soon, April promised herself. Very soon.
The roaring of the engine pounded in her ears, and she acclimated to the jerk and shudder of tires hitting small potholes. April liked the ride very much. What it lacked in fairy finesse, it made up for in raw power. No wonder Chulah rode so much when he was troubled. On his Harley, he harnessed that power and focused his attention on the open road.
Pine trees and dirt roads gave way to buildings and pavement. Unease prickled down her spine. She much preferred the woods, but had made periodic, invisible trips to downtown Bayou La Siryna in preparation for this mission.
A mermaid statue came into view and she breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar landmark. “Turn left at the next light,” she yelled to Chulah.
He nodded in acknowledgment, and as they turned onto Main Street, she counted the buildings to her left. One, two three, four... “Stop here,” she directed.
Chulah expertly swerved into a parking space and shut off the engine. April sat, waiting for him to get off first.
He lifted his helmet, and the hair that had been secured inside it fell loose. A veil of soap-scented warmth enveloped April’s neck and shoulders. She again cursed the helmet as it blocked her face from experiencing the same intimate contact. Fumbling with the straps, she took off her own helmet and shook her hair free.
Chulah glanced over his shoulder. “Get off,” he commanded.
April hastily complied, throwing one bare leg over the side to dismount. A loud whistle erupted across the street where three young men stared and pointed. Usually a sign of approval, if she remembered correctly.
She looked around, but no one else was close by. Were they whistling at her or Chulah? And for what reason?
Chulah scowled at them and they walked on by, laughing.
“Why were those guys whistling at you?” she asked. “Were they admiring your parking skills, perhaps?”
He arched a brow and studied her curiously. “They were whistling at you. Not me.”
“Why me?”
“I suspect it was the show of leg,” he remarked drily.
But she’d shown less skin than women in bathing suits. Did they constantly whistle while at the beach? Very confusing. The Council had advised covering confusion with diversion. April ran a hand through her hair. “So,” she said brightly. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”
This was a human convention she was sure was appropriate. And her apartment was supposed to be well stocked in all manner of human food and drink.
“No.” He turned his back on her and headed for his bike.
“Wait,” she called out hurriedly. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? It might be more comfortable to talk about your problem with me than riding your motorcycle all evening.”
He slowly turned and confronted her, his face a stone mask. “What makes you think I have a problem? You don’t even know me.”
Oh, but she did. Only Chulah couldn’t know that yet—if ever. That would happen only once he trusted and fell in love with her. Then she could share all her secrets. That was, if he could forgive her. A very big if.
“True, I don’t know you well,” she admitted, scrambling for an explanation. “I just thought you seemed, um, preoccupied and worried.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”
She’d inadvertently injured his pride to suggest otherwise. “All right, then.” She smiled and shrugged. “Since you’ve already played my knight in shining armor, maybe you could help me out again.”
“What do you want now?”
His response was not promising. How was she to build a relationship with him if he wouldn’t even have a drink with her? She couldn’t fail. To return to the Fae realm in defeat would be humiliating. She’d been so cocky, so sure that Chulah would help them stop Hoklonote.
And she’d been equally certain that he would return her warm feelings could he but meet her in human form. It was what she’d been dreaming of for so many years. That, and restoring the good name of her mother in the fairy realm.
Foolish, foolish Tallulah had rejected his heart. What April wouldn’t have given to be in Tallulah’s shoes. Hurt and jealousy lanced April inside, a new sensation. Sure, she’d known sadness and disappointment, but not this searing stab in the gut as she’d witnessed Chulah’s proposal. Her eyes watered.
“Are you crying?” Chulah asked, surprise written on his face. “Ah, damn...don’t do that.”
She stiffened. “I am not crying,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. “If I were, there would be tears running down my face. Which they are not.” It didn’t count if they were contained behind eyelids; she was pretty sure on that score.
“What the hell,” he muttered. “Let’s have a drink.”
“Really?” She brightened. “You won’t regret it. It’ll be fun.”
“Whatever.” He strapped his helmet on the handlebars and motioned for her to hand her own over. She did, and he tossed it in the side bag and buckled it up.
April opened her purse, searching for the store key. In the back room was a staircase leading to her upstairs apartment.
The Pixie Land door swung open and a short man with a red beard beamed at them. “Hey, boss, I’ve ’bout got all the inventory unpacked and ready to open for business in the morn.”
Steven, a fellow fairy helping in the mission, had caught her by surprise. She’d thought he’d have returned to the Fae realm by now. “Th-that’s great,” she said. “We’re going upstairs—”
“No, we’re going to a bar,” Chulah interrupted. He walked over to Steven and extended a hand. “Chulah Rivers.”
“Steven Andrews,” he smoothly replied, shaking hands. “Pleasure to meet ya.”
Chulah nodded and gestured down the street. “The bar’s only a block from here. We can walk.”
“Sure.”
“Excuse us a moment, will ya?” Steven said to Chulah. “Just need to check with the boss on a small matter.”
“Take your time.”
Chulah was better mannered around strangers than he was with her, April noted.
Steven pulled her into the shop doorway. “You might be needing this.” He pressed a roll of bills into her palm. “A little mad money in case your fellow doesn’t pay or you get stranded.”
“Good idea.” She stuffed the money in her purse. “See you later.”
Steven gave a broad wink. “Watched you out there. Excellent job using your feminine wiles on the man. None of us like to see a woman cry.”
“I wasn’t using my wiles,” she sputtered, glancing back at Chulah, who was busy studying the fairy figurines in the shop window.
He gave a maddening little chuckle. “Sure you weren’t.”
“Oh, for the queen’s sake—I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Take your time. Wrap him around your little finger.” The smile left his face. “Don’t be like your mother. Your loyalty is to our world. Not theirs.”
April shut the door in his blathering face, afraid Chulah might overhear and angry at the slur to her mother. She took a deep breath to steady her emotions. “I’m ready.” She smiled. “What’s the name of this place?”
