There was a faint clink, as if from setting the plate and glass down on the wooden floor. Immediately afterward, he moved away again. A minute later came the soft thud of the front door shutting.
Good. We needed some distance between us. Miles, preferably.
Why, then, did I feel so abandoned?
* * *
He’d been gone almost half an hour before I cracked the door open and cautiously peered outside. No one, not even Mary Mullen the ghost. I snagged the plate and water, and then closed the door again. Instead of going to the table to eat, however, I stayed where I was, back against the door as I ate the sandwich bite by deliberate bite. It was good, too, rich and plain, with just a bit of an interesting spread — aioli? — to keep it from being too bland. I figured if nothing else, I needed to keep my strength up.
I’d need that strength to keep myself from having flashbacks to the way Connor’s hand had wrapped around my wrist, the heat of his flesh against mine, the way I had wanted to give in. It was the worst ache I’d ever felt, that need for him.
And it didn’t seem as if it was going away any time soon. If ever.
Time ticked by. The clock on the table told me it was now past one. Connor probably had enough to keep him busy, I supposed. After all, it was only four days until Christmas. Outside, people were probably navigating the icy streets looking for those last-minute gifts, or getting together with friends, or shopping for their holiday meals, or any one of a number of things people did while getting ready for the big day.
Dimly, I realized it was my birthday.
No, you will not cry, I told myself. It’s just a day, one out of three hundred and sixty-five. No big deal.
Easy to say, I supposed. But the more I tried not to think about it, the more my thoughts kept tugging themselves back to the plans Sydney and I had made. I was going to meet her in Cottonwood for some girl time and manicures, and then that night we’d go with Adam and Anthony to the Hoppy Grape Lounge in Sedona for drinks and appetizers. It would have been safe; I would have been with Adam by then, no longer a target for Damon Wilcox’s plotting.
Instead, here I sat.
I bit my lip. Hard. Not enough to draw blood, but it began to ache as soon as my teeth let go. But at least the pain kept me from giving in to the tears that threatened to fall.
Below me, I heard the door bang open, followed by a heavy stomping of feet on the stairs. “Connor!” Damon’s voice bellowed.
Oh, shit. I scrambled to my feet and backed away from the door, grabbing the empty plate and glass as I did so. Frantically I looked around, but of course there was nowhere I could go. Even if I’d wanted to climb out the window, there was no way I could do that, spelled as it was.
“Connor!”
More than any other time in my life I wished my McAllister blood had given me a power stronger than speaking with the dead. Teleportation sounded pretty damn good right about now.
The doorknob rattled, then again, stronger this time. Out in the hallway I could hear Damon curse, and the next thing I knew there was a blast of searing light and a burst of acrid-smelling smoke, and the door swung inward. The Wilcox clan leader stood in the frame and glared at me, and I had to force myself to stay where I was, to not take a step backward. That would only be an admission of weakness.
After an entrance like that, I halfway expected Damon to be wearing his black robes from the night before. Actually, he looked pretty much like what you’d expect from a man out and about on a freezing Saturday afternoon — black overcoat, jeans, heavy-duty dark shoes that weren’t quite hiking boots but were close.
“Where’s Connor?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said, as steadily as I could. Upset as I was with Connor, in that moment I really, really wished he were there to act as a buffer between me and his clearly crazy brother. “Down in the gallery?”
“I checked.” For the first time his gaze moved past me to the narrow bed — made up, yes, but hastily. It was pretty clear that I had slept there the night before, and the open duffle lying at its foot with my toiletries sitting on top only further proved that I’d taken up residence in this room and not Connor’s. Damon’s mouth tightened. “Made yourself at home, I see.”
I didn’t dare more than a lift of my shoulders. Even though I knew I was safe enough from being bound to Damon Wilcox, that didn’t mean I wasn’t still afraid of him. He’d already shown that he had very little regard for anyone’s well-being other than his own.
As he opened his mouth to speak, I heard footsteps on the stairs once again, hastening upward as if they belonged to someone fearful of what they might find. A second or two later, Connor appeared in the doorway, features tight with worry. They cleared somewhat as he spied Damon standing a safe distance from me. Well, more or less safe. It was clear he could do quite a bit of damage from several feet away.