They’d taken the road to the fairgrounds, with her firmly in the driver’s seat, but stopped about a half mile away. Aimee had pulled the car off the road, but she’d turned the vehicle around first. If they had to make a run for it, she wanted to be headed in the right direction.
That was an hour ago. Since then, they’d walked and then skulked through the woods. Roric had made a complete perimeter check of the carnival. The man moved like a ghost. He’d left her on several occasions, disappearing and returning without a sound. She sounded like an elephant clunking through the woods in comparison.
The carnival grounds were quiet, with only the occasional person wandering around. Aimee didn’t know if they were all demons or not. Roric said they were and she trusted him. He was an immortal warrior after all, with all kinds of super senses she didn’t have.
“When are we going into the tent?” Waiting around wasn’t going to make it any easier. In fact, it was doing just the opposite. The longer she had time to think about it, the less of a good idea it seemed. Yet they really didn’t have any other option.
Roric brushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. His touch was incredibly gentle, so at odds with such a large, rough man. “There’s still time for you to return home.”
She shook her head. “I told you how that story goes—single woman, home alone, eaten by demons. Not pretty.” Aimee admitted to herself that she was scared to death. It would be stupid not to be. But she’d rather be here with Roric than home alone, waiting and wondering.
“Okay. Stay close to me.” His blue eyes searched her face as he waited for her agreement.
“Believe me, I have no intentions of wandering off on my own.” No way was she going to be one of those TSTL—too stupid to live—heroines, like some she’d read about in a few of the graphic novels and comics she’d illustrated or watched in the movies. She had an immortal warrior on her side, and she was sticking close.
“Good.” He stared at her until she started to squirm. Even lying in the dirt and bugs, the man turned her on. How sad was that?
He leaned forward and kissed her. Unlike the last kiss he’d given her in the kitchen, this one was hard and deep. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her. Aimee couldn’t breathe as Roric sucked the air from her lungs. She clutched his shirt—another one of her father’s—and slid her hands slowly up his chest until her fingers dug into his shoulders. She was gasping when he pulled away.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered before turning away and moving stealthily toward the edge of the woods.
Aimee thought about shucking her jacket. She was suddenly way too hot. The urge to hit him was overwhelming. How could he kiss her senseless and then just slip away like nothing had happened?
Muttering a few unpleasant things under her breath about men, and immortal warriors in particular, she crawled after him. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to keep up without making too much of a racket. She also managed to think only once about the bugs she was probably dragging her body over. Okay, twice. She was only human.
Roric came to a halt behind the tent she’d pointed out earlier as the most likely one to contain the carousel. She’d gone over the layout in her mind repeatedly until she’d retraced her steps as best she could. If it wasn’t the exact spot, it should at least be close.
He glanced over his shoulder. Whether for confirmation or just to check on her, she wasn’t certain. But she nodded anyway. Without a word, he swiveled back around and crept swiftly over the open ground to the edge of the canvas tent. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he silently used it to slit through the material. Poking his head through the hole, he checked out the interior.
Once again, Aimee was reminded that he was special. He moved with a fluid grace that was mesmerizing. The tiger was hunting.
He turned and beckoned her forward. Glancing to the right and left, she left the dubious protection of the trees and shrubs when the coast looked clear. The dry grass crackled beneath the soles of her boots, and her pulse whooshed in her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else around her. Roric held the material apart and she slipped through the opening.
The dagger disappeared and was replaced by a sword. Aimee recognized it as one of the four-foot-long weapons he’d used to dispatch the demons earlier. Apparently, decapitation was the only sure way to kill a demon. A gunshot might slow it down or incapacitate it for a while, but it wouldn’t kill it. Roric had been very clear about that when she’d asked him earlier.
She’d wanted to bring her splitting maul with her. Roric had argued that it would be too cumbersome for her to drag through the woods. Plus, he’d manifest her a sword if there was fighting. She wanted to ask him for one now, but didn’t dare speak. She knew the basics on how to use one, thanks to a seminar she’d taken on medieval sword fighting at a comic book convention her agent had talked her into attending. Not that she was actually skilled with a sword, but she wasn’t likely to harm herself with one either.