Nightbred(56)
When he tells you that you are his life, daughter, you should know the true meaning. The voice grew more insistent. What the mortal said during your questioning is not important. You will dismiss it.
She smiled. “I can do that, sure.”
Return to the stronghold now. He’s waiting for you, my lady.
“My lady?”
Sam shook off what felt like a vague daydream about Lucan as she turned to Garcia. “Sorry, what did you say?”
The captain frowned. “Were you able to get anything out of Gates before he died?”
“Nothing important.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m going to head back to the stronghold. He’s waiting for me.”
* * *
Chris had never used her no-limit jardin credit card to buy much more than office supplies, and briefly worried that Lucan had canceled it, but the agent had no problem putting through the charges for the rental car.
“You’re all set,” the agent said as he handed her the keys to the black Lexus. “May I ask why you chose Enterprise for your rental needs?”
“You picked me up at a dock. The only other people who do that are sailors.” She winked at him. “I’ve already got a guy and a boat.”
She drove from the rental agency to the nearest cluster of shops, where she bought a warm jacket and comfortable shoes, along with two weeks’ worth of casual wear and lingerie for herself, and some trousers and dress shirts for Jamys. After brooding over a pair of ripped jeans that she loved but wasn’t sure he’d even wear, she added them to the pile.
One of the salesgirls intercepted her on the way to the cash wrap. “Excuse me, but I would love to show you something special.”
Chris glanced at her overflowing pushcart. “I haven’t bought enough stuff already?”
“Oh, no, it’s just, well, you’re perfect for this unbelievable dress we have in Petites.” She glanced at a thick-bodied overdressed woman rummaging through a nearby rack. “We don’t get many petites in here.”
Chris glanced at her watch. She had left Jamys sleeping in the cabin, and the sun wouldn’t set for another three hours. “So show me this dress.”
In the Petites section the salesgirl went to a rack of holiday dresses and removed a sleek, shimmering black sheath that looked as if someone had slashed it with scissors.
“I know it looks like crap on the hanger,” the salesgirl said quickly, “but it’s totally different on. It was made for someone with your figure.”
Chris looked down at herself. “I have no figure.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m kind of hating your guts right now,” the girl admitted.
Chris chuckled as she took the dress and headed into the dressing room. A few minutes later she came out and went to the nearest full-length mirror, where she saw a gorgeous stranger wrapped in long, slinky ribbons of black.
“Holy cow.” She had no reason to buy something this beautiful and useless, but she wasn’t sure she could make herself take it off again.
The salesgirl appeared behind her holding a pair of matching black platform heels, a tiny beaded black bag, and a headband of black crystals. “Could you? Just so my hatred is completely justified?”
Chris added on the accessories and then gazed along with the salesgirl at the results. “Damn. You have a business card, right?”
“Yeah.” The girl absently dug one out of her pocket and passed it to her as she kept staring. “Damn.”
Chris paid for her purchases and packed the bags into the trunk of the rental before she walked over to a sandwich shop to grab something to eat. She discovered she didn’t have much appetite, but forced down a salad and a tall glass of orange juice anyway.
Her next stop was a drugstore, where she bought a selection of first-aid supplies and took them into the customer restroom. The cut on her thigh had already started scabbing over, and thanks to Jamys probably wouldn’t become infected, but as per her training she cleaned it and applied a new adhesive bandage.
Chris had always imagined taking on the responsibility of providing blood for a Kyn lord would be a little revolting. It wasn’t that she was squeamish; she didn’t mind the sight or smell of blood or the pain of the small wounds required to start the flow.
The thought of being used as someone’s food was what had troubled her; she was a person, not a Happy Meal.
Helping Jamys this morning had dispelled all her worries. When she’d realized how weak he’d been, she hadn’t even hesitated. Watching him drink from the cut she’d made on her thigh had made her feel strangely protective, almost possessive. That had quickly turned into very divergent feelings as soon as his hands grasped her leg.