Rest For The Wicked(8)

That dark need surged through him. “I will do whatever you ask, Natasha.”

“Of course you will.” She slid long fingers down his cheek, leaving a trail of ice and pain. “And she will wait, for tomorrow. Tonight there is time for a bit of harmless mischief. So many ways to play with these humans, who think they have the power of gods. Come; I will need your help with this.”

She led him down the street to another store, the green velvet dress she wore sliding over every lush curve. Lust drowned the pain of her touch.

The display in the window screamed New Age, in a way that was tacky and overblown. This store was closed as well, but she laid her free hand on the knob, and it twisted open.

Eric followed her inside, assaulted by the smell of too much incense, too many scented candles, and the stench of patchouli weaving through all of it. She flicked her hand, and the door closed behind him.

Heart pounding, he let her pull him along, stopping in front of a wall of candles.

“Ah—this will be fun.” The glee in her voice twisted his stomach. She let go of his hand, took two of the decorative hairpins from the display on the counter next to her. Handing one of them to him, she picked up the first candle, turned it over. A few quick strokes and she had a symbol carved into the pink wax. “Look at it. Memorize it.” He obeyed, the loops and lines burning into his mind. “Now, help me mark the candles. All of them. Then, my darling Eric, we are going to go play.”



*



Annie was reaching for her phone when Dust in the Wind rolled out of her open purse.

“Claire? Where are you? I was about to call out the cavalry—”

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Her voice sounded—old. “I had a difficult customer right before closing. Do you mind going it alone tonight?”

“You don’t want me to come over?”

“No.” The denial came too fast. “A rock would be better company right now. Have a good time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Claire hung up before Annie could get in another word. With a sigh, Annie dropped the phone back in her purse, then signaled the waitress. She needed another beer. Then she needed to think twice before she barged over to Claire’s and demanded the truth from her. Knowing Claire, she would shut Annie down with an “I’m tired” line and gently maneuver her out the door.

She had always been a pro at avoiding.

“Damn it, Claire, I’m not going to let you—”

“We meet again.”

Annie jumped, then slowly turned on the high stool. And looked into the most spectacular pair of green eyes.

“Hey—I don’t know . . .” Her voice faded as she stared into his eyes, watched them change from green to gold when he smiled. Her heart started doing somersaults when he sat down next to her and took her hand. “Hi.”

“Hello, Annie.” His deep voice had a rough edge to it, like he smoked a little too much. Or a lot too much. She didn’t care—she just wanted him to keep talking. “Do you remember me?”

“I—” If she said the wrong thing, gave the wrong answer, he might leave— “Do I have to?”

His laugh curled around her. “We can become reacquainted. You’re not meeting anyone here?”

“Not anymore. A friend,” she added, to keep him from thinking she had a date. Or worse, that she’d been stood up. “She had a long day.”

“The festival.” He nodded, his gaze on her. “It can be taxing, so many people in such a small place. You were kind to let her rest without guilt.” He looked away, and it felt like she had been snapped out of a trance. “Will you walk with me?”

Annie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“Sure.” Oh great, Annie—scintillating conversation. She better step up her game, or he would think she was a drooling idiot. “The beach is quiet this time of night.”

“Come, then.” He settled one hand at her waist as she slid off the stool, and guided her through the shimmying crowd to the door. “I don’t believe I had the chance to introduce myself when we met earlier.” He led her out the door, then stopped under one of the Art Nouveau streetlamps. The soft light set off shimmering strands of gold in his dark hair, drew shadows under his high cheekbones. He tilted her chin up and smiled. “I am Marcus.”

“Hi.” Her throat felt as dry as a desert. The same desert gold she saw swirling in his eyes— Annie blinked, and warm, jade green eyes studied her, concern in their depths. “Sorry—did you just—never mind.” She took his hand and moved to the crosswalk. “The beach is waiting.”