Page 43 of Soulmates
Headlights flash over his face, highlighting the planes and angles. He really is handsome, in a classic Italian kind of way. Against all odds, I’m still holding out a faint hope we have some fun before he crashes for the day.
I know. My priorities are screwed, right?
“It’s the most remote of all of Jacques’s houses.” He speaks slowly, like he’s still uncertain about his decision. “I think it’s our best bet.”
I’m going to have to take his word for it. After all, he’s the one who’ll burst into flames if the timing’s wrong. He makes a few random turns—at least they feel random, and I assume he’s trying to make it harder for anyone who might be following us—and then climbs up onto a freeway.
He’s driving like a demon and the silence starts to squash me. “So…” I should keep my mouth shut. “What’s up with that Connor guy anyway?”
The air between us hardens, crystalizes. I’m almost convinced he’s not going to answer.
“He’s dead.”
Two words say so much and don’t explain anything at all. The memory of Connor’s hands wrapped around my ribs turn his statement to a lie. Or does it? Could he be a zombie? I mean, I would have expected less expressiveness. Less warmth. I’m still puzzling when Trajan continues.
“Two years ago, he was shot outside my club.” He chews on his lower lip, and I’m torn between offering him comfort and leaving him alone so he’ll keep talking.
“I saw him, David.” The words ring with such anguish, for a moment I’m stunned.
Neither of us speaks, until Trajan rubs his mouth with an open palm. “We’d been together for five years, so the cops came to me to identify the body.”
“Oh, man.” Because when faced with real pain, I’m true to my college boy roots. I put a hand on his knee. Can’t help myself.
“Yeah.”
He goes silent again, and I figure touching him was the wrong idea. Even though I don’t want to do anything but sympathize with him, I can’t help but wonder how a vampire established enough of an identity for the cops to slot him in the next-of-kin roll.
There’s a puzzle here, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have all the pieces.
“Anyway.” The raw edge to his voice startles me as much as the fact that he’s still ready to talk. “I went to the morgue. I saw him on the slab. He was dead.” He grips my wrist hard enough to hurt. “Dead.”
A car comes buzzing up behind us, so close the headlights disappear from our rear window.Shit. Is this our tail?Trajan curses and changes lanes. The asshole drives on. It takes a minute or two for me to draw a deep breath.
Just an ordinary LA asshole.
The distraction gives me time to think. “I never knew a phouka could imitate death like that.”
“What?”
He glares like I’m barking instead of using words, but I don’t let his hit man demeanor discourage me.
“I smelled him, Trajan. The guy’s a phouka.”
“No.” He digs his nails into my wrist. I shake my hand, trying to break free. “Connor is human.”
I escape from his clutches. “Dude, he’s a supe. He is. Maybe he put a spell on you or something.” I mean, there had to be a reason for his state of denial.
He shakes his head, obviously unwilling to take this any further. I could tell him about the horse I saw the night of the cabin fire, but I let it go. If we ever do catch up with Connor, his nature will be made clear.
It’s all pretty fucking odd, though.
I check my phone. Three thirty a.m. The sky is still uniformly black, well, dark gray, really, from the city lights. The eastern edge might be a shade lighter gray. “How much farther?”
Trajan waits a couple of beats before he answers. “About half an hour.” The silence gets heavy again. I reach for the radio and find some bad pop music.Ariana Grande might make me want to stab someone, but she’s better than moody vampire.
“Wanna know something weird about this place we’re going?” His tone is deliberately light, like he’s picking up cues from the music.
“What’s that?”
