Something Wild This Way Comes Read online

  It fit perfectly.

  Tears pricked her eyes. He couldn't be serious. They barely knew each other! If this was his way of flirting, it hurt.

  Uncertain why she was so quiet, for he'd intended the ring to make her happy, he lifted her chin and gently asked, “Don't you think you deserve it, sweet one?"

  No. Andrea sniffed, unable to answer him truthfully without sounding pathetic. “I can't afford it.” She winced. Even that sounded pitiful. “At least not right now,” she qualified it in an attempt to save face.

  He flashed her a heart-melting smile. “No problem. My treat.” While she stuttered and stammered, he paid the jeweler and took her hand, towing her out of the shop.

  Overwhelmed by his show of generosity and uncertain what he expected in repayment, she persisted, “Mathin, I can't accept this. Really, it's far too much."

  He stopped and held her wrists gently down to keep her from removing the ring. “If you return it you will rob me of my pleasure in giving it, besides being unspeakably rude. Is this your intention?"

  Stung, she urgently shook her head and opened her mouth to protest.

  Mathin put his fingers over her lips. “No more.” Both his tone and expression brooked no argument.

  Resigned to the guilty pleasure of owning such an expensive keepsake, she nodded and said no more.

  The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “I would accept a thank you, however."

  She laughed in embarrassment at his prompting. “Thank you. It's very pretty."

  He winked. “I knew you liked it.” Taking her hand, he led her towards the doors.

  "What about the groceries?” she asked, reminding him of their errand.

  "First we shop for the house. Weren't you supposed to buy furnishings? When you are finished we can purchase groceries."

  So Andrea drove to Kmart.

  An hour and much shopping later she shook her head in dismay. “We're never going to fit all this stuff in the car.” In addition to new bedspreads, throw pillows and rugs she'd also bought a selection of kitchen equipment at Mathin's urging. There was no way that the Diablo would ever accommodate it all.

  "We'll have it delivered,” was his calm reply. “Surely they have such services here. In the meantime, why don't we find a place to eat? You've had little all day, and I am hungry."

  She smiled. Though he hadn't complained, it wasn't hard to tell that he was getting tired of shopping. But then, he'd looked disappointed since viewing the gun counter. “There's probably a delicatessen at Fred Meyer's if you're not picky. If we go there we can be finished much more quickly."

  "Done.” Relieved to be quit of this place and its depressing selection of weaponry, he made arrangements for delivery and then escorted Andrea to the car. He couldn't help a frown as she slid behind the wheel. Driving was one of the things he would have to learn if he stayed here much longer.

  Would he want to? He looked around at the street lights and passing cars as he considered the question. This world was very different from his own, and he would not like to give up the chance to visit the Darklands if he were to make such a decision.

  Fallon seemed content enough straddling two worlds, and although he'd come along as a curious visitor, Mathin couldn't help but wonder how he'd feel about that. Certainly it would take more study than the overview he'd absorbed about Earth before their journey here.

  Not that he'd want to be the ambassador Fallon was. Long ago Fallon's father had volunteered to be a diplomat between the Haunt who'd left and those who'd stayed behind, keeping the door open for any who wished to migrate. Naturally Fallon had inherited the duties when his father had passed on, and he seemed to enjoy them.

  Occasionally, though, there was trouble here that demanded finesse and a strong arm to solve, such as criminal Haunt wishing to cross over to escape prosecution. At such times Fallon had to deal with the difficulties—often alone—and did so with expertise. Mathin knew he wouldn't have the patience. His way was much more direct.

  As Andrea was discovering. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, this woman he'd decided to make his. A mass of fear bubbled just below her surface, and any threat to her control over the safe, contained life she'd planned for herself brought it plunging upward through the dark waters of her mind, ready to fight. She didn't even realize how afraid she was of letting go and trusting her instincts, of letting someone else guide events.

  He understood that. As a warrior he needed to be in control of himself and his actions at all times. The difference was that he knew he couldn't control others, only react. A man could choose to be Mathin's enemy or his friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. A woman could desire him on sight or despise him for his reputation, and all he could do was accept.

  Andrea did not accept; not her desire for him or the control he was about to exercise in her life. His calculated confession had opened up the expected vulnerability in her, made her consider him with new eyes. And she feared it.

  His jaw tightened as he acknowledged that fact. She was not used to pursuit, and his determined hunt confused her, tore her between what she wanted and what she thought she needed. Not that he was going to back off. Instinct guided him here, as it had all his life. What they had between them was meant to be.

  She would adapt.

  Andrea wasn't thinking about adapting or even Mathin at that moment. Instead she focused on the ridiculous turn her life was taking. Here she was, driving a cherry-red sports car on an errand to buy groceries for a man she barely knew. The wildness of it made her smile. What else did the future have in store for her?

  The grocery expedition went flawlessly. Mathin was a helpful, though often silent, companion. It was easy to appreciate his lack of conversation when her attention was on filling her shopping list. Besides, dealing with the covetous looks of several of the female shoppers was bad enough. Not that Mathin did anything to attract them, she admitted to herself with a quiet sigh as he passed her, giving her an excellent view of his black clad derriere. With a body like that, all he had to do was breathe.

  It was as they were loading their bags into the car that she felt it. Someone was watching them.

  Mathin felt her freeze and instantly turned to investigate. “What is it?” he asked as he scanned first her pale face and then the parked cars. Sun sparkled off chrome and glass, distorting any shadows within.

  "I ... someone's.... “she trailed off as the feeling intensified. There. Her vision narrowed on a very unattractive woman who watched them from the passenger side of a slowly passing truck.

  She had no eyebrows, and something blunt had flattened her nose at an angle. Her hair was unkempt and straggled around her face. It was her sad, deranged eyes that held Andrea spellbound, however. That and the way the woman gripped the side of the door, as if holding herself far away from the shadowy man driving the truck.

  Terror gripped Andrea hard, tugged at her. She knew instinctively that the woman was sending her a warning. Whatever held this stranger in thrall, it wanted Andrea, too, and she—

  "Come,” Mathin ordered her as he gripped her arm and escorted her to the driver's side door. He had more than a passing idea who the woman might be, and he wanted Andrea out of there, fast.

  Sudden urgency filled her, and Andrea wove out of traffic as quickly as possible, fleeing the fear that dogged her. The moment they were free of traffic her foot flattened on the accelerator, sending the scenery blurring by.

  Still and silent beside her, Mathin didn't say a word. All his attention was for the rear view mirror as he made certain they weren't followed. Not that it would make a difference if they weren't; not at this point. The old sylph had seen them, and willing or not, she would be telling her masters all about Andrea.

  Fallon had shown him the file on all known sylphs, of which there were roughly seventy-five. Even without the pictures, though, Mathin would have known her by the way she drew Andrea's attention and her reaction.

  The Haunt knew all about s
ylphs out of necessity, since knowledge often meant the difference between death and survival. Any sylph could identify another, thanks to their unique characteristics. It was said to be a magnetic repulsion, a feeling of wrongness yet sisterhood that guided them. For this very reason Andrea could be a very effective tool for sniffing out other sylphs. Unfortunately it also put her in danger from their masters, for the cults that used them didn't care if a woman was willing.

  Mathin didn't have to ask to know that Andrea would not be. Even if she discovered the true nature of the Haunt and feared it, she would never seek to destroy them, not once she was assured that they were no threat.

  It was giving her that reassurance that would be tricky.

  Panic slowly faded to a sense of foolishness as Andrea put away the groceries less than an hour later. Mathin had helped her bring the sacks into the kitchen and then disappeared—not that she blamed him. She grimaced and paused, absently cradling a small canister of sugar-free cocoa to her chest. He must think she was pretty weird just now, though thankfully he hadn't said as much.

  The canister thumped against the counter-top as she set it aside and rustled through the plastic bags. The extra order of kung pao chicken and eggrolls Mathin had requested from the deli was on the bottom. A frown tugged at her brows as she considered the white cartons. For a man comfortable with chopsticks he'd been surprisingly ignorant of Chinese food. It was a sure bet he wasn't oriental—and neither was Fallon, for that matter. So where had they acquired a taste for foreign cutlery? Had they spent time in Asia?

  For that matter, what did the two of them do for a living? Her grandmother had never said, but then, she'd never mentioned Mathin, either. Were they related? Business associates? Friends?

  One question raised others until she forgot all about the morning's excitement. Just who was she living with, anyway?

  Mathin did not have the luxury of forgetting.

  "That one,” he told Fallon, swiveling the laptop so his friend could clearly see the face on the screen. “According to her file she's been with her cult six years now. Four Haunt kills to her record."

  "A poor pawn then. Either that or the Haunt here are more wily that we thought."

  "Or she resists.” Mathin didn't flinch a Fallon's doubtful look. “She wouldn't be the first. Are you going to take care of her or send her name to the elders here to deal with?” He didn't comment on Fallon's expression of distaste. Killing women wasn't something either of them relished, but not all Haunt felt that way, not when entire communities could be wiped out by one Haunt-sniffing, cult-controlled sylph.

  Reporting her location would be the same as putting a sniper's bullet in her brain.

  "It's not as if she could be returned to her family,” Fallon said quietly. “It's the first place the cult would look. Nor can I offer her a refuge, should she want it. Not in my position."

  There was a moment of silence. “What if there were a way to take the sylph out of the sylph? Or at least mute the damage."

  Fallon frowned and propped his hip on the desk. “I'm listening."

  Mathin sat back and steepled his fingers, thinking out loud. “Remember Leo? Jasmine's human friend from the swamps? She used her symbiont to make her body produce the sylph pheromone for a time. If she could do that then perhaps she also knows a way to reverse the process."

  Fallon shook his head. “You're talking about a long shot and a prolonged journey to the swamps, Mathin. And this is assuming that the old woman wants your help."

  His eyes darkened. “The risk of your being caught by her keepers is not one I'm willing to take. Not with your knowledge of the crossing zone between our worlds.” The sylph had the ability to command a man under their influence to do nearly anything, given enough time. Their pheromones twined around the mind, muddied it so much that Haunt could and would reveal everything they knew about the location of others of their kind, aiding in their capture. That was what made the sylph so dangerous, and so feared. If one got her hands on Mathin....

  That disaster didn't bear discussion.

  "The best thing we can do at the moment is to move Andrea out of harm's way.” He shared a sardonic look with Mathin. “If you can find a way to do that without moving her to murder or sending her into hysterics, I'd appreciate it. After all, I'm the one who'll have to deal with inquiries from her friends."

  "Just tell them Andrea eloped with a rich landowner. If she doesn't write they'll likely assume she's consumed with her new life and forgotten them."

  "Will it be true?"

  "If I have my way.” He inclined his head and met Fallon's measured gaze with calm assurance. “She wants me, Fallon. I would not have considered this otherwise. I know it's the right move."

  Fallon considered him. He wasn't as close to him as his cousin Keilor was, but he knew something about the man. Something more than desire was guiding him. “Is it one of your premonitions?"

  "A strong one,” Mathin agreed. And he always honored his special instincts. They were part of what made him one of the most powerful warriors of the Haunt.

  Satisfied, Fallon smiled. “Then I suggest you start wooing your woman, soldier.” His grin grew wicked. “After all, it's going to take more than a liking for your pretty face to keep her from shooting you after she discovers what you are."

  Chapter 3

  "You like stories?"

  The theme song of Star Trek began to play as the credits rolled. Andrea snapped off the TV, looked up from her prone position on the couch and drew her feet up to give Mathin a seat on the end. “Doesn't everyone?"

  The cushions compressed a little as they absorbed his weight. Without asking permission he drew her feet into his lap. Ignoring her warning scowl, he moved aside the end of throw that covered her and massaged the ball of her foot with his thumbs.

  The scowl melted to a look of reluctant bliss.

  Satisfied, Mathin gently rotated his fingers, drawing forth a small moan. “Good. I'd like to tell you a story. It's a tale from ... my country."

  One green eye cracked open. “And where is that, exactly?"

  Using pleasure to distract her he shifted his grip, manipulating the center of her foot.

  "Ohhh ... yeah, right there. Harder,” she breathed.

  Her lips parted in pleasure, and it was very difficult to hold his tongue. A mischievous grin curved his lips. She had no idea how suggestive she was being, and he wasn't about to tell her. He'd have to remember this.

  He shifted on the couch, drawing one leg up to face her more fully as made himself comfortable on the cushions they'd bought earlier. “Many years ago there existed on this world a race of people known as the Haunt. They were a special race, different from humans but not so different that they couldn't live in peace."

  Andrea's eyes opened wide as she gave him her full attention.

  He stopped massaging her foot and simply held it. “But the humans feared the Haunt, calling them monsters and accusing their race of savagery because they feared the Haunt's strength. To preserve their people—for their numbers were small—the Haunt withdrew into secret pockets to protect themselves."

  He held up a hand when she shifted, questions dancing in her expressive eyes.

  She settled back.

  "But this was not enough for the most fearful and blood-hungry of the humans. They found ways to sniff out and murder the shape-changing Haunt whenever they could. One of their best weapons was a human mutation they called a sylph.

  A sylph was always a woman, and she had a special gift—a pheromone that drove the Haunt male wild with lust for her, causing him to lose control of his very will."

  Andrea smiled, but it faded as he went on soberly, “These women were used by warlords and some powerful cults to hunt down the Haunt. Once they had a male in their possession, the sylph used her gift to force information out of him, discovering the location of his family.

  To ensure that it was a Haunt male that responded to the pheromone and not some lovesick human, the sylphs we
re disfigured or masked so that their faces could never influence their quarry."

  She flinched, and he sympathized. It made it more difficult knowing that fate could befall her if the cults got to her. “Many Haunt died this way. To defend themselves and stop the slaughter of their families, some Haunt began assassinating any known sylphs. Others searched for another way.

  They found it. One Haunt, a prospector, discovered a doorway between worlds. The world he discovered was a place of beauty, yet danger. Best of all, as far as he knew it was unclaimed. He told his people about this world, which he called the Darklands, and many of them chose to leave Earth with him and settle there. The ones who chose to stay elected an ambassador, a man to serve as an emissary between worlds, should any of them ever choose to leave Earth. The Haunt who crossed over conquered the Darklands, and flourish there to this day."

  Andrea scooted upward and drew her knees up, the better to question him. “You said they were shape-changers. What did they turn into?"

  "Werewolves.” A short laugh of surprise escaped her, but his expression didn't change. “They weren't moon-changing blood-thirsty murderers, Andrea, but men and women with families and children. The change was just an adaptation to their world that gave them strength and speed and heightened their senses. Their wounds healed quickly, and they lived longer than humans. For that the world was ready to slaughter them."

  Moved, she lowered her eyes. “I'm sorry to hear that. Is this a parable?"

  Instead of answering directly, he asked, “Would you like to see the door between worlds? It's not far from here."

  Her eyes widened, and then she laughed. She shook her head at him, nudged him playfully with her foot. “You almost had me going there for a minute. I'll give you this, you tell a good story."

  He caught the foot, raised a brow. “Do you fear the Haunt? I won't let them hurt you."

  "I'd rather not risk it. They don't sound too fond of my kind.” She giggled as his thumb stroked her insole, tickling her. She twisted and pushed against him with her other foot. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her down flat and leaned over her.