The Undead Pool
Page 33

“Morning,” I said, arms swinging awkwardly, and he pulled himself up and out. He was wearing Jenks’s sweats from when he was human-size. And stubble. Whoa. The slight haze threw him into an entirely new category of yummy, and I stood there, blinking like an idiot as he rubbed his face, clearly knowing it had caught my attention.
“Morning,” he echoed, glancing at the clock to confirm it was still before noon. “Are you hungry?” He stood at the fridge, tugging at his sweats as if uncomfortable.
“She’s always hungry,” Jenks said. “You should see how this woman can eat!”
“Don’t you have something to do, Jenks?” I said, wondering what Trent would look like with a real beard. Stop it, Rachel.
“What . . .” Jenks complained. “I like a woman who eats.” Wings clattering, he went to the sink to check on his kids in the garden. “None of this prissy ‘Oh, just a salad. I’m watching my waistline.’ Hot dogs and milkshakes, baby! Give you energy for more important stuff.”
I shot Jenks a look to shut up before he could enumerate, and when he took a deep breath, I threw the dishcloth at him. Trent looked up at the noise, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “What looks good?” I said, trying for nonchalant as I went to stand at the fridge beside him. His stubble was reddish blond. Cool.
Trent’s eyes met mine, and suddenly unsure, I backed up, deciding to get some coffee. From the counter, the radio was running a list of closings. There were a lot, from social events to entire businesses. “I was thinking about French toast, but it has eggs in it,” Trent said, and I poured myself a cup of long-brewed coffee.
“Most days I can handle that much without a problem.” I leaned against the counter, a safe five feet between us. The mug was warm, and the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. I let a swallow slip down, waking me up. It was a good day, bright and sunny. It didn’t jibe with the serious tone of the announcer talking about the riots at the closed borders, and I wondered if Trent might go running with me sometime. He had the build for it. Then I frowned. Why would he want to go running with me? He had an entire private woods to run in where he wouldn’t have to dodge strollers or dog crap.
“Good coffee,” I said, and he came out of the fridge with a carton of eggs and milk.
“Jenks said you liked it dark,” he said, and then my head snapped up as Edden’s voice came over the radio.
“Hey, listen!” I said as I reached for the knob, and Jenks got over his dishcloth-induced sulk, coming to sit on my shoulder as we stared at the radio as if it were a TV.
“Let me say again,” Edden’s smooth voice said over the click of cameras. “The rumor that Cincinnati and the Hollows are closed due to a biological threat is false. After expert analysis of data gained last night, we can definitively say that the magic misfires and the inability of the undead to wake is not biological, but a calculated attack on the undead by a fringe organization called the Free Vampires. Outside help is being obtained, but until we resolve this, Cincinnati and the Hollows will remain locked down with no entry or exit. We don’t want those responsible for this getting out of our jurisdiction.”
The reporters shouted questions, and I looked at Trent, knowing Inderlanders would respond badly to being fenced in no matter what the reason.
“Listen to me!” Edden shouted, and they all shut up. “I know this isn’t popular, but we are confident that the people responsible are still in Cincinnati or the Hollows. I’m asking everyone to calm down and be cooperative, and for God’s sake, don’t go targeting your neighbors because they have fangs. We’ve got a hotline set up if you think you have something we need to know, and I’m confident—”
I turned the radio off, arms around my middle. And the day had started so nice, too. “Edden told them,” I said, surprised. “They must be out of leads.”
“Either that or they were worried about a panic that a new virus was killing the undead. You know how sensitive everyone is about that.” Catching back a snort, I nodded. He was looking at my bare feet, and I tried to hide one under the other. “It was Bancroft’s idea to break the news,” he said as his gaze rose to my spelling pots hanging over the center island counter. “I phoned the data to him last night. He says thank you.”
Bancroft? My suspicion rose. “Always glad to help,” I said, watching how Trent’s hand entirely encompassed the bottom of my smallest spelling pot as he gently lifted it free of the hook, but my notion to tell him not to cook with it slipped away as I remembered seeing him last year, wet from the shower, a towel around his hips and his hair clinging to his face. His abs had been beautiful, his waist trim, and his skin taut as he moved. “And?” I said, hiding behind my cup.
“Moving you to the ever-after won’t solve anything.”
“Oh, thank all that is holy,” I said, slumping. “Ah, not that I wouldn’t have.”
He smiled, and I slid to the side so he could throw the shells away. Jenks was using both hands to work the twist tie on the bread bag, and I belatedly got a plate down, feeling like a fifth wheel.
“Thanks,” Trent said. “I hope you don’t mind me using your exercise bike. I needed to stretch out after last night. I’ve not ridden like that in a long time.”
I dropped my eyes before they caught his. His mood was pinging on my subconscious. Something was on his mind other than breakfast. I had a feeling I knew what it was, and I didn’t want to talk about it. “You used Ivy’s machine? It’s a good one, isn’t it.”
From the sink Jenks’s wings hummed in discontent. His kids must be up to mischief. “Hey, I owe you, cookie man,” Jenks said as Trent found a fork to beat the eggs with. “It would have taken me all summer to move those rocks.”
“I said I’d help you with that,” I said, and Jenks’s dust shifted to an annoyed orange.
“Like I said, all summer,” he said to make me feel guilty. Trent, though, was all smiles.
“My pleasure. I don’t count us even, yet. Moving rocks isn’t payment enough for your help last year.”
Stealing his daughter, I thought, wondering if it had really only been a year. “Can I help with anything?” I asked, needing something to do so I’d stop thinking about stuff.
“No, I’ve got it,” he said as he took a pan from under the counter and set it on the stove.
“I’m not used to people making me breakfast,” I said as I sat at the table. Jenks was watching me as if I was doing something wrong, and I made a what? face, switching back to a bland smile when Trent came up from eyeing the flame under the pan.
“I hope you don’t mind I just hung out here this morning. Ivy wasn’t back yet and you were sleeping. I didn’t want to simply leave.” He touched the inside of the pan once, then again, clearly dissatisfied with the temp. “I like your church. It’s quiet, but in a good way. Not lonely.”
Jenks frowned at me, and I had no idea why. “Excuse me,” he said, his tone almost caustic as he flew out the kitchen.
Whatever. “Thanks,” I said as Trent crossed his arms and stifled a yawn. It was nearing noon. Time for all good pixies and elves to siesta. I wasn’t all that rested myself. Sleep had been hard to find, and fleeting. There was an unfamiliar laptop and a mug of coffee beside me, and I glanced at Ivy’s spot at the table. The laptop was shiny enough to be hers, but she’d just gotten a new one. “Yours?” I asked.
Trent held his hand over the pan and pulled back. “Quen had it couriered over. Cincy is locked down, but there’re a few ways in and out of the Hollows yet if you know the back roads. Oh, that reminds me,” he said as he almost danced to the table and picked up a set of keys and jingled them. “Your car is in the carport.”
“Thanks!” I said, stuffing them in my front pocket. My car wasn’t just a car, it was my freedom, and he knew it. “At least now you know you can get Tulpa home,” I said. But then guilt hit me, and I set my mug aside. “Trent, I’m so sorry you lost Red—”
Head shaking, Trent reached for the egg mixture. “It’s my fault. Carlton said she wasn’t ready. I disagreed. He was right. Ten to one Newt has her.”
“Even so, she’s still lost. She must be worth a fortune.”
“And then some,” he admitted, face grim. “I can’t believe I fell off her.”
“I’m really sorry. If Newt does have her, I’ll see about getting her back.”
Head down over the egg mix, he sighed. “I’d appreciate that.”
I eased back in my chair, an odd feeling rising through me. I’d heard Trent say those words half a dozen times a day, and every time he meant it, but this time it was about something he couldn’t buy or fix, and he knew I’d offered because it was important to him and I just wanted him to be . . . happy.
I’m not doing this! I thought, panicking even as the warm feeling born from caring about someone suffused me. Beyond the walls of my church, all hell was breaking loose. I didn’t have time to fall in love. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since anyone made me breakfast,” I said, almost whispered, really, as I tried to get a handle on this. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” The snap of the nutmeg top was loud. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone I’ve wanted to cook for. You look content in the early light.”
My thoughts swung back to Landon’s threats, and I made myself rise to get more coffee. “Seriously?” I said lightly. “I’ve not even been able to get through my hair yet. Burnt amber seems to bring out the worst in it.”
He was coming over to me, and I backed up, my spine hitting the counter. “I like it like that,” he said, not looking at me as he pulled open a cupboard and took down a large plate to soak the bread in. “All out like a lion’s mane. Comfortable. Wild.”
Wild. He liked my hair. My heart pounded, and my stomach felt funny. “Trent,” I said softly, and his eyes fixed on mine. He was so close the light caught in his stubble and the scent of him drifted through my awareness.
“You kept my ring,” he said. “Why?”
“You want it back?” I was flushing, and he caught my arm as I reached for it. Tingles fed upon themselves, rising to find my core where the sensation settled in to grow.
“I’m glad you did.” He set the plate down, and I held my breath. His grip on my wrist was tight but not imprisoning.
“Trent, maybe Landon is right. You have responsibilities and I understand that.” What am I doing? “So do I.”
Still, he moved closer, and my heart pounded when he looked at my lips. “Landon who?”
My eyes widened when his long hand slid across my cheekbone as he leaned across the space between us and brazenly kissed me. “Mrent,” I mumbled, shocked, but he pulled me to him with a sudden tug. A spike of desire dove through me, fueled by the demand of his hand on my waist. His lips moved against mine, and the scent of him plinked through me. My eyes closed, and I leaned into him, little drops of feeling sparking wherever his fingers touched, wherever my hands found him. His stubble was prickly, and the newness of it was thrilling.
Oh God, it was the best kiss yet, and my toes pressed into the floor as I leaned into him. His hand slipped behind my neck, the slight hint of a tightening grip bringing my fervor to a sudden and unexpected pitch.
It took everything I had to pull from his lips, and even as I did, I felt a new desire layering itself over the old, soaking in where it would linger in my thoughts. I could say nothing, the long length of our bodies touching, his hand at my neck and back, mine at his waist. The heat of desire was in his eyes, and I could hardly breathe, imagining what it would be like to have him—have everything. Right now.
“I enjoyed last night,” he said softly, the words making me shiver, though it might be the sensation of his fingers hinting at pulling me back to him. “Riding,” he added, a gentle pressure building between us. “You before me. I’m glad you stayed on this time.” He smiled.
“Me too,” I whispered. “I wish . . .” His fingers eased their pressure, and I looked away. “I wish things were different,” I said, then held my breath as I looked up at him, regret tightening the corners of my eyes. “You have everything waiting for you. I don’t want to ruin that.”
Trent’s expression became empty, and I pulled away, hating myself.
“Please don’t close up,” I begged, but his hands had fallen away, and I took them in my own. “Talk to me.”
Exhaling, he looked up from our joined hands. “No, you’re right.” His focus blurred at the sound of a motorcycle at the curb. “I should listen to the people whose experience I value. I don’t want to hit the ground again. Excuse me. Quen is coming in about an hour with a horse trailer. I’d like to be showered by then. Do you mind?”
There was no regret in his tone, no accusation. Nothing. “No, go ahead,” I said, and he nodded and turned away.
My throat was tight as I looked at that damn skillet on the stove, now radiating heat waves. The door to the bathroom clicked shut, and hunched, I turned to the window. My stomach hurt, and I held it. The passion of that kiss still rang through me. Stopping it had been the right thing to do. It had! I was not going to be his mistress. I was better than that.
“You are a blind fool, Rache,” Jenks said from the archway to the hall, and I spun, wiping the hint of moisture from my eyes.