If she weren’t such a coward, she would confront him with her feelings. But that could place them both in an untenable position. More was at stake here than her bruised heart and pathetic pride. She had found him. She had helped him find himself, his true nature, and now she was bringing him home. He needed her. She truly believed that.
She blinked fiercely. She had to believe it, or everything she’d risked up to this moment was for nothing.
But she wasn’t like him. He lived in the moment, carefree, confident, so sure of himself, while she planned and she worried and she.
Slept.
She was sleeping. Good.
Iestyn figured Lara deserved a rest. She wasn’t the type to take things easy. Even riding beside him in the passenger seat, she was revved. He could practical y hear her mind turning over, her body coiled tight as an overwound spring.
She needed to learn to relax.
The tangle of traffic smoothed out after Boston. New Hampshire passed in a blur of lottery bil boards and liquor warehouses set against a background of pines. In the sunlit fields, flocks of birds gathered and rose as if it were already fal.
As they approached the Maine border, the road curved in a gentle sweeping turn to the right. The thick green girders of a bridge arched against the blue sky and over a broad river. The scent of the tidal inlet rose and smacked him.
The smel of the sea.
His throat clenched. His soul soared. Against the basin of rock, the water shone, deep blue-green and impossibly clear.
Lara whimpered in her sleep. He glanced over. The shadow of the bridge flickered across her face.
Nightmares, he thought. No surprise, after the past twenty-four hours.
He wondered if last night had stirred some old, bad memories to life. The thought twisted his gut. He’d been as gentle as he knew how to be. But despite her unfeigned physical response, she’d been quick to dismiss the possibility of a replay.
Because of demons, she said.
Or did she regret making love with him?
His jaw set. He couldn’t send her back. He couldn’t take her back. The girl was demon bait. Not safe with him, but definitely unsafe alone.
Another soft, distressed sound escaped her throat. Without thinking, he lifted a hand from the steering wheel and laid it on her knee. His kind only touched to fight or to mate, acts of passion. But Lara woke something deeper inside him, an urge to comfort, a need to protect. To possess.
Her eyes opened suddenly, bril iant gray.
Their gazes locked. A look burned between them, bright and clear as the sky arching overhead, powerful as the river rushing over the rocks below. Under the brim of her bal cap, her face flushed.
He looked away, unaccountably shaken, to focus on the road.
“I can’t believe I fel asleep,” she said huskily.
She needed a little rest after yesterday. After last night.
Flashback to her smooth bare legs, her bra-less breasts, her voice saying, “I thought if I slept with you, we could both get some rest. ”
He cleared his throat. “It’s the adrenaline.”
Her winged brows rose. “I thought adrenaline made you alert. Survival instinct. Fight or flight.”
High in the sky, a black speck circled, joined by another and another. Crows, he thought. Or gul s, black against the sun.
“In the short term, yeah.” He slid his hand from her knee, gripping the steering wheel, fol owing the narrowing, winding road away from the Interstate. “But sooner or later, your body crashes. You can’t live tensed up al the time.”
“Unless being aware of the danger is what keeps you alive.”
His attention sharpened. He glanced over at her again.
“Are you picking up on something? Some demon thing?”
She moved her shoulders restively. “No. Not exactly.”
The back of his neck prickled. “No? Or not exactly?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. It’s just a. feeling. Not very useful,” she added apologetical y.
She didn’t give herself enough credit. He wanted to chase the frustration from her face, the shadows from her eyes. “A hol ow feeling?”
“Not real y. More like a—”
He rol ed over her. “Because you’re probably just hungry.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Hungry.”
The edge in her voice made him grin. She’d be okay now.
“We’ve been on the road over five hours,” he pointed out.
“We need to refuel.”
The coastal road was strung with smal, bright settlements like lobster buoys in the water. On the outskirts of the next town, he spotted a sign. sherman’s clam shack.
home of the 24 hour bkfst. He pul ed into the narrow parking lot that wrapped around the side, out of sight behind an eighteen-wheeler.
A line of crows perched along the low-pitched roof. He tugged on the door, making the bel inside jangle. One of the birds launched noisily into the air.
Lara shivered as she slid past him. What had she said?
“If I go back now, I’ll be cleaning birdcages the rest of my life. ”
The smel of gril ed onions and fried clams, maple syrup and strong coffee, met them at the door. The wal s were paneled, the counters faded yel ow linoleum, the floor worn past recognition. A smal TV flickered beside the pie case, its volume turned low enough to blend with the hiss of the fryer.
Three men hunched at the counter, an older guy with grizzled brown hair under a red bandanna, a stocky guy with weary eyes in a weathered face, a younger one, muscled, confident, with tattoos poking from beneath his flannel shirt.
Al three turned their heads as Lara walked in.
Appreciative. Assessing.
Iestyn put a hand at the smal of her back, sending a clear signal. Mine.
The young guy continued to stare until Stocky gave him a nudge.
Iestyn steered Lara to a booth between an elderly couple and a family — father, mother, toddler, kid — occupying a table of dirty plates and wadded-up napkins.
Iestyn sat Lara with her back to the counter, slid in where he could watch the door. Lara craned to look over her shoulder.
“Babe,” he said mildly. “Take a menu.”
“I want to see his tattoo.”
He shot a glance behind her at the young guy, who was back to watching Lara with narrowed, intense eyes.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to show you al his tattoos. But then he might want to inspect yours.”
“I don’t have any. Oh.” She flushed and twisted back around.
Too late.
Young Guy started forward and was blocked by Stocky.
Shit. No time to retreat. No room to react. Iestyn got to his feet as the grizzled man in the bandanna approached their table, uncomfortably aware of the kids in the next booth, the mother dipping her napkin in her water glass to wipe the toddler’s hands and mouth.
“Haven’t seen you in here before,” Bandanna Man said.
And you never will again, Iestyn thought.
“Just passing through,” he said easily.
“What do you want?”
Lara opened her mouth.
“Short stack, two eggs over easy, and coffee,” Iestyn said quickly before she could speak. “Milk, no sugar.”
“What?”
He sighed. “We’re not looking for trouble. Just breakfast.”
He could see the waitress, a wide woman with a shock of peachy curls, waiting with her pad by the coffeepots, as obviously deadened to disputes as she was to peeling linoleum or the crumbs the kid in the next booth was grinding into the floor.
Bandanna Man shifted his weight, clearly il at ease.