But the ruse wasn't necessary. Aidan had simply jimmied the lock to the housekeeping office door, which was conveniently hidden from guest view, and snagged the master key.
Armed with the required accessory, he simply walked casually, whistling, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts with Lyssa, who waited in the car with a fully loaded Glock in her lap.
In his mind's eye, he could see her—her lush mouth set in grim lines, her dark eyes hard and wary. He loved that she was compassionate and gentle by nature, but tough, smart, and willing to do whatever was necessary to keep them both alive.
He'd shared enough romance novel-based fantasies with Dreamers to know that not all women would manage their situation with as much practicality. Some would wail and cry and wait to be rescued.
Aidan paused before the correct door, noting the lack of light emanating from behind the curtains covering the large window. No one home. He was both pleased and not. At least if the Guardian had been inside, he would know her location. As it was, she could be anywhere. Or she could be somewhere—such as near Lyssa.
Withdrawing the key from his pocket, Aidan slipped it into the lock and turned. The mechanism tumbled open. He thrust the door wide and flicked the switch on the wall. The light on the table between the two beds came on, revealing one mattress covered in the spilled contents of a duffle bag and another pristinely made up. A little further past the sleeping area was a sink, mirror, and door to the bathroom.
The room was empty.
Stepping inside, Aidan shut the door behind him and kicked his foot at the bed skirt. The toe of his boot connected with hollow-sounding plywood, a cheaper alternative to traditional metal bed frames. No one could hide under the beds. He then moved toward the bathroom, checking there for possible ambush, before finally moving to the items of interest on the mattress—a comm unit, an assortment of maps and knives, and a data chip, which unfortunately lacked a reader.
Aidan took it all anyway, tossing everything back into the duffle. As he thrust his hand into the bag, he touched something hard and cold. His pulse rate leaped. He wrapped his fingers around the stem and withdrew it.
The taza. And inside that, something wrapped carefully in thick cloth. He pulled out the small bundle and opened it, finding a metallic object encrusted with dried dirt. Rubbing with his fingertips, Aidan revealed delicate filigree scrollwork. He had no idea what it was and wouldn't know until it was thoroughly cleaned, but its importance was obvious to his trained eye.
He rewrapped it and slipped it into his pocket, then returned his attention to the taza.
It looked just as it did in the renderings in the Elders' journal. A silver-like metal scarred by centuries, dented and bearing empty settings where jewels once decorated the lip. What purpose it served, he hadn't yet figured out, but it was his. In his possession. His mouth curved in a genuine smile that reflected the tiny sense of accomplishment he felt. He was another step closer to the truth. A truth that would hopefully set Lyssa free.
A quick search of the drawers and closet came up with little else. Some clothes and more spiked jewelry, like he'd seen the Guardian wearing earlier. Still no reader for the data chip. Sorry-assed luck, but something was better than nothing.
He looped the long handle of the bag over his shoulder and turned toward the door just as a key was heard pushing into the lock. Aidan froze for a heartbeat, his mind swiftly noting that the lights were on and clearly visible from the outside.
Dropping the bag, he crouched, preparing.
The door flew open in an explosion of movement and sound. His adversary lunged straight for him, her movements visible only as a blur of red hair and flowing black skirts. A scream of frightening volume and pitch rent the air, startling him and galvanizing him into action. Aidan sprung upward just as her body would have hit his. The opposing velocity of his attack jarred them both, the brutal impact forcing a grunt from him and a cry of something akin to rage from her.
They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. She was swinging punches and he was right there with her, fighting back, refusing to allow his brain to acknowledge her gender. It was her or him. He couldn't look at the altercation any other way.
She rolled him to his back, levering her torso up with one hand so that she could free her other for a downward punch. It was then that Aidan caught a quick glimpse of her face. A brief flash, but that was enough to shock him into stillness. Stunned, he didn't deflect her swing, taking the full force of her fist in his jaw.
The bite of pain snapped him out of his horror.
Feet flat to the floor, he bucked his hips upward, tossing her over his head. He rolled to his stomach and crawled atop her kicking feet, absorbing her barrage of blows with gritted teeth. His arm drew back and punched hard to her temple. It was an assault that would have knocked a large man out cold. The redhead only bared her fangs and hissed like a wild animal.
"What the hell?" Aidan growled, struggling to restrain the feral Guardian.
Together, they crashed into the nearby dresser hard enough to bang the furniture into the wall.
Her nails tore at the exposed flesh of his forearms and snared his shirt. The experience was unlike anything Aidan had ever experienced in centuries of living. The woman was possessed, unrelenting and somehow tapping into some power that allowed her to continue when anyone else would be unconscious.
In the end, he had only one choice.
Grimly determined, Aidan fought to maneuver into position and encircled her head with his arms. Then, twisting like he would a twist-top beer, he attempted to snap her neck. A task that should have taken less than a minute except she was unbelievably strong and snarling like a mad beast. White hot pain seared deep into his leg, giving him the final adrenaline surge he needed to Wrench her neck far enough. The splintering of her spinal cord reverberated through the room.
The resulting dearth of noise—broken only by his gasping, labored breathing—was chilling.
Aidan stared down at the lifeless body in his arms still mentally grappling with her eyes, which were solid black with no pupils or irises for relief, and her teeth, which were jagged and wickedly sharp within the gaping hole of her mouth.
Whatever the hell she was, she wasn't a Guardian.
That was for damn sure.
Aidan pushed to his feet and then stumbled back down onto one knee with a curse. Looking at his leg, he saw the dagger embedded there, explaining the vicious spear of pain he'd felt earlier.
"Damn it!"
Yanking the blade free of his thigh, Aidan ripped off a strip of the redhead's flowing black cotton skirt and tied it around as a makeshift bandage.
He would be fully healed by morning, but he had the interim to get through.
"Shit." He glared at the dead thing on the floor.
"How the fuck am I going to carry you out of here with my leg like this?"
But he couldn't leave her behind. She wasn't human, and he couldn't be indicted for murder.
Aidan pushed to standing again, leaning heavily against the television while the room spun. He was heaving in oxygen as if he'd run a damn marathon and now that the adrenal rush was abating slightly, he was becoming aware of the multitude of scratches and minor scrapes that wounded him. His leg hurt like hell, too.
Reaching down, he grabbed the duffle again. Then he slung the dead weight of his unwanted burden over his shoulder and exited the room.
He was several doors down when a group of dressed-to-impress young men rounded the corner in front of him and asked, "What's going on, man?"
"I told her to quit after the fifth shot," he explained, slowing his pace. "She wouldn't listen.
It all went to shit after that. I'm just hoping I make it to our room before she pukes down my back."
"Sucks to be you, dude," commiserated one of the guys. "The clubs are just starting to rock and your night is done. No pussy for you either, unless you ditch her."
"I wish I could," he said, meaning every word.
The rest of the group laughed and suggested he
"leave the bitch at home next time."
"Good idea," he muttered, continuing on.
It was a long hike from the room back to the rented dark green Honda Civic, a damn sight longer than the trip from the car to the room.
Lyssa hopped out upon seeing his approach, engaging the safety on the Glock before quickly tucking it into the waistband at the back of her jean shorts. Her shoulder-blade-length blonde hair was restrained in a ponytail and her taut abdomen was displayed by the cropped white T-shirt she wore. Her face was scrubbed clean and free of cosmetics, and Aidan was positive he'd never seen anything or anyone as beautiful in his life. He didn't regret anything he had to do to keep her safe.
"Oh
my
god."
She
blinked
rapidly.
"You're kidnapping her?"
"Something like that." He grunted as he stumbled over the uneven dirt road.
"What's wrong? Oh shit! Your leg's bleeding."
"Open the back door, Hot Stuff."
"Don't 'hot stuff me," she muttered, even as she hurried to obey him. "You're not supposed to get hurt!"
"Yeah, well, it's better than being dead like our friend here."
He could feel the wave of horror and confusion that moved through Lyssa.
"Jesus… she's dead? And you're putting her in the car?" She stood frozen, watching him arrange their passenger lengthwise across the seat. "What the hell am I saying?" she said finally, the high pitch of her voice the only sign of how deeply disturbed she was. "We have to take her with us.
We can't leave her here, can we?"
"No, we can't." Aidan backed out of the cramped backseat and straightened to face her. She was pale, her eyes too big, her lips colorless. For the first time, she was confronted with irrefutable proof of what he was—a warrior who killed as necessary. "Are you okay?"
Lyssa inhaled sharply, her gaze darting to the body in the car. Then she nodded. "Yeah."
"Are we okay?" he asked grimly.
She frowned, staring at him. Then her face cleared. "Yes. We're okay. I know you did this for me. For us. It was either you or her, right?"