Wild Side (Dark Side Series: Book 2)

Five

In the end the bedroom was several steps too far while the couch was just a few less. Come morning, by the time I'd rolled off the cushions and dragged myself into the kitchen, Luciano had figured out how to brew a pot of coffee. The sweet, nutty scent had me up before my boyfriend had the chance to pour a cup for himself. 

"How'd you sleep?" he asked me, bright blue eyes concerned and slightly red. His hair was damp. A touch of chlorine lingered on the chin I leaned up to kiss. Last night I'd left him to swim after about an hour; he'd either been up in the water all night, or had returned to the pool for an early morning dip. 

"I know I slept," I said, reaching around him for a mug, "but I feel like I've been trampled by a raging stampede of nightmares." My eyes hurt. My head was pounding. And every time I glanced over at the man busy turning his drink into coffee-flavored milk, I was expecting the wendigo's toothy smile. 

Luc grimaced. "Yikes," he said, brushing the hair from my cheek. "The night softened a lot."

"Thanks," I said tartly, itching my forearm. The only good thing about the whole situation was that I was in my screened home, at least for a day or two, just long enough for any bumps and swellings to dim and recede.

"I shouldn't have been so eager to jump your bones—"

"It's fine," I said, borrowing the milk after a quick sniff test; it seemed as though Luc had just bought it for today. That was nice of him. And it made me feel worse, knowing the wringer I was about to put him through. "Listen, I put you on the spot last night. In the light of day, I want you to know you don't have to get involved any further. You don't want to be on this thing's radar. Nothing good has come to anyone associated with it."

A silken voice rolled through my mind. Except you, my young dusk witch.

The hair on my neck rose. I looked around the room slowly, but there neither cat nor wendigo stood visible in my kitchen.

Luc regarded me with a puzzled frown. "Then who will get this shield for you?"

"I'll do it myself." Skeptical, he raised an eyebrow. I took a swig of hot coffee to melt away my fears. "Zakar chose you specifically. He knew where you'd be and when. I'm sure you weren't the first encantado on his list."  

"You think I want another of my kind helping you? What if they are prettier than me?" he asked, resting a hand on his chest in feigned dismay. His blue eyes twinkled. "No, meu xodó,  you are mine to help. It is much too late to be sending me away now. I do not like being tricked by you, but it is rather fun to know what it feels like to be the fish instead of the fisherman." 

I shook my head. "I'm serious. What if something goes wrong? What if you don't come out alive?"

"What if this demon punishes you for sending me away? I cannot have that on my conscious." 

Eager to change the subject, I glanced down the length of the counter. Mila's art supplies had disappeared. "I take it you went for a drive this morning?"

Ignoring my query, Luciano caressed my arm. "Irene...," he said softly.

"No. I've thought about it and I'm not okay risking you."

"Just listen to me. I—"

A light knock interrupted him. We looked toward the door, and when a second, more insistent rap came along, I was quick to throw it open. It didn't matter who waited on the other side; it bought me more time to think of a way to convince Luciano to get out before he couldn't.

In the breezy hall to my door, Calico Finn stood in a swirling floral sundress. Her long black hair had been tied away from her neck. A silk scarf wrapped around her throat and a matching hat perched atop her head at a jaunty angle, lifted slightly now in the wind. The woman, with her athletic, strong figure, made for quite a beautiful sight. She was proud of her curves, always knew just the right outfit to accentuate them. Inside that killer body lurked a sharp mind. But you couldn't see that in her unreadable brown eyes, the color of river mud and equally as deceptive. Apart from her mind, what made her truly memorable, more than just any pretty face in Brazil, was her skin. She possessed a condition known as vitiligo, and she never tried to hide it, never let it get in the way. She'd even taken to making it a part of her branding, as far as criminal masterminds went, anyway.  The condition left her dark skin dappled with patches of white, from her ankles all the way up to her eyes.