Blazing Bedtime Anthology Read online

  He first found a pair of small wooden clogs. They’d probably been left here by the hunter who’d saved those two bratty kids from that crazy old child molester, whose house most definitely had not been made of gingerbread. The story had sounded scary enough from his childhood story books… The truth, though, was a whole hell of a lot worse.

  Finding a pair of rough, flat leather shoes, he figured they could be cut down to do the job. “These’ll work.”

  “As snowshoes?”

  “You’re not exactly diminutive, darlin’,” he replied, baiting her deliberately, hoping to glimpse the fire in those blue eyes.

  He got it. “Are you saying I have big feet?”

  “Calm down,” he said with a soft laugh, unable to help it. “I was kidding.” Because, in truth, the woman was just right. From the top of her blonde head to her pink-tinted toenails. Perfect all the way down.

  He shifted a little, thrusting the image of all that naked perfection out of his head. He’d somehow managed to smooth ointment into her long legs without getting much more than a minor hard-on. The kiss had made it major. The last thing he needed was to think himself into a zipper-busting one now at the memory of how she tasted, and all that soft creamy skin covering soft creamy woman.

  Determined to ignore the attraction, he turned his back on her and retrieved his knapsack. “Are you hungry?” He was. He needed food almost as much as he needed sleep.

  Neither of which he needed as much as sex. But that wasn’t gonna happen. Not here. Not now. Not when he had to be alert for danger at every moment, not to mention keeping her from finding out just where on earth he’d brought her.

  If this was earth. He thought it was. Sort of. Just maybe another layer…a few degrees to the right of everything he’d once considered reality.

  “Depends.”

  “Oh?” He glanced over his shoulder just in time to notice the way she pulled her skirt up even higher to study the sharp scratch marring the side of her thigh. Her long, silky thigh. Her smooth thigh that he wanted to feel wrapped around his hips.

  Lord have mercy. So much for his plans to stay away from her. Heaven help him if she asked him to rub ointment on that thigh. Last night, when she’d been unconscious, had been one thing. Putting his hands that close to heaven when she was awake and urging him on with every heavy-lidded look?

  No man alive would be strong enough to resist.

  “Depends on what?” he managed to mutter.

  “On whether you have a box of Pop Tarts, or you’re going to offer me some freshly slaughtered Bambi.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Well, this is a hunter’s cabin, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not that kind of hunter.”

  Reaching into the pack, he pulled out the rations he’d brought with him. Enough for the two of them for another day, at least. Without having to go…local. He didn’t trust anything growing wild in this place. Too many witches in the vicinity.

  Though he liked having her all the way across the room, where she couldn’t mess with his head with a word or a look, or see the effect she had on him, she didn’t cooperate. She hopped out of the bed, bouncing a little on her freshly tended feet, as if wanting to test them out. He could have told her they’d be fine. The analgesic properties of the salve would have her feeling like new.

  She ought to be glad she hadn’t tempted him into sliding more of that stuff higher on her legs. Some of that cool, energizing stuff on her most intimate parts would have her needing sex for ten hours straight just to gain some relief. He’d probably kill himself trying to give it to her.

  But what a way to go.

  She smiled. “You should open a business in foot repair.”

  “I’ve got a job, thanks.” Though, honestly, having his hands on her beautiful, slender feet and luscious legs had been a whole lot more pleasant than anything he’d done at work for a very long time.

  “Well, if you ever need a career change, I’ll give you a dazzling recommendation, or hire you full-time myself.”

  Huh. Hired to do nothing but touch this woman?

  It had its advantages.

  Still smiling, she began to clear off the small, rickety wooden table, which stood in the middle of the room, setting the table for their so-called breakfast. He wondered what she was going to say when he handed her the beef jerky and trail mix.

  “Thank you.” That’s what she said. Then she sat on one of the two stools, grabbed a fistful of the nuts and dried fruit and popped them into her mouth.

  Hunter had to hand it to her. The woman wasn’t a complainer. And she knew how to hold her own. “Coffee?”

  “I’d kill for my regular café au lait from Café du Monde, but I’ll settle for anything that comes from a bean.”

  “Don’t say that.” Those were dangerous words in this part of the world. Not that she’d ever realize that. At least, God, he hoped not. “It’s growing season,” he murmured, more to himself than her, and he did a quick mental calculation as to exactly when the more daring farmers around here put in their crops.

  “You got something against coffee beans?”

  He shook his head, mumbling, “No. Just, some of the stuff farmers grow around here can, uh, lead to trouble.”

  She coughed a little, choking on a nut. “Are you talking Children of the Corn stuff?”

  “Wrong genre,” he muttered, shoving a mug of water at her before turning to make the coffee. Grabbing the small bag of grounds, he prepared them each a cup, black, no sugar, and carried them to the table.

  She took one, sipped, made a face, then sipped again.

  Something evil made him say, “There’s always more tea.”

  Her smirk should have warned him he was playing with fire. “You sure you can handle me drinking more of that tea?”

  Dangerous. But he couldn’t help responding. “You might be surprised at how much I can handle.”

  She shivered lightly, though the cabin was comfortably warm. Through the thin fabric of her blouse he noted the way her skin puckered. He could tell she wasn’t wearing her bra—she must have seen the small cut on her breast and cared for it herself. Her dark nipples tightened, jutting in silent invitation as they had last night.

  He suddenly wanted to drop to his knees in front of her and cover the tip of one breast with his mouth, suckling her right through the sheer material.

  “So how much can you handle?” she asked.

  Hunter swallowed hard, cursing himself for starting a round of verbal foreplay that couldn’t lead anywhere. Not here. Not now. Maybe in the real world?

  Hell, his life was too crazy even to remember what the real world was like. Living in-between had left him sometimes unable to see clearly the difference between reality and fantasy,

  Her being here…maybe that was a fantasy.

  His fantasy.

  And maybe he ought to do something about it.

  Forget it. You have a job to do.

  “Drink your coffee.”

  She leaned across the small table. So close he could feel the warmth of her soft breath against his throat. The invitation to kiss her again couldn’t have been more plain. “I might be up for tea, if you drink some, too.”

  He slid back in his seat with a gruff laugh. “I’m immune.”

  She stared at him for a moment, as if reading his underlying meaning—whether he was claiming to be immune to her, or to the aphrodisiac qualities of the tea. One was the truth. The other total fabrication.

  She chose to misunderstand completely. One delicate brow rose and her tone was purely wicked. “You mean you’re immune to women? I didn’t take you for…”

  “To the tea,” he snapped, knowing what she was about to say. “I’ve worked up a resistance to its side effects.”

  She half lowered her lashes, disguising her amusement at getting a rise out of him, and lifted her steaming mug to her mouth. “So what kind of hunter are you?”

  The subject change startled him. And relieved him. Sort
of.

  “What?”

  “You said you’re not that kind of hunter. What is it you’re after?”

  Wishing he hadn’t said anything, he admitted, “Criminals.”

  She dropped her jerky. And her mouth. “Are you a cop?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “But you were?”

  He nodded.

  “In New Orleans?”

  Another nod.

  “Do I have to pry the words out of you with a crowbar?”

  “What words?”

  “You can’t just tell me you’re an ex-cop who hunts people and not elaborate.”

  He elaborated, just a little, knowing she wouldn’t shut up until he did. “I was a detective in New Orleans until a year ago.” One year ago—when he’d seen firsthand that the cops weren’t always the good guys, and, in fact, could be more corrupt and vile than any perp he’d ever gone after.

  Finding out his own partner and two other detectives in the squad had discovered the other world along their border—and had been plundering it for their own gain—had been a shock. They’d been running drugs from one side to the other, corrupting people over here who had never heard of the kinds of pills or rocks they were pushing. And had brought back massive quantities of that crazy tea and other unusual items to sell on the streets of New Orleans.

  They’d gotten away with it. At least until one innocent young girl—Ciara Wolf—had walked in on a deal, seen too much, and had been permanently silenced.

  “What happened? Why’d you stop being a cop?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “One I really don’t want to get into.”

  He could make it succinct. Could tell her how Lucas Wolf had come to him with irrefutable proof. Could explain that there had never been any doubt Hunter would cross the blue line to stop his former partner and fellow cops. But how to voice the frustration he’d felt when, before he could do it, all three of the suspects had disappeared? They’d melted somewhere between New Orleans and never-never land, anonymous and free to continue their reign of terror.

  That was when Hunter had quit his job to go after them, doing everything within the boundaries of the law to bring them to justice.

  Unlike Lucas Wolf, his dark shadow, who’d gone after them in his own fashion. Vigilante-style.

  “So what do you do now?”

  He thrust the dark thoughts away. “I left the force and went into business for myself.”

  “Are you a bounty hunter like that blond guy on TV?”

  “I’m nothing like that blond guy on TV,” he insisted. “But yes, I’m a skip-tracer. I track down criminals who skip out on their bail.” As well as some who have never been caught.

  Scarlett’s hand clenched around her mug, though she didn’t seem to notice the heat on her fingertips. “You said you were out here working. Are you chasing someone now?”

  He nodded. “A very dangerous man.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Hearing that she’d gone past curiosity right into dismay, Hunter lowered his own cup. “What is it?”

  “What does he look like? This criminal you’re hunting? Is he intense-looking, about your height, with very dark hair and a swarthy complexion?”

  Almost holding his breath, Hunter bit out, “You saw him.”

  She nodded.

  Rising so quickly the stool fell over, he put both hands on the table and leaned over her. “When? Where?”

  “Last night, before the accident. I swerved to miss him. That’s why I crashed.”

  Last night. Thank God. For a moment he’d feared she had seen him over here. Lucas’s distinctive qualities were more noticeable on this side. Especially since the moon had been at its fullest a few hours ago.

  There was no such thing as an outright change for those like Lucas. But things became more clear in the full moonlight. Perceptions were heightened. Just as the gossamer-light, veil-like border between the worlds thinned to near incandescence once a month, many other things unseen in the light of day became sharply obvious.

  Such freedom was irresistible to Lucas and his kind.

  He straightened, then turned the stool upright. “It’s okay. He’s long gone by now. But I can track him.”

  Maybe the fact that Scarlett had seen Lucas—had seen how dangerous he sometimes seemed to be—wasn’t a bad thing. It would make it easier to explain why he was moving the man bound and gagged. Trying to cross the border during the full moon with Lucas unbound would be impossible. The only way would be to incapacitate him and truss him up like…like an animal.

  Damn it. I’m sorry, Mama. It has to be that way. If anybody else finds him first, it could cost him his life.

  “Why are you so sure he’s long gone?”

  Sitting down once more, he noted the trepidation in her voice. He didn’t like the way she tilted her head forward so her blond hair shielded her eyes and grazed her cheeks. “What?”

  She sighed deeply. “I might have seen him again.”

  Hunter shot up again. And again the stool flew. “When?”

  “This morning, when I screamed.”

  “Impossible.” Why would Lucas stay here, knowing Hunter was on his trail? He’d had hours to get away, to hide in some deep burrow in an effort to evade his true nature and not relent to his driving need to see the moonlight. “You can’t have.”

  “I really think…”

  “You said you didn’t see anything,” he snapped. “You were just scared of the trees.”

  She stood, too, crossing her arms. “Well, what kind of nitwit is scared of trees?”

  Around here? With these trees? A smart nitwit.

  “I’m nearly certain it was him.”

  He muttered the kind of four-letter word his mama would have washed his mouth out with soap for saying.

  “Sorry. I should have told you.”

  Yes. She should have. But it wasn’t entirely her fault.

  He’d known better. He’d known she’d seen something, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it. He had deliberately chosen to convince her she’d imagined it because of her head injury, figuring she wouldn’t take much convincing. Because the sights to be seen over here could make anyone doubt their sanity. He, himself had seen any number of things that would drive a rational, sane person to madness.

  And a person with a huge imagination, like a kids’ writer? He didn’t even want to think of the places her mind could take her if she ever realized where she was.

  She wouldn’t be the first. A visit to any library in the States provided evidence that other authors had been…travelers. Hell, there was even a statue to those German brothers in a village not far from here that confirmed it.

  They did deserve some credit though. At least they managed to convey some of the darkness of this place in their so-called fairy tales. Unlike others who merely glossed over the bad to capitalize on the magical.

  With Scarlett’s background writing children’s books, he wondered how’d she react. Would the truth behind happily-ever-after change the nice kids’ tales she probably wrote? For all he knew, she might end up writing Stephen King-type stories.

  As they returned to their seats and resumed their simple breakfast, Scarlett asked, “How bad is this guy?”

  He answered instinctively. “Bad as they come.” But even as the words left his mouth, a part of him wondered.

  “Is he a murderer?”

  Good question, though he couldn’t answer it. He wasn’t certain. And he wouldn’t be, not until he found Lucas.

  One thing was sure: Lucas Wolf could be deadly. Considering what had been done to his sister, the man probably felt justified in seeking vengeance.

  But had he done it? Could he really have turned into judge, jury and executioner? Had Lucas killed two people—and gone after a third—in revenge for his sister’s murder?

  He wanted to know. He needed to know.

  That Hunter partially blamed himself for that murder was an understatement. It had been three men he knew—c
ops he’d considered good men, one of them his own partner—who had been responsible for it. He had no idea how they’d found the crossover to this place. God help him if they’d followed him. The guilt would be too much to bear.

  Not that he’d live long to bear it. Because if it was his fault, Lucas might hold Hunter every bit as responsible for his sister’s death. And might be out for his blood, too.

  The hunter might actually be the hunted. Which could explain why Lucas was still in the area.

  God, I’m sorry, Mama, he thought again, knowing this would break her heart. Because this was going to end ugly.

  Either Hunter would haul Lucas to jail.

  Or Lucas—his own brother—would kill him.

  CHAPTER 6

  HUNTER DIDN’T HAVE to tell her he was exhausted, Scarlett could see the physical weariness washing over him with every moment that passed. He’d been out all night—chasing a criminal, pausing only to carry an unconscious woman for a few miles and then take care of her. Who wouldn’t be bone-weary?

  Maybe that was why he hadn’t answered her question about the man he was after. He looked ready to fall asleep in his seat. Or maybe he just didn’t want to admit that she had nearly come face-to-face with a killer. Twice.

  Scarlett thrust the thought away, feeling so safe in this man’s presence, she couldn’t muster up any concern. Though, if he was going to keep her safe from some psycho ax-murderer, he really ought to take a nap, at the very least.

  Funny that she felt so safe with him, considering the sense of danger wrapping around the man like some extra layer of skin. He sounded gruff when he talked about his job—and those he hunted—yet he’d shown her nothing but thoughtful concern, even if his bark had, occasionally, been worse than his bite.

  Mmm. Bite. Wouldn’t she love to take just a little nibble and offer him one in return.

  Unlike Hunter, she was still wide awake, though she imagined she must have dozed off during the night without realizing it. Because it was now morning and he’d left at midnight. No way had six or seven conscious hours passed.

  Whatever the case, she’d had more rest than he had. So, even though she knew he didn’t entirely trust her, after they’d finished eating, she urged, “Why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while?” Swallowing, since making girly promises was not in her character, she added, “I promise I won’t go anywhere. I’ll stay here and keep watch until you wake up.”