Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(65)

“It’s cool and feels good in a way. Almost the same way it feels good to scratch an itch.”

She lapsed into quiet, more of her tears wetting his skin. More of his heart wept for her having to go through this.

“How’s your head now? Are you feeling tired, dizzy, disoriented?”

“My head is good. I think I’m all right.” She spoke as if a sob clogged her throat.

He let go of her head and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her so hard against him that air whooshed out of her. “Tell me about the dream. You’ll feel better.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hair.

She pulled back from him. Her eyelashes were spiky from wetness, her eyes bloodshot and glistening. And yet courage and determination sharpened her beauty. “It was the worst one.”

Nnkk. Nnkk. A knock sounded at front door.

“Fucking goddamn it.” Probably Kent at the door. The guy had said he’d stop by this evening with his cream-puff canine. Xander stood, still holding her body to his. He ought to walk to the door and open it just like they were—to show the asshole on the other side that he’d been interrupting—but that might embarrass Isleen. He settled her on her feet and held on to her for a few extra seconds to make certain she was steady.

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. The asshole on the other side of the door started knocking again.

She clung to him like she was afraid of letting go.

“Xander?” She’d only spoken his name, but he heard so much more. He heard her fear, her hesitation, and her caring. Such a strange combination.

“Baby, what?” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, wishing his touch could infuse her with everything she needed to feel good.

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. More pounding on the door.

She released him, stepping away from him and smiling, but it wasn’t a real smile. It was one of those fake ones that only touched her mouth, not her eyes or her soul. The smile looked sad and scared and stubborn all at the same time.

Something was wrong. Only he didn’t understand. Was it the dream?

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nn—“I’ll be there in a second,” he bellowed loud enough that Isleen flinched and Row probably heard him down at the main house. That persistent fucker on the other side of the door was about to meet Xander’s fist.

“Let me get rid of this asshole.” He stalked to the door, nearly ripping it off the hinges.

Kent held his mini-mutt, and—of fucking course—Camille stood right next to him. Kent just couldn’t leave the Camille issue alone.

Hopkins stood behind them, looking on the verge of pissin’ in his pants. The guy was a BCI agent, for shit’s sake, and petrified of a little interpersonal conflict? Where did they find these assholes? Probably the same place they’d found Xander. Rejects-R-Us.

“Seriously? You’re pulling this again?” His volume wasn’t quite in the shout range, but close.

“What?” Kent’s voice carried false innocence, his expression phony concern.

Xander wasn’t going to flip the switch and listen to Kent’s thoughts. No way. Not today. He didn’t need the aggravation on top of everything else.

Isleen moved in next to Xander, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning in to his bare chest. Her actions were a clear sign of ownership. He was hers. And he didn’t mind at all. A smile spread across his lips, stretching the skin of his scarred cheek.

“You fucked him?” Camille’s face morphed into a mask of ugly jealousy.

“I told you that the last time we talked.” Isleen wasn’t intimidated by Camille. Not even a little bit. “You chose to not believe me.”

Kent’s mouth fell open, and damn if Xander didn’t feel his own jaw hanging slack. Isleen had told Camille they’d been together? Whoa. Isleen had a giant pair of girlnads.

“You know”—Camille’s tone was abnormally calm—“he’s only with you because he feels sorry for you.”

“Cam—” Kent’s voice was full of rebuke.

Xander slid his arm around Isleen, telling her with his actions that Camille was wrong. “Don’t talk to Isleen like that.” He spoke slowly to give the words time to penetrate Camille’s concrete skull.

“Camille, I can see that you are having trouble adjusting to this situation.” Isleen’s tone carried no anger, no malice. “I understand. I know the kind of man Xander is, so I know what you’re losing. I feel bad that you are hurting.”

“You feel bad that I’m hurting?” Camille’s voice rose to a she-demon screech. She lunged for Isleen. Xander stepped between them, blocking her path.

“Cam. What the hell?” Kent shoved the dog at Hopkins, then grabbed his sister from behind, hauling her down the porch steps. She struggled and screamed terrible things at Isleen. “Stop it. Right now. If you don’t get yourself under control you’re going to get arrested.”

Those seemed to be Camille’s magic words. She went limp, all anger and hostility gone.

“Take her home.” Xander pointed to Kent’s truck. “And don’t bring her back.”

Isleen moved in next to him again. “Xander, I need to talk to Kent about my case. He needs to know about the priest. Maybe you should take Camille home. She shouldn’t be here right now. It’s not good for anyone.”