Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(60)

"I'm ready to abandon caution," he finally said, more than hoping she had, too. It was more like a silent prayer, because if a beautiful brown baby came out of this, then he'd build a house and put her and his baby behind a white picket fence. The road wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He'd get over it. But one thing was for sure: he wasn't about to get over her anytime soon.

"When daylight comes, you'll feel differently."

He stared at her as he felt her retreat behind a very sensible wall. Trying to salvage some of his dignity, he just nodded and let it rest. "You're right. This probably just got intense because of what we've been through together. Warrior bonding." He made himself laugh.

But he thought, Oh, God, let her change her mind.

She laughed, nodded, and rubbed her arms under the blanket. Oh, Lord, I want him. The burn was so hot, she wanted to cry instead of laugh. Her body craved his touch.

He had to look away. Couldn't even watch the gentle slide of her hands up and down her arms.

"In the morning," he said, clearing his throat, "we'll walk back to the church. I'll see if they'll give us a lift to a gas station, then we'll refuel and head out. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Okay," she said softly, "you, too."

Yeah, right. He got up and found the bottle of Jack Daniel's, opened it and took a swig, trying not to let her see his hands tremble.



He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep. He had slept like a dead man, but now had awakened with a start. He glanced around the circle, and jumped up in a panic. Tara was gone.

"Tara!" he hollered, his voice echoing back to him in the early predawn hours. If she'd left him… But that was crazy. What right did he have to feel this way? "Tara, honey, you there?" he called out again with less confidence. Then he saw her coming through the bushes not far away.

"Where did you go?" he demanded, rushing over to her. "You scared the crap out of me."

"I had to… relieve myself," she said with a smile. She sighed as she stared up at him. He was so sweet. But she was glad he didn't know the real reason she'd gone out into the woods alone.

"Yeah, okay, but you should have woken me up. There's things out there that—"

"I was fine," she said, kissing his chin. She wanted so badly to kiss him. She glanced down to fight the temptation. She clasped her hands together to keep from reaching up to trace the vein in his throat.

Rider gave her a quick hug, then let her go. "It'll be dawn, soon. Let's go get that gas."

"All right," she said, as he put his arm over her shoulders.

Dawn sounded so different from the night, especially in the springtime. It smelled different, too. Small birds began chirping, dragonflies buzzed. The frogs went quiet; a whippoorwill sent a lonely cry through the air. Dew brought the scents of the flowers and grass alive. Households slowly came alive in farm country at that hour. A bloodhound barked in the distance. His footsteps sounded heavy beside Tara's soft pad of sandals. He glanced at her and worry stole his peace. Her pallor was nearly gray now, her breathing labored. It was as though the cresting sunlight were sucking everything out of her. He hastened his steps, remembering how much she'd just been through.

As they approached the churchyard gate, he also remembered where he was—in a part of the world that had not changed since the Civil War.

"Sweetheart, stay right here, and let me go try to get us a ride," he said.

She nodded and leaned against the short fence, taking in small sips, breathing like she had asthma. Suddenly a stray dog rounded the corner, stopped when it sighted her, raised its hackles and snarled.

Before Rider could leap between her and the dog, Tara narrowed her gaze and hissed at the dog.

The large dog stopped advancing, turned tail and ran, barking hysterically.

Heart pounding, Rider pulled her in close to him.

"We need to get out of here. Can you make it for a short run?"

She shook her head no, as she clung to him for support.

He was about to sweep her up into his arms when he heard a deep baritone voice bellow, "Duke! Duke! Whatcha got, boy?"

Shit, his worst nightmares were coming true. He'd never outrun a hound and a man with a shotgun with her in his arms. He'd have to stand his ground and simply hope that this church didn't belong to a local Grand Dragon.

"It's going to be all right," he told her, holding her close. "I'll go talk to him, alone, and work it out."

"Be careful," she whispered. She raised her arm and shielded her eyes. "But hurry."

He reached in his vest pocket and gave her his shades. "Ten minutes." Then he jogged around the side of the church where a small house leaned. "Anybody home?" he yelled, announcing his approach, just in case someone had an itchy trigger finger.

A tall, broad-shouldered black man was standing in the doorway in his robe. He had a raggedy gray Afro, and was fumbling with a shotgun and his glasses.

"Whatcha wants 'round here, boy, at dis hour? We's God-fearing people, and I'm a minister. Don't want no trouble, ya hear?" He brought the gun up.

Rider held up both hands. "Just came to buy some gas, sir."

"Gas! Does dis look like a gas station? I'll tell ya what happened—ole Duke caught your thievin' ass trying to suck it out my car, right?"