Santo had listened attentively, asking just the right questions at just the right times. She’d watched the play of emotions cross his face—rage, pain, sympathy, and understanding—but never once had she seen pity there. And then there was the wisdom he’d offered about her mother, Mary. He’d helped her see things from a different perspective. One that she hoped would allow her to let go of her age-old anger and resentment and have a better relationship with the woman who had been her mother for nearly thirty-one years. And then too, she’d noticed when the waiter had approached the table with their meals only to suddenly stop and turn away. Pet had known that Santo had slipped into his mind and sent him off, and she’d appreciated it. Especially since she’d seen the flicker of hunger cross his face when he’d first spotted the food approaching.
And then they’d left the restaurant. Santo’s touch and kisses in the parking lot had soothed her bruised soul and quickly turned her thoughts from her past. Pet hadn’t thought once about her childhood as they’d driven back, instead her mind had been full of what would happen when they got here.
Of course, it hadn’t gone quite as expected. Marguerite and Julius had stayed to visit for a bit. Pet had simply listened as Marguerite had chattered on for half an hour. She’d watched the men’s faces, Santo’s patient, Julius’s full of love, and Pet had felt a yearning to be a part of that. A part of their family.
She was falling for the whole damned bunch of them, but her heart had opened to Santo tonight, and Pet wasn’t sure she could close it up again. Sighing, she stood and moved into the kitchen to get a glass out of the cupboard. While the moonlight was bright enough that she could see darker shapes in the darkness, that didn’t stretch to the cupboard, but Pet managed to find the right door and then felt around for a glass. Turning with it, she then ran some water into it.
Pet had to go to work again the next day and sitting up all night fretting about something she couldn’t change was only going to make her a grumpy girl in the morning. So, water and bed was the plan.
Hopefully, if she lay there long enough she’d sleep, Pet thought grimly as she tipped the glass to her mouth. She stood at the island while she drank, trying not to remember Santo’s kisses and caresses here the first time he’d come to her apartment. She then placed the glass into the dishwasher and turned to leave, only to pause as she heard the muffled jingle of keys through her door.
It was probably her neighbor across the hall, Pet thought, and took another step, but then paused again at the sound of her lock turning. Shocked, she stared at the dark entry, unable to make out even where the door was until it started to open.
Bright light splashed in from the hall as the door opened halfway to allow a figure to enter. With that light behind them, all Pet could see was a dark silhouette that was definitely male and also definitely not the apartment manager, Mr. Laurier. This was a tall slender man while Laurier was a potbellied old guy. But who else would have a key to her home?
That worry scattered when the door closed, blocking out the light and leaving the entry a black hole that hid her intruder.
Pet squinted, wishing she could see better, and then suddenly realized that while she couldn’t see who had entered anymore now that they were cloaked in the darkness of the entry, she was standing in the moonlit kitchen and they could probably see her. Mouth setting, she started backing up, her gaze sliding along the counter on her right as she tried to judge where her knife block was by using memory and the dark shapes she could make out.
She heard the intruder coming at her bare seconds before he reached her. Pet barely had the time to draw her elbows in close to her body and raise her left hand in front of her so that the boney part of her wrist was pushed out with the fingers back. Even as she automatically did that, she slid her left foot back, shifting her weight and angling herself slightly so that whatever was coming wasn’t head-on. Pet had just made herself relax when he was on her.
Some part of her mind recognized that she was witnessing immortal speed as the shape came out of the darkness in a blur, but Pet concentrated on simply moving. Her extended hand swept to the left to block his arm as his fist came at her head. At the same time, her right hand shot out and up at his neck. With fingers extended, she jabbed him in the throat and then shifted and brought her left leg forward for a front kick, bringing up her foot and then stamping it down on his knee.
Knowing she was up against an immortal, Pet had put all her force behind both strikes and wasn’t surprised to hear her attacker make a hissing gurgling sound as her fingers hit his throat, and the cracking sound as she hit his knee. Thinking she’d crushed his windpipe and possibly broken his knee and had bought herself at least a few seconds, she dropped back in the original position and made her body relax again as she glanced to the side in search of the knife block.
That was a mistake. She might have done serious damage, but he was immortal and strong and as he stumbled, he swung out wildly with his left arm. Her moment of inattentiveness cost her. He caught her in the midriff, slamming her up against the refrigerator hard. Pet’s head flew back, cracking into the metal door, and lights danced briefly in front of her eyes. But her body responded by rote, her hands and feet moving as she’d been taught as she fought for her life, blocking when necessary but striking back at the same time, jabbing at points along his centerline and sweeping his legs or kicking at his knee when the opportunity arose.
Pet had trained at martial arts for years, but even so she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Immortals were too strong, could take too much damage, and healed too quickly for her to win without a weapon. Preferably a bazooka or a machete to take off his damned head, she thought grimly just before he caught her with a blow that spun her around and sent her slamming into the counter. Her hands skidded across the countertop, one of them slamming into solid wood, and her head bounced off the upper cupboard, dazing her briefly.
Giving her head a shake in an effort to clear it, Pet started to push off the wood, intending to turn and prepare to continue defending herself and then realized what she was touching and went still. Pet felt a hand in her hair, pulling, and moved her own hand quickly up the block of wood to the larger knives, managing to grab one just before she was spun around to face her attacker.
She saw the moonlight reflecting off his eyes. Her head was yanked to the side, exposing her throat, and Pet could have sworn she could see his fangs in the darkness as he lunged for her neck. But those fangs never pierced her flesh. Grasping the knife firmly, Pet brought it around and up, jabbing it into the side of his throat with all her might. She didn’t hesitate then. Even as her attacker stiffened in shock and pain, she tugged the handle toward herself.
Pet’s knives weren’t as sharp as they should be, and slicing through half his neck was harder than she’d expected. It wasn’t like cutting butter or a sandwich. It was like trying to push the edge of a knife through a raw roast without any sawing action. Ignoring the blood she could feel spraying warm across her face and chest, Pet ground her teeth and put all of her strength into the effort . . . and damned near slammed the blade into her own face when it finally cut through the last of his flesh and suddenly sprang forward.
She instinctively jerked her head back to avoid the blade, pushing against her attacker as she did, and managed to avoid stabbing herself. Pet also sent her intruder stumbling back. She saw his arms raise, his hands going to his throat, but he didn’t go down. She couldn’t believe it, but he merely sagged there against the island, holding his throat and making wet, gurgling sounds.
Pet had the terrible feeling that he might be healing even as she stood there looking at him. She didn’t know if that was what was happening, or if it was even possible, but her vision was blurring, and she was woozy and nauseous. Afraid she was going to pass out and be at his mercy, Pet didn’t stay to find out.
Clutching the knife to her chest, she slid sideways along the counter and then turned and stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall. Even in the dark, Pet knew she was weaving. She nearly tripped over her own feet several times and kept bumping into the walls, but made it to Parker’s room.
Eyes closed against the pain in her head, she fumbled for the doorknob, listening desperately for any sound that the attacker was following, but was afraid she’d never hear it over the agony thundering in her brain. And then the door opened, and she nearly trampled Parker as she staggered into the room lit only by a night-light.
“Aunt Pet?”
Ignoring him, Pet grabbed the edge of the door to help her stay upright and then shifted and leaned her weight on it, slamming it closed.
“Get. Desk chair,” she gasped weakly from her position slumped against the door.
“What’s happening?” Parker’s voice was high and full of fear, but Pet didn’t have the strength to answer. She was struggling to stay conscious.
“Jam it . . . under . . . the doorknob,” she gasped when he returned dragging a chair with him, and then Pet slid to the side a bit to make room and sank down along the door to the floor, the knife still clutched to her chest.
“Aunt Pet? What happened? Aunt Pet? Are you all right? Aunt Pet!”
She felt Parker shake her shoulder, his voice panicked as he repeated her name, and opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed. Pet immediately moaned as light stabbed straight through her eyes and into her brain. Parker had turned on the light. She squinted against the brightness to look at her nephew and try to understand what was happening.
“What do I do?” he cried, tears running down his cheeks.
It took a moment for her to remember how she’d got there and why she hurt, and then Pet managed, “Call home. Santo’s there,” just before she lost consciousness.
Sixteen
“Mortimer’s sending out blood, drugs, and chains with the backup when they come, so it’s all here and ready for when you convince Pet to turn.”
Santo grunted at that announcement from Bricker as the Enforcer entered the den at the Peters’ house, putting his phone away.