It was odd; they were so casual about what had gone down an hour ago as if nothing happened. “Was that what you heard earlier?” I asked.
Hannah nodded. “Ryker was pissed off I woke him for a fight instead of something else. Weren’t you, sweetie?”
Ryker grunted.
Hannah leaned back into him and his arms settled around her waist. “We underestimated them.”
I remembered the needle coming close to plunging into my neck. “Who were they? What do they want?”
Ryker put his hand on Hannah’s arm when she went to answer.
Hannah’s eyes avoided mine and her lips pursed together. Was she hiding something? Why? What did it matter if I knew about them?
“Maybe we should call the police or something,” I suggested.
Ryker laughed. Hannah punched him in the arm and he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. Damn, that man was totally in love with her.
Ryker spoke, “We fight our own enemies. And we’ll go after them soon enough.” He raised his brows and grinned. “You met Kilter.”
“Umm, yeah. Nice guy.”
Ryker snorted and Hannah laughed. “He takes getting used to.”
Getting used to? Yeah, I’d never like that guy. His name was in the dictionary under the definition of asshole. I was pretty damn certain the guy killed as a hobby.
Hannah walked over to me and gently took hold of my wrist then placed a beautiful white pearled bracelet around my wrist. “It’s stunning. What—”
She closed her hand over the bracelet. “It will light your way.”
I didn’t have time to ask her meaning when Balen came in.
“Danni.” He came up beside me and slid his hand down my arm then linked our hands. “We have to go. The plane is waiting at the airport.”
We said our goodbyes to everyone except Kilter, who hadn’t appeared since he left the cave. I rubbed the bracelet on my wrist that Hannah had given me. The white pearls around my wrist glowed soft lavender, and a strange comfort encompassed me as we walked out to the car.
“So, we have what, two hours of driving? Plenty of time to spill our deepest, darkest secrets,” I said. “How about a game?”
“A game?” Balen raised his brows as he started the car.
“Yeah. My father and I used to play it at the hospital when my mom was sick. I ask a question that requires a one-word answer, then you get to ask a question. I’ll start. And I’ll make it easy. Favorite food. So I have to answer first and then you. Mine is watermelon.”
“You,” Balen answered.
I laughed. “Not fair. A food, dingbat.”
“Dingbat? What the hell, babe?”
I laughed and he smiled. “Favorite food, besides me, and it can be anything in this world.”
“Rippled sour cream and onion potato chips.”
“Really? What about the thin ones? They’re thinner, easier to put more in your mouth at once than the rippled ones. But if that’s your choice . . .” I shrugged. “Now your turn.”
Balen kept his eyes on the road, while his fingers tapped the steering wheel.
“Oh, come on. Hurry up,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Your favorite scent.” He turned toward me and said, “You first.”
“That’s so not fair,” I protested. “But I’ll allow this, considering this is your first time playing and you’re perhaps shy about giving your answers.” I smiled when he flinched at the word shy. Well, maybe next time he’d step up to the plate and go first. “Cinnamon.”
He chuckled and I smacked his arm. “Why are you laughing? I love cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon is a sign that love is near.”
“Really? Huh, well, I did think Sandor was kind of cute, so maybe—”
His gaze darted to me, expression dark and intense. “Fuck that. We’re never going back there.”
I put my legs up so my feet rested on the dash. “And yours?”
“You.” I rolled my eyes. “You smell like Papaya with a dash of coconut,” Balen said.
“Balen.”
He chuckled. “Fine, the smell of your pulse beating beneath your skin.” He put his finger on my throat. “Right here.”
“But that’s cheating. It’s still me and a pulse doesn’t have a smell.”
“Oh, but it does. You forget I am a Scar. I can smell your pulse beating faster right this second. It releases sweetness from your pores when you’re hot for me.” He grinned and leaned over and nibbled my neck.
I giggled then abruptly stopped.
Terror barreled into me and I gasped then violently shoved him back, my hand rubbing my throat as the memory hit me—Ryszard biting my neck, pain, blood rising to the surface and then . . . Balen. He was walking toward me, his eyes filled with anguish, the words floating over my mind. “I’m sorry,” he’d said.
My eyes met his. “No. Balen, no.”
Balen reached for my hand and I snatched it away. “Fuck, Danni. I had to.” His voice was calm and quiet, but I heard the mild tremor in it. “Ryszard would’ve kept you for himself.”
“He . . . he bit my neck and then you . . . Oh, my God, you drank from me.” I looked at him with horror. “I passed out. You nearly killed me.”
“Jesus.” Balen swung the car over to the side of the road and threw it in park.
I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “You bastard. You nearly killed me. How could you? How could you do that? You knew I hated it when he bit me. You heard me screaming for him to stop, yet you did it to me yourself.” I unclipped my seatbelt then fumbled with the door handle as my hand shook.