Bitten
Page 13
"So you've come back… finally."
The deep voice made me jump. Jeremy stood in the doorway. Since I'd last seen him, he'd grown a close-clipped beard, something that usually happened when he got too distracted to shave, then couldn't be bothered undoing the damage. It made him look older, though still nowhere near his true age of fifty-one. We age slowly. Jeremy could pass for mid-thirties: his hairstyle furthering the illusion of youth, shoulder-length and tied at the nape of his neck. It was a style adopted not out of fashion but because it meant fewer haircuts. Trips to a public barber were intolerable for Jeremy, so Clay or I cut his hair, which wasn't an experience to be endured more than a few times a year. When he stepped into the room, his bangs fell into his eyes, shattering the austerity of his face. He shoved them back, a gesture so familiar it made my throat ache.
He looked around. "Where's Clay?"
Typical. First, he gets after me for being late. Then he asks about Clay. A twinge of hurt darted through me, but I pushed it away. It wasn't like I expected him to welcome me back with hugs and kisses. That wasn't Jeremy's way, though a "good to see you" or "how was your flight?" would have been nice.
"We heard shots in the back forest," I said. "He mumbled something about shallow graves and took off."
"I've been trying to contact you for three days."
"I was busy."
His cheek twitched. With Jeremy, this was the equivalent of an emotional outburst. "When I call, you call me back," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important. If I do call, you answer. That was the arrangement."
"Correct, that was the arrangement. Past tense. Our arrangement ended when I left the Pack."
"When you left the Pack? And when did this happen? Forgive me if I missed something, but I don't recall any such conversation, Elena."
"I thought it was understood."
Clay walked in the room carrying a tray of cold cuts and cheese. He laid it on the desk and looked from me to Jeremy.
Jeremy continued. "So you're no longer part of the Pack now?"
"Correct."
"Then you're one of them-a mutt?"
"Of course not, Jer," Clay said, thumping down beside me on the couch.
I moved to the fireplace.
"Well, which is it?" Jeremy asked, his gaze skewering mine. "Pack or not?"
"Come on, Jer," Clay said. "You know she doesn't mean it."
"We had an arrangement, Elena. I wouldn't contact you unless I needed you. Well, I need you and now you're sulking and fuming because I had the gall to remind you of your responsibilities."
"You need me for what? To take care of a trespassing mutt? That's Clay's job."
Jeremy shook his head. "You don't use a wrecking ball to exterminate one mouse. Clay has his strengths. Subtlety is not one of them."
Clay grinned at me and shrugged. I looked away.
"So what's going on that's so damned important you need me?" I asked.
Jeremy turned and headed for the door. "It's late. I've called a Meet for tomorrow. I'll tell you everything then. Hopefully you'll feel less confrontational after a good sleep."
"Whoa!" I said, stepping out to block his path. "I dropped everything to come here. I skipped out of work, paid for an airline ticket, and raced here as fast as I could because no one was answering the damned phone. I want to know why I'm here and I want to know now. If you walk out that door, I'm not going to promise you'll still find me here in the morning."
"So be it," Jeremy said, his voice so cool I shivered in the draft. "If you decide to leave, have Clay drive you to Syracuse."
"Yeah, right," I said. "I'd be more likely to get to the airport by thumbing a ride with the local psychopath."
Clay grinned. "You forget, darling. I am the local psychopath."
I muttered my complete and heartfelt agreement. Jeremy said nothing, just stood there and waited for me to step aside. I did. Old habits are hard to break. Jeremy left the room. A minute later, his bedroom door closed upstairs.
"Arrogant son-of-a-bitch," I muttered.
Clay only shrugged. He was leaning back in his seat, eyes watching me, lips curved in a pensive smile that set my teeth on edge.
"What the hell do you want?" I said.
His smile turned to a grin, white teeth flashing. "You. What else?"
"Where? Right here? On the floor?"
"Nah. Not that. Not yet. Just the same old thing I always want. You. Here. For good."
I wished he'd stuck with my interpretation. He caught my eye.
"I'm glad you're home, darling. I missed you."
I nearly tripped over my feet running from the room.
Meet
No matter what Jeremy had said, I knew better than to leave. He might pretend not to care what I did, but he'd stop me if I tried to leave before he'd told me whatever he'd wanted to tell me. I had three choices. First, I could call him on it and walk out. Second, I could storm to his room and demand he tell me what was going on. Third, I could go to my old bedroom, sleep, and find out what he wanted in the morning. I weighed the options. Getting a cab back to Syracuse would be impossible now, since the local taxi service shut down over an hour ago. I could take one of the cars and ditch it at the airport, but my chances of catching a flight to Toronto at three a.m. were next to none and I didn't relish sleeping in the airport. Nor did I relish the idea of fighting with Jeremy. One didn't fight with Jeremy Danvers; one shouted and raged and cursed him while he stood there with an inscrutable look on his face, waited until you'd exhausted yourself, then calmly refused to discuss the matter. I'd learned ways of getting under his skin, but I was out of practice. No, tonight I'd fight back by refusing to play their games. I'd go to bed, get a good sleep, settle this in the morning, and leave. Simple as that.
I grabbed my overnight bag and went upstairs to my old room, ignoring the fact that-although supposedly no one knew I was coming-the bedroom was aired out, window cracked open, fresh bedding on, and covers turned back. I took the cell phone from my bag and called Philip. With each unanswered ring, I felt a stab of disappointment. He was probably in bed already. When the machine clicked on. I thought of hanging up, calling back, and hoping the additional ringing would wake him, but I knew I was being selfish, wanting to talk to him to reestablish my link with the outside world. So I settled for leaving a brief message to let him know I'd arrived safely and I'd call again before I left the next day.
The deep voice made me jump. Jeremy stood in the doorway. Since I'd last seen him, he'd grown a close-clipped beard, something that usually happened when he got too distracted to shave, then couldn't be bothered undoing the damage. It made him look older, though still nowhere near his true age of fifty-one. We age slowly. Jeremy could pass for mid-thirties: his hairstyle furthering the illusion of youth, shoulder-length and tied at the nape of his neck. It was a style adopted not out of fashion but because it meant fewer haircuts. Trips to a public barber were intolerable for Jeremy, so Clay or I cut his hair, which wasn't an experience to be endured more than a few times a year. When he stepped into the room, his bangs fell into his eyes, shattering the austerity of his face. He shoved them back, a gesture so familiar it made my throat ache.
He looked around. "Where's Clay?"
Typical. First, he gets after me for being late. Then he asks about Clay. A twinge of hurt darted through me, but I pushed it away. It wasn't like I expected him to welcome me back with hugs and kisses. That wasn't Jeremy's way, though a "good to see you" or "how was your flight?" would have been nice.
"We heard shots in the back forest," I said. "He mumbled something about shallow graves and took off."
"I've been trying to contact you for three days."
"I was busy."
His cheek twitched. With Jeremy, this was the equivalent of an emotional outburst. "When I call, you call me back," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important. If I do call, you answer. That was the arrangement."
"Correct, that was the arrangement. Past tense. Our arrangement ended when I left the Pack."
"When you left the Pack? And when did this happen? Forgive me if I missed something, but I don't recall any such conversation, Elena."
"I thought it was understood."
Clay walked in the room carrying a tray of cold cuts and cheese. He laid it on the desk and looked from me to Jeremy.
Jeremy continued. "So you're no longer part of the Pack now?"
"Correct."
"Then you're one of them-a mutt?"
"Of course not, Jer," Clay said, thumping down beside me on the couch.
I moved to the fireplace.
"Well, which is it?" Jeremy asked, his gaze skewering mine. "Pack or not?"
"Come on, Jer," Clay said. "You know she doesn't mean it."
"We had an arrangement, Elena. I wouldn't contact you unless I needed you. Well, I need you and now you're sulking and fuming because I had the gall to remind you of your responsibilities."
"You need me for what? To take care of a trespassing mutt? That's Clay's job."
Jeremy shook his head. "You don't use a wrecking ball to exterminate one mouse. Clay has his strengths. Subtlety is not one of them."
Clay grinned at me and shrugged. I looked away.
"So what's going on that's so damned important you need me?" I asked.
Jeremy turned and headed for the door. "It's late. I've called a Meet for tomorrow. I'll tell you everything then. Hopefully you'll feel less confrontational after a good sleep."
"Whoa!" I said, stepping out to block his path. "I dropped everything to come here. I skipped out of work, paid for an airline ticket, and raced here as fast as I could because no one was answering the damned phone. I want to know why I'm here and I want to know now. If you walk out that door, I'm not going to promise you'll still find me here in the morning."
"So be it," Jeremy said, his voice so cool I shivered in the draft. "If you decide to leave, have Clay drive you to Syracuse."
"Yeah, right," I said. "I'd be more likely to get to the airport by thumbing a ride with the local psychopath."
Clay grinned. "You forget, darling. I am the local psychopath."
I muttered my complete and heartfelt agreement. Jeremy said nothing, just stood there and waited for me to step aside. I did. Old habits are hard to break. Jeremy left the room. A minute later, his bedroom door closed upstairs.
"Arrogant son-of-a-bitch," I muttered.
Clay only shrugged. He was leaning back in his seat, eyes watching me, lips curved in a pensive smile that set my teeth on edge.
"What the hell do you want?" I said.
His smile turned to a grin, white teeth flashing. "You. What else?"
"Where? Right here? On the floor?"
"Nah. Not that. Not yet. Just the same old thing I always want. You. Here. For good."
I wished he'd stuck with my interpretation. He caught my eye.
"I'm glad you're home, darling. I missed you."
I nearly tripped over my feet running from the room.
Meet
No matter what Jeremy had said, I knew better than to leave. He might pretend not to care what I did, but he'd stop me if I tried to leave before he'd told me whatever he'd wanted to tell me. I had three choices. First, I could call him on it and walk out. Second, I could storm to his room and demand he tell me what was going on. Third, I could go to my old bedroom, sleep, and find out what he wanted in the morning. I weighed the options. Getting a cab back to Syracuse would be impossible now, since the local taxi service shut down over an hour ago. I could take one of the cars and ditch it at the airport, but my chances of catching a flight to Toronto at three a.m. were next to none and I didn't relish sleeping in the airport. Nor did I relish the idea of fighting with Jeremy. One didn't fight with Jeremy Danvers; one shouted and raged and cursed him while he stood there with an inscrutable look on his face, waited until you'd exhausted yourself, then calmly refused to discuss the matter. I'd learned ways of getting under his skin, but I was out of practice. No, tonight I'd fight back by refusing to play their games. I'd go to bed, get a good sleep, settle this in the morning, and leave. Simple as that.
I grabbed my overnight bag and went upstairs to my old room, ignoring the fact that-although supposedly no one knew I was coming-the bedroom was aired out, window cracked open, fresh bedding on, and covers turned back. I took the cell phone from my bag and called Philip. With each unanswered ring, I felt a stab of disappointment. He was probably in bed already. When the machine clicked on. I thought of hanging up, calling back, and hoping the additional ringing would wake him, but I knew I was being selfish, wanting to talk to him to reestablish my link with the outside world. So I settled for leaving a brief message to let him know I'd arrived safely and I'd call again before I left the next day.
