CHAPTER 16
THE DREAMS COME IN DARK FLASHES. THE CHAOS of the last three days. Kil ing. The gunman in the store. The vampire in the desert. Always the blood is what stands out most vividly. Starkly, like a retouched photo where the background is shades of gray, but not the blood. It’s crimson, fragrant, sweet — sexual in its al ure. My body responds to the images and the first stirrings of arousal send heat rushing to warm my skin. I lose myself in the sensation, let the excitement build, yearn for release.
A hand on my shoulder. A voice.
I’m pul ed from exquisite pleasure. Pul ed unwil ingly back into reality at the moment before climax. I react with frustration and anger, batting the hand away. “What the—?”
We’re on the road. Frey glances over. “Jesus, Anna.
You’re moaning. Were you having a nightmare?”
Shit. I scrub a hand over my face, partly to recover from the effects of the dream, partly to hide the embarrassment.
I struggle upright in the seat. I’m stil groggy and disoriented. “How long have I been out?”
“Maybe three hours.” He shoots me a look. “You weren’t sleepy, huh?”
Three
He’s stil talking. “But you’ve been moaning and thrashing around on that seat for the last fifteen minutes. I was afraid you’d hang yourself in the seat belt. What were you dreaming about?”
If I told him the truth, that I was just about to have an orgasm and he interrupted not a nightmare, but a real y, real y good dream, I’m not sure who would be more mortified. Frey for mistaking moans of passion for groans of terror or me for admitting it. I decide to save Frey the humiliation.
“I can’t remember what I was dreaming. You know how it is.”
Frey doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Must have been awful.”
There’s an undertone of sarcasm that makes me swivel in the seat to search his face. Is he screwing with me? Is the only misinterpretation going on here mine? But it’s dark in the Jeep and in profile, only a hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. He’s not giving anything away and I’m certainly not going to pursue the subject.
I turn my attention back to the road. The Jeep is bumping along and I realize we’ve left the paved highway. I remember Frey mentioning unpaved and unlit roads. He wasn’t kidding.
There’s no moon, either. But when I look up, the sky seems closer than I’ve ever seen it, the stars so bright, I have to fight the impulse to reach up a hand and pluck one down. As I watch, one of them separates from the rest and tracks slowly across the sky, blinking at me as it goes.
My breath catches. “What is that? An airplane?”
Frey fol ows my pointing finger. “No, too high. It’s a satel ite. You don’t see many of those in the city, do you?”
I watch until it disappears out of sight. “I’ve never seen
Frey shoots me a sideways glance. “You have, you know.
The night we went after Belinda Burke and stopped the demon raising. You don’t remember?”
The memory floods back. Frey and I racing across the desert. Panther and vampire. The sky as bril iant and close as it is now. I nod. I remember.
Frey pul s the Jeep to a stop. “Put your seat back. Let’s watch the show.”
We both recline the seats once more, mesmerized by a sky that moves and shimmers as if it were alive. Within minutes, we see two shooting stars, one right after the other, meteors trailing bits of rock and dust that disintegrate into fiery bal s when they hit the earth’s atmosphere. The Milky Way, a soft blur of hazy white light, divides the sky.
Constel ations form patterns that I can actual y distinguish. I feel like a kid, lost in awe and trembling with delight. It’s so beautiful.
“Is it like this out here every night?”
I’m whispering. Somehow to speak out loud might break the spel.
Frey whispers, too. “Is it any wonder the Navajo consider this a sacred place?”
My heart pounds in my chest. Why have I never been here before? How could I not know of such wonders?
Frey turns toward me in the seat. “Wait until sunrise. This val ey is one of the most breathtaking on earth.”
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s almost four—
and to the east, a faint line of pink blossoms on the horizon.
Not an unbroken horizon. Jagged rock formations rise from the desert floor like the ghostly abodes of long dead gods.
One rises straight and narrow to the sky. It towers over the rest like some giant navigational pylon aimed at the stars.
Frey fol ows my gaze. “That’s cal ed the Totem Pole. It’s four hundred fifty feet high but only a few meters wide. It’s one of the most photographed spots in the val ey.”
I glance over. “You know a lot about this place. How often do you come?”
“Not often.” His tone is regretful. “I should come more.”
“Why don’t you? You obviously love it.”
“It isn’t a good idea for me to spend a lot of time in the val ey.”
He’s answering my questions, but he may as wel not be.
The closeness we’d been experiencing shatters into a mil ion hard, brittle pieces. “For god’s sake, Frey, spil it. What keeps you away?”
When the silence lingers on too long, my temper flares. I reach over and punch him in the arm.
He yelps and grabs at his bicep. “What was that for?”
“For being a jerk. You know every fucking thing about me.
Every bad thing that’s happened, every man I’ve ever slept with, every body I’ve buried. And you won’t share with me one single detail of your personal life? After al we’ve been through together? You’re real y beginning to piss me off.”
Frey grips the steering wheel. “Why would you be interested now?”
His voice is rough, whether with suppressed anger or guilt I can’t tel. It hardly matters. My own suppressed anger boils to the surface. I slam my seat back into its upright position.
Jerk around to look down at him.
“I’ve had a bitch of a week. In the last three days I had Max, David and Harris in my face. Then Chael showed up. I’d like to think you have some appreciation for that since I came to you out of concern for your son.
“I’m sorry about Layla. I’m sorry I didn’t cal to check in with you sooner. I’m sorry if my life keeps screwing up yours. If I could change any of it, I would. Maybe that’s what this trip is about. Maybe if things work out, I wil be out of your life forever and you can go back to Layla. She won’t have me to blame anymore for your problems and you can go back to your safe, stupid, boring existence.”
When the tirade passes, I swivel away from him on the seat and wait for Frey to unload on me. He should. He has every right to. My body tenses, every muscle steeling itself to receive the verbal blow I deserve.
Nothing happens.
I steal a sideways glance. Frey is staring straight ahead, his knuckles stil stiff on the steering wheel, his face pale.
Another moment passes. Then, slowly, he brings his seat to an upright position. He looks over at me. At first, his mouth is drawn in a tight line, his brow furrowed into deep, angry grooves. As I watch, though, his expression shifts. Like ice cream melting, the lines smooth, the mouth turns up instead of down. His shoulders start to shake.
Frey begins to laugh.
A laugh so hard it doubles him over.
