Page 9 of Bloodbane

CHAPTER NINE

The Third Body in the Freezer

{ R U B Y }

“I never claimed to be asleep.” Grayson’s voice drifts over from the cell without hesitation or a trace of drowsiness.

I do my best not to react to the low tone that somehow manages to be both silk and gravel all at once. “There’s a lot you don’t say. But luckily for me, today is opposites day, which means you’re going to be an open book,” I say sweetly, tone matter-of-fact. “You’re going to answer all my questions in an easy and straightforward manner.”

Grayson sits up at that, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. His head remains down, hidden by his hood. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“If it is opposite day, I would be the one asking the questions.”

I fight to keep my twitching lips in a straight line. He’s definitely not an idiot. In fact, he may be too smart for his own good. Hopefully not too smart for mine.

“Can’t argue with that.” I hum thoughtfully, rising to my feet with a groan. I grab the back of the office chair and wheel it close to the bars. “How about we make a game of it then? You answer a question for me, and I’ll answer one for you. But since I came up with the game, I get to go first, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

Grayson’s low laugh has my fingers flexing involuntarily on the back of the chair. I shake my head, aiming to clear it, but settling instead for the distraction of the resulting sharp, throbbing pain. Gritting my teeth, I plaster a smile on my face. I can’t show weakness. I sure as hell can’t show interest.

I spin the chair and fold myself into it slowly. There are a million questions I want to ask, but I don’t want to push my luck and jump in feet first. I need baby steps. My eyes narrow on the plate of food sitting untouched on the floor.

“Not a burger fan?”

Silence is the only answer for long enough that I start to wonder if maybe Grayson isn’t going to play his part in our little game after all.

“I have very particular dietary requirements.”

Hope flutters in my chest: the rapid beating of invisible wings as my little plan takes flight.

“Cooper thinks burgers and chocolate milk equal a balanced diet. If you let me know what you do eat, I’m happy to get it for you. I’m not sure how to deal with a hunger strike.”

“There seem to be a great many things you’re unsure of. How did you end up with a job you so obviously know nothing about?”

Though the question may have been intended to ruffle my feathers, I smile, unfazed. I’ve asked myself that same thing more than once. In one way, I don’t want to answer—I may lose any air of authority I still have—but I don’t want to lose what little ground I’m gaining, either.

“It isn’t my job, not really. I mean, well… it’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Grayson replies dryly.

Half of me wants to refuse to elaborate—technically, I did give an answer—but something tells me being persnickety or closed off will be the end of our little game.

“When old Sheriff Adams passed, Cooper became Undersheriff by default, for a few months at least, until the next election. But…” I hesitate, not wanting to throw Coop under the bus. How can I explain he’s terrified of stepping up and trying to fill Adams’ shoes? Though charming and carefree on the outside, internally he’s plagued with self-doubt. One day he’ll realize he’s so much more capable than he gives himself credit for. Until that day, I promised I’d be on hand to help. It’s the least I can do after everything he’s done for me.

“But Jones, more content to play the wacky side-kick than the leading man, roped you into taking responsibility in his stead,” Grayson surmises.

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification. I’m just helping out until the spot is filled by a new application or transfer.” I shrug, not wanting to show how unnerving it is that Grayson can read me like an open, large-print book. “Besides, it’s a small town—population 106—so it hasn’t exactly been an overwhelming workload. We get some illegal hunting, a few animal attacks, and the odd search and rescue operation. There are the occasional drunken idiots not knowing their limits and neighborly disagreements, but it’s quiet more often than not. Even while juggling my day job, I’m not exactly run off my feet. Hell, I had enough downtime to organize the filing cabinet last week. Which reminds me…” I call my next question over my shoulder as I collect the pile of clothing and blankets from the front of the cabin. “My turn. Do you have a last name, or are you an artsy type like Madonna and Beyoncé that goes by just one?”

“Grayson is my surname.”

With full arms I spin on the spot, eyebrow cocked. “Sneaky, Mr. Grayson. What are the odds you’re going to give me a mulligan on that one?”

“Not a chance. What’s your day job?”

“Mechanic. I have a little garage just off Main Street.” I try to keep my pulse in check as I approach the cell, knowing this part of the plan only works if I can maintain my composure. I’m inordinately grateful when the keys in my hand don’t tremble as I unlock the door. With shoulders squared, I open the cell and step inside, pushing the untouched plate of food away with my foot.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Grayson murmurs, still staring resolutely down at his hands.

I try not to bristle visibly. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that from a man. I suspect it won’t be the last. “Not feminine enough?” I ask with mock sweetness.

“Not dirty enough.”

The answer stops me in my tracks. Grayson’s husky voice has my mind conjuring all kinds of filthy activities. None of them involve engines. I clear my throat roughly.

“Speaking of dirty…” I tuck the blankets under my arm and hold out the clean sweats I’d bought at the Handy Mart on my way in this morning. “I noticed you have a penchant for black, so hopefully these are to your tastes. I had to guess your size so they might not be the best fit, but they are at least entirely blood-free.”

Grayson’s head finally lifts.

The clothes tumble from my outstretched hand.

“Your face,” I choke out. “It’s be—” I swallow down the rest of the words with a strangled sound, my brain coming back online just in time. Beautiful is not a word I should be calling the man in front of me, no matter how true. “It’s… better.”

Grayson trails his fingers over his cheek. The burns and blisters have disappeared as if they never existed. Smooth skin, flushed red as if suffering a bad sunburn, stretches over high cheekbones and a razor-sharp jaw.

My pulse pounds in my throat so hard it hurts.

In one graceful movement, Grayson pushes off the bed and advances slowly. Awareness prickles over my skin, raising a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if this is how it feels to be stalked by a lion—a powerful beast, radiating a threat that speaks to my base instincts, urging me to flee. But I don’t move—can’t move—somehow cemented to the spot by that intense gray gaze.

Grayson stops a breath in front of me, so close I can see the light blue flecks almost lost in those silver eyes. But then he bends and the connection breaks. The strange fog in my head dissipates, and I take a step backward as he straightens, the fallen clothing clutched in his hand.

“ How ?” My voice is sandpaper to my dry throat.

“I have a… condition,” Grayson draws out, measuring every word. “My skin reacts quite badly to sunlight.”

“You’re allergic to the sun?” I scoff.

“Something like that.”

“That’s not a thing. Right? That’s like saying you’re allergic to grass or—” I gesture to the space around me. “—or… or air .”

“You’re welcome to research. I’ll wait.”

I meet Grayson’s challenging stare with narrowing eyes, making a mental note to ask Milo about sun allergies later. “That’s okay, I’ll take your word for it. My preferred Jeopardy category obviously isn’t human ailments. I thought allergies give you hives, or you know, anaphylaxis, not turn you to charcoal.”

Grayson hums noncommittally, though one corner of his lips curves up. “You owe me three answers.”

“What? No. Three?” My attempts to do a quick tally of the unintended questions fail me, too distracted by the way Grayson’s long fingers are tracing patterns over the black sweats in his hand. “Uh, fine. Fire away.”

With another tilt of his lips, Grayson pivots abruptly before sauntering back to the bunk and placing the clothes atop it. “Have there been any recent wolf attacks?” The question is muffled as he pulls the soiled hoodie over his head.

My eyes are drawn immediately to Grayson’s hair. The long locks trapped in a half-dozen intricate braids meet in one central, twisting form. Snaking over the shaved lower section of his scalp, they hang low, resting against the muscular expanse of his back. No longer hidden by the hood, the white braids almost glow under the incandescent lighting... except where they’re stained with red.

My whole body flushes hot, first with unchecked desire and then embarrassment.

Grayson stiffens, pausing his motions momentarily. The air turns heavy and thick, pressing in on me, and I have to work to pull oxygen into my lungs. Grayson turns slowly, body drawn taut.

“I, uhh, oh, um...” I pull the blankets from under my arm and twist the fabric between my fingers desperately.

The weight of Grayson’s stare is a match to my kindling desire, and I can’t stop myself from exploring the broad shoulders, past the chiseled chest decorated with dark runic tattoos, down over rippling abs, to the ridges of the inviting V disappearing into the waistband of his blood-soaked jeans.

His body looks like it’s been carved from marble.

My knees feel like they’re made of Jell-O.

Despite knowing it’s wrong, I can’t look away. Faded scars on Grayson’s left arm shine almost opalescent against pale skin. They curve from his wrist, crisscrossing up his whole arm before creeping over his shoulder. So focused on the strange patterns, it’s only when he twists to grab the clean sweatshirt from the bunk that I notice the damage to his right side. The large wound gouged deep below his ribs is a mess of red and black, and ebony tendril-like lines spreading out from the torn flesh.

“Oh, fuck! That looks seriously infected. You need a doctor.”

Grayson pulls the bunched fabric over his head and tugs it down to cover the wound as he turns. With a sweep of his hand, he frees his braid. It curves around his neck, the bright strands a shocking contrast to the dark, labyrinthine ink decorating the side of his throat.

“ It’s fine. ” Grayson’s tone makes it clear the subject isn’t up for discussion. And if it didn’t, the muscular arms folded across his chest would do the trick. “You still owe me an answer.”

Exasperation flares through me. “And you owe it to yourself not to die from stubbornness, yet here we are.”

The game is momentarily forgotten as I remember my vow from this morning. I can’t let Grayson die. But if he doesn’t do something about that wound soon, that’s exactly how this ends—three bodies in the freezer and zero answers.

“The wolves, Evans. How many attacks?”

I fidget with the blanket. The insistence about the wolves is odd. The repeated question is the only thing to break through Grayson’s calm demeanor. Does his desire to get information match my need for him to get medical attention? It’s the only advantage I have to play… I just hope it’s strong enough.

“I’ll answer if you agree to let Milo patch you up.”

“You can’t modify the rules mid-game.”

“Normally, sure. But it’s opposite day, remember?” I respond with as much bravado as I can muster. “Do we have a deal?”

Grayson’s eyes glitter dangerously, his whole face turning stormy. I lock my knees to keep them from giving out as I hold my breath and wait, wondering if I’ve overplayed my hand. Suddenly, I’m keenly aware that if Coop’s right, I’m standing in an unlocked cell with a murderer. If I’m wrong, the third body in the freezer tonight may be mine after all.

I’ve never wanted to be right more than I do now.

The silent battle of wills is waged for several moments before Grayson gives a curt, half-nod. “I’ll consider it.”

It’s not the answer I want, but it’s as close as I’m going to get to a win, and it comes with the bonus of me still breathing. I accept the new terms with a nod of my own and refill my burning lungs as covertly as I’m able before rewarding Grayson with his answer.

“Aside from the obvious, no. There have been a few extra sightings in the last few months, but nothing to cause alarm. Why are you so fixated on the wolves?”

“Has the human populace increased in the past few months?”

The shift in questioning only adds to my confusion. I’m sure now that I’ve never seen Grayson before—I would remember that face. And body. And voice. Forcibly dragging my attention away from places it has no right being, I refocus with difficulty. Grayson doesn’t live in town, so why is he so interested in it?

“Evans?”

“Hmm? Yeah, it has, by exactly two: a pair of siblings. They’re nice, quiet. Don’t see them in town much.”

“Where do they live if not in town?”

“A farm on the outskirts. I haven’t been there myself, but from all accounts, it’s quite nice. Peaceful.” Possibly a cult or community of devil worshipers, depending on which rumors you believe. I choose not to add that little tidbit. “If you weren’t stuck here, you could pay them a visit. All you have to do is tell me what happened out on the lake. Just the truth. No more cryptic clues and riddles.”

“Have trouble cracking them, do you?”

Summoning steel to my spine, I walk to the bunk and trade the blanket for the bloody hoodie. “I admit it took me longer than it should have—I blame the concussion—but I finally figured it out. It doesn’t matter why you were under my truck, only how I got inside it. I may not remember what happened yet, but I do know there’s no way I could have gotten myself inside the cab after my head nearly went through the door. The only explanation is that you put me there. You saved me. From who or what, I don’t know, but I’m hoping you’ll tell me so I can return the favor.”

“ You want to save me ?”

“Yes. Tell me what happened and I’ll track down the person who really belongs in that cell.”

Time stretches thin enough to snap as Grayson stares at me wordlessly. A muscle ticks over his sharp jaw. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Evans, it’s a solid plan. There’s just one small flaw.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I am guilty.”