Page 3 of The Last Wish (Lost Legacy #1)

CHAPTER

THREE

GIDEON

I t’s late when we pull up to our cabin. I crack my neck, but it doesn’t do a thing to clear my thoughts. My head was on a hinge during the drive, constantly watching the back seat for movement. Besides the times when we hit a few bumps or potholes, her body didn’t move once. I feel a little dumb, because I couldn’t stop myself from checking. I had to be sure she was okay.

I keep telling myself it’s good she hasn’t woken up yet. Explaining why we followed her and brought her home without asking isn’t going to be easy, but the waiting is eating me alive.

Callum turns the car off, and the overhead light flickers to life automatically. He checks the back seat and sighs.

“Do you think anyone followed us?” I ask, giving into the urge and looking back again.

“We were careful, so I doubt it.” Cal’s voice is sluggish. He scrubs his hand across his face, but there’s no way it helps with the exhaustion or the anxiety. As the garage door closes behind us, I unclip my seatbelt and slide out. We unload the car in silence, starting with the stranger. I lay her gently on the leather sectional, while Callum grabs the bags. It’s dark in the living room, but I can still see the bruise on her face swelling and starting to turn purple. Rage bubbles up, burning away how tired I am.

Callum flips on the light, and soft, recessed lighting highlights the worst of the damage. It doesn’t look that serious, but no matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t control my reaction.

“You should feed her some of your blood, so she won't wake up in pain,” I demand. Callum shakes his head like I’m losing it.

“Dude, she might not wake up in pain, but I don't think any of us are ready for her to drink my blood .” He’s not wrong, but she’s hurt . Doesn’t he understand? Can’t he see? My nails dig into the back of the couch, and Callum must see I’m about to argue because he cuts me off before I can start.

“I mean, seriously,” he snorts. “You want this girl to wake up in a strange house with two guys she doesn’t know and the inexplicable urge to hump the sofa?”

I grumble, knowing he’s right. Callum just smiles, lifting her shirt a couple of inches to take in the scratches on her side. His smile drops when he sees the drying blood. The cuts aren't deep, but she's going to feel them for a while. I stare at her, lost in thought.

Callum shuffles back into the room with a first aid kit, and I realize with shock that I didn’t even notice him leave. Shit. I should have been taking care of her, but I’m just staring like an idiot.

He gently cleans her side with antiseptic, laying a soft, breathable bandage over the worst spots. Callum touches her like she’s made of glass, and I can’t look away. I’m watching him so closely that I don't see her wake up. Nope, the only clue I get is her gasp, loud in the quiet of our living room. Her eyes flash with panic. I whine, and Callum freezes.

Oh fuck.

SHEENA

My head is pounding. It’s the only thing I notice at first, my mind fuzzy and disoriented as I come to a little more with each throb. It takes real effort to force my eyelids into the upright position. Jesus, I’m not sure they’ve ever been heavier. Adding insult to injury, my only reward for prying them open is a glimpse of some dated wood paneling.

Before I can focus on that for too long, a sting in my side makes me gasp. The sharp inhale floods my nose with the subtle smell of leather. Two things become clear at once: I’m not in my RV, and I’m not alone.

Goddammit. The guys from the bar. They’ve taken me.

They’re standing over me and staring like... I’m the threat? Who the hell kidnaps someone and then has the audacity to feel awkward about it? That makes almost as little sense as my mental state. Maybe I have a concussion because an odd wave of calm settles over me as soon as I recognize them. If these guys went to the trouble to track me down and bring me to some unknown location, the only thing I should feel is panic.

I feel like I’ve been body snatched by an idiot.

Did they drug me? The possibility brings back some of the fear I’ve been missing. It’s a relief to feel my heart race again as I take stock of my body. The strange buzzing that’s been driving me crazy since I left the bar is mostly gone, but my side hurts. I lift my shirt with trembling hands to find there are several carefully secured pieces of gauze staring back at me.

The fight flies back into my head in frightening detail. His glowing yellow eyes devouring me, sharp nails scoring my side, and the taste of blood in my mouth after he backhanded me. I suck in a sharp breath, and my ribs ache from the sudden movement.

My fear roars back in at full power, lending me the strength to stand on wobbly legs. I back away from them both, scanning the room for a way to escape. Maybe they’ll let me.

“It's okay. You're safe,” the one with black eyes whispers. Liar. “I promise no one will hurt you.” More bullshit. I learned a long time ago words are only worth the breath it takes to say them.

He holds his hands out in front of himself. If it’s supposed to make me feel calm, it’s not working. I watch him closely, waiting for the attack. He's standing so still, it’s like he's avoiding spooking a skittish, wild animal. Maybe that’s what I am to him—just prey, bruised, hyperventilating, and helpless in his house. He can think what he wants, but I won’t make it easy on him. Still, if he thinks his lies are working, maybe he’ll drop his guard.

I just need to give myself space to run.

When I try to speak, my voice comes out in a low, garbled rasp. It hurts. The giant one darts in front of me with a glass of water, holding it out without a word. If they were going to kill me, surely they would have done it earlier and not wasted time with poison. I take the water, gulping it down all at once as he stares in silence.

In my hurry, some of the water drips from the corner of my mouth. I wipe it away with the back of my left hand and tighten my grip on the glass. It’s the only weapon I have. Maybe I can throw it or break it and use the sharp pieces to fight back.

I’ll need to play this carefully. Testing my voice again, I keep the volume low and my tone calm.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

They exchange an uncomfortable glance. I retreat a step, trying to figure out the best path to the door without being obvious.

“We saw that guy attacking you. We were worried he might have a pack nearby, and since you were unconscious, we couldn't really ask permission.” The frat bro shrugs his shoulders like he’s embarrassed. I’m not buying it. No one with that many visible tattoos has any business pretending to be a boy next door.

He ramps up the excuses like he’s sensing my skepticism.

“We loaded you up and brought you here so that you'd be safe.” He smiles. “I’m Callum, by the way—Callum Casanell. That's Gideon Therion.” There’s no way he just gave me their real names... Unless he plans to kill me before it even matters. Silently, I think of them as the mouth and the muscle. The big guy has yet to say a word in front of me. The other guy talks a good game; I’ll give him that. Plus, his smile is dazzling, but it’s not so blinding that I don’t notice what he’s deliberately leaving out.

“Okay, sure.” I narrow my eyes. “But why were you even there? I ran into you in a bar in the middle of nowhere, only for you to ride in and save the day hundreds of miles away.” I pause for dramatic effect, letting a quiver slip into my voice as if the thought is only just now occurring to me. “Were you following me?”

I need to tread carefully. I want answers, but I also can’t risk antagonizing these guys. There’s bravery, which isn’t really part of my repertoire anyway, and then there’s doing what you have to do to survive. In my experience, the two rarely go hand in hand.

The mouthy one who claims his name is Callum grimaces, and the mountain of a man—Gideon—steps closer to me. Internally, I tense to run, letting my real fear show on my face. Maybe they aren’t the kind of men who hurt women. I haven’t met many of those, but surely they exist. Either way, it doesn’t change my plans. I won’t be taking the time to find out what kind of men they are, so it’s best if they underestimate me.

“It's complicated...” Callum trails off, hesitantly continuing when I glare. “We were following you. That’s true, but it’s not what you think.”

He has no idea what I think, but his excuses aren’t cutting it. Like he can sense that I’m not buying it, he rushes on. “You seemed freaked out at the bar. We wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Is he serious, right now?

It’s true that I was freaked out, but if he thinks that tiny detail is enough to explain two strangers following me hundreds of miles, he’s got another thing coming. This story has more holes than a goddamn colander.

Still, why deny kidnapping me after the fact? I’m here—wherever that is—armed only with a kitchen glass. Even at full strength, I’m no match for either of them in a fight, much less both. Maybe they don’t know what they’re doing, but it’s been my experience that kidnappers don’t go to the trouble of hiding their intentions at this stage.

I don’t have a rule that applies here. That makes my skin crawl.

Fuck it. I’m just going to go for it and test them.

I clear my throat.

“Look, I can't just stay quiet when my safety is on the line.” I sidestep cautiously towards what I hope is the front door. “Thanks for stepping in to help me.” I smile, feeling both of them tracking my every move. “I’ll be forever grateful that you stopped that... man.” I stumble over the word, but push past it, because this is the moment of truth. “Now, if you can point me toward the nearest town, I'll get out of your hair.”

I hold my breath, but I don’t have to wait long for a genuine reaction.

A growl erupts from the giant’s throat, draining whatever blood was left in my face. Something about the rush of fear combined with that noise sends my mind hurtling back to the moment on the side of the road. Similar animalistic sounds came from both my attacker and the lion that rescued me.

Shaking my head, I replay the memory once, twice, four times, reaching the same impossible conclusion each time. How can that be real? I must have a serious head injury because there’s no way this man could be a lion. I know there are a lot of things that are difficult to explain in this world, but a fucking lion?

My back bumps against the wall, and I shudder. I didn’t even realize I was retreating. Now, I’m cornered by two dangerous—men? That term might not even apply to this situation.

Suddenly, I feel like part of the bad end of the food chain.

This is terrible.

But if they want to kill me, I’m going to kick, scream, and bite the entire time, no matter how much bigger their teeth happen to be.

The talkative one steps forward. He seems on edge, which is frankly ridiculous and a little offensive. It’s not like two strangers just followed him into the boonies and tossed him in the back of their car.

“Okay, everyone, just take a breath and stay calm.” He glances nervously at the big guy before focusing back on me. “Ma'am—sorry, we don't even know your name, but Gideon feels he has a... connection with you.”

I tense against the wall. Did I imagine him hesitating before saying the word connection? It doesn’t matter. They’re clearly delusional.

Ignoring the mouthpiece, I turn my focus to the bigger threat, the muscle. The giant looks like he’s about to have a meltdown. He keeps tugging on his curls, while his irises are flashing from brown to an unnatural golden color. He’s clearly malfunctioning. Something tells me I don’t want to be anywhere near him if he fully loses it.

Sucking in a breath, I try to think. I need to be careful with this, but I’m tired of the lies. With my back literally against the wall, I have no choice but to push back.

“Stay away from me,” I warn, hating the slight panic in my voice. To my shock, both men listen, freezing where they are.

“We won’t hurt you.”

“You say that, but you... kidnapped me,” I hiss, clenching my hands to stop them from shaking. “You followed me hundreds of miles because he feels like we have a connection?” I point at the big guy, and then yank my hand back to my side when the other one grimaces. He opens his mouth, but it’s too late to stop now. I need answers.

“I need to know why I saw glowing yellow eyes in a man’s face and a lion running loose in Colorado.” Neither of them reacts to that insane sentence, and I feel a rush of relief that I’m not actually going crazy.

“Explain. Please.” I let the demand hang there as the tense silence builds. It drags on. One second. Two. Ten.

“You know about supernaturals.” The big guy speaks for the first time, and my whole body jolts. Is that a statement or a question? I can’t tell, but his voice is low and grumbly. It sends another shiver down my spine. My body buzzes to life. I’ve got to be in shock or suffering a mental break because I’m almost turned on right now.

Callum throws himself down into an armchair with a groan, covering his face with one hand. I lean against the wall, letting it support my weight while I grapple with how to respond.

“Are you saying you're not human?” I ask. I mean to come across as skeptically sane, but I really just sound like a mouse caught in a trap. The lion— Gideon—flops down on the couch with a huff.

“Right. Neither is Cal.” He raises one eyebrow and stares me down. “And neither are you.”

I manage not to flinch from pure force of habit. He can't know. No one knows. I've been so careful.

I force a brittle laugh.

“Okay, I don't know what fantasy novel you’re living in, but I'm just a normal, human woman with bad taste in men.” I shrug. “There's absolutely nothing special about me.”

Even as the lies roll off my tongue, it’s clear they don’t believe me. Gideon actually looks at me like my response disappoints him, but the next words out of Callum’s mouth destroy my hope of keeping them completely in the dark.

“I don't know what you are and you don't have to tell me. But you don’t have to pretend. We could sense it from ten feet away.”

I prepare to hold my ground, then reconsider. He said I didn't have to tell them anything. I can’t risk accidentally revealing something to these strangers by continuing to lie. The partial truth is my best bet.

“As you guessed, Gideon is a shifter,” Callum says. He looks at his friend and shakes his head slightly before focusing back on me. “He can pick his form, but he prefers the lion you saw before. I'm a little different.” He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes boring a hole into the glass in my hand as he continues. “I’m... a demon. I'm not evil or anything. It's just how my kind are categorized.”

He finishes the explanation in a rush, and I blink in shock. I can’t believe he’s telling me this. They don’t even know me. It’s the stupid kind of risk only a person completely confident in their ability to protect themselves would take. I’ve never had that luxury. In fact—wait, why is this man blushing? Is he embarrassed?

It’s so ridiculous that I blame my shock for what happens next.

“Do you turn red and sprout a tail?” I tease, eying him up and down deliberately. I’m not sure which of us is more stunned by my joke. The demon’s mouth drops open, then his entire expression turns predatory. Within seconds, I find myself the full target of the most intense smolder I've ever seen.

The wall is holding me up for a different reason now.

Gideon groans loudly, breaking our tense, embarrassing stare-off and dragging a pillow over his lap.

“Knock it off, you slut. This conversation is hard enough without a fucking hard on.” His complaint registers in my short-circuiting brain. Did he really just call me a slut?

Before I can express my outrage, Callum turns the hypnotic expression toward his friend. Gideon freezes, but recovers quickly, lobbing the pillow at the demon’s face to break the connection. They both laugh, and even though I'm confused, scared, and oddly overheated, I'm tempted to join in.

It’s official. I’ve actually lost my mind.

The events of the last twenty-four hours are catching up to me as my exhaustion overpowers my survival instincts. Like they can sense the change, they both face me again. The full focus of their combined attention is intense.

“Look, I’m sure you’re about to pass out,” Callum says. “If you want to crash here, I swear nothing and no one will touch you as long as you want to stay. I give you my word.” All the laughter is gone from his voice. I feel his black eyes searching my face.

I let my eyelids slip shut. I can’t think straight while he’s staring at me like that. To my shock, I think I might believe him. I do my standard safety assessment. My stomach churns. It’s horribly risky, but these guys might actually be my best option for now.

Admittedly, my odds aren’t great either way. It’s dark. I don’t know where I am. My adrenaline is wearing off, and I’ve barely slept at all since leaving the bar.

This decision could be the last one I ever make, but what choice do I have? Gritting my teeth, I give them both a hesitant nod. The look they exchange is so relieved I almost tell them I’ve changed my mind.

My eyelids droop. I’ll reassess after a few hours of sleep.

When Callum leads me up the stairs and down the hall, I follow on autopilot, noting the exits. He leaves awkwardly after showing me to a cozy guest bedroom with an attached bathroom.

I find it stocked with towels and products. Even though I can barely keep my eyes open, I lock the door and take a quick shower. It's been so long since I've had access to hot water, I’m not about to waste the luxury. Gently, I wash the grime off of my body and take stock of the clusters of bruises, being extra careful to keep the bandages dry around my scrapes.

I've had worse, but I can tell I'll be feeling this fight for a while. I wash out my hair, letting the conditioner sit on the long, dark strands for a few minutes before rinsing it out.

Five minutes later, I’m running a comb through the tangles in my hair and grimacing as I slide back into my filthy clothes. When I return to the bedroom, I could cry with relief. My duffle is sitting neatly by the bed. It looks shabby compared to the rest of the room, but that bag holds everything I own.

Still, I don’t like that one of them came in here to drop it off while I was vulnerable in the shower. I reach for the bag, then freeze. The pocketknife I stabbed the drifter with is propped on top. I grab it with shaky fingers. Memories of blood trickling down the hilt onto my hand flood my brain.

It’s going to be gross... except it isn’t.

Someone cleaned the blood from the blade and made sure I would find it first thing. It’s a small gesture. The knife wouldn’t do a damn thing against an actual lion, but somehow I feel better. Not enough to get lulled into a false sense of complacency, though.

No, I’m completely aware of how outgunned I am. That’s why I lock the bedroom door and slide a nearby chair under the knob. It probably won’t hold them for long, but I can’t get the heavy armoire to budge. At the least, I hope my preparations will buy me enough time to defend myself.

Rifling through my ratty assortment of things, I find what I'm looking for and slide into a worn, oversized t-shirt and shorts. Whether I need to fight or flee, I’d rather not do either in tattered, blood-soaked clothes.

Maybe I won’t have to .

It’s nothing but wishful thinking. I’d be better off banning thoughts like that.

Sinking into the soft down of the pillow top mattress, I breathe deeply for the first time in more than a day. It’s like resting on a cloud. The duvet cover is even giving me a false sense of security with how it wraps around me, cocooning me away from the rest of the world. This bed is literally to die for. I can only hope fate doesn’t actually expect me to pay up.

I fall into a sleep that’s free of nightmares but filled with sexy men staring at me.

It’s disturbing, even in my dreams.