Which meant she was in the path of disaster unless she came to her senses.
Good thing her mother was a therapist.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Lyric re-formed on her grandparents’ covered back porch, it seemed like the first time all night that she was not stepping through, standing on, or slipping over snow in her Lou-stupidns. Of course, the stillies were still ruined, her feet were solid blocks of ice, and her ankles and calves were so stiff, they could have qualified as stakes.
But who was counting at this point, especially as she had so much other stuff on her mind.
With a fit of paranoia, she tried to conjure up her human savior’s face—and was relieved to a point when she remembered he had dark hair and had been in a hoodie and a parka.
“What color were his eyes?” she blurted.
He was forgettable by design? Was that what he’d said? Yeah, well, the problem was her, not him, and she needed to pull herself together.
Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and watched the cloud drift off.
This house that she had always loved coming to so much was located on some nice rural acreage, and the pond in the rear yard was one of her absolute favorite places in the world. Over the course of her life, the trees had all grown up and filled in, creating a sanctuary feel inside the fence line, and about five years ago, her grandfather had added a screened-ingazebo by the water. Eight-sided and topped with a red tin roof, the thing was a cheerful teapot without a spout—and her eyes misted with tears as she remembered him building it board by board, nail by nail.
It had been an anniversary present for theshellanhe adored so much. And in the summertime, on Sunday nights before dawn, Lyric and hergranmahmenhad liked to go out there after the family Last Meal and have a listen to the whippoorwills and the crickets and the tree frogs.
It was also good when there was a thunderstorm and they’d been feeling adventurous.
When those moments had been happening, Lyric had certainly enjoyed them, but she’d never considered that they were something rare and precious… because there would come a night when she would be out there alone.
Bringing Dev’s coat in closer, she stared across the snowdrifts at the gazebo, and as her eyes filled with tears, she had to look elsewhere. How beautiful the winter landscape was, so bright and gleaming, the moonlight filtering through the ribbons of clouds to drape the snowcapped pines and hemlocks in shades of blue, the frozen pond like a platinum plate.
There had been an evening back in early October, about three months ago, when the temperature had been unseasonably warm. The family had gone out there with baskets full of food and all the plates and silverware and drinks.Granmahmenhad cooked, of course, and whatever had been served had been delicious…
Why couldn’t she remember what they’d had?
And come to think of it, she couldn’t recall what they’d talked about, either. There was also no memory of what she’d been wearing, or what anybody else had had on. No sweaters or fleeces, that was for sure, because of the eerily tender temperature.
God, yet another example of how much she didn’t retain.
She was certain, though, that hermahmen, the Chosen Layla, had been there, and her father Xcor as well—and she was grateful now that it had been everyone.
Hergranmahmenwas never going to have dinner out there again.
They hadn’t known it then. They’d just been there all together, enjoying the beautiful warm night, treasuring it as winter came rolling in. But you never knew when you were going to do something for the last time.
Turning away, she brushed at her eyes as she went over to the French door on the left. The other two opened up into the first floor primary suite that had been added the year before. Thank God her grandparents had planned ahead.
What a shame that what they’d prepared for had arrived so many decades before it should have.
There was a keypad next to the bolting mechanism, and she entered her registry number. The entire house was wired for sound, as her uncle Vishous put it, the cameras and motion detectors, the alarm system, the underground escape route, all engineered by him and monitored by his staff back at F.T. Headquarters, twenty-four hours a day.
She’d always been grateful the Black Dagger Brotherhood resources protected her grandparents as well.
As things unlocked, she waved up at the nearest camera, pushed the handle down, and entered her grandfather’s office. Distantly, there was a chiming sound, and she was careful to make sure as she shut the door that the seal was tight and the mechanism could reconnect. Just like her uncle had taught her when she was very young.
Safety started with opening and closing, he’d always said—
Wincing, she lifted one foot up like a flamingo and loosened the straps on her stiletto. Slipping it off was a relief, especially in all the warmth. Except trouble came as she went to put her foot down, and while her arch protested going flat, she braced a palm on the wall for balance as she went to work on the other side.
And that was when she realized…
It was too quiet.
