Free Vanished by John Shepard, Danielle Cloakey Page B

a bad idea. We can go, if you want. I’ll take you back to your room.” He released Vendas, who caught his balance and straightened his suit with a quick jerk.
    Vendas arched a brow at her, but she ignored him, focusing on Radek. “Look, you’re nice, but this,” she gestured to him and then herself, “isn’t working. Just… give me some space, please.”
    His expression darkened, and he glanced over his shoulder at Vendas, who stared at the ceiling, pretending not to listen. He turned back to her, his frustration clear in his words.
    “Fine. I’ll back off, then.” With short, angry strides he stormed from the room, leaving the lingering scent of mint and pine.
    She turned back to Vendas, who eyed her, as if unsure what to say or do. “Are your breakups always this tense?”
    She giggled , her head so light she didn’t care anymore. “You have no idea.”
    His quick grin cleared the rest of the tension. “Some people have no sense of humor. And some just need the shit kicked out of them.”
    He downed a drink, and she followed suit. The lightheadedness fluffing up her brain suddenly seemed very funny, and she laughed. Vendas leaned closer to her, his shoulder bumping hers.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I can’t believe I’m here, and that all this has happened. It’s like a nightmare that suddenly turned into the best dream you’ve ever had.”
    He shook his head. “Amen to that.” With steady fingers, he lifted his drink in her direction again and knocked it back. She slid down off the stool, wondering when the world would stop spinning.
     
    Some remnant of a demon flashed in her mind and she jerked awake. Snores issued through the room, and she glanced around, trying to remember what had happened. Across the room an arm and leg hung off the edge of a white couch. Dark green hair peeked at her from under a snow-colored blanket.
    She crept from bed, a jagged slash of pain slamming through her head. Despite the pain, she tiptoed to the nightstand, pulling a knife from the gear. Silent as death, she made her way to the intruder. Pouncing on him, she pressed her knife to his throat in time to feel the cold bite of steel against her hip.
    “Why the hell are you here?” She growled the words into his sleepy face. What the hell made him think this was a good idea? She pressed the blade tighter to his flesh, the prick of his knife digging into her side. Pain didn’t register over the absolute fury raging in her blood.
    The mixture of fear and danger in his eyes warned her he wasn’t quite awake, but she didn’t care. Why was he here? What had he done? Horrified, she realized his chest was bare, the blanket pinning his hips not offering more evidence of his crimes.
    His own words were tense, and she sensed a struggle in him. “I brought you back and stayed in case you decided to drown in your own barf.”
    She wondered why he wasn’t backing down. The unnatural feel of threatening her showed in the sheen of sweat on his brow, the quick shifting of his eyes, the shaking of the hand holding the knife to her side. It was hurting him, yet he wasn’t relinquishing control to her.
    Holding firm, she pressed into her blade a bit more, the skin reddening around the gleaming metal. When his weapon didn’t move, she relented, releasing him. At the same instant, she realized his knife had slipped to the ground, the muffled thud of it drawing her attention.
    She spoke, her words slow, enunciated. “I will say this once. I am not interested.”
    It was clear now. He could conjure her playful side, but the past remained, even if he made her forget for a moment. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the back and forth. It was too painful.
    The flash in his eyes warned her he could sense her pain and distress. Guilt began to replace her receding anger.
    “ Get out of my room, now .” She retreated off the couch, back toward her own bed and he rose, gathering his suit and other items. She averted her eyes, not