Rhiannon Lee (rhiannon_lee) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-07-20 23:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | rhiannon lee, ~cian o'neill |
A Humming Under the Skin
Who: Rhiannon & Cian
What: They meet when her car breaks down
When: Present day, sunset
Where: Searchlight
Ratings: PG
The sun was sliding behind the horizon, the colours changing and deepening as the atmosphere provided filters to the weakening light and the shadows marched their way across the landscape. Cian looked happily across the familiar scene, appreciating the changing colours and textures of the hills and rocks. The lessening light reminded him he’d need to remove his sunglasses when he stopped in Searchlight to refuel, before the run down to Cottonwood Cove. He wondered if he might stop for a bite to eat before heading home, that way he could go for a run as soon as he reached the Cove. Inhaling deeply he was glad to be out of the city he’d had to go to that day to collect some spare parts for one of the boats. He didn’t mind it at night so much, but during the day it left him uncomfortable.
He could see the familiar shapes of the buildings on the outskirts of the small town starting to appear and rolled his shoulder slightly, easing the familiar trickle of something running down his spine that always happened as he rode along the stretch of highway between Searchlight and Henderson. It wasn’t until he’d returned to the area that his noticing of the sensation was highlighted. He wished Charlie was still around, that he could sit down with the elder Were with a good bottle of whiskey and ask him about the history of the area. Unfortunately he’d passed on while Cian was in the Caribbean, and the Markes family was now headed up by Sean, and his wife Gloria.
As he wondered whether he should ask Sean he eased off the throttle, letting the bike start to slow as the speed limit signs appeared, marking the northern limits of the town. Slowly kicking down through the gears to slow the bike further he noticed a car pulled over on the side of the road with what looked like the hood raised.
Home was so close. Two miles, at most.
Rhiannon could see the cluster of low shapes, the dilapidated but disarmingly agreeable town called Searchlight that hunched in the rough terrain-- a place without an obvious appeal since the mines were depleted, but with a magnetism no developer could replicate. If she had a pair of binoculars, her trailer might be spotted through its the barrels, humble in an odd grid of single- and double-wides. Humble, yes, but air conditioned, with a refrigerator full of cold beer and unadulterated privacy. Rhiannon fantasized about slipping out of her tank top and ripped denim shorts, pressing a bag of frozen peas against her breasts. Hello, lover.
But it wasn’t meant to be. The temperature gauge had topped out miles ago and the machinery ticked under the hood. Steam snaked between parts as incomprehensible to her as calculus. On the quiet roadside, Rhiannon took a meandering step backwards, creating space between herself and a car that, once considered an old friend, had knifed her in the back three times in as many months. A bead of perspiration danced down her spine.
Rhiannon fumbled in her hip pocket for a cell phone and scrolled for the number of the town’s only auto shop and towing service. In the distance, a motorcycle roared closer. She looked up, chagrined that she was the proverbial woman on the side of the road. She snatched the hood from its prop. Maybe she’d lock the car and set off on foot.
Cian saw the woman lower the hood, telltale whisps of steam disappearing into the heat of the dusk. He applied the brakes, slowing the bike as she finished lowering the hood. The gravel of the road crunched beneath his tyres as the bike rolled to a stop, one foot lowering to the ground to balance the weight of the machine.
“C’n I lend you a hand?” he offered, eyes taking in the woman standing in front of him. He detected a physical confidence that spoke of the strength that lay beneath the well-honed physique. His fingers made quick work of the fastening on his helmet which he pulled off, resting it on his thigh as he remained straddling his bike, quickly running his fingers through his damp hair.
Rhiannon anticipated that the driver might stop before his bike slowed. Stranded women often benefited from a stranger's generosity of spirit, or had to fend off their bad intentions. It was a coin flip. She was shaking her head before the man got his helmet off, chastising herself for never bothering to pick up any automotive knowledge, as often as she was on the road. What was a good excuse for refusing to accept a random person’s help? ’I’ve been meaning to take a walk in the hundred-degree heat. Can you believe my luck?’
She let the hood fall off her fingertips. The sun had dipped behind the western landscape, painting the sky and hills the color of a ripe nectarine. Rhiannon pushed her sunglasses onto her hair and acknowledged him. “No, I—”
Her words faltered for a beat, that brief moment when she caught onto a vibe and her hunter’s instinct pricked its ears, scattering the ordinary parts of her being that were better suited to social interaction. “I’ve got the mechanic’s number in my favorites…”
’Huh…’
Rhiannon took out her keys and dangled the metal ring from her finger while she gave him a head-to-toe. He was masculine, around her age, Irish if she had to guess. Not a vampire. Those could come out in daylight but rarely did in this climate, with its miles and miles of open air and not an ounce of shade. Besides, they didn’t sweat. This man did.
Cian chuckled softly. “Have t’ wonder if that’s his intention,” he commented with a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “The mechanic, that is,” he added. He’d known men who’d make sure a lady had to keep coming back to them by having different things go wrong with a vehicle, remembering a story his father had told him many years earlier of just such a type in a nearby town. ”Ended up bein’ the best thing t’ happen for me, his customers ran him out th’ village and brought their cars over, ‘nd we’ve built from there!” his da had told him, handing him a torque wrench and instructing him on how to tighten the bolts of an engine’s head in a certain pattern to prevent warping and damaging of the gasket.
He couldn’t blame the mechanic, if it was the one in Searchlight that she was referring to. He still wasn’t familiar with the town, having been away for nearly five years, but he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be too many of the citizens who’d match her for appearance and what he sensed was immense capabilities in managing her actions. There was something about her that made him study her a little more closely from behind his sunglasses before removing them.
“I’m happy t’ give y’ a lift t’ the workshop if y’ can’t raise him,” he added, hooking one arm of the sunnies into the neck of his white t-shirt, now visible beneath the black leather jacket he’d unzipped while sitting there. He felt the shift of air against his chest, the slightly cooler temp of the air replacing the heat his own body generated. “I’m stopping there for fuel anyway,” he added, glancing down at the hood, figuring that even if it was simply a blown radiator hose leaking he didn’t have any water handy to refill it. The wisps of steam were definite symptoms of something that simple.
“Ha.” As she dialed the number and let it ring, Rhiannon suppressed a smile at the unlikely idea of that particular mechanic finding a reason to bring her, a hunter, back into his shop. James Hutchins reeked of black magic. Privately, and without any provocation, she had wondered if various components of his shop were held together with the occult version of duct tape. Come to think of it, maybe he was the common denominator in her car’s reign of terror. Rhiannon stopped pacing as her eyes flicked back to the hood and considered it. ’No…’
A voicemail kicked in, so she thumbed the button to end her call, looking at the man on his bike as she pocketed her phone. The irony of being hesitant to accept help from strangers wasn’t lost on her, a woman who ran around saving tourists from fanged creatures. But the sense of his ‘otherness’ had grown when the stranger unzipped his jacket. She often wondered if it was akin to pheromones. Rhiannon’s perception of people that walked outside the normal confines of humanity was a tuning fork vibrating in the back of her skull, unmistakable, but it had no known source and no name, and it couldn’t yet name him.
“That’s a nice offer.” Rhiannon bit her lip and measured her words, “I’m unsure if I should climb onto a motorcycle behind a man I don’t know. Especially when he’s--”
’Shit.’ How was she going to finish that sentence, by disclosing that whatever he had going on was making her nerves hum?
“--Irish.” She couldn’t even get it out with a straight face.
In all the years he’d spent in the US Cian had come across all types, from those who claimed they had ‘green’ running in their veins, to those who believed they had it because the quantity of discoloured ale they consumed convinced them of such. But never had he had the statement he’d just heard uttered said by anyone who had more than a few brain cells to rub together. And he could tell from the ever so slight hesitation, and the almost coy if he was stupid, grin on her face that there was as much belief behind that choice of reasons as there was green cheese in the moon.
“Aye,” he agreed, somewhat sombrely, “I c’n und’stand y’ hesitation,” he continued, thickening the brogue of his accent as he spoke. “We c’n be a mighty unruly lot if’n we turn our minds t’ it.” His voice was rhythmic, the lilting tone meant to provide the sense of humour, to allay any thought that there may have been any offence taken, because there hadn’t. He knew there was something else she had meant to say, and that ‘Irish’ had almost been an escape, to cover up the sense she had of his true being.
It confirmed what he’s sensed about her, that there was something more than just blood running in her veins, and he sat, a little amused, and a lot intrigued, surveying the young women. “If it would make y’ feel more comfortable y’ can straddle the fuel tank,” he added, almost nonchalantly, confirming he was happy to take her objection and find a solution for the problem.
His life as a Were had been a tumultuous time in the beginning, the circumstances of his turning more than most could have borne, but Annie’s steady and calming hand had given him the strength to learn much about the ways of control for a calmness that gave one a sense of comfort and strength. It is what had lead him to begin to chip away at the wall between himself and Siofra, as Annie and Oonagh had christened his Were, and even though that wall was still many layers of stone high, he had begun to feel some sense of his other self.
He slid his helmet to one side, sliding back a little on his seat to show he was also prepared to pillion her in front if that was what it took to make her more comfortable.
The fuel tank. Rhiannon’s eyes dipped to it and her smile was slow but warm, the keys jangling as they passed between her fingers. “I’ll pass.” At least he hadn’t taken the comment to heart. She decided she liked him a bit for it. Having a sense of humor was an easy way to curry favor. She glanced up the road towards town. Daylight had given way, but it was hot enough to see convective heat rippling the air above the well-traveled highway.
Decision made, she gave the car hood a firm push to ensure its closure. “Just a sec.”
Rhiannon went around to the driver’s side door and opened it. Leaning inside the quiet car, hair curtaining her face, she scanned the compartments for anything of value that hadn’t been locked in the trunk. Within the open glove compartment, a handgun slid into view, nestled in a bed of legal paperwork, wrinkled napkins, a crucifix, an ink pen, and a straw. The state of Nevada had no laws prohibiting open carry, but she wasn’t wearing a holster so she’d have to leave the firearm, unless he enjoyed having a strange woman’s gun muzzle pressed against his kidney. Rhiannon flipped the center console and retrieved a small knife. As she locked and closed the car, the hunter was discreet about placing it on her person, long ago having learned how to get weapons past curious eyes.
Rhiannon closed the gap between them. She met his eyes as her fingers settled on his shoulder and slung a leg across the back of the bike, adeptly settling into the space meant for a second rider. It wasn’t her first time on a bike but it had been a long while.
He nodded and shifted forward again to give her more room behind, pulling his helmet back on and zipping up the jacket again, out of habit. Although he had rather excellent healing powers he’d learnt early in his bike riding career that putting something between yourself and the ground was always a good choice when riding a bike. That and protecting the fragile bony cage that offered some containment for the grey cell matter. As he fastened the straps of the helmet again he turned his head, visor still up, sunglasses still in the top of his t-shirt, snugged against his upper chest beneath the leather jacket. He didn’t have the spare helmet he sometimes carried, the spare parts he’d had to collect up in the city taking up almost all the room in his panniers.
“There’s the panniers to rest y’ hands on,” he pointed out, “but y’ c’n also grab a hold of m’ jacket too,” he offered, flipping the visor down as he turned his head back toward the front and flicked the electric start. The motor purred to life, the sound soft but the power discernible from the rumble of the exhausts. He waited for her to settle, head cocked a little to hear in case she asked anything.
As the motor thrummed, Rhiannon contemplated where to put her hands. The decision occupied more than its fair share of space in her brain. The panniers were first on offer and a polite choice, but the jacket had its merits. Hunters tended to be tactile when they investigated, and she reasoned she’d get a better sense of him with more physical contact. Rhiannon had said goodbye a long time ago to hang-ups about proximity. Privacy wasn’t available to her as a girl being taught how to survive. She often found herself nose to nose with the creatures she wanted to kill, fingers scratching at the hair roots, or hands sheathed to the wrist in organs. Besides, Rhiannon’s income relied on tangling and grappling in other people’s perspiring limbs.
Leg to hip, clutching the man’s jacket as they barreled down the road on the back of a motorcycle, offered as good an opportunity to try to read him as any, minus contact sports, an altercation, or sex. And she wanted that read.
The thing that gave her pause as she gazed at his back, she assumed, was manners. But he had given her permission.
The hand at his shoulder drifted to the vicinity of his rib cage, grasping the textured fabric.
Rhiannon replicated it with the other. She lifted her feet, nestled close, and gave his side a tap.
Hidden beneath the helmet the corner of Cian’s mouth twitched up when he felt her hands on his jacket. After a quick check of the road for any oncoming traffic he released the hand brake and the familiar crunch of gravel beneath rubber sounded as the bike started to roll forward, accelerating smoothly onto the tarmac.
It was a few miles into the town, not a comfortable walk even in the dying heat of the day. He could feel the press of her thighs against him, and didn’t mind how that felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman on the back of a bike, and in particular one who felt as comfortable as she was. Plus he’d never had one who’d sent strange sensations through his skin like she was. It had him puzzled and wondering to the point where he suddenly realised he hadn’t asked her where she wanted to go.
He allowed the bike to slow again as they approached the area where the streetlights were starting to come on. Turning his head he asked, “where d’ y’ want me to take you, I’m heading to the truck stop to refuel, maybe grab a bite to eat,” he told her, giving her all the potential options, and a clear indication of where he was headed. One thing he’d always found both amusing, and odd, was when you’d parted company with someone only to both head in the same direction and ending up in the same place.
The turn of phrase snatched Rhiannon’s attention from their surroundings. Where did she want him to take her? ’What is he, a mind reader?’ She dearly hoped not.
A long tangle of hair stung her eye. Rhiannon combed the strand out of her lashes and pointed at a small auto repair shop off Main Street, a weathered property at the corner of Carter’s trailer park and the complex that housed the convenience store and truck stop on the south end of town. “It’s up there,” she called above the light whistle of wind in her ears and the engine. “He’s closed. I’m going to drop off my key.”
From the mention of eating and gassing up, Rhiannon thought he might be an out-of-towner, with Searchlight serving as a pit stop between destinations. She wondered if he had taken this route because it made sense or because he liked its unusual way, a ghost town with so much residual psychic energy that it was magnetic. If he was passing through, she might feel less contrite about her thighs, which had admittedly gotten a bit familiar on that last bump.
Cian nodded and rolled the bike to a stop in front of the place she’d indicated. Lifting the visor he again lowered his foot to the ground to support the bike when she dismounted. The scents from the complex’s various food outlets assailed his senses and he figured he would eat before heading down to the Cove.
“I’ll roll around t’ the bowsers, and then grab a bite in Terrible’s,” he said, lifting his chin slightly toward the complex next door. “D’ y’ need a ride somewhere?” he added, fairly certain she was more than capable of walking to the limits of the small town in any direction.
Rhiannon’s head cocked as she climbed off the bike. She didn’t know what a bowser was, aside from a villainous turtle, but based on the context clues, she guessed it was what Americans called a gas pump. Her smile was quick. “No I live,” she turned and pointed in a vague north-eastern direction, “Just over there.”
She raked her fingers through her hair, those few miles all it took to whip it into a frenzy. There was a metal box posted to the side of the garage door. Rhiannon lifted the lid and took out an envelope and a pen. She pressed the paper against a window to write a note for the mechanic -- ’Rhiannon needs a tow from 95’ -- and unwound her key from the ring.
“Do you want company?” she asked, peeking at him as she sealed the envelope. “You keep telling me where you’re going.”
He chuckled softly. “If it’s yours I wouldn’t say no,” he replied, fairly comfortable the full face helmet kept the grin on his mouth hidden, but the flicker of humour clearly visible in his eyes. “I’ve just spent a bit of time living in small places, and can’t count the number of times y’ say goodbye t’ someone y’ end up runnin’ into a few minutes later, goin’ t’ the same place,” he continued, not feeling like he needed to explain, just comfortable with the reasons why he was doing it. Living on the yachts was, if anything, about as confined a space as he’d ever want to live, the open ocean giving many the sense of space, but his own type usually preferring having the ground to run on. Fortunately he didn’t mind swimming which is what he did when he wanted solitude out on the water with clients on board.
“I’ve only been back here a short while, haven’t had much chance to get to know who’s now a part of the Searchlight citizenry, so…” he shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Why not start now?”
Her back was to him now. Halfway through dropping her key in the slot, Rhiannon’s eyes ticked right. So he was local and, from her sense of things, a person she was likely to see again. The little metal door flicked shut.
Rhiannon wandered back towards the bike. “That’s one of my favorite questions. Why not?” She tucked her keys in the front pocket of her shorts and took in the sight of his face, or what she could see of it, at close range. She couldn’t be certain of the color of his eyes, but they weren’t brown like hers. “I’m Rhiannon.”
It was a simple offering to most, but sharing a name had consequences in the supernatural world. Names opened doors. It went beyond identification of who she was and where she slept at night; it could expose her to magic, too. But she didn’t think that was his deal; whatever radiated from him felt warm and inviting. “See you inside?”
“Cian,” he returned when she gave him her name. He sat perfectly still as she studied him, still trying to figure out the puzzle that now had a name. Rhiannon. As she’d approached him again he could sense that faint, but distinct difference in her, which just increased his level of curiosity even more. ”Don’t y’ make the mistake of believin’ the old wrong interpretation of the sayin’ ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ now, because there’s nothin’ more important than knowledge, and the more y’ have, the more y’ll learn there is t’ learn.” Annie’s voice echoed in his head, the woman having been the one to bring him back from what had felt like near death on more than one occasion when he’d first lost his family, and then nearly his own life.
He nodded as he flicked the visor down. “Check out whether the chicken strips are as good as they used to be,” he added. He waited to see if she was going to get back on the bike, or walk across to the casino complex.
Cian. She liked his name. They could collectively pour one out for everyone who’d spent their lives correcting pronunciation.
Rhiannon raised her fingers in a wave and started walking. The break would give Cian time to refuel and her time to get her head straight. As she strolled across Main Street and into the parking lot of the truck stop, she collected her hair into a messy bun, an elastic band caught between her front teeth. The asphalt underfoot was bisected in cracks and repairs, heat having ruptured it too many times to count. She took her time passing over them and in between a smattering of parked RVs and semi-trucks.
What did she think of him? That he wasn’t human. Actually, the word ‘predator’ came to mind. Cian had that patient watchfulness you sometimes saw on old vampires or wild animals on the nature channel, as if there was all the time in the world to kill you and a million ways to fantasize about how he’d do it, but he didn’t set off any alarm bells. In fact, he was stirring up a pleasant feeling in her stomach, a kind of instantaneous recognition that went deeper than, ’I see you have special powers, too’.
The glow of the casino area of the truck stop drew nearer. She stepped onto the curb as the door swung open, an older man holding the door for her. “Thanks.”
The bike slowly started rolling as he watched her walk toward the complex, disguising his eyes’ continued study of her as she crossed toward the now brightly lit complex next door. His foot lifted, returning to the familiar position on the peg as he turned his attention to steering the heavy motor cycle in its most dangerous of times, at slow speed. He retraced the tracks back out toward the main road, and turned into the large, flat, concrete and bitumen desert where the casino truck stop complex was located. He slowly cruised around the main buildings and circled into the fuel pump so the bike was facing toward the building again.
After refueling, parking and paying he tucked his wallet into his hip pocket, removed his jacket, and remembered his panniers were already full of the spare parts. He instead slung them over his arm and made his way inside, his stomach reminding him he should probably order two servings of the chicken strips. The whole time his mind wasn’t busy dealing with explosive liquids, heavy machinery and its delicate balance, or financial transactions he was thinking about the woman, Rhiannon. He’d been able to develop his were senses, with the help of the Chicago group he’d first come to the States to meet, and train with. They’d introduced him to the differences between vampires and other supernatural beings, helped him hone his instincts, and identify danger. He wasn’t getting anything ‘dangerous’, at least not toward him, but there was something definitely powerful happening, and he was rather keenly interested in exploring that further.
He walked into the world of a roadside casino, still a little bemused at how this had grown since he’d last lived in Searchlight and looked around for Rhiannon.
The truck stop casino was a dimly lit room with wood-paneled walls, a host of electric signs for Coors Light and Budweiser, blinking slot machines, and a punched tin ceiling. Rhiannon had slipped into one of the cow-print novelty seats at a bar that ran the length of the little kitchen. As the line cook turned to drop an oversized order of chicken strips and fries into the fryer, the brunette came into view. Two glasses of water sat near her on Terrible’s coasters, along with a bottle of beer. Rhiannon had stopped short of ordering one for Cian; she didn’t know if he drank.
She raised her head and saw him, then reached an inviting hand to the spot next to her and patted it as if to say, ‘right here’.
“Pull up a chair,” she said. Rhiannon hadn’t taken out her phone or held onto so much as a laminated menu to distract her. In this environment, she seemed more at ease with the dynamic. She slipped the delicate clasp of her necklace to the nape of her neck. “We should talk, don’t you think?”
Cian’s eyes followed the movement of her fingers on the necklace, immediately aware of the metal. He accepted the chair, sliding onto it as he looked up at the approaching barman. A quick flick of his eyes to the beer in front of Rhiannon and a nod stopped the man in his tracks, understanding the request, saving himself the last few steps. He instead turned and headed for the glass door refrigerator to fill the order. He quickly downed the contents of the glass that sat in front of him, nodding slightly as he lowered it to the bar. A long list of questions scrolled through Cian’s mind, and while he wasn’t one to share information with a stranger readily his ‘sixth sense’ was reassuring in its lack of unease at the thought of talking with her.
“We should,” he agreed simply, turning his body, upper torso to face her, his eyes meeting hers. In his peripheral vision he saw the barman start to make his way down to the pair, the beer quickly opened and placed in front of Cian. He nodded his thanks and picked up the bottle, holding it toward Rhiannon. “Here’s t’ talkin’,” he said.
The bottles clinked.
Rhiannon watched him over the mouth of her beer as she took a couple of sips. It was cold and it tasted better than it ought to have. The air conditioning provided relief from a heat, but she couldn’t resist letting the frost on the bottle touch the far side of her cheek and neck before she set it on the coaster.
“Thank you for picking me up. Especially after I came for your people like that.” Rhiannon smiled. They were her family’s people, too, on her mother’s side, the Corrigan branch of the genealogical tree. Her grandmother’s voice had a wonderful lilt, the accent diminished by the time Rhiannon was a little girl, but resurfacing when she scolded someone or told an animated story.
Thinking back on the punchline, that he might be too Irish to trust, Rhiannon remembered that it was easier to blame what she knew about him than to admit what she didn’t. She lowered her voice. “When I get a read on someone, it can be hard to be objective. I don’t always know whether I’m engaging because my gut tells me it’s a good idea, or just… morbid curiosity.”
He’d taken a long swallow of the beer, the cool amber washing away the dust and heat from the road. He chuckled softly as she spoke of the earlier comment, amused at first, then intrigued as her voice lowered and continued.
“And what might y’ be reading?” he asked, eyes returning to hers, her reference to curiosity almost causing him to laugh, given his own thoughts earlier. He knew she wasn’t were, or vampire, the lack of clothing in the daylight had been clear enough evidence of that, and clearly visible even before he’d reached her and her broken down vehicle.
Again he felt his senses stir, yet he also knew those same senses that kept him alert to danger were not giving him that message now. “I’m always interested in a good story,” he added, taking another swig from the bottle without taking his eyes from hers. It wasn’t a challenge, but a sense that maintaining the contact would indicate he wasn’t trying to hide anything, but also still cautious of how much to reveal.
“Honestly?” There was a definitive pause as she watched the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. Rhiannon’s mouth curved up at the corners. “Whether or not I need to kill you.”
Another customer scooted by them, close enough to brush the back of Rhiannon’s chair. The sleeve of the old man’s shirt made contact with her elbow. She followed his progress and waited until he had ducked into the men’s bathroom to give Cian her full attention again. “But you can relax,” she said. “Even if I do need to… I might not do it immediately.” Her fingernails, painted a deep burgundy, tapped at the label on her drink.
Cian hadn’t been sure what to expect her to say, and while he had been taking guesses as to what she might be that response had not been one he’d expected. A nonchalant killer? A sociopath? A girl who just didn’t like guys who rode bikes? None of these were even considered, but he remained wary.
“Nice t’ know. And need, or want?” he asked curiously, forehead now creased slightly indicating a touch of puzzled bemusement. “I’d have t’ ask what m’ people had done to draw y’ t’ be thinking that was a necessary course of action,” he continued with a benign smile, playing along with her reference. While he knew full well she wasn’t talking about the land from which he’d come, he also wasn’t about to reveal anything that might encourage her to carry out her implied threat. His people made him immediately think of the Markes and while they spent at least four months of the year up in Searchlight township he knew it wasn’t something the family advertised to the world in general. And he didn’t know how long Rhiannon had been living in Searchlight. His level of wariness did increase as he wasn’t just thinking of his own safety, but moreso that of Sean, Gloria, Abby and the rest.
“And make damned sure not to repeat it,” he finished with a smile and slight twitch of his eyebrow.
Rhiannon laughed. “Definitely need, not want,” she clarified. “I’d hate to kill someone I kind-of liked.”
She took a few more sips of her beer. “But sometimes people do things that force your hand. Like…” she chewed her lip and watched one of the illuminated slot machines flicker against the far wall. “Bite people. Destroy things. Seem like a regular guy, but turn out to be a necromancer who wipes out a village so far off the grid that nobody picks up on it for weeks. Then, by the time you get there, everyone’s a reanimated corpse with no brain function.”
The hunter lifted her bare shoulders, a delicate gesture for a woman with a knife in her pocket. “That kind of thing.”
So she was a hunter.
As was he, by nature and by accident. And he was also a part of a world who’d had their fair share of types who’d been targets. In many cases deservedly so, but there’d been some who’d ended up on the wrong end of a spike of silver for no reason other than the hunter hadn’t done their homework, and painted them all with the same brush. But the fact she’d just revealed herself to him confirmed the story his senses had been detecting.
And she didn’t want to kill someone she ‘kind of liked’. That was comforting. In a few different ways.
“I see,” he replied, nodding his head slowly before taking another long swallow from the bottle. As he lowered it to the bar again, eyes fixed on the bottle, his fingers slowly turned the coaster until the logo was precisely centred, everything perfectly aligned, then placed the bottle in the exact middle.
When he lifted his head again, he looked at her, eyes slightly hooded, the irises now unmistakably green with the tiniest flecks of gold discernible.
“I hate when people do that,” he returned, the flecks appearing to move as if angered,
Rhiannon watched the kaleidoscope of colors, green and gold, seeming to possess their own internal illumination, even if she knew it was a reflection of the ambient light in the casino. It was something only a shapeshifter could do. So while he sat next to her like a person, drove a motorcycle like a person, walked and talked like a person, there was an animal prowling underneath. What a selfish soul could do with power like that was unspeakable.
“Y’know,” she murmured, pivoting her knees in his direction and leaning closer. The silvery pendant of her necklace shifted against her collarbone. “Just because you’re a were and not a demon doesn’t mean you’re a nice guy.” Neither was there a way to accurately diagnose the naked aggression in that look he’d given her; for all Rhiannon knew, he was a gifted liar and the menace could be directed at her.
Rhiannon crossed one leg over the other. One of her shoes found leverage on the bottom rung of the chair.
It didn’t surprise him, her reaction, but it again made him question his other senses, especially when the underlying threat of her knowledge gave him good reason to continue his wariness of her intentions. He figured her experience of life as a hunter would have given her good reason to be cautious, distrusting and aggressive. His own had made him that way himself once, and it had almost been the end of him. But he’d also had the chance to be encouraged to find the balance, and was reminded that the world wasn’t all hell and fury. He silently thanked Annie again, knowing that without her he could easily have ended up hating the world and everything and everyone in it. And he hated to think what he might have done if that had been his state of mind when he had been turned. He could easily have gone down that path, and been in a different place in more ways than one.
Instead he’d been cared for by a woman who’d saved his life more than once, and he had learned how to control himself, and his were had followed suit. What he did know for certain is his own moral compass was set, and while it didn’t point true north, it guided him on a path he felt comfortable taking.
And he was always ready to fight against those whose intent was what Rhiannon had described. But he wasn’t about to share that. He didn’t think she’d believe him anyway, and didn’t hold that against her.
Again he decided to trust his senses, and instead of bristling at the accusation and distrust he shrugged, and picked up the bottle from where he’d placed it carefully on the coaster, and drained the last of its contents.
“Y’ right, it doesn’t,” he agreed, signally to the bartender. “Ready for another?” he asked.
Rhiannon watched him take that in. He didn’t say much, but she observed a subtle difference in his posture. Was he used to being taken at his word? Her stomach told her that Cian was like her, more interested in weighting the scales to light than dark, but she was also attracted to him. Whenever a man made a coiled rope of desire twirl around your insides just by looking at you, it was fine to play the game, and you could have your fun, but it was a good idea to think twice about whether that bell that jangled in your head at trouble was ringing true.
“Okay,” she agreed. Rhiannon finished her beer just as all that the food arrived. She thanked the server and ate a couple of french fries, fingers working into a napkin to remove the salt and grease between bites. The second round of drinks arrived and she made room for it beside her plate. “So what do you suggest we do?”
“Good question.” It was a good question, one worthy of consideration, which is what he gave it as he ate one of the chicken strips. He felt she still didn’t trust him, and despite his brain telling him to be very careful there was that stirring inside that sent him different messages. Not for the first time since he’d been turned did he silently curse and then sigh, wishing he was able to make better connection with what Siofra was sensing. He had come to trust his were beyond his own thoughts at time, knowing that Siofra’s senses were untainted by his own human experiences and losses, and he sometimes wondered what would have happened to him had he not had that wisdom at times. Perhaps he should let Siofra meet Rhiannon in his true form, just to confirm what he was sensing.
As he pondered this idea, letting the implications roll around in his head, he wiped his fingers and picked up the new beer to take a mouthful and wash the salty fried food down. “Y’ said y’ have a place here,” he finally said. “Is it near the edge of town?” He knew it was an odd question, and could be taken as him trying to figure out if she was vulnerable there, but there was nothing he could do about that. If he was going to let Siofra meet her he needed somewhere safe from prying eyes to do it. If she had nosy neighbours and houses all around then option two would be they take a ride or walk to the outskirts and take it from there.
“Nothing to the east but dirt and sky,” she replied.
Her trailer sat on the corner of Indian and Colorado Streets. There was an old service road beyond, but it wasn’t in current use. The business that paved the road had closed its doors years back. Rhiannon chose to rent that trailer because it felt so private, nothing like the cramped neighborhood where she spent her youth in Michigan and a world away from southside Chicago. On the small stoop that faced east, away from her nearest neighbors, she could crash in a lounge chair and see nothing but stars above and the ground underfoot. An occasional semi-truck or pack of motorcycles bumbled down 95, but that didn’t bother her.
“Want to see?” Rhiannon took a bite of one of the chicken fingers. The hunter wasn’t bothered by telling Cian where she lived. Thanks to modern technology, the only mystery was why a vampire hadn’t gotten a wrecking ball and knocked it over yet, with her inside.
“I’m not scared of you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, a dark eyebrow quirked with good humor. “I just don’t know how much I should tell you.” Of course, she didn’t have to tell him anything, and neither did he. Rhiannon thought that she and Cian could take words out of the mix and they’d still get on like a house on fire.
He finished the mouthful of chicken he'd been eating, licking the crumbs and salt from his finger tips before reaching for his beer. Something had changed but he couldn't decipher what it was. He nodded in response to her query, and understood perfectly the reticent nature of the hunter, it was similar to his own. Her claim did surprise him, making him wonder for a brief moment if that was bravado or belief. He quickly decided it was belief, there was nothing about the hunter that had made him think of her as anything less than confident and capable, whatever the situation she faced.
They both carried secrets and backgrounds most people would never be able to accept, and many would instead seek ways to use against them. Be it their ‘supernatural’ natures, instincts, or the actions of their kinds, and how they'd been portrayed through fiction and movies, they both had good reason for protecting their true selves until they knew the ilk of the individual with whom they were dealing.
"And I don't know how much to show you," he replied softly, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth lending the comment enough humour to emphasise the intentional double entendre. To release Siofra was a step he couldn't take back once it had been done, and he was glad they weren't in Cottonwood Cove. There was nothing he would do to put the pride at risk.Their existence would be one he’d keep to himself for a while yet.
“What types’ve us have y’ met?” he asked, selecting another strip from the basket.
Fascinated, she watched him tear into another chicken strip. Where did it all go? He had the appetite of a carnivore. “Wolves. I know,” she said. “They’re a dime a dozen. They must fuck like rabbits.” She was done eating, so she stacked her napkins on her dirty plate and set it neatly aside, making an attempt to finish her second drink. “There was a black bear in Michigan,” she recalled. “A coyote in Red Rock Canyon. That one was a little girl, she had been bitten on the ankle on a hiking trip.”
Rhiannon had opened up a food and beverage tab when she sat down at the bar. Now the server who took her plate slipped a piece of paper into her peripheral vision. She made quick work of the signature line on their shared bill and passed it back.
As Rhiannon came back to Cian, she thought about what he’d said about revealing himself to her. Innuendo or not, if it made him feel vulnerable to show her his species, she didn’t want to press it. She hadn’t gone into detail on how she got into hunting, had she?
“Cian. You don’t have to show me now,” she told him gently. “We can always just… stumble across each other in the dark and roll the dice.” A smile made her eyes sparkle at him. “I’ll still let you see my backyard.”
He chuckled softly, the idea of stumbling across her in the dark both attractive and terrifying all at once. Attractive because he’d already come to terms with how drawn he was to her, physically and in sensory mode, and terrifying because he didn’t think there’d be a time where he’d ever want to cause her harm, and that was something he’d have to depend on Siofra knowing. But then he silently chided himself, it was his were who was giving him the signals that things were ‘safe’, so it was doubtful he need be concerned really.
“Sounds like an offer I’d be a fool to pass up,” he replied, “the seeing your yard that is,” he added before swallowing the remains of his beer.
“It is a nice view.” Rhiannon descended from her chair. "Come find me." She put her hand on the were's back as she eased past him. Her fingers lingered on the nape of his neck, the first skin-to-skin contact shared between them, and then slipped away. She made a path to the exit of the casino and into the parking lot, confident that he could find his way to her.
There was no mistaking the intent of the brush of her fingers against his neck, the sensation sending a frisson through him he hadn’t felt for a long time. His eyebrow arched as the corner of his mouth lifted into a grin while he watched her go, taking in the movement of her body, the breadth of her shoulders and the carriage of her head. Once she’d gone through the exit doors and disappeared from sight he turned his attention back to the remaining food, finishing it in extraordinarily quick time. He nodded his thanks to the barman who came to clear away the now empty dishes and bottles, and turned toward the exit, wondering if he would find her at his bike, or if the chase had already begun.