Chapter 21
Kenzi unceremoniously pushed the door with her foot without letting go of the shifter who was upright but fast nearing limp. Over the past half an hour Dyson had progressed from feverish and nauseous to half-delirious and barely walking, narrowly missing looping the car around a curbside tree before managing tio bring the car to a halt. After that the girl had to drag him over onto the passenger seat and take the wheel to get them to the first Vacancy-flashing motel along the road, where she had to dust off the old charming smile skills of hers in front of the drowsy receptionist at the counter.
"I need a room for a couple of hours," she chirped gluing on a bland cheerful grin. "My friend there," she nodded towards the car parked outside where Dyson was slumping against the back of the seat, "is not feeling that well and we need a while to recharge our batteries."
The receptionist eyed her suspiciously, taking her measure. Well dressed, modestly made up, clear eyed – not a hooker or a junkie but, on the other hand, what would a nice girl be doing at a place like theirs asking to pay by the hour with an older man in the car and a flimsy 'unwell' excuse.
"Illicit affair, a secretary and her boss getting a sneaky little holiday away from the colleagues and a likely wife," was the clerk's fast-reached verdict.
"Hope your friend's not strung out," he muttered, hand hovering over the old-fashioned hotel key board.
"No-no," the girl hurried to assure him, "Good old wasted thing. A cool shower, a couple of hours' sleep and he'll be as good as new."
"At least, it's about as long as we have," she added to herself, "So you'd better show off your healing skills before my sis flips and sends out a full-scale search party."
Huffing under the weight Kenzi dragged the man over the threshold, pushing the door closed with the same tried and tested foot-maneuver, and onto the wide bed.
"What do they feed you?" she grumbled trying to get Dyson into a more comfortable position and tugging the covers from under him, "Maybe that's it. A wolf case of food poisoning? Snacked on a bad piece of meat? Caught a rabbit past its sell-by-date?"
The barely intelligible grumble emanating from the wolf got Kenzi no closer to understanding what might be wrong with him but she figured a cold compress wouldn't hurt any more than the fever and she trotted to the tiny bathroom in search of a washcloth and a functioning faucet.
###
Bruce shoved the succubus into the room and halted on the threshold, practically filling the doorway with his bulk but at a touch of cool fingers the massive fae moved away with a salsa-dancer dexterity. Lauren strolled past him inside and stopped, crossing her arms on her white-clad chest, her face taut, her lips pursed.
"Last update," she enunciated, staring at the other woman with a detached expression, "My people lost them – Kenzi and her unidentified boy-friend, who seems to have expertly shaken them off their trail. If anything happens to my sister, I'll hold you personally responsible."
For the first time Bo was rattled enough to look concerned to the point of apprehensive but she pulled herself together to the best of her ability and shrugged her shoulders. "Kenz's a smart girl, she can handle herself and she'll return when she so wishes," the succubus replied nonchalantly, "And that might teach you to stop smothering her."
"It has certainly taught me not to turn my back to anyone," the blonde woman snapped back but Bo could hear the hurt through the bark and her heart clenched with pity.
"We don't have to do that, Lauren, you know that no matter what I love you," she took a tentative step towards her lover and put a light hand on her forearm, "Don't give in to your …"
"To my what? Paranoia?" the doctor switched from cold to arctic as she snatched her hand back from under the caressing touch, "Don't try and juice me, succubus. You betrayed me and you exhibited an ability to disobey, which is as impossible as it is alarming. "
"And yet I love you and, I daresay, I am in your corner," the brunette replied softly.
"I never ordered you to love me," Lauren clenched her jaws stubbornly.
"Well, it dates back to the time I didn't take your orders," Bo answered lightly and moved to approach the blonde who suddenly looked lost, "Are you wigging out because you don't believe me or because you're afraid to believe me?"
That last question was clearly wrong-worded as the blonde recoiled and slipped the mask of arrogant confidence back on.
"As soon as Kenzi is back, I'll start on you in earnest – running new tests to ascertain the extent of the thrall," she pronounced drily, "For now you're on house arrest. If you as much as attempt to leave the room, you'll be shackled and thrown into the dungeon."
"So I am grounded," Bo scowled, "Cadies and TV privileges withdrawn?"
"And you also won't be needing your cell, Bo," Lauren ex tended a peremptory hand.
With a long-suffering sign the brunette fished out a touch-screen and put it onto the outstretched palm, her fingers lingering over the soft flesh but not daring to make contact.
"And the other one," Lauren demanded sternly, "I once saw you whispering into a cheap button thing. Get it out of wherever you stashed it."
Bo's face was screwed up in a near-painful grimace, as if she was fighting the compulsion of the doctor's command, but she bent down and obediently pulled a plastic quadrangle from her high boot. "Should I give it to you, my queen?" she asked sweetly, "Or just toss it over lest I should touch you?"
"No touching is the new rule," the bitter words were out of Lauren's mouth before she had a chance to think of their full implication. Quick as lightning, Bo tossed the cell negligently and it fell on the uncarpeted floor.
"Oopsy," the succubus drawled innocently as a split-second later her boot-heel landed heavily on the flimsy device with all the strength her well-muscled thigh could afford.
###
Kenzi ran a wet cloth across his sweaty forehead and re-adjusted the shirt she had thrown open minutes before as she was searching for possible wounds and injuries that could account for the shifter's current condition.
"And I was hoping you would take advantage of me," he rasped, his blue eyes snapping open.
"I've already cleaned your pockets, don't you worry," the girl tossed back, "Besides, what kind of advantage are we talking here? In my experience, most guys usually underperform when well and sober."
"The point is moot, you've just re-dressed me," the shifter was obviously not overly persistent as it took him too much effort to unpeel his parched lips open.
"I still have not the faintest why you're taking a timeout," Kenzi remarked keeping the tone light, "Are you malingering? To get me pant-dropping with pity?"
"If I wanted your pity… I'd tell you how I …," Dyson took deep raspy intakes of breath, stumbling through the words, " wandered the woods of what you'd call … Scotland as a pup with my milk teeth still intact and the memory of my mum killed."
If he was feeling marginally better he could have wondered at the delirium freeing him of reservedness he had cherished for centuries. Or he could have noticed the girl staring intently on her fingers willing them not to shake.
"If that's a pity contest … well, I've lost my baby," she whispered back, "I don't even know if it was a boy or girl. It's just Sasha to me, a name without a face or a gender or the chance of the first breath."
"You win," the wolf laid a hot hand atop of her cool fingers as he tried to grin and failed.
"I hope you'll forget all about this tomorrow," Kenzi instructed him sternly without moving her hand.
"Did I mention I got so scared by a squirrel, I spent a day in a funky swamp whimpering, my tail tucked?" Dyson made an unconvincing effort at levity, "Consider it all never talked about."
"Back to business," she smiled equally unconvincingly and rolled up the sleeve on Dyson's sinewy forearm, "The only thing wrong I can find with you is this." She poked a finger at his forearm.
"Thank goodness, it's nothing down south you have issue with," the shifter mumbled with quite a bit of feeling.
"The prick mark," the girl chided him but only evoked a wider grin.
"Exactly what I am talking about," he said pointedly.
"When the fever is gone, will you lose your unwolfy skittishness and be back to your boring brooding self?" the girl taunted before getting serious, "There's an inflamed mark, looks like an injection or something. Now I'd normally ask you to engage your brain and think of who might have injected you with something obnoxious but the timing is clearly so off."
"Inject? Sure, I'll start thinking," the wolf murmured as his eye-lids fluttered closed.
"Ok, while you're sleeping off the fever, I'll be having my suspicions," Kenzi sighed as she looked around the room and its sparse furniture and came up with nothing suitable for crashing on. Finding enough justification in the imperfections of the motel room furnishing, she stretched her tiny body along the side of the bed, inches from the burning shifter and settled down to a couple of hours of rest interspersed with wiping his forehead and adjusting the slipping blanket.
###
Tamsin navigated her way between the tables in what used to be the in-place for all dark fae of any worth and any violent tendencies. Since the coup d'etat executed by the human doctor Carpe Noctem had lost most of its clientele together with its owner's power of free will and it was now a half-abandoned shabby dive attended by half-stunned thralls on shore-leave or by down-and-out fae drifters that neither the human tyrant nor the resistance cared to enroll into their ranks.
The valkyrie had done quite a lot of preparation before venturing in, namely, had worked thoroughly on her disguise that enabled her to blend into the beaten crowd as a bedraggled lady-tramp with a smudged lined face, a nice shiner, layers of out-of-the-dumpster under-clean clothing and a greasy dark wig over her blonde hair. She had been simulating a vivid interest in a pint of filthy froth locally known as beer for the best part of an hour, in wait for the person she had gone to all the hassle for – the owner of the place. Running out of patience, Tamsin started seriously considering unpeeling her ass from the sticky chair and gratefully leaving the unfinished mug behind when she finally noticed, from under the dirty artificial fringe, the man in question wiggling his hips inches from her table.
"This place is going to the dogs, Vexie," she complained nasally as her strong arm grabbed the fishnet-covered thigh.
"Keep your snotty nose in your swig and your filthy paws to yourself," the Brit drawled classily trying to unclamp the stubborn fingers of the female tramp off his expensive pants.
"Testy, aren't we? What, your mistress has forgotten to pat you on head and throw you a bone?" Tamsin sneered, carefully slurring her words not to appear too sober.
"At least I have a mistress who wouldn't stoop to look at a scruffy cat like you," Vex hissed back jerking the woman's thumb hard enough to dislocate it. The Valkyrie gave out a requisite shriek of pain and snatched back her hand, nursing the injured thumb.
"Bad-bad Mesmer," she huffed, "And poor old me was just about to hand out a tip or two in thanks for the beer."
"Which means you can't pay for it, you scum," the man gave the tramp a supercilious once-over with a deepening sense of superiority, "A bouncer will toss you out in a minute, we're known for prompt customer service. Hey, get me the doorman! Now!"
"I can pay," Tamsin babbled through chapped lips and a froth of saliva, "With information."
"You information is as useless as you are," the Mesmer made to move past her and motioned to the approaching burly fae, "I can't even be bothered with giving you a proper beating lest the dirt should come off onto my outfit. No worry, I'll delegate that one. You, the big one, attend to the lady!"
"I saw the wolf coming out of his lair, I know where he lives," the woman carried on with her babbling that suddenly improved in articulation and risen in volume enough to snag the other's attention. Vex spun round in his high heels and leaned over the miserable woman planting his palms on the table with menace.
"You mean Dyson the wolf?" his tone suddenly turned thoughtful, "Are you sure or should I proceed with getting you thrown out and thrashed?"
"I'm telling you, I saw him several times and he didn't see me … at least didn't see me for a threat of any kind," the tramp's dirty fingers in torn gloves snaked around the now-empty tankard and tapped on the glass suggestively, "I can show you the place, for an open tab and a kind word, you, hottie."
Vex flinched from what was meant to be a seductive smile but came off too toothless and scab-ridden and snapped his fingers in the air.
"If your tip checks out, beer is on the house and your bones are safe in this establishment. That's as far as my kind-wordedness stretches, hag," he drawled squinting at the sorry ruin of a fae in front of him, "Now get off your arse and lead the way for me and my boys."