Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends) Read online

  Options ran through her mind. She could fight. Scream. Tell her father she didn’t want to talk to Vic. But those were all temporary solutions to a bigger problem. Vic was right. They did need to talk. And they might as well get it over with. “I’m fine, Daddy,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  The door closed and Vic immediately launched into her. “You want to fill me in on the game you’re playing, Laney?”

  She folded her arms over her chest, acutely aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her sweatshirt. And that she could picture his hard, lean body in her mind. Knew exactly what it felt like to be skin to naked skin with it. “I…” She stopped. Closed her eyes. She knew just how he tasted. His scent. She looked at him again. “I’m not playing any games.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “The hell you aren’t,” he said through clenched teeth. He leaned close to her and lowered his voice. “You broke into my house in the middle of the night and woke me up—”

  “You don’t need to say it,” she snapped, her hand shooting toward his chest to maintain the space between them.

  He gave her a smile that didn’t have an ounce of humor in it and placed his hand on hers, pulling it down to her side as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Don’t I?” His lips brushed her earlobe as he whispered, “You woke me up with your kisses and you told me exactly what you wanted me to do to you…”

  Oh, God. She didn’t want to hear this.

  “It was good, Delaney. We’re good together—”

  “Stop!” She slammed her palms to her ears.

  Lines curved their way around his mouth as his lips tipped up. “I can’t.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Her eyes burned. She dropped her hands back to her sides. “Last night was a mistake…”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he said with a succinct shake of his head. “Last night was making up for lost time.”

  Slouching against the wall, she shook her head. Her subconscious mind had taken over while she’d slept and made her do everything she’d thought about doing with him when she was awake. Well, almost everything.

  She opened her mouth to speak. To tell him that she had no idea what she’d done until she’d woken up on top of him, his mouth on her, her body exploding…

  “Next time, Laney, it’s my turn.”

  What was he talking about? She looked into his smoky eyes. “Next time?”

  “Oh, yeah, next time.” He moved closer to her, his voice a sexy rumble. “And the time after that, and the time after that.”

  It was that damn deal again. This was his fault for planting that seed in her mind in the first place. She pushed him away, but a stray thought flitted into her mind. He wanted to sleep with her to let him move on. Maybe going to him last night had done that for her. Maybe she’d closed the door on something and that would mean no more sleepwalking. “There won’t be a next time—”

  “Oh, there will definitely be a next time.”

  The sound of his voice sent a charge through her body. “But—”

  He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head and worked his thigh in between her legs, a mere fraction of an inch away from pressing against the heat pooling there. “There will be. One time with you will definitely not be enough.”

  As his lips brushed hers, her mind stalled. He kissed her slowly, with agonizing restraint, nipping at her lips, keeping just a breath of air between their bodies.

  She felt herself getting lost. Her hands, as if propelled by some unknown force, slid to his shoulders. The memory of the orgasm he’d given her last night, of how he’d made her feel, swept through her until she wanted to drag him to her bedroom and do it again.

  But he grabbed her by the wrists and brought her arms down again. At the same time, his kiss deepened and she tried to move her body against his. She wanted to feel him against her when she was awake.

  Never breaking the kiss, he kept his body just out of her reach. Finally, tortured beyond reason, she yanked her hands free from his grip and swung her head to the side, escaping his mouth. “What are you doing?” she said, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  She glared at him, stifling the sensations flowing through her body. “What sucks?”

  He backed away from her. “Being teased and tormented and left to only your own devices.”

  “I didn’t—” But she stopped. She’d left him before he’d climaxed. She’d done exactly what he was accusing her of—even if she hadn’t meant to.

  “You did.”

  She gulped, feeling like she was spinning out of control.

  “You know, Delaney, I can see it in your eyes.”

  “See what?”

  “You still care,” he said simply, and then backed away and headed to his truck, parked at the side of the house.

  Helpless, Delaney watched Vic walk away, knowing he was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vic sauntered to his truck, smiling to himself. Delaney’s eyes on his back burned holes right through his flannel jacket. Oh, yeah, she definitely cared.

  He headed home, and an hour later, he’d finishing mucking El Rei’s stall and went into the house to take a shower before it was time to pick up Zach at the bus stop. His mind was still replaying the night with Delaney. He saw her coming, the look of abandon on her face, her complete loss of control as pleasure wove through her.

  But the horrified look that had come over her face a split second later was what really stuck with him. Bugged him. He hadn’t smelled alcohol on her breath, and knew she hadn’t been drunk. Or stoned. But she hadn’t looked like she’d known where she was or what she was doing. Or who she’d done it with.

  That was crazy, though. She’d come to him, knowing full well the actions she was taking.

  But what about him?

  At twenty, he’d been in love with her—head over heels. He’d thought he’d gotten over her. Had moved on with his life. Now he had Zach. The ranch.

  But Zach and the ranch were no longer enough. The truth was, they never had been.

  He’d always wanted a family, but after last night, he realized he’d wanted more.

  He wanted Delaney.

  Delaney West was in his veins. In his core. In his soul.

  The doorbell rang, and Vic looked up. The shower would have to wait. He stomped to the door and yanked it open to see a familiar face. Derek Braido and he were old friends, but the way the deputy was standing, all stiff, uptight, and official, didn’t look like this was a friendly visit.

  Vic stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. They shook hands, and then Vic folded his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?”

  “We found another dead goat early this morning, on the edge of your neighbor’s property.”

  Another one? “Which neighbor?”

  “It was found a few yards away from the irrigation canal on the West ranch.”

  Odd. He’d just seen Red. And Delaney. Neither one had mentioned a dead goat. He felt there was something the deputy was holding back. “And…?”

  “This time the goat was found strung up by its hind legs. Its neck was punctured and its blood drained…”

  “Chupacabra,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s a myth.” He ran his hand down his face.

  Braido studied him. “Take a look at this,” he said, handing Vic a photograph.

  Vic looked at the picture. A sick feeling pooled in his gut. The fatal wounds looked like black bullet holes that had bled crimson onto the animal’s dingy white hide. “The kill happened this morning?”

  “Or late last night,” Braido said.

  Vic’s stomach plunged. Delaney. She’d been out there in the dead of night—possibly at the s
ame time as whatever sick fuck had killed that goat. He’d followed her, but she’d run back home all on her own. This had to stop.

  “You get along with the Wests?” Braido asked casually. “Even after all these years and…everything?”

  Vic made his voice steady. “Of course. Fine.”

  “And where were you last night?”

  “Here.” Having the beginnings of mind-blowing sex with Delaney West.

  Braido nodded his head, his expression contemplative. “We’re drawing a blank so far in terms of tracking down who’s killing the animals. Lots of rumors floating around.”

  “What kind of rumors?” he asked.

  “That myth you mentioned…” Braido flipped open a little notebook. “Chupacabra.”

  Hadn’t he just had this conversation with Delaney yesterday? Vic got the impression that Braido was taking mental notes on everything he said. “Some people in town know about it. The chupacabra and la Llorona were two things kids are told never to take lightly. Don’t go out on the ranches at night and don’t wander by the river.” He lifted a shoulder. “Stuff to scare little kids into behaving. Same with the whole idea that San Julio is cursed.”

  “Esperanza mentioned something about it the other day, up on the hill.”

  “Yeah, and none of that made any sense. She said ‘It has started.’ What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Braido made a face. “And then she talked about Delaney West.”

  Vic looked at him sharply. “Yeah. Something about being sorry. Again, it made no sense.”

  His friend pursed his lips. “Reckon not. Anyway, whatever or whoever is doing this, it’s serious business. They leave the carcasses intact, so my theory is they want that blood for something specific.”

  Made sense. But for what? Braido wasn’t offering any answers, and Vic didn’t want to ask questions.

  They theorized for a few more minutes, came up with nothing, then said their goodbyes. Braido headed back to his cruiser.

  Vic watched him go, still thinking about what he’d said. The blood had been drained in order to be used. That disturbing thought stayed with him as he went to find Zach.

  What could the sick fuck be using blood for? And what did Esperanza know that linked Delaney to this so-called chupacabra? His pulse pounded in his head, dark thoughts circling in his brain. Delaney was in danger. He could feel it in every pore of his body.

  …

  Vic glanced up at the dark sky, wiping the back of his gloved hand across his forehead, whisking away the light rain. The visit from Braido had shaken him. He’d spent several hours working the ranch—a sure-fire way to de-stress. He looked up at the sky again. He’d had enough teasing, both from the clouds and from Delaney. He needed to see her. Alone, without her father hovering in the hallway. To finish what she’d initiated the night before.

  And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to check on her. He needed to make sure for himself that Delaney was taking the danger out there seriously and staying safe.

  He slipped off his muddy work boots, went inside to shower, and then started to make a spaghetti dinner while Zach worked on his homework at the kitchen table. The scratch of pencil against paper aggravated him, the faint sound like a bullhorn announcing the lack of actual communication going on between the two of them.

  Earlier he’d asked Zach how Sheila, the pig, was doing. And he’d watched Zach play video games for a while. Now, with a steaming pot of pasta in his hands, he tried once again to engage his son in conversation. “Did you have a good day at school?”

  Zach just answered with a monosyllabic grunt.

  Vic frowned. He dumped the pasta into a bowl and then sat, leaning his forearms against the wooden table. “Zach.”

  The kid kept writing, pretending that he hadn’t actually heard him speak, acting like he had no clue his father was sitting across from him.

  “Zach. What’s it going to take?”

  Slowly, Zach picked the tip of the pencil up from his paper and raised his eyes to Vic. His face was impassive. Not angry, not happy, not anything. Vacant, Vic thought. Wasn’t a kid supposed to feel stuff? He knew Zach wasn’t immune to emotions. He’d seen the subtle change since Jasper had given him Sheila. He’d seen the enthusiasm when he’d spoken with Delaney. Then the kid had acted like a thirst-starved survivor, gulping in fresh, cool water—desperate to connect with someone and feel loved.

  Frustration built inside Vic again, slowly rising until he was sure his face was red with heat. Not for the first time, he thought he just wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. This was too hard, and he had no idea what to do to reach his kid. He loved Zach already, but he had no idea how to show him.

  “I know you’re hurting, buddy,” he said, summoning up what he imagined Zach must be feeling. “You lost your mom. There’s no easy way to deal with that. But—”

  Zach looked at him, his eyes glassy, and then quickly looked back to his paper. Vic shifted the conversation to something safer. Something benign. “What are you writing?”

  “It’s stupid.” Zach’s voice was quiet.

  Vic jumped on the opening. “Why is it stupid?”

  “Because it is.”

  That was telling. Vic thought about cutting his losses. But he couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t cop out.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Her.”

  This stopped him in his tracks. “Her” could only mean Sheila.

  The woman, not the pig.

  Vic peered upside down at Zach’s paper. It looked like he’d written a paragraph, but after that the lines were filled with scribble marks and doodles. “I can help you if you like.”

  The tip of Zach’s pencil dug into the paper until the lead finally snapped. “You didn’t even know her.”

  The kid had him there. “I knew her a long time ago.”

  “You left her…”

  Vic froze, his fury toward Sheila for the mess she’d created mounting again. As it had regularly for the last few months. “I didn’t leave her, Zach.”

  His son went on as if he hadn’t heard Vic speak. “…and now she’d dead.”

  Ah, here was the anger Vic had been waiting two months for. “Look, I don’t blame you for being mad and sad and whatever else you’re feeling. It’s okay. But we have to talk about it.”

  Zach opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, tightly. Then he shook his head.

  Vic didn’t understand this boy. How could he break through to Zach so the kid would tell him what he was thinking? Why was that so hard?

  He tried again, but Zach had gone back to his doodling. At least the kid had revealed his anger. He blamed Vic. At least Vic knew what he was dealing with now. And he’d figure out how to work with it.

  Eva showed up to babysit at nine o’clock—right on schedule. Vic was torn about leaving Zach, but he didn’t have the time or the inclination to take things in baby steps with Delaney West. He was going to see her tonight, come hell or high water.

  Zach and Eva played with the pig as Vic went to tidy up. He shoved all his worries about his son and his anger toward Sheila to a back compartment of his brain. Normal moments like this were what would break through to Zach. Eventually. He hoped.

  And soon he’d be able to see Delaney and resolve their unfinished business. It was shaping up to be a decent night.

  …

  Browsing the Internet had proved to Delaney that Vic was right. Chupacabras were nasty-looking blood-sucking creatures, and were nothing more than a modern myth. No wonder he’d laughed at her. The Internet search also confirmed for her that the forensics report on the first goat killed concluded it had been killed by human hands. To her, that was far scarier than some fantastical beast.

  All the more reason to do whatever it took t
o make sure she wouldn’t be alone, outside, in the dark, sound asleep. Her parents had tried to talk her out of her decision, but she’d held firm. They thought she was locking herself into the cabin, but she’d realized that a door deadlocked from the inside wouldn’t stop her, even in her sleep. So she’d come up with another plan. One they wouldn’t approve, but she’d be safer.

  Maybe her encounter with Vic the night before had cured her of her sleepwalking, but maybe it hadn’t. She wasn’t ready to find out. Not with the chupacabra on the loose. If Esperanza was right, she could die. She hadn’t created much of a life for herself, always running from her nightmares and the past. But being back in San Julio had suddenly renewed her hope. Had given her the opportunity to move forward. Had reintroduced her to Vic…

  She pushed that thought away. Vic just wanted to make her a conquest.

  In the cabin, she bent over the bed, then strung a length of rope through the metal frame, securing it in a standard knot. When she was ready, she lay on the bed and wrapped a length of rope around her ankles, pulling the knots tight. Within seconds, her feet were lashed to the footboard. Next came the wrists. It was trickier, but if she had to struggle against the ropes, she figured she’d wake up. Once conscious, she could tug the release cord and get herself out, but hopefully this contraption, freaky as it was, would force her to come into full consciousness. She could have done this in her room, but if her parents—or Alan—walked in on her there, she’d have to explain, and she knew her plan sounded so much better in her mind than it would aloud.

  She’d left her cell phone on the mattress. She could dial in the dark and call for help if she needed it.

  All contingencies had been covered. This would work. If she could only relax, sleep through the night…

  Clouds covered the moon outside, blocking out the light. Unease settled into her. This must be what captives felt. Helpless. Unable to move or run or fight. And she’d done this to herself. By choice…

  A quick knock on the door made her head snap up. Oh, crap. Her folks showing up to check on her was not part of the plan. “Mom? Daddy?”