Hunting Season (Aurora Sky Read online

  My feet stopped working. Fane had no trouble closing the distance. He stopped in front of me, shoving a hand into his front pocket, thumb resting over his belt, which caused me to look down, directly into the danger zone. My eyes shot back up. Fane smirked, missing nothing.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  I nodded in the direction of the Jeep. “Can you teach me to drive a stick?”

  Fane studied me a moment. “This is a car we’re talking about, right?” The bastard stroked his belt with his thumb, drawing my attention back down.

  “Of course I mean the car,” I said. “Can you teach me?” I made a point of leaving the stick part out the second time.

  “Whatever you want,” Fane said.

  I pulled the key from my pocket and dangled it by Dante’s Alaskan Brewing Company keychain.

  “Great, know a good parking lot?”

  Fane grinned mischievously. “I know a great parking lot.”

  I knew Fane wouldn’t take me back to Denali High’s parking lot, not with school in session, but the last place I expected him to drive up to was a big-ass compound with an even bigger cross raised on top of the roof.

  “Really?” I asked. “A church parking lot?”

  “It’s spacious and it’s empty.”

  “You really are the Dark Prince,” I muttered.

  This made Fane’s smile widen.

  “Fine, let’s get on with it before lightning strikes us down.”

  Fane had already gone over the gears on the way over, narrating his actions: first gear to second, second to third, third back down to second in a curve, and so on. I’d only half-listened as I watched his fist over the shifter and the black leather around his wrist moving with each thrust of the hand-lever.

  Fane pulled into a parking spot in front of the church. He turned the car off.

  “Ready to trade places?” he asked.

  I pulled off my jacket, tossed it in back, and jumped down from the Jeep. We crossed paths in front of the hood, Fane grinned in passing.

  Back inside the vehicle he said, “You can start by backing up.”

  I reached for the key to turn on the ignition. Fane put his hand on my arm.

  “Wait a second. The vehicle’s in gear.”

  “Right,” I said, exhaling. “I need to put it in neutral before I start it up.”

  I put my hand on the gear shift and jiggled it until it loosened up and settled into the middle position. I glanced at Fane. He shot me a relaxed smile. I loved the way he didn’t make me feel rushed, like I could spend the entire morning just backing up and he wouldn’t utter a word of complaint.

  I turned on the ignition, right foot on the brake. I pressed the clutch down with my left foot.

  “Good job,” Fane said. “Now put the car into reverse.”

  I pulled the gear shift down carefully and let up on the clutch and brake. The Jeep grumbled and quaked in response. I quickly put it into neutral and hit the brake.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Fane’s lips pucker, holding in a laugh.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You put it into second.”

  I shoved the clutch back down, keeping my foot on the brake and yanked the gear stick back roughly.

  “You’re still in second,” Fane said, voice turning serious. “You don’t need to manhandle the gears that way.”

  He put his hand over mine. I nearly let my foot off the brake.

  Fane guided my fist around the gear shift sideways until it would no longer move.

  “Now bring it down gently,” he said.

  My skin tingled from his touch, even the parts of me not connected to his hand.

  Fane took his hand off mine. I pulled back.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Now take your foot off the brake and give it a little gas while releasing your foot gently off the clutch.”

  This was the tricky part; the balancing act—one foot up and one foot down. I hadn’t paid much attention to Fane’s combat boots on the drive over. I’d been far more focused on his arm, wrist, and hand.

  I imagined my left and right foot on opposite ends of a teeter-totter and alternated pressure. The Jeep rolled back gently. I let up on the clutch some more, backing up several feet before stopping.

  “Excellent,” Fane said.

  Yeah, it was just driving, but I was beaming inside.

  “Now put it back into neutral and try going from first to second.”

  Getting into first proved easy with one gentle push up. As long as I was mindful, managing the pedals wasn’t so bad, either. I drove across the parking lot in first, no problem, a little jerky, but nothing I couldn’t manage. As the Jeep rolled over the pavement it struck me that I was more than ready to drive again. I felt my independence returning—my sense of freedom. Driving a manual really wasn’t so bad.

  Everything was going great until the car choked, sputtered and died. It gave a dramatic lurch before the engine cut off.

  “What the hell?” I said. I looked from the windshield to Fane. “What did I do?”

  He grinned. “You tried to change gears without using the clutch.”

  “Stupid stick shift,” I said. “Pain in the ass. Why would anyone want to drive one of these things, anyway?”

  “You’re doing great,” Fane said.

  “Don’t patronize me,” I grumbled.

  “We’ve been here less than five minutes and you’ve already gotten the car into reverse, backed up, put it in first and driven across the parking lot. Imagine how well you’ll be doing in another hour.”

  My shoulders relaxed. I no longer felt like beating the steering wheel. We really had just begun the lesson.

  “You’re right,” I said. “All I need is a little patience.”

  “You’ve got this.”

  Fane’s words engulfed me in a warm jet stream of confidence. This went beyond flirting. He believed in me. At the moment, I needed it far more than honeyed words or terms of endearment.

  Fane was right. An hour later I could get all the way up to third gear—the fastest I dared inside the parking lot—without killing the engine. I spent less time thinking about what I was doing, and more time doing it.

  “You’re doing great,” Fane said. “Now why don’t you drive us home?”

  “On the road?” I grinned. “Okay.”

  After rounding the far corner of the parking lot, I put the Jeep into second gear and headed for the exit. There, I shifted down to first and eased onto the road when the coast was clear. From first, I shifted to second. From second, to third.

  I was feeling pretty awesome until I killed the engine trying to get going at the first intersection.

  “Oh shit!” I cried, trying unsuccessfully to start the car back up. It made no noise when I turned the ignition. “Shit! It’s not starting!”

  “Just relax,” Fane said, like we were still inside the deserted parking lot, not blocking traffic on the Old Seward Highway.

  I put my foot on the brake and tried the ignition again, and again nothing happened.

  “Pretty soon people are going to be pissed,” I said.

  “They can wait.”

  “This is taking too long. We should trade places.”

  “Aurora…” Fane said.

  When I looked over his lips puckered as though, once more, attempting to hold in a laugh.

  “You’re still in gear.”

  I looked at the gear shift.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “Clutch.”

  I pressed the clutch down and tried again. This time, the Jeep started.

  “Ha, ha!” I cried out, inching forward in first gear.

  “Look at you,” Fane said. “When we first met you wouldn’t even get inside a car. Now you’re driving manual. What’s next? The Dakar?”

  “The what?” I asked after shifting into second gear.

  I could keep up with traffic in second, maybe I could stay in this gear the remainder of the way home—so long as no lights
turned red. Dang nuisance, traffic lights.

  “The Dakar Rally,” Fane said. “It’s an off-road race that used to run from Paris through Spain and Northern Africa, ending in Dakar, Senegal. It takes place in South America now. It’s one of the most dangerous sporting events in the world.”

  “In that case, sign me up,” I said sarcastically. “Driving around Anchorage is dangerous enough already, thank you very much.”

  Fane shrugged. “No ice in the desert.”

  “Right, just sandstorms, wild animals, and who knows what else.”

  “You’re right about the sandstorms—they’re blinding. But the animals are absolutely incredible.”

  “Wait a minute.” I peeled my eyes off the road for a split-second. “You didn’t participate in this race, did you?”

  Although I had my eyes back on the road, I caught Fane sit up an inch taller.

  “I did,” he said proudly. “I was one of the original participants in the late seventies. Did my first race in a Renault 20 and came back the next year and did it on a Yamaha. I’ll try anything once.”

  “Or twice?”

  Fane stretched in his seat. “Once by car, once by motorcycle.”

  “Daredevil.”

  I took a quick glance at Fane. He raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s the Mt. Everest of motor racing. Life changing.” Fane leaned into me. “You told me you were worried about becoming cold and unfeeling. The best way to feel alive is to experience life. That sense of discovery never has to end. Life continually evolves. Just imagine the things you have yet to see.”

  Fane had it down, all right. A never-ending bucket list that included travel and adventure. The truth was, he lit a fire inside of me. I not only craved that kind of freedom, but for the first time I felt like it could truly be mine.

  Where would I go first once I got off Melcher’s leash? What new experiences would I have? Suddenly I didn’t care about a degree. College was for career-minded people entering the rat race. I was more of an adventure-minded woman who wanted to see the world and everything it had to offer.

  When I first met Fane, I felt like he’d woken me out of a coma. Now it was as though he’d pulled me from the fog.

  I didn’t have to stop at the next two intersections. I wasn’t so lucky at the third.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered.

  This intersection rested on a slight incline.

  “You can do it,” Fane said.

  I shifted down to first and stopped. That done, I was able to look over at Fane and roll my eyes.

  “Were you ever a motivational speaker in one of these former lives?” I asked.

  Fane’s lips twisted in thought. "No, I just happen to view life as a gift.”

  Said the man dressed in black.

  “So, you and Joss? Is that some kind of cosmic joke?”

  Talk about yin and yang. Joss was about the gloomiest vampire I’d ever met. He looked like a sad and depressed Adrien Brody.

  Fane was quiet a moment before answering, “Joss is my responsibility.”

  I wanted to respond to that, but the light turned green and the moment I lifted my foot off the brake, the Jeep would roll backwards. The current balancing act was a bit more delicate. I gave the car gas while still on the brake. The engine revved. Better to jump the gun than roll into the car behind me. We lurched forward, but I didn’t kill the engine, which brought a huge smile of triumph over my lips.

  I waited until I’d made it home and parked before turning to ask Fane the question that had niggled at my brain the remainder of the drive.

  “What about me? Do you feel like I’m you’re responsibility?”

  Fane tilted his head when he looked at me, his expression unreadable.

  “That’s not how I see you.”

  I waited for more. How did he see me? But that’s all he said. Sometimes it was the things left unsaid that drove me the craziest.

  Fane jumped out of the Jeep. While he walked around the hood, I reached behind the seat for my jacket. I opened my door as Fane reached for the handle. He readjusted by resting his arm over the top of the door and leaned in.

  “I’d say your car rehabilitation is complete.”

  “Wonderful. Can I get out now?”

  He had an unsettling way of invading my personal space. Maybe it was the European in him or maybe, like me, he felt the inexplicable cosmic pull between us.

  Fane stepped aside and grinned as I slid out.

  “Are you going to invite me in this time?” he asked, slipping his hand inside his front pocket.

  I wished he wouldn’t do that. From the corner of my eye, it looked like he was stuffing it down his pants.

  It seemed rude to send him away when he’d spent the morning teaching me to drive the Jeep.

  “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  Fane smiled slowly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Now that the vamp was out of the bag, Noel had stocked our fridge with blood. She’d stuck one inside a small cooler that morning to deliver to Henry after school. I had yet to rip into one of the bags, but offering Fane a mug seemed like the hospitable thing to do.

  He followed me to the kitchen dining area. I draped my coat over the back of a chair before setting a mug on the kitchen counter. Fane raised one eyebrow.

  “You’re not drinking?”

  I shook my head. Sipping on blood still struck me as unnatural. What would happen if I started? I might go crazy and rip into all the bags. What next? Ripping off all of Fane’s clothes? Blood increased my adrenaline. It was an aphrodisiac—one of the ways vampires got off during sex and foreplay. I did not need to be drinking blood around Fane.

  At least he’d been around long enough to know how to control himself.

  I filled the mug halfway, resealed the bag, and set it on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

  “How long do I heat this up?”

  Fane leaned over me to look inside the mug.

  “Thirty seconds is good.”

  I popped it into the microwave. The time on the digital clock showed five minutes to noon.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Fane asked beside my ear.

  Actually, I was. Now that the stress of driving was behind me, I felt more famished than usual.

  “I’ll make myself a sandwich,” I said.

  I returned to the fridge and pulled out a jar of peanut butter and jelly, followed by two slices of bread, a plate, and a knife.

  Fane tsked and shook his head slowly from side to side. “Jelly is a sad substitute for blood.”

  The microwave beeped. I pulled out the mug and thrust it into Fane’s hands.

  “I’m not trying to substitute blood,” I said, returning to my sandwich assembly.

  Fane slurped.

  I turned and glared at him as he lowered the mug, revealing a wicked grin.

  “Enjoying the blood?” I asked.

  Rather than answer, Fane tipped the mug back and drank down the rest. Once finished, he set it on the counter and licked his lips.

  “May I have seconds?”

  I’d only managed to get peanut butter on one slice of bread.

  “Since you asked so nicely,” I said, returning to the blood bag in the fridge.

  I filled the mug a little more than halfway and heated it, but when I tried to hand it to Fane he shook his head and said, “That one’s for you.”

  Our eyes locked.

  Fine, if Fane wouldn’t take it, I’d set it on the countertop beside him. His eyes followed my movements.

  “Why deny yourself the things you want most?” he asked.

  I swallowed, which drew Fane’s eyes to my throat.

  Why did he have to torment me this way? Anger swelled inside me. Life was an ocean breeze for Fane Donado. I’d never met a person more comfortable inside his own skin. He drifted through life all Joe Cool, doing whatever he wanted. He was a globetrotter, a daredevil, a high school delinquent—whatever struck his fancy at the moment, the way I
did now.

  How long would that last before the next new experience beckoned him?

  I shoved my plate aside, not bothering with the clumpy jelly, which reminded me too much of blood clots.

  “I don’t want the blood.”

  Fane’s eyes widened at my gruff tone.

  I want you to want me forever, I thought. Oh, what a sucker I was. If I let Fane have me, he’d ride me just like a motorbike over the rough and tumble desert then move on at the finish line. He’d said it himself; he’d try anything once.

  Fane’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  I took a step toward him.

  “Do you believe in soul mates?” I asked.

  Fane leaned forward. Without a moment’s hesitation he answered, “I do now.”

  I searched his face for signs of mockery. Fane gazed back. He didn’t so much as blink as he stared into my eyes.

  Screw, “You had me at hello.” Fane had me at, “I do.”

  I lost it.

  I went straight for his provoking lips. He stood steady even as I launched myself against his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head toward mine.

  Once more, I was the girl on the public bus—the one wild with desire—unable to resist the pull of Fane’s magnetism. I longed to lose myself in the moment. I expected his lips to split apart into a wide Cheshire grin, but his eyes widened in surprise.

  Dread stabbed at my insides. Had I misread the signals? His earlier response?

  For one tortuous second, humiliation appeared imminent until Fane seized me in his arms—embracing me as though answering a long-awaited question. Our lips met with a crushing force that spread warmth through my entire body. Kissing him was like coming home to my most happy memories.

  Fane scooped me up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him as he lifted me, my arms grasping his neck firmly. One glance at his fingers gripping my thigh and his leather bracelet was enough to make me squeeze him tighter.

  Where Fane was concerned, I didn’t need blood to go into an all-out lust frenzy.

  I sucked greedily on his tongue, coaxing it inside my mouth. When Fane let out a deep, shuddering breath, I smiled without breaking contact.

  He carried me out of the kitchen and backed me against the wall. His pelvis rocked against mine—push, push, push—as he kissed me roughly.