Turning her by the shoulders, Luke stared her down with his intense Irish-green eyes. Those eyes held incredulity, fear, and a dark protectiveness. “What?”
“I applied to one position.” Layla looked up, meeting his gaze, feeling flustered and scared. Rather than heated now, she felt like waves of ice were passing through her body, sluicing through her upon a dark tide of fear. “The Red Letter Hotel in Paris. Just ten minutes ago. This is from them. Saying I’ve been accepted to the position, effective immediately.”
Luke’s dark eyebrows climbed his forehead. He blinked, his face morphing from astounded to murderous – and he wasn’t furious at Layla. Layla saw his mind working through all the same things hers was. That this was some sort of scam. That it was worse than that, something inherently dangerous. That Layla’s Mystery Guy hadn’t told her the truth – far from it – and that her life was suddenly, very deeply in danger.
“No way.” Luke growled, deep and utterly fierce. “No fucking way. Whatever the fuck this is, it’s not funny. This is scary shit, Layla! How did they find you? Did you give them our home address in your application?”
“No!” She retorted quickly, covering her fright with argument, though it couldn’t stop the fear hissing through her veins. “I swear! Luke, I just gave them my email like I do for all my applications, not even my cell phone number! I don’t even know how—”
The doorbell rang again downstairs. Luke and Layla both froze, his hand to her arm, her body intensely rigid as they both listened to the conversation Arron was having at the door. “Layla!” He called up the stairs. “A man says he’s here to take you to the airport for your new job! Did you get a new job? At the airport or something? Aren’t you still working at the secret bar?”
Layla froze. Something inside her pulled in and in, terrified, and that horrible icy sensation whirled through her like a winter storm. Her entire body shuddered and she felt something fierce and terrified coil up inside her, as if it had scales and barbs and fangs – ready to fight or flee. Her gaze met Luke’s and she saw her own terror mirrored in his eyes. Like a rabid wolf, she watched Luke bristle for her – and when he spoke it was with a snarl, his green eyes flashing.
“Nuh-uh,” he growled. “No fucking way. They arenotgetting you, whoever they are.” And then Luke was suddenly storming down the stairs, furious as a thunderbolt – roaring at whomever was at the door. “You get the fuck out of my house! I don’t know who you are, but Layla doesn’t want your damn job, and your hotel chain can go suck it.Get out of here right the fuck now or I’ll call the cops, I swear to god!”
A rumbling baritone murmured something low at the bottom of the stairs, as if trying to be reasonable with Luke. Layla stayed upstairs in her room, rigid, her mind racing as that terrified creature inside her coiled in and in. The letter trembled in her hand as a roaring sensation rushed through her body like it had when she’d been fired from the bar – making her head expand and lift, making her see herself from above like she floated outside her body up near the corner of the room.
Luke’s voice was a tense growl at the foot of the stairs, and the big basso voice argued back gently. Luke wasn’t having it, and Layla heard him use his most wicked snap at the man. Luke’s caustic tenor cracked like a whip at the bottom of the stairs, though Layla still couldn’t make out what was being said. The big basso voice rumbled one more time, then the door was slammed shut, the wooden Irish door-harp jangling like a dulcimer being destroyed by a giant.
A stormy step ascended the stairs, and Luke’s lean fury appeared in Layla’s doorframe. “He’s gone, whoever the fuck he was. Whatever the fuck horrible trick this is.”
“Thanks,” Layla breathed. Her mind still spun; her body humming like a storm of bees as she trembled. Chill and hot all at once, she felt like a storm swirled inside her; one that had no escape. It had felt like the right move to apply to the Red Letter Hotel. The moment she had submitted her application she had felt so calm, so ready to move forward – feeling instinctually that this kind of new adventure was what she’d needed in her life.
But now everything felt all wrong; scary wrong. Opening her fingers, Layla let the letter and envelope fall to the hardwood floor. She let them stay there as she gradually re-learned how to breathe.
Setting a hand to her shoulder, Luke’s green eyes were still fierce, though deep with concern. “Are you ok?”
“No.” Looking up, Layla found Luke’s gaze. “What the fuck, Luke? Did I almost get abducted? Did that guy at the gallery profile me… has he been following me, learning about me so he could—”
She couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too frightening, what might have just happened. Tense passion ripped through Luke’s eyes. Striding forward, he caught Layla in his embrace, his strong arms crushing her close. “It’s ok. Whoever the fuck they are, they didn’t get you. Everything’s going to be ok…”
Shivering in Luke’s arms, Layla’s mind went black. A horrible, cavernous blackness, as if somehow everything had just gone wrong. As if her entire life, her emotions, even her body had been corrupted by the strange man from the gallery. As she stood there, cradled to Luke’s strong chest, Layla’s eyes were open, fear flooding through her as something coiled up inside her, struggling to get out. Something that had fangs and claws – something that burned suddenly through her black chill like stinging wasps.
The hamsa-mark on her inner wrist flared and Layla gasped in pain, lifting her wrist to look. As she watched, the hamsa-mark seared to a bright crimson – as something inside Layla screamed with fury like a banshee. From cold terror she now felt a flood of rage scald her as some monstrous beast inside her finally rose up – breaking through the surface of her body at last. Layla gave a short cry as she felt it explode through her – and then she was blazing.
Righteous fury scalded through Layla, bright like a viperous desert noon. Like a raptor seizing its prey, her gaze fixed upon the Moroccan wrist-cuff still on her desk. Twisting out of Luke’s arms with a furious energy, Layla strode to the desk and seized the cuff, then turned to the open window. Slapping her hand to the window-screen, she popped the screen out into the bushes below.
And then hurled the hamsa-cuff as far as she could chuck it – far off into the night.
Hard breaths heaved Layla as she stared out the window into the darkness. Fire surged through her veins with every breath, stinging like bees. As she stood there, heated with rage and passion, fury and a sudden fierce desire for vengeance, cinnamon and anise flooded her nostrils with a hint of jasmine. A flare of oceanic aqua eyes devoured her vision, so strongly that Layla reeled. His face rose in her mind, terrible with heartache. That she had rejected him. That she had denied him.
That she had thrown his talisman away.
A need and passion that were not Layla’s suddenly burned through her body, startling her –accompanied by a heartbroken roaring sound in the night. Stunned by that sound, Layla’s breath halted. Her entire being paused at the feel of a creature so desperate with love and fury that it shocked her heart into stopping. Her heart started again with a hard pound and Layla gasped, turning from the window and burying herself in Luke’s arms. But though he crushed her close to his chest, he couldn’t crush out the roar that flowed through Layla like a massive beast in torment.
A roar that sent a searing pulse down into her body – and set the black night on fire.
* * *
It was deep night when Layla woke. Something had startled her and she froze in the three a.m. hush, her eyes wide in the darkness, her body tense. Moonlight streamed in the open window, lighting her desk and throw-rug in stark white and black. No one was up. There was no creak in the hall as she listened, no step on the stairs. No jangle of the door-harp that said someone had come or gone through the front door. Beside her, Luke remained asleep under the covers, one arm thrown up over his head and the other draped artfully across his sculpted chest.
But still, Layla felt a sixth sense creep over her like she was being watched; like there was an intruder in the house. Shifting, she sat up in her grey sleep-dress and tiger undies. Luke made a soft sound but he was a deep sleeper and only shifted so the covers draped lower across his sculpted hips. But though Layla wanted to snuggle back down and feel his warm, firm flesh against hers again, something else moved in the night. Something that called her – as if she could actually hear music out in the darkness and moonlight.
But the stark shadows were silent as Layla rose, though a spicy scent curled in on the midnight breeze. Padding to the open window, something out-of-place caught her gaze upon the desk. Glancing down, she saw a white card shining in the moonlight, like the confirmation from the Red Letter Hotel – except she had burned that in the fireplace after her near-abduction scare earlier. The sight of the new card spooked her and Layla froze, her breath halted and eyes wide.
And like the cat that always came back, the Moroccan cuff had returned. Placed conspicuously atop the new cream card, the white bone hamsa of the cuff was ghostly in the moonlight, the red coral dusky like blood. Her heart in her throat, Layla reached out, lifting the cuff like a sleepwalker and gazing down at the linen card.
There were only three sentences written on it in black pen, not calligraphed in scarlet ink, with no embossed ‘R’ this time. Only three short sentences, which made her pause.
