Until There's Blood by A. J. Wildman

Author:A. J. Wildman [Wildman, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781955784856
Publisher: Melange Books, LLC

Ileana sat in the rocking chair on the porch, blanket tossed across her body, half-empty glass of pinot grigio in her hand. The shower had been as therapeutic as it had been painful. Though she healed fast, her wound was still fresh and stung badly when water ran beneath the bandages.

A third of a block of cheddar cheese with crackers and grapes was her late-night snack. She’d downed the food with half the bottle of pinot, and by the time she made her way onto the porch, her wound had finally stopped aching.

Much the wine’s fault as she healed fast, she mused.

Ileana took a sip of said vino. Distant waves glimmered in the moonlight. The storm clouds had moved on at some point while she showered, and the air was much cooler now.

Ileana blinked heavy eyelids. Her body warned of imminent shutdown, but her mind wouldn’t comply with the alarms.

A stiff breeze lifted Ileana’s loose curls and twirled them around her face. She closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, an older, and beautiful Black woman twisted her hair into tight braids down her scalp.

“Tahan masih Mojang manis.”

Ileana obeyed and held still.

Waves sloshed against the shore and pulled her from the memory. Beneath the sound of the ocean, footsteps padded across the sands toward the bungalow.

Ileana opened her eyes. A large shadow moved her way from the water’s edge.

Spekter’s frame appeared, illuminated by the interior lights of the bungalow. His blood-stained pants were gone, exchanged for tan cotton slacks, and he’d bothered to put on a gray t-shirt. Though he’d obviously showered, his sandy blond hair was clumped into thick locks bound by grains of sand and the salty ocean wind, signs he’d spent his absence from the bungalow walking the beach.

He’d also shaved his beard.

Ileana took another long gulp of wine. Michael Cassidy has a really nice face.

From the look on that really nice face as he approached, it was obvious he’d hoped she was asleep.

Ileana kicked a bare foot and rocked the chair back and forth.

“You are past curfew,” she joked. “Give me one good reason why I should not ground you.”

Spekter stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyes ignited with little white lights.

“That would be really uncool,” he said, voice playful. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, swear.” Bright blue eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, malen’kiy voron? That wound will heal best while you sleep.”

Her body screamed in agreement. She nodded, downed the rest of her wine, and rose from the stairs.

Razor sharp pain shot up her side, and her knees buckled, however, strong hands grabbed her waist before she hit the wood.

Ileana winced, but quickly righted herself and backed out of Spekter’s hold.

“Good thing you were here when I stood up,” she said, voice husky, “otherwise, I would be chomping dirt on the porch.”

Spekter pressed his hands to his forehead and slid them over his face. Mouth turn in a lopsided grin, he said, “Eating dirt. You’d be eating dirt, Ileana.”

Ileana’s cheeks flushed for the third time in way too short of a period.

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