Broken (Otherworld 6)

"Sacrifice!" Clay plunked me onto the bathroom counter. "We sacrificed a mosquito. I bet that's what did it. It was probably a virgin too."

"I've contacted Robert Vasic to investigate," Jeremy continued.

"The mosquito?" Clay said. "It's kind of squashed, but sure."

Jeremy crossed his arms and waited.

Clay sighed, then picked up the toiletry bag. "I'll toss this in the car."

As Jeremy watched Clay go, his expression softened. I knew what he was thinking--the same thing I was--that it was good to see Clay happy. There had been months, even years after Clay had bitten me when neither of us had seen that side of him. But now he had everything that was important to him--his home, his Pack, his Alpha and his mate. And, soon, a child. Every reason to be happy. For now...

I put my hands against my belly and willed myself to feel a kick, a jab, some sign of life...

Nothing.

"You can listen with the stethoscope when we get home," Jeremy said softly. "The heartbeat is somewhat erratic, but the books say that's not unusual--"

"You called Robert already? What did he say?"

A soft sigh at the change of subject. Jeremy took his used towels from the rack and tossed them into the tub before answering. "He wasn't home, but Talia said she'd have him call later this afternoon."

We had a late breakfast before leaving. There was a restaurant in our hotel, but it didn't open until noon, so we popped over to a place a few doors down and ate there.

We were walking back--driving the short distance had been more trouble than it was worth--when I caught a whiff of something that stopped me midstride. Jeremy and Clay took another few steps before realizing I was no longer between them. Jeremy stayed where he was, as Clay circled back.

"What's up?"

I tilted my head and inhaled, then rubbed my nose and made a face. "I hate that. You catch the faintest smell, your brain says 'hey, that's someone I know,' then it's gone."

Clay looked around. We were in the middle of a strip of grass between the road and the hotel parking lot. Cars zoomed past, but there was no one around. A busy road and no sidewalks didn't invite pedestrian traffic.

"Maybe someone you knew drove by with the window down." He glanced at the strip mall to our right. "Or stopped here."

I nodded. "Probably, whatever--whoever--it was, it's gone now."

We caught up with Jeremy and headed for the SUV.

I flipped between Toronto radio stations all the way to Buffalo, listening to the private stations for news at the top and bottom of the hour, then tuning to CBC as the other stations switched to music. By the time we moved out of Buffalo and the Canadian stations faded to static, I was convinced that Jeremy was right. Whatever had happened last night, it was safe enough to leave.

We pulled off at the Darien Lake exit to fuel up with gas and food. We would stop for lunch in a favorite restaurant outside Rochester, but it had been two hours since breakfast, and our stomachs were complaining. Well, Clay's and mine were complaining; one could never tell with Jeremy.

Jeremy shooed us off to the store, getting me away from the fuel fumes. Inside, I scooped up a doughnut and chocolate milk. Convenience food--they didn't offer much else.

The store was busy, there were only two cashiers, and one was fiddling with her register, so the lineup stretched back to the refrigerators. People kept brushing past me to get to the pop fridge. I've never been one to enjoy personal space invasions but, lately, close contact with strangers set my fight-or-flight instincts on high alert.

Stuck there in line, in an enclosed place, with too many people, my gaze kept drifting to the exit, to freedom and fresh air. Especially fresh air. The mix of BO and cheap cologne and fried food from the restaurant made my stomach churn...and made me wonder whether I'd be able to eat my snacks at all.

A passing trucker jostled my shoulder so hard I wobbled back into the shelf. He reached to catch me, blasting coffee breath and halitosis in my face. Another hand caught me from behind. Clay glared at the trucker, who mumbled something vaguely apologetic and shambled past.

Clay took my milk carton and doughnut, and piled them onto his and Jeremy's snacks.

"Hey," grumbled a man behind us. "There's a line here, you know. You can't just--"

Clay turned and looked at him, and the man's mouth snapped shut. I leaned out to see why the line wasn't moving.

"You okay?" Clay whispered.

I swept a glance around. "Just...claustrophobic."