“And?”
“A Dragonkind warrior never shares his mate, Noble. Packmate or not, Rannock will attack anyone who touches her,” he said, imagining the worse, preparing for the fallout. “I don’t want dead dragons in my foyer, do you?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then get moving. We’ve got work to do.”
“Call me if you need help controlling the dragon horde.”
Rathbone nodded.
Slapping him on the shoulder, Noble sprinted down the hall toward the crypt.
With a sharp pivot, he ran in the opposite direction. He needed to reach the garage before Rannock and his brothers landed at the side entrance… and Dillinger made things worse by hurting Cate.
20
With the hood propped up and engine on display, Cate attached the socket to the extension rod. Leaning over one of the fender pads protecting the custom paint job, she disappeared under the hood and, ratchet wrench in hand, tightened a bolt. One crank turned into two, then three. The fifth time, however, was the charm, settling the bolt head snug against the steel frame. The last one in a long series of loose nuts and stripped bolts.
She’d done the rounds, tightening some, replacing others.
Setting the tool aside, she popped the cap off the top of a spark plug and pulled the boot. One started. Seven more to change.
Working at a steady pace, she removed one plug at a time, then replaced each in order, measuring the gap, applying grease to the ceramic core, screwing each one into their designated well. The zip of the torque wrench rose through the quiet. The sound settled her in ways little else ever did.
Nicole called her a grease monkey. Cate knew her sister wasn’t wrong.
From the moment she could hold a wrench, she’d been ripping stuff apart and putting it back together. Radios. Old refrigerators. Lawnmowers, boat motors, and abandoned go-carts. Cars, though, had always gotten her motor running.
From the age of fourteen, she’d drifted through the scrap yard her father managed to provide cover for his “real job.” The acres of wreckage had provided countless hours of entertainment, mostly by helping her avoid her father’s schemes… and the men he choose as his associates.
The second she turned sixteen, she applied for a job at every garage in town. Most blew her off. Kane gave her a chance, teaching a girl what most men never would, providing a refuge after school and on weekends, keeping her sane in the face of her dad’s nonstop cons, and helping her find her calling.
Her dad had called it a phase, hoping she’d join the family business. But her fascination with classic cars only deepened.
Which explained her current situation—trapped inside a house owned by Shadow Walkers, and still, somehow, she managed to get grease on her hands and find her way under the protective cove of a raised hood.
The work settled her nerves, helping her concentrate on the task at hand, instead of worrying about Rannock. Cate huffed as she turned the torque wrench. Stupid, really, to even try. Not thinking about him was an impossibility. Her dragon was always top of mind, in her thoughts, in her prayers. So deep inside her heart, she hurt every time it beat. Now her chest ached and her mind burned. An internal inferno of fear.
For him. For her. For the loss of a future she wanted, but might never get to have if he didn’t come back.
She inhaled deep, then exhaled slow, allowing the quiet to seep into her bones. The scent of motor oil drifted. The ratchet in her hand zinged. A ticking clock called out each second, helping her sink deeper into the job. Smooth metal beneath her grease-stained hands. Mechanical components she knew how to rip apart and put back together. A way to make things whole when nothing else felt right.
Focused on the last spark plug, she twisted it into place, trying to forget Rannock and his brothers were out there somewhere, battling supernatural creatures she hadn’t known existed before tonight and didn’t want to understand. Surreal was a good term for the world she now inhabited. Batshit crazy was another. But right now, beneath the cage light hooked to the underside of the hood, all she felt was scared.
Scared for Rannock. Worried for herself. Concerned about the fact Dillinger watched her from less than ten feet away.
Her instincts flickered, threatening to upend the calm she’d worked hard to cultivate. Flexing her hand around the tool grip, she battled a second, forcing her stomach to settle and her mind to stay on task. Just a few more adjustments to make, a couple more caps to click into place. After that, it would be time to pay the piper, to see if her hard work had paid off and Dillinger kept his word.
She wanted the pod out of her head. She wanted to set eyes on Rannock again. She wanted the hell out of Savannah and away from the craziness.
Terrific goals. Iffy outcome. No way to know which way the situation would swing and the universe would toss her.
Cate swallowed, trying to loosen the knot in the center of her chest. So many wants. Just as many needs. All within reach, and yet still too far away to touch.
Inspecting her work, she twisted the wrench a quarter turn, then nodded. Perfect fit. Easy installation. All the rusty spark plugs removed. Clicking the caps and wires back in place, she reattached the intake valve, fighting to stay calm as Dillinger shifted a few feet away.
His silence cranked her the wrong way. Especially after the last couple of hours.
He’d talked almost nonstop, watching her with an intensity she didn’t like, refusing to leave her alone inside the garage, asking questions (personal as well as car-related), keeping her on edge as she worked on his truck. He’d done it on purpose, poking, prodding, gauging her reactions, smiling a little when she lost her patience and snap at him.
The jerk.
She’d started out liking him. Now, she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do more—stab him with a screwdriver or kneecap him with the ball-peen hammer. Both. Either. One or the other. Cate didn’t care, just long as he left her to own devices for a little while.
Another thing to add to her wish list. Something Cate knew she wouldn’t get, given he hadn’t moved anything except his mouth in almost three hours.
Grabbing the cage light, Cate hooked it to a different spot and turned her attention to the new filter she’d installed. She snapped the cap back on, then checked the radiator tube. The old one sat on the rolling tray alongside the rusty spark plugs. The one she’d replaced it with looked good. Solid brand name. Tight fit. Perfect for the big V-8. Screwdriver in hand, she tightened the clamp half a turn, then inspected her work.
Everything back in place and buttoned up tight.
The DieHard Gold battery she’d gotten from one of the cupboards at the back of the garage sat in its cradle, snug and secure, waiting to spark the engine she longed to hear turn over. Tugging on the cables, she checked the positive and negative connectors.
Yanking the rag out of her back pocket, she backed out from under the hood. Tired muscles complained. An ache set up shop between her shoulder blades. Setting the screwdriver on the fender pad, she stretched, attacking the strain.
“What next?” Dillinger asked.
“You keeping track of how many questions you asked tonight?” Wiping the grease from her hands with the stained scrap of cotton, Cate pivoted to face him. “How many was that—number five hundred?”
“You exaggerate.”