Heku : Book 1 of the Heku Series HTML version

He knew Ulrich would have heku searching for them all over the world. It wouldn’t be long before one
of them located this home. He could take care of a handful of them at a time, but eventually, Ulrich
would come and bring his minions with him. He would take Emily away. Chevalier had no doubt that
after that, he wouldn’t ever see her again, no matter how hard he tried and how much he searched.
He pulled his car into the small town buried deep in the mountain and counted himself lucky, a suburban
full of California tourists were wandering around, taking pictures and looking around the ground for
colorful rocks. One older woman wandered away from the rest. She was headed directly for the nearby
group of trees with her camera dangling around her wrist. Chevalier waited for her and satiated himself
within just a few minutes. He gazed into her eyes and whispered a story about mosquitoes and bees. She
headed back to her group, grasping her wrist, unsure of what just happened to her.
He’d been gone for just over 4 hours when he pulled the snowcat back into the mansion’s garage. He
listened to the quietness of the house, but couldn’t hear any footsteps, and thought that she was still
immersed in the book, curled up on the over-stuffed couch in the library. He could hear Steven in the dirt
room, calling out, complaining about his thirst.
Chevalier stepped into the library and found it was empty. He inhaled deeply, but her scent was faint in
the room. She’d been gone for some time. The nearer he got to the bedroom, the stronger her aroma
became. It seemed to be oddly more potent than usual, as if intensified. The cause became clear as he
approached the room and could feel the mugginess in the air and hear the jets from the tub.
He hesitated for a moment. Part of him desired to turn away and give her privacy, another part of him
longed to see her and to move closer to the scent of her blood. The latter won and he stepped quietly into
the bathroom.
Emily was lying in the jetted tub. Bubbles cascaded over the side, smelling of fresh strawberries. Her
eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and rhythmic, she had fallen asleep. A book lie open on the
side of the tub, and he glanced at it quickly. She was reading Anna Karenina. He saw the irony and
As he sat quietly on the edge of the tub, he remembered the similarities from the first time he’d seen her.
He watched her, the bubbles moving gently with the jets, leaving small windows into the water. First a
fleeting glimpse of her milky thighs, then a flash of her soft breasts, rising and falling with her breath. He
was hypnotized with the images, the all too brief look he caught before the bubbles shrouded it. His eyes
lingered long after the offending bubbles obscured his view of the tight contours of her lower abdomen.