by K. N. Banet
“Oh, was that her name?” I frowned. “Yeah…The bounty came up while I was out of town, so I’m actually a week behind everyone else in the city who watches these things. Sinclair showing up really pushed up my time frame to figure out what was going on. Initially, I had no intention of getting involved and protecting Raphael. I just figured I would look into it for Paden, and he could decide what he wanted to do with it.”
“You always did strike fast.”
“I’m a snake, of course I do,” I reminded him.
“Send me a report, and I’ll look into it.” Something about those words seemed final as if he was looking to get off the phone.
“Can do.”
“Stay safe, Executioner.”
“You too, Investigator.”
We both hung up, and I stared at my cellphone for a moment. Cassius must have had company at the last moment if he said goodbye using my role. That was the sign someone was around who he didn’t want to know that he spoke to me on a semi-regular basis. Maybe it was his soon-to-be wife, or maybe it was one of the Tribunal, who didn’t like it when their Executioners and Investigators teamed up and caused trouble for them. Cassius lived with the male fae Tribunal member, so it would make sense he would have to be careful.
Before moving on with my list of tasks, I wrote a small report on Raphael’s abilities and what he looked like when he used them—the red and black eyes, the black ink spreading from them in his veins, the unidentifiable smell, the super strength, and advanced healing. Maybe he would know someone similar or something about it. The more we knew, the better.
I didn’t put anything about my reaction to the not-human, though. That wasn’t Cassius’s business. That was a problem only I could handle, but it meant keeping Raphael alive was extremely important.
I called Paden next, pushing aside thoughts of Cassius.
“Before you say fucking anything,” Paden growled on the other end of the call, “just know that I know what you did. You have him, and Sinclair is furious. He’s in the Underground right now, talking about you and how you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. His witch looks a little beat up too, and I’m guessing that was you?”
“No, that was Raphael,” I answered. “Paden—”
“How does a human do that to a witch?”
“He’s not entirely human, but I don’t know what he is. He doesn’t know what he is,” I snapped quickly, tired of the berating tone in Paden’s voice. “He’s here at my fucking place, sleeping in my second bedroom, and it’s been a fucking challenge, let me tell you, to fucking get him here.” Taking a steadying breath, I realized I couldn’t tell Paden much until I knew more. “Let me get back to you tomorrow night. I might have more, but the last couple of days have been crazy.”
“I’ve noticed, and I only have myself to blame for it,” he snapped back. “Should have never told you about this. Someone is going to get hurt.”
“Someone already has,” I muttered, thinking about the witch. Poor bastard had been in that SUV when Raphael flipped it. “Too late now. I’ve called Cassius, and he’s getting the Tribunal’s permission to investigate. This is going official, and hopefully we can keep Raphael alive and learn what he knows. I’m sure in the five years he was with Mygi, he heard some things that might not seem important to him that you would love.”
“Something has gotten into you, but I haven’t figured out what,” Paden said thoughtfully. “I know there’s an off chance he knows something you might care about, but the likelihood of that is tiny, Kaliya. What are you really fighting for?”
I don’t know anymore. There are too many questions, not enough answers, and my fangs ache.
“It’s nothing. You pointed out this all seemed fishy, and you were right. I’m in it now, and there’s no turning back.” I tried to brush him off, but his question stuck with me. Was I in this just for information, or was I desperate to keep Raphael alive thanks to my biology? I spent a hundred years avoiding the possibility I would find someone compatible with me, and here he was, and people were trying to capture and potentially kill him. He didn’t know what he was, and I felt as if it was my responsibility to learn, not just for him but for the implication that information could have for me.
Everything was too complicated.
“I’m going to let you go. I just figured you should know I have him in custody.” I wanted to get off the phone now. I was tired of people, tired of the interaction. I needed some quiet music and a dark room.
“Sinclair has no intention of letting this go,” Paden warned.
“I figured as much,” I mumbled, then hung up.
Before heading to my bedroom, I did a security check around my home. The windows and doors were locked. The guest bedroom was secure. Raphael would only be able to go around the house and not leave it.
Unless he can rip a door off the hinges or crush the metal security covers on the windows. Seems like a real possibility.
I loaded every gun in the house, just in case, my paranoia getting the best of me. I didn’t poison the blades. With him in the house, I had to be a lot more careful with my venom, and that meant doing without some of my weapons. If he accidentally cut himself, I would have a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer.
When I reached my bedroom, I locked the door. I had a stranger in my house. The lock was ineffective, but it gave me some comfort. He would try the handle first, which would wake me up, so I would have time to get moving if he tried to kill me in my sleep…if I even got to sleep.
I turned off the lights and turned on some soft music. I didn’t lie down, though. Sitting in the middle of my bed, finding a comfortable position, I relaxed, closing my eyes as I steadied my breathing. An old friend taught me how to center myself. It heightened my senses, excluding sight, rested me, and kept me prepared for battle. When I was young, I realized I would never be truly safe. After my family was slaughtered, I got into a lot of trouble, trying to stay alive and get revenge. I was taken in by another assassin. He taught me the ropes, then pointed me in the direction of the Tribunal, saying working for them was dangerous but offered a high level of safety and respect. The best way to hide was in plain sight.
He also taught me to make it on my own. If I was ever caught on the run, I didn’t need to sleep for a few days, thanks to the techniques he taught me. I just had to meditate.
With Raphael next door—a stranger and an unknown danger—sleep wasn’t an easy option. With the possibility of Sinclair and his friends coming after me, if they found a way to my home, sleep was even further away. Tonight, I resigned myself to meditation. Trying to sleep would only make me restless.
12
Chapter Twelve
It was a few hours later when I heard him walking around and opened my eyes. I decided to investigate before he got into something he shouldn’t. Hopefully, he was just looking for a bathroom, which connected to the kitchen, but I needed to be sure. For my own peace of mind, I had to make sure before I went ballistic or got spooked and accidentally killed him.
If I even can, if push comes to shove…
I left my bedroom and walked silently to my living room. I could see the dining room, kitchen, and the door to the bathroom from my position. I watched him slip into the bathroom and relaxed a bit. When he came back out, I had the chance to see him when he didn’t know I was looking, just like I had the moment I met him.
He still ran hot, much hotter than a werewolf or werecat. Even in my cool house, he was boiling but didn’t seem sick or uncomfortable. I would guess his natural body temperature was closer to one hundred and six, maybe seven degrees, which should have been cooking his brain. His muscles were tight, ripped like he was at the gym eight hours a day. I couldn’t see any unusual markings above the line of his shorts or on his legs. What I could see were his scars. They had really done a number on him over the years. The gunshot scars went out his back too. I watched him look around the kitchen, probably searching for a snack. He had evidence a werewolf
had tried to do a number on him, long claw marks going over one shoulder. I watched him run a hand through his hair and wanted to chuckle. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he had some grey coming in. At least I wasn’t alone in prematurely losing my hair color.
“What are you looking for?” I asked softly, but it seemed loud in my silent house.
He jumped, spinning to see me. His eyes flashed red, but nothing more. He relaxed quickly, obviously holding back his instincts to fight or run.
“Something to eat. I can’t sleep. It’s been a crazy night.”
“Hm.” I nodded slowly and started walking forward. “Get used to it,” I said without sympathy. “Sleep is a luxury we’re not always afforded.” When I got into the kitchen, I licked my lips, tasting the smells on the air. He was completely human right now, which meant I didn’t have to worry too much. He could only do crazy things when he wasn’t human.
“Is food a luxury too, or can I get some?” he asked, the annoyance in his voice clear.
I opened my pantry and began pulling down options for him, sticking with snacks. If he wanted a full meal, he could wait until I decided to cook. Generally, I lived off snacks. I had the habit of eating one meal every few days, supplementing with tiny meals and snacks in between. Maybe it was my snakelike metabolism.
“Is this all you have?” he asked, frowning at my meager selection.
“No, but I’m not cooking right now. Probably won’t until tomorrow night.” With a shrug, I started to walk away, letting him know that was all he was getting out of me.
“I can cook. I need to eat a lot, or I start dropping weight and muscle. I get that you want to keep your girly figure, but…"
“Fine, you can cook. There’s chicken in the freezer you have to thaw and a lot of pasta,” I said, turning back to him, exasperated and pissed off by his comment. Of course, I had to house a man who needed to eat me out of house and home. I wasn’t going to deny him his dietary needs, though. I just wasn’t going to cook for him.
I’m not a housewife. And that girly figure shit is going to need to stop. Fucking total asshole. That’s who I had to get, a prick who can’t summon a good attitude to save his life.
“Thanks,” he grunted. “I’ll pay you back for the food.”
“There’s no beer here, just so you know,” I said with a small bite. I wanted to cut him back for his comment, and that got him. He looked at me, his eyes bleeding into red now, the black beginning to take form, leaving him looking completely inhuman.
“You always this much of a bitch?”
“Yeah.” I started walking away again, not sure what was wrong with me. I didn’t need to say that to him, yet it came out.
“Want to tell me why?” he called out as I heard him rummage through my freezer.
“Not really,” I answered loudly. “Why don’t you just eat my food and be grateful I’m helping you stay alive?”
“I’ll eat your food, but I’m not sure about the grateful part,” he growled. “Considering it was monsters like you who got me into this entire fucking mess, to begin with, and tortured me for five years. Maybe I consider this is what you supernaturals fucking owe me after everything you all did to my life.”
“I promise you, if you think I’m a monster, you are in for some nasty surprises.” Gods, I wanted to kill him right then. “And you’re the one who showed a moment of weakness and decided to try drugs. No one forced them down your throat. You know what they say, it only takes one time.”
“Fuck you,” he snarled.
“Asshole,” I snapped back before storming out of the room. I went out the back door, heading straight for the gym I kept. I wanted to murder him. I wanted to get a sword and see if he could heal through a decapitation the same way he could apparently put his hand back on.
Going to the weights, I started loading up. I wasn’t physically the strongest supernatural and had to work for what muscle I had. Being angry seemed like a good time to work out and push myself. Maybe that would stop me from killing him.
I was in there for two hours, working up a sweat when he walked in.
“Nice. Food is ready. I saved you some if you want any.”
Wow, now he has a change of heart. This guy is fucking ridiculous.
“No, thanks. I don’t need to eat that often.” I didn’t look at him as I did my bicep curls in front of the large mirror I had installed. He stood behind me, but I didn’t want to look at him so I watched my muscle flex and relax with each rep.
“Really?”
“What about being a naga, a snake person, didn’t you get?”
“Excuse me, but I only learned you existed earlier tonight, so maybe you should cut the fucking attitude.”
“Look who’s talking,” I hissed. “I didn’t do shit to you, Raphael. I’ve only tried to help you since we met, but you’ve got an attitude bigger than this fucking desert. Tell me, if a human decided to shoot a werewolf, should werewolves hate every single human?”
“No,” he answered, his voice tight. “But the human didn’t irrevocably change the werewolf and ruin his life.”
I laughed bitterly. “You should talk to some werewolves. Or vampires. They used to be human. They had those mortal lives taken from them, sometimes against their will. You know what they don’t do? They don’t get pissy and mad. They get over it. They adapt. They survive.” I dropped the weight and stood up to look him in the eye. “What happened to you is terrible, and we’re going to fix it. What was done to you is wrong, and I’m trying my damnedest to figure out how to get you through it. I’m not the person who cut you apart for five years. Not every monster is the same. Just like every human isn’t. Hell, half of the monsters used to be human, just like you.”
“You? Did you lose a human life?”
“No, I was born a naga with all the baggage that comes with it. There was never a human life for me. I knew I would grow up, hit my thirties or so, and stop aging. I knew about the monsters from the very beginning. What do you think is better, Raphael? Living in ignorance then losing the blinders, or knowing someone wants to kill you for being born because you live in a world of monsters?”
“Both suck,” he said, sitting down on a workout bench. “I’m sorry. Since this happened to me, my temper has been…uncontrollable. Like it’s a thing of its own, and I have to hold its leash. I don’t understand it. When I do that thing, I have to make sure I don’t lose control and lose my place in my own…brain like I did the night it all started. And yeah, I’m fucking pissed. I’ll be pissed for a long time. That’s something we’re both going to have to live with. I don’t care what other supernaturals have done to adapt and survive bullshit. I had a good life, and it was stolen from me. I don’t see any reason to let that go.”
“Fine, but when push comes to shove, no one else is going to care about the life you used to have. They’re only going to care about what you are now, whatever that fucking is,” I said, shaking my head. I grabbed a towel off the rack and pointed at the equipment. “Feel free to use any of it, just don’t break anything.”
“Actually, I thought I would concede a little defeat and ask you to teach me some of these weapons,” he admitted. “The food was supposed to be a peace offering.”
I sighed heavily. “I’m not a good teacher.”
“I’m a good student, though. Maybe I can make up for it.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to leave him there to figure out his own shit.
Instead, I went to my training weapons cabinet and pulled out two simple wooden swords.
“We’ll start easy. Nearly every supernatural knows how to use a sword except for the modern ones. They like guns too much. Don’t get me wrong, a gun is a good thing to have, but a sword? It’s personal, and a lot of supernaturals like to get up close and personal. It’s how they’ll kill you. Werewolves and werecats will rip your head off or eviscerate you. Sometimes, they’ll eat you alive once they’re done. Vampires want to break your neck and bleed you dry. Fae and witches
are more ranged combatants, but I promise you, they know how to fight. I’m a close fighter. I don’t have many skills that make me effective at a distance. Based on your abilities, you would do well to learn some simple sword techniques. You could easily cut off limbs and heads.”
“Do you always talk about fighting and killing with such indifference?” he asked, taking one of the wooden swords from me. “It’s starting to worry me.”
“Yes.” I flipped the sword a few times, loosening up my wrist. I was tired from working out, but I figured I would still be faster. “If I got hung up on it, I would already be dead.” I had been desensitized to death for a long time. Kill or be killed. That was the world I lived in. “Should I feel guilty for surviving as long as I have?”
“You make it sound like you’re fighting for your life every single day.”
“I don’t see a problem with that,” I said softly. “Now, let’s get started. The sooner you get some of this down, the better.”
I started off with an easy spar, watching him wildly try to block me as I sent in attacks, seeing how he tried to defend himself. When I gave him a chance to attack, he missed it, and I knew I was dealing with a modern man. He wasn’t hiding some hidden immortality I didn’t know about. He was doing this for the very first time, and it showed.
“Okay, now I know where you stand. Let me show you a basic stance.” I went behind him and kicked his legs apart. “Shoulder-width apart is always a good idea. It will keep you balanced.” I moved his shoulders, putting his sword arm closer to an invisible opponent in front of him. “Keep your vulnerable side away from the attacker and make yourself a smaller target. Don’t give anyone the chance to go after you from a place you can’t defend.”
He nodded, and I corrected how he held the sword, moving his fingers. This was the first time I touched his skin and took a moment to consider it. It was blazing hot, like a heat rock with a sunlamp on it. I stomped on thoughts of curling up next to that kind of heat and enjoying it. Being so close made me come to terms with how much taller he was, probably six five.