Destiny: A Fantasy Collection

by Rachelle Mills

  Henry planted his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands and resting them against his chin. He leaned forward and worked his jaw back and forth before finally saying, “Charlotte Abernathy is a closeted mortal supporter of the Underworld.”

  Emma’s mouth fell open, and he immediately regretted stirring up her surprise. Another unwelcome image surfaced: those pink lips wrapped around his shaft. Did she need to be sitting so close? Leaning oh-so-casually against his desk?

  “Charlotte Abernathy, as in the county attorney?” she asked. “Was she the one who ran up to you in the courthouse?”

  He returned his gaze firmly to her eyes. “That’s the one. She’s agreed to turn a blind eye.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Wait—I’ve been talking to the county attorney all day?” A blush blossomed on her cheeks.

  He had to. He absolutely had to stop taking in every detail of her appearance when they were together. Otherwise he would have his fangs sunk halfway into her neck in no time.

  An alarming thought occurred to him. “Wait, you weren’t mean to her, were you? Please don’t tell me you burned our most important bridge your first day here.”

  Emma shook her head and shifted her weight against the polished oak of his desk. Do not stare at her hips, you idiot.

  “Of course not.” She looked at the ceiling. “At least not by lawyer standards. I was trying to get my client a better deal.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  Henry smirked at the triumph that flickered in her eyes.

  “Of course.” But her playful look faded into a frown. “To be honest, I’m actually surprised Abernathy would use her prosecutorial discretion like this. It makes things easy for us, but I can’t imagine it’s a great idea to let a bunch of immortal criminals walk free. Doesn’t that only encourage reckless behavior?”

  She had a point, but what could Henry do about it? “It’s necessary for our survival. If we were to let someone like your werewolf rot in jail, it would only be a matter of time before he turned on a full moon. Then we’d be really screwed.”

  Emma cocked her head to one side. “I get that, but why would someone like Abernathy decide to look out for the supernats? Did she have a secret demon love child?”

  Henry shifted in his seat. “Nothing like that. Abernathy’s a good woman. Long story. She owes me a favor.”

  Emma remained silent, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, but now was not the time for such a story. There was no reason to reveal Abernathy’s secrets. Henry respected her privacy.

  “Okay,” she continued, “but there’s got to be a safer way to handle guilty clients that results in both some form of punishment and prevents supernats from exposing themselves.”

  Henry laughed, and that blush crept up her cheeks again.

  “That came out wrong.” She gestured vaguely and sighed. “You know what I meant.”

  His eyes widened innocently. “Do I? Or are you thinking about supernats exposing themselves to you?” he said in a low tone, not breaking eye contact.

  That soft mouth of hers dropped open again as she erupted in laughter. He stared at her lips. They were much more inviting this way, instead of that worried thin line. A warning bell went off in his head. His instincts were telling him to go-go-go, but his brain was telling him to stand on the brakes until he stopped.

  She’d found out about the existence of vampires yesterday. He was her employer. He’d already determined this morning that she probably wouldn’t be interested in…immortal dating. Or if he was honest with himself, he knew he was more disappointed that she probably wouldn’t be interested in immortal fucking. Yet that didn’t keep him from imagining holding her close, feeling the heat of her body, and sinking into her.

  Get a hold of yourself before you lose your damn mind.

  Fortunately, she reined in the conversation for him by throwing a verbal bucket of water over his head: “Nope, I’m more concerned about getting them to trust me enough to work with me.”

  Henry frowned. It shouldn’t surprise him that they were giving her trouble, but he’d been hoping Wendell’s attitude was an anomaly. He wanted to make her transition into his practice as smooth as possible for her. Why did it matter to the clients so much? A lawyer who knew about supernats was a lawyer who could help supernats.

  “You’re having that much trouble? Seems like you resolved all your cases so far. I’m especially impressed by your work with Wendell. I thought for sure he would barrel down my door when Rick warned me he came back. Color me surprised when he gave me a sandwich.”

  Emma laughed. “Thanks. I’ve been able to get them to put up with me long enough to talk their charges over with…well, I guess it was Abernathy. They’ve been somewhat satisfied when I tell them their charges have been dropped, but so far three out of four of them demanded a follow-up appointment with you present to make sure things have actually been resolved.”

  His usual dread for dealing with these people resurfaced, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she were there to distract him.

  “It has to get better with time. Once they know you can get the job done, they will trust you and spread the word. Then I’ll just be an afterthought to them.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

  Emma looked down, and the room fell silent for a moment.

  “Look, I think I should apologize for earlier,” she said, bringing her gaze back up to his.

  He tilted his head to the side in question.

  “For the rice. I had no idea it would be that bad. And you were right—you never gave me any reason to think you would attack me. I…I was scared,” she said simply.

  He was surprised that despite being a lawyer, she was comfortable letting vulnerability show in her brown eyes. He knew it’d been a pretty awful way for her to find out about supernats, but he appreciated her olive branch.

  “It is really scary at first, so I understand. Sorry I got so angry earlier. I should’ve handled the stress better.”

  “Water under the bridge?” she offered.

  Henry smiled.

  Apparently satisfied with this, she quickly steered the conversation out of serious territory and said, “Where did you get this desk, by the way? It’s gorgeous.” She stroked the smooth, varnished wood enviously.

  Henry swallowed, watching her steady hands rub his desk. Her nails barely went past her fingertips. What would they look like splayed across his chest? Digging into his back? Pulling his hair?

  Then, as clear as day, he heard a gasping voice say, “Fuck me on this huge desk.” His gaze darted back up to her mouth, but her lips were sealed. Aside from eavesdropping on her at the courthouse, he usually resisted the temptation to read people’s minds. It was a slippery path to fall down with mortals, unless you were trying to persuade them to share some of their blood for your dinner. But her thoughts had jumped out at him. He gripped the edge of his desk.

  These microbursts of thought usually only happened when someone—mortal or immortal—was experiencing an extremely intense emotion like terror, fury, sorrow, joy, or…lust. Had she done the same yesterday during her big Underworld revelation? He’d certainly heard some panicked rambling, but he’d been so busy trying to calm things down he couldn’t be sure if she’d been broadcasting her thoughts or vocalizing them.

  This certainly upended his previous assumptions about her feelings toward vampires. There was no mistaking this. However, he also knew there was a vast, vast difference between idle fantasy and voicing an actual desire. Now was absolutely not the time to complicate this situation further.

  So he settled for saying, “I got it from an antique dealer about fifty years ago. I’m sorry about the feeble piece of crap Rick got you. When I told him to get you a desk, I didn’t think he’d go to the discount big box store.” Dear God, even talking about shopping somehow felt flirtatious. He would have to attend an eight-week seminar to keep his voice from getting husky around her.

  Emma laughed; it was low and throaty. And
it was time to get her out of here. She was probably just recovering from the shock of yesterday, or it was simply close-proximity lust. Despite his years of celibacy gnawing at his balls, he would find a way to get her back into her own office.

  “Oh, it’s fine.” She waved him off. “I had the giant fancy desk experience at Keith and Heller…though I will admit it’s probably the only thing I’ll miss about that place. The cherry wood and varnish were so damn pretty, and the space was great for spreading out my notes.”

  Before his mind could think too hard about what else she could spread out across her desk, a wistful look crossed her face. He smiled a little. He appreciated that sort of nostalgia, especially for fine furniture.

  Seeming to catch herself, Emma reassured him, “But what I have is fine for now. Besides, I’ve got a nice spacious carpet I can use if necessary.” She punctuated the statement with a playful wink.

  She was messing with him. She had to be. More revenge for yesterday. First the rice, now this. It was eroding his self-control. What a wonderful, awful mistake it had been to hire her. He tried to focus on her actual words instead of how those lush lips formed them.

  He shook his head. “None doing. We’re professionals,” he said, trying to remind himself of that fact. “Rick said your computer should be here before end of day, and I’ll get you a proper desk as soon as I can. I’ll break that particle board monstrosity myself if I have to give you a reason to accept a new one.”

  Of course, saying that meant an image sailed into his mind of him thrusting into her atop that ugly, cheap desk until it broke and fell to shambles. His mouth went dry. He would think about that for the rest of the day. Henry shifted in his chair in a pathetic effort to persuade his erection to dissipate.

  Her eyes sparkled. “Well, I won’t say ‘no’ to that. Thank you.”

  A grin broke out across his face. “Of course.”

  Oh dear. He was in trouble if he was grinning. His mouth and jaw felt strange from doing it. He cleared his throat and shuffled some folders on his desk. Back to business with the professionalism and the business work with the business papers.

  “Anyway. Check with Rick to see what other files there are for you. After that, it might be helpful for you to go through older cases and get a sense for what our clientele is like. Sound good?”

  Emma gave him a quick salute. “Yessir,” she said and left.

  After watching her ass saunter out of his office, he rubbed his hands over his face. This had to get better. This couldn’t last forever. His penis would resign and take off if it didn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma faked her way through a smile as she escorted a larcenous fairy out the door. The woman was nice enough, but an unrepentant repeat offender and therefore a pain in her ass. She was thankful the day was nearly over.

  “Okay, Lucy, so we’re going to go with the disorderly conduct on this one, and you’ll pay the fine?”

  The woman turned and rolled her eyes at her. “I’m telling you it wasn’t that bad.”

  Somehow Emma managed to sound cheerful as she said, “Yeah, but no. We literally just watched the video. You took a swing at that cop and missed.”

  “Right, I missed!”

  “Hey, if your last name was Delgado, you would probably be overcharged and in jail, so maybe take the deal and think about why you got off easy, yeah?”

  Lucy huffed. “Fine, but what about my shoplifting charge? Will Henry be at my pretrial conference?”

  Emma’s smile got faker. “As I mentioned in our meeting, he’s a vampire. He risks burning alive every time he goes to the courthouse.”

  Some supernat clients, like Wendell, were learning to trust her to do a good job. Others were still stubborn as hell. A month had passed, but Henry was sitting in on a lot of her client meetings. Thankfully, he usually let her take the lead and pretty much acted as a figurehead unless she wanted a second opinion on strategy. Still, her confidence had deflated somewhat when she overhead him yesterday tell Rick to cut down on the transactional workload where possible and refer prospective mortal clients to other lawyers if necessary. It was embarrassing.

  The fairy sucked her teeth impatiently. “But I can make an appointment to see him right before, right? To make sure everything’s okay?”

  Whatever the hell you want, lady. “Of course, though his hourly rate will apply in that case.”

  Finally, the woman left, and Emma shut the door with slightly more force than necessary. She looked over at Rick to see him smirking at her.

  “All right, there, champ?”

  She rolled her eyes. Despite her frustration, all she said was, “Set a client meeting for me, Henry, and Sticky Fingers back there for two days before her pretrial conference.”

  “On it,” Rick said with a dutiful nod. “Oh, and—?”

  “Emma? You around?” Henry called from his office.

  Rick lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He wants to see you. There’s a Word issue.”

  She raised her brows at that.

  “Even I couldn’t figure it out,” he said with a plaintive shrug.

  “Some magician you are,” she said with feigned disappointment.

  His mouth fell open in mock outrage. “Rude.”

  She grinned as she walked away, but as quickly as it formed, it died a swift death on her lips. Henry was standing over his keyboard and frowning as he loosened his tie from his neck. The fairy had put her in a bad mood, but now rage was coursing through her veins. Did the man really need to be doing the sexy tie-tug right here, right now?

  A woman deserved a little preparation before she had to endure that view. Not only were her clients petulant, but she was also nursing a hardcore infatuation for the man. Emma had recognized it almost immediately after starting the job, and it hadn’t eased up in the month she’d been there. In fact, it was getting worse; she wanted to snarl as much as she wanted to wrap her arms around him.

  Emma cleared her throat and forced an indifferent look onto her face. “What’s up? Rick mentioned technical difficulties.”

  He looked up at her and smiled. Guileless and genuine. If she’d thought the sexy tie-tug was bad, it was nothing compared to his dashing, happy-to-see-you smiles. She was seeing more and more of them lately, and she wanted to scream. Her self-control these days was as thin as the hair on a used car dealer. One day soon, she would succumb and launch herself at him, and it would be an utter disaster.

  “My section breaks in this file have declared mutiny,” Henry said with a dark look, “and before you make fun of me for being an old man, I scoured several Word forums.”

  She laughed and approached his desk. “Forums? How old are you, anyway?” When he frowned a little, her eyes widened. “Sorry, that was a joke.”

  Still, she was itching to know. If he were several centuries old, it would be so much easier to write him off. How could you be in a relationship with someone with that kind of imbalance? She nearly did a face-palm. Now she was contemplating a relationship, too?

  To her surprise, Henry let out a scandalized falsetto giggle and fanned himself with one hand. “Didn’t your mother tell you it was indelicate to ask a lady her age?”

  See? He was just being a silly boss. No guy flirted like that. Emma snickered and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not if you look that good.”

  Mortification made her stiffen. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the compliment had slipped from her lips before she could bite it back. His joking grin slowly fell away as his hand dropped back down to his side. Emma couldn’t tell if he thought the comment inappropriate—his gaze was unreadable. Either way, it was time to back pedal. Or even better, she should apologize. But her brain and mouth were paralyzed and refused to help her.

  “One hundred and fifty-six, this past April. My body froze at twenty-seven,” he said slowly.

  “Oh,” she finally said.

  Awkward silence stretched between them. Mercifully, he brought back the jokes.r />
  “Still think I look good for my age?” He pressed his finger to the side of one eye and pushed the skin up slightly. “Or do I need to get a little work done?”

  Emma laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re fabulous. Now, let’s see if I can get those section breaks under control.”

  He rose and offered her his desk chair, but she demurred, opting to lean over his workspace to focus on his computer monitor. Hopefully, this would be a quick fix, and she could get out of there. He moved the chair out of the way and collapsed into it. She was acutely aware of the fact that he sat only a few feet behind her.

  As she scrolled through the document on his computer, she processed what he’d said. One hundred and fifty-six years old. She frowned. The age difference between them wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful, either. It seemed like vampires in movies and books were always at least five hundred years old. He still had over a hundred years on her, but at least it wasn’t six hundred. Yet even at a hundred and fifty-six, he still must know so much history.

  Emma’s gaze was drawn to the wall above his computer. The man had fourteen different framed degrees on display, most of them yellowed with age. She spotted Henry’s J.D. from the James E. Rogers College of Law, but the rest belonged to other Henrys. There was a Ph.D. in English Literature that belonged to Henry Reid, an M.F.A. in Theater Arts that Henry Woodward had earned, a B.A. in Economics for Henry Walker, and another doctorate in Psychology for Henry Schiffer. Even a master’s in Philosophy for Henry Laidlaw. It was like liberal arts hell.

  Several of the diplomas were from the University of Arizona, although she did spot a few degrees from other schools around the country, including a law degree from Harvard that belonged to a Henry Cooper. Jesus, what did he do with all that knowledge?