by Snow, Nicole
Nothing in her bedroom, either.
Not under her pillows or the tangled covers or under the mattress. Nothing in the nightstand drawer except her reading glasses and a few battery-operated things I could do without knowing my sister owns.
The closet just has empty shoes and a few lonely dresses. God, I even turn the pockets of every garment in there inside out.
Nothing.
Standing in the bathroom after ransacking the medicine cabinet in a fit of frustration, I stare at my tired, hollow-eyed expression in the mirror and blow out a sigh.
My angry breath mists up the surface.
And that’s where I see my something in the condensation.
Holy hell. It looks like someone drew on the mirror with a finger, but I can’t quite tell what when there’s only the swirly curve of a letter and the leg of another.
Did Deanna do it while it was steamed up from the shower?
I’d seen something like this in the movie Constantine. Twin sisters who used to leave messages for each other “in breath and light,” drawing messages in dew and frost on windows.
My heart thumps with a touch of hopeful, breathless excitement.
Did she really?
Bracing my hands on the sink, I lean in closer, blowing gently across the entire mirror. My breath steams it up, revealing more letters.
A Confession, it says.
I blink, pulling back, just staring at it.
Confession? A confession of what?
I don’t understand. I don’t—
Wait. The book.
Leo Tolstoy’s A Confession, with the bookmark tucked inside.
I bolt back to the living room, grabbing the book off the couch and flipping through it, searching for a piece of paper, a note written on the inside covers, anything.
But there’s nothing. Just the bookmark, and—
And something on the back of the bookmark, slashed there in Deanna’s familiar handwriting, the same swirly, slightly awkward caps as the letters on the bathroom mirror.
NRGT.TSADKG.
I’m so used to our code that I translate it in seconds.
Nighthawks.
I...what the hell does that mean?
Nighthawks?
I don’t understand. Was she taken because of something to do with this Nighthawks thing? What would they want with her?
Frowning, I sink down on the edge of the sofa, staring down at the blue ink bled into the white cardboard.
“Find something?” a voice rumbles behind me.
I leap off the couch like a cat with its tail being pulled, the back of my neck prickling as I nearly trip over the coffee table, the book and bookmark dropping from my fingers. “GAH!”
Leo stands behind the couch, blinking at me calmly.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
It takes several messy breaths before I can speak, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to calm my pulse, staring at him. “What are you doing here?”
“You left without telling me where you were going,” he replies, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “So I followed.”
I scowl. “I never asked you to stalk me, Leo.”
“I’m not stalking me.” He holds my gaze, eyes steady above his mask. “I’m protecting you, Rissa.” His voice drops, quiet and heartfelt with a touch of edge. “What if Deanna’s kidnapper decides you’re next?”
Crap, he’s right.
He’s right, and I hate it.
Until we get to the bottom of this, I’m a possible target. Just because I walked away from everything to do with Heart’s Edge and Galentron doesn’t mean Deanna’s kidnapper knows that.
I lower my eyes. “Okay, fine. Sorry.”
“Don’t go off without letting me know,” Leo growls, but it’s a concerned one. “Or with Zach. Always take somebody else with you, even in town.”
“But we—”
“Always, Rissa. You heard me.” There’s that thunder again in his voice. Like I’ve got a prayer of arguing with it.
I almost hate how calm he is. How steady.
He’s always been fierce like that, though. Quiet, kind, gentle, calm, and sharp as a dagger.
It always took the worst to rile up his temper. He’s a slow burn kinda guy, but when his anger or his passion finally hits its limit...talk about explosive.
Maybe that’s why this edge-of-the-storm calm he carries bothers me. He’s all ice, when just being in the same room with him tears me to itty bitty pieces.
It feels like he’s indifferent to me. Numb. Like time sanded away all the sharpness of us for him, while it’s still cutting me apart.
Avoiding his eyes, I bend to pick up the book and its lost bookmark, setting them on the table. “Sorry. I can’t expect someone else to babysit me.”
“It’s not babysitting,” he rumbles. “Especially not if it’s me.”
“Oh? And just how’re you supposed to look for Deanna if you’re shadowing my every step?”
Again, I hate that I never hear him moving, and it’s a mistake looking away for even a second—because suddenly I feel him so close, his boots and close-wrapped fatigue pants in my peripheral vision, the scent of him like something wild.
“Believe me, I’ll find a way,” he snarls, so low and deep and close that I practically feel the vibrations of his voice stroking my skin.
I shiver, wrapping my arms tight.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Invincible,” I tease softly. An old joke, but one that makes neither of us laugh. I try to smile in the silence between us and lift my head, looking up at him, taking in the lines of strain around those bright, tortured eyes that are all I have of the man I used to know, right now. “When was the last time you even slept, hero-man?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” It matters to me. “You look dog-tired.”
His mouth moves in a slight upward smirk. “How can you tell?”
“I know,” I whisper, staring at his mask. “I can see you even when I can’t see all of you.”
The ache inside me is a full body throb.
I just want to see the man who once promised me forever, with all his heart and soul. So I reach up, running my fingers along the edge of his hood, before reaching for his mask.
“Leo, let me? Please?”
His hand shoots up and catches my wrist so fast, so hard, I gasp.
He takes a loud breath, eyes widening, going completely still, but there’s a tiny flinch as he turns his head to one side. “No.”
“Why?”
Damn, I can’t stop myself. I’m in for a penny, in for a pound, and I slip my fingers into his hood as he pretends to fight back, cradling his face in my palms. It’s still fabric, but it’s the closest we’ve come to a real touch in so long that I’m ready to break down sobbing and ask him to just flipping hold me.
Hold me, and we’ll figure out how to make everything right.
“Why?” I beg him. “What happened to you?” Gently, I search for the edges of the mask with my fingers, and he doesn’t pull away, but he won’t look at me. “It’s me, Leo. I won’t hurt you. I’d never...”
“Rissa,” he growls. Ragged, tortured. “Quit being cute. Don’t you get it? You’re the only fucking person who can hurt me now.”
I take a deep breath, shifting my eyes to his, losing myself in mocha fire and mystic amethyst.
“I won’t,” I promise softly, and he slowly turns his face back to me.
It’s still just those deep, aching eyes, but they seem to say everything without words.
As if he’s telling me, you already did.
But he doesn’t pull away as I find the bit of cloth that tucks the mask in place and gently begin to pull, unwrapping it.
And that’s when I realize, Leo is trembling.
He’s an entire mountain trembling while I peel his mask away, gently stroking his hood back to reveal what he’s become.
I gasp, but I don’t stagger back.
Beca
use even though he’s been scorched by flame, forged and tempered, I recognize the man staring back at me. His gorgeous, chiseled face is mostly untouched by the ravaging scars going down one side of his neck.
His hair falls over his face in a wild mess of brown, a shade lighter than I remember, almost like the fire sucked the color from him. Or maybe it’s just from spending so much time in the shadows. My hands tuck into his fabric, pulling, and my eyes trace his damage.
The scars make fierce crags that border on chaos in his skin, where they blur into ink. The edge of a few tattoos I remember, plus some newer, deeper, darker ink he’d added to hide what the fire did to him.
He’s become fierce and harsh and animalistic.
Something ferocious, bestial, predatory. But he’s the same beautiful man with the same face I adored, the same strong soul behind the flame, the hurt, the torture.
He’s still Leo.
Swallowing a growl, he shifts, pushing his hood down lower. “Look, goddammit. Is this what you want to see? What kind of freak I’ve become?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “Hardly. You’re the man I remember.”
He opens his mouth to bark something back, but closes it instead, like he’s shocked by my words.
How can I blame him? I just smile, grateful he’s let me in, if only for a split second.
He’s not a monster. He’s elemental now. Kissed by the flame, this fire-scarred golem of raw strength and endless muscle.
Sure, he’s different, there’s no denying that. So different, this thing gone feral with his humanity stripped away. But he’s also truly beautiful.
This is where any sane person probably wants to smack me across the head.
No, I can’t explain it.
Can’t explain how the sight of him like this, transformed and yet still so Leo, makes my pulse skip and my heart race faster. There’s something dangerous about this new man, something scary.
But it’s the kind of fear that ignites all your senses and makes the beating pulse of the forbidden that much hotter. It’s the fear that could leave me almost as savaged and wounded as this unbelievably rare beast-man standing in front of me.
Maybe what’s in front of me is more animal than man.
I don’t care. This beast pulls on me just as deeply as the man ever did.
If only I knew what happened. What made him like this, if it happened during the hotel fire, or some other way?
But more than anything, I want to know him.
I want to meet the new Leo as he is now, instead of grasping at who he used to be.
Because even if he’s a wild thing now, even if he’s this prowling carnivore, this ferocious stranger who still looks at me like he can’t believe I find any part of him sexy or sweet or redeemable...
I still know the same heart hammers away inside his wall of a body.
And this man wears his heart in his eyes as he stares at me, waiting for me to reject him, to shove him away like poison.
He never expects what I actually do.
I shouldn’t, but sometimes a girl has to let instinct win.
Pushing myself up on my toes, I rest my hand on his chest. Then, with a soft whisper of “Leo” on my lips, I let it happen.
I kiss Leo freaking Regis so hard I give him a better reason to burn.
8
One Step Forward (Nine)
Somebody pinch me. Wake me the fuck up.
The last sixty seconds can’t be real life.
I’d never wanted Clarissa to see me like this. I’m a monster. I’m the crazy outlaw killer everyone in town calls me, burned into this disfigured mutant.
I’m barely even human anymore.
Hell, maybe I wasn’t before the fire, ever since the Nighthawks program scrambled my brain and ran more medical experiments on me than I could ever guess. Did shit to me that I can’t describe.
But at least I looked like a man then, and not a beast.
At least I was something a woman could still love, not this hideous husk of muscle and ink and scars. When she’d tugged at my mask, everything inside me broke.
I hadn’t realized till then that deep down, some not-quite-dead part of me was hoping. Wanting. Wishing that we could pick up where we left off and start all over again with our son.
The moment she’d yanked off my mask, my hope vaporized once she saw what a fucking monstrosity I am.
Or so I’d thought.
I waited for the scream, the gasp, her sweet face twisting in sick revulsion.
But she’d just rested those slim hands on my chest, pushed herself up as high as she could reach, and still barely found me. She’d pressed her soft, intoxicatingly red mouth to mine. She’d given me her tongue, and I’d taken it like a man wandering the desert raids water when he finally stumbles across an oasis.
Fuck, I’d nearly gone paralyzed for a second, letting out this deep, searing groan that was more like a bear than a man.
I haven’t felt anything like her lips in almost eight goddamned years.
Sure, I’ve remembered it every day, every night, her kiss branded on my psyche, but it’s nothing compared to the reality of her body so close to mine and the lush sweetness of her mouth under my lips.
I’m damn near frozen.
Then some deeper part of me takes over, and I sweep her closer with a snarl, wrapping my arms around her, clutching her tightly, jealously, angrily.
It’s not her I’m pissed at, no. I just hate the demonic twist of fate that stole away this kiss for almost a decade.
Rissa moans, wrapping her arms around my neck, digging her fingers into my hair with something like desperation. Like I’ve infected her and made her a starving animal, too.
We kiss like tigers, savaging and breathless and biting, licking and tasting with the desperation of years apart. Motherfucking years.
I need her—I need her so much, my entire body blazes with neglected desires. Almost like the fire that transformed me still lives inside me and now it’s crackling back to life.
Rissa feels so perfect.
Still tastes like the gourmet sweetness she creates.
The same sublime, mad perfection and softness and tartness that explodes into rich, heady, intoxicating sweetness.
She’s burning up against me. Her curves mold perfectly to my muscle, another thing the years haven’t changed. Her waist feels so slim in my hands, her breasts so plush and heavy and soft against my chest. I’m dying.
For just a second, I let my tongue delve past her slick lips, drowning myself in her taste.
All growls, I start turning, dragging her down to the couch and bringing her closer to me, and my eyes open for half a second to take in my surroundings.
That’s when I see the bookmark on the coffee table.
NRGT.TSADKG.
A code. A message. I remember once she told me about her and Deanna sending each other notes, and in a flash, I’ve worked through the pattern to figure out what it says.
Nighthawks.
My blood goes cold.
A dirty word I’ve always been careful to never say to her. A secret I’ve always tried to keep.
Shit. It’s like my past is coming back full force, reminding me why I can’t have her, why I’m too dangerous for this beautiful woman in my arms and her scent teasing my nostrils.
I pull back from her sharply, sucking in a deep breath. She curls her fingers tight in my top, looking up at me blankly.
“Leo?”
I draw back, out of her reach, and snatch up the bookmark.
“What’s this?” I ask harshly.
She stares at me, hurt coloring her eyes. “I think Deanna left it for me. I found a message in the bathroom telling me to look in the book.” She bites her lips, giving me a long, haunted stare, before looking away, folding her arms around her shoulders. “Do you know what it means?”
I can’t answer that. Won’t lie to her, but I can’t stand dragging her into this bullshit.
“We have to go,” I sa
y.
“Huh?” She lifts her head, eyes snapping. “Just like that?”
“Yes,” I growl. “If the Nighthawks are involved, this apartment’s being watched. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t tailed back to the cabin.”
“By who?” she asks with a little whimper of frustration. “Leo, what does ‘Nighthawks’ mean?”
“It means,” I answer grimly, “that your sister’s probably alive—but Galentron definitely has her.”
* * *
The drive back to the cabin is tense, silent.
I’d come on foot—I walk everywhere, and Heart’s Edge isn’t large—and now I feel like a giant crammed into a pea pod in the passenger seat of Clarissa’s compact car.
She’s glaring straight ahead, eyes on the road, while I’m watching the rear-view mirror.
No cars on the highway behind us. So far, so good.
Still, it doesn’t mean we aren’t being watched via long-distance scope, but at least there’s nothing obvious.
Rissa’s nearly steaming up the windows, her jaw clenched, eyes snapping like bright-green fire. She keeps opening her mouth, then shutting it.
I get it.
She’s pissed.
I let her kiss me, then pushed her away, bundled myself back up behind my hood, and dragged her out of there with no explanation.
Call me an asshole. I deserve her anger, but I’m trying to save her life. When I said anything, I meant it—even if it means protecting her from me.
We’re almost back to Charming Inn when she finally snaps, smacking the heel of her palm against the bottom of the steering wheel.
“Leo, goddammit, you owe me some answers!”
“What?” I answer, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Everything,” she hisses. “Where have you been all these years?”
“You think you get to ask me that when you left?” I fire back before I can stop myself.
She falters, glancing at me, some of her scowl easing to an almost lost expression before she fixes her gaze on the road again. “I didn’t mean it like that. Jeez,” she murmurs. “Just...what happened? Who hurt you? Why can’t we make this Nine stuff go away? There must be some way to clear your name. Were...were you really in prison over it?”