He opened his eyes.
“Delilah,” he whispered, his naked relief a mirror of her own. He closed his eyes as Dela sat beside him. They did not speak.
“I had no idea,” he finally said, very softly. “Such weapons make men like me unnecessary.”
Dela shook her head, though Hari’s eyes were still closed and he could not see her. Cupping his face in her hands, she ignored the scent of blood and kissed his lips. “You are not a weapon. You are a man. A good man. You could never be unnecessary.”
Hari smiled. He ran his fingers through Dela’s loose hair, and then hesitated, as though realizing the gruesome quality of his skin. He tried sitting up, and bullets rolled off his body, clanking, ringing dully against the floor. Dela pressed her hands against his shoulders.
“I need to bathe,” he said, and then stopped, choking. “Delilah. You are covered in blood.”
“Your blood,” she quickly said. “Remember?”
Hari nodded, but his eyes were haunted.
“That man used his weapon against you. I thought I would be the one to die when I saw that. I could not move quickly enough to stop him.” Hari wrapped one mighty hand around Dela’s wrist, drawing her palm to his cheek. “I believed myself strong, so fine a warrior those men would fall to me before they could hurt you or Eddie. Arrogant, Delilah. I was too arrogant. I never realized how lax my skills have become.”
“It’s been a long time since you cared who lived or died.”
“True,” he breathed. “We are both fortunate you were able to save yourself, and Eddie.”
“I stopped the bullet.” The words were whispered. I stopped a bullet.
Hari’s gaze traced the lines of her face, searching. “If that is what it is called, then yes, you did. A remarkable act, Delilah.”
“It wasn’t enough to help you.” She choked on the words. “All my promises … I’ve broken them all. You’ve suffered so much pain since you met me.”
Hari touched her mouth, gentle. “No. Every day I would do this, if it kept you safe. There is joy in these sorrows, Delilah. So much joy, because we are together, because you are my true friend. It is as I have said: A little pain is a small price to pay, compared to the alternative.”
“A little pain?” A sob burst from Dela’s throat and she buried her face against his filthy shoulder. Hari raised her up so he could look into her eyes; he kissed her lips, her cheeks. He tasted her tears.
“I am with you,” he whispered.
So much in those four words. So much to live for, to take joy in. Dela tried to smile through her tears, and found it not so difficult. Hari laughed, and gently pushed her away from him. He rolled off the bed, bullets scattering like beads.
“I belong in a charnel house, not a beautiful woman’s bed. I need to bathe.”
“Well,” Dela said, still sniffling, following him as he staggered into her bathroom, “you are on the smelly side, but at least you’re not leaking anymore.”
“A very good thing,” Hari agreed. He seemed to have some difficulty bending over, and Dela squeezed past him, working the knobs until the showerhead began blasting out hot water. Hari dropped his towel.
Dela blushed. She had seen him naked before, but the lights were bright, and his comfort with her felt all the more intimate for its casualness. Hari caught her staring, and the heat of his gaze aroused her even more. He stepped close, partially erect, thick and heavy. Dela met his eyes with some difficulty.
“Do you know,” he said, advancing on her with graceful menace, “that I have not yet seen your body? You are obsessed with concealing yourself—and me.”
Dela found it difficult to breathe. The sink pressed against her back.
“You’re not concealed now,” she managed.
Hari’s answering smile was predatory, sensual. His large, elegant hands, which she knew had killed countless men in battle—and one for her tonight—tenderly traced her collarbone. He ran his knuckles against the swell of her breasts—lower still, against her stomach, until his fingers found the hem of her shirt. He tugged upward, slowly, revealing inch by inch her creamy flesh until her arms were stretched high, breasts firm and taut beneath his golden gaze.
“Ah.” Hari sighed, pulling the shirt over her head. Before she could drop her arms, he caught her wrists with one giant hand. He cupped a breast with the other, and Dela trembled against him, her vision going dark with desire. Everything inside her felt open to Hari—her vulnerability, her passion, her love.
“I will never hurt you,” Hari murmured, dipping his head to taste her mouth. “I will be with you always, Delilah. You own me, heart and soul, regardless of any curse.”
Just words, but from Hari they sang with truth. He released her wrists and she immediately pressed herself to his naked body, ignoring the blood, the stench of death. She clutched his back and lifted her face, words spilling hoarse and full from her lips.
“I love you, Hari. I don’t know how or when it happened, but I can’t help it. I’m yours. All of me, yours.”
Hari froze, and then let out a long sigh that seemed to take years from his face. “I think,” he said, very carefully, “that if we can move past murder and magic, and the crowd of men still in your home, we will be very happy together.”
Dela laughed, scrunching up her nose. “Go on, get in that shower.”
“Not without you,” he said, working on her pants. She squealed, for a moment unmindful of anyone who might hear. Hari stripped off her pants with a sultry charm that left her grinning and breathless.
He sighed appreciatively, gold sparking in his eyes. Pressing his lips to her stomach, he lightly trailed his fingers from her delicate ankles up to her thighs. And then, in one blindingly fast movement, he straightened and lifted her in his arms. He stepped into the tub and hot water coursed down their bodies.
They kissed for a time, dazzling each other with the flames their lips and tongues could conjure, bodies licked with heat and soul-deep hunger. And then, slowly, hands gentle upon each other, they spread soap on skin, and washed away sweat and blood, the taint of loneliness.
“I suppose we’re still waiting until the guests leave,” Dela said, fingers tracing the air around Hari’s erection.
“Do not tempt me,” he growled. “I want the moment to be perfect, without … witnesses.”
Dela grinned, lifting her hands. “Fine. I guess I’ll just be getting out now—”
Hari grabbed her hands, leaning down to kiss her so deeply she saw stars. “Go,” he ordered when he released her, his voice low and rough. His eyes glowed. “Go, before I do something we will both enjoy.”
She left, but not before teasingly trailing her fingers down the length of his erection. He was still growling when she exited the bathroom.
The phone rang and Dela ran into the living room, buttoning a pink blouse, wet hair trailing down her back. The curtains had been raised, and the sky blushed lavender, with a hint of morning rose.
Blue winked at her and answered the phone.
“It’s for you,” he said after a moment. “Someone named Kit.”
Dela smiled. Kitala Bell was one of Dela’s few girlfriends, a young woman who was beginning to make a name for herself through her prodigious fiddling. They had met at a gallery opening two years past, and hadn’t stopped talking since.
“Hey,” said Dela, taking the phone.
“Who was that?” Kit asked. “New boyfriend? He sounds hot.”
Dela laughed, and Kit began shushing her. Too late. “His name is Blue, he’s not my boyfriend, and he is quite hot.”
Blue gave her a thumbs-up sign from the couch.
“I’m going to get you for that,” Kit said. “But before my revenge descends upon you and your heirs, maybe you would like to explain what you’re doing back from China? I was just going to leave a message on your machine. In fact, why are you up so early? It’s not even six in the morning.”
Dela was a notoriously late riser, while Kit always rolled o
ut of bed before sunrise. Of course, Kit was also the type of person who poured a gallon of hot coffee down her throat ten minutes after opening her eyes. Which probably explained why she sounded so damn cheerful.
She also didn’t have two men killed in her living room last night.
“I cut the China trip short because I … well, I sort of met someone. Which is the other reason I’m up so early.”
Dela winced as a high-pitched squeal emerged from the earpiece. Blue was silently laughing, and Dela gave him the finger.
“Girl, you found a man? It’s about time. What’s he like?”
Dela looked up just as Hari walked out of the bedroom. He was wearing jeans, and little else. His muscles rippled with liquid grace, his tanned skin flawless despite the scars burned deep into his chest. His eyes were haunting.
“Dela? You’re awfully quiet. Is he standing right there or something?”
“Or something,” she breathed, and then snapped back to attention when she heard a badly concealed giggle.
“All right,” Kit said, and Dela could hear her smile through the phone. “You don’t have to describe him to me while he’s in the same room. But I am putting on a show tonight in the city, and you’re welcome to bring your new man, and that other cute guy. Bluuue.”
Dela was insane to even consider it. “I don’t think I can, Kit.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll save you a table up front. Besides, what could be better than me?”
Nothing, considering that Dela and her friends would probably be holed up in her home, armed to the teeth.
“Count me as a maybe,” Dela finally said, figuring it couldn’t hurt to entertain the possibility of going out. “But you better make it a big table. If I come, I’ll be bringing more guests than just Blue and Hari.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Dela laughed weakly. “Just save us the table. Where and when?”
“Eight P.M. at the Kosmo Klub. And don’t you try anything, Dela. I’ve got a black-belt in crazy, and I know where you live.”
“Amen. I’ll see you then, barring some emergency.”
“We have a date?” Blue asked, as Dela hung up the phone.
“Who has a date?” Dean asked, coming through the door with Artur. The two men wore completely different clothes than the ones they had left in, and their hair was damp, as though they had taken showers.
“Clean-up go all right?” Blue asked.
“Well enough,” Dean said. Dela did not have the guts to ask what that meant. Dean leaned against the back of the couch. “So what’s this about a date?”
That was Dean. One-track mind.
Dela told them about Kit’s concert in the city. “It’s stupid, I know. It’s not safe, and none of you are probably in the mood. I can call Kit back and cancel.”
Blue shrugged, scratching his chin. “We’ve all been on ludicrous speed for the past few days. A little music and dinner might be a nice break, and I know I could use some down time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Dean. He briefly stared at Hari’s scars, but made no comment beyond a slight frown. “Glad you’re in one piece, Hari. You had Dela scared out of her wits.”
“We were all worried about you,” added Artur, going to the kitchen to wash his hands. Each movement was strangely deliberate—from soap to water to the rub, methodical and familiar—and Dela wondered if it was not part of some ritual, a coping mechanism. Washing his hands clean of the night.
As Artur dried his hands and replaced his gloves, he carefully looked at everyone in the room. “We now know the source of the threat—who these people are and what they do—which is far more than what they know about us.”
“Hari and I gave their man an eyeful,” Dela reminded him.
“Who’s going to believe any of that?” Dean said. “I mean, come on. You guys were acting like comic book superheroes or something. That Wen Zhang will just think his guy was high on crack. That, or a really bad liar.”
Dela was not entirely convinced, but she was in no mood to argue. “So what’s next? Find the murderer?”
Artur nodded. “Someone with a vendetta against Wen Zhang.”
Blue snorted. “After all I’ve heard, even I have a vendetta against that guy.”
“I will make some calls,” Artur said, his face curiously blank, “but I think some sleep is in order. I do not know if Zhang will take our message seriously, but we should be prepared for anything. We will not get far without rest.”
“All of you sleep,” Hari said. “I can stand watch. I am used to going without.”
“You were hurt,” Dela protested, but Hari shook his head.
“I have had worse,” he said, and no one wished to argue with the sudden darkness in his eyes. It was a simple statement burdened by two thousand years of story—and they all knew it.
Blue and Dean moved off to the guest rooms, while Artur began making his calls. Hari followed Dela into her bedroom and shut the door behind them. He watched as she stripped off the blood-soaked sheets and dumped them into a pile on the floor, bullets clanking. She pulled more sheets out of the linen closet, and as she began fitting them to the bed, he moved to help her.
Surprised, Dela smiled as they pulled and straightened the covers. It was curiously intimate, making the bed together, and she thought she might enjoy doing this every day—finding some excuse to mess up the sheets, so she could strip everything off and put it together again with Hari’s help.
They worked silently until the bed was fixed, ready for a warm body. Hari unbuttoned Dela’s jeans and slid them over her hips. He pulled her blouse over her head.
She stood before him in just her underwear, and Hari pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. She smelled the forest in his skin.
“Sleep,” he whispered, making her stretch out under the covers. He tugged them to her chin, tucking her in. “I will watch over you.”
“I love you,” she said, catching his hand. She had to say the words out loud—she had to tell him again, every day for the rest of her life. Such a strange thing, their relationship. New and rich and wild. She was afraid of letting him out of her sight. He was magic; he might turn into a dream.
Hari smiled, his eyes glowing for one brief second. “I love you, too, Delilah. Now rest.”
And she did.
Artur was standing in the living room when Hari closed Dela’s bedroom door. The two men silently studied each other, one predator to another.
“You are a dangerous man,” Artur said quietly.
“Yes,” Hari agreed. “But so are you.”
Artur smiled, though his dark eyes remained cool, assessing. “Perhaps, although in a much different way. Our lives have not been easy, Hari, although I think I had the better bargain.”
Hari leaned against the wall. “What did you see when you touched me?”
“Enough. I always see more than I wish.” Artur held up his gloved hands. “It is why I protect myself.”
“Must you protect yourself from everything?”
“From enough so that it feels like everything. But I am used to it, and my gift has saved me more times than I can count.” Artur raised an eyebrow. “I was testing you when I shook your hand. It is something I do, to keep my friends and myself safe. Dela has good instincts for people, but I am always careful.”
“When I saw so many of Delilah’s friends gathered together, I suspected some sort of trial. I would have done the same.”
“Good.” Artur stretched, and Hari was reminded of a wolf, lean and quiet. “I do not pretend to understand your life, Hari. There is too much, and it is too painful. I have my own shadows to keep without attempting to grasp yours.”
“I would not wish my life on anyone.”
“So you say, but the past has a way of circling us in our sleep.”
“Spoken like a man who knows.”
“And as a man who knows, I will tell you this: Do not allow your past to hurt Dela. Women like her, they are
the ones who pay for our misdeeds.”
“Who paid for yours?” Hari asked, seeing the slip in Artur’s mask.
For a moment, Hari thought he had pushed too far. He could smell Artur’s pain, an old agony. When the Russian remained silent, Hari nodded.
“It is your private story. Forgive me for asking.”
“You had a right,” Artur said grudgingly. “I put the words into your mind. It is an old pain, Hari. You have your own. It is something we learn to live with. The alternative is a broken life.”
“And the broken heart?”
Artur threw back his head, laughing quietly. “Look at us! Discussing life and love. Too ridiculous. I have nothing more to say on the matter, Hari. I need to rest.”
“Of course,” said Hari. “Rest.”
Artur threw him a strange look, but slowly nodded. He disappeared into the last guest room, and closed the door behind him.
Hari shook his head. Artur reminded him of a distant cousin; a quiet, reserved man, who always managed to surprise his friends and family with outbursts of keen wisdom and fiery temper. Strong passions, running under a cool façade. Such men made good fighters and better friends, but they always kept a piece of themselves locked away. For protection, Hari thought.
Do not allow your past to hurt Dela.
Never, Hari swore, curling his fists. Never.
Chapter Nine
The Kosmo Klub was a homey, smoke-filled bar built completely underground and accessible via a narrow stairwell so nondescript and unadorned, only the long line of people waiting to get in drew attention to the diminutive, old-fashioned sign nailed above the entrance.
Kosmo Klub: for a kosmic good time.
Cheesy, but no one cared. The Kosmo Club attracted the best musicians, provided truly delectable drinks and finger food, and had the most comfortable seating arrangements in the entire city. It also had one of the most endearingly eccentric owners to ever walk the planet, an elderly woman who called herself Dame Rose.
A self-proclaimed nymphomaniac (“The only reason I’ve slowed down is because I don’t wanna replace any more o’ my hips”), Rose liked to prowl the evening lines into her club, drawing out the men who pleased her, and showing them to the prime seats in her bar. The price might be some judicious butt-slapping and racy innuendo, but it was all in good fun, and everyone loved Rose.
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