by Young, S.
Her gaze lifted to meet his again and the hair on the back of his neck rose with awareness.
“You’ve known hunger, too, haven’t you?”
How the hell did she know that?
He looked down at his plate and stabbed his fork through half a boiled egg. “I’ve known many things,” he answered evasively.
Kiyo felt Niamh’s annoyance, and perhaps hurt, without even looking at her.
She didn’t ask him any more questions.
In fact, she didn’t talk for the rest of the meal.
And considering Kiyo liked the quiet, it unnerved him that he missed the sound of her gentle voice with its lilting Irish accent.
The silence stretched between them as they finished their meal and then as they walked back to their rooms. As they strolled into the lobby, the girl behind the desk flagged them down.
“This arrived for you.” She gestured to a large duffle bag.
“Bran,” Kiyo muttered, taking up the bag.
Niamh thanked the girl and they strode upstairs. They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement that using the elevator was a bad idea for two people who didn’t want to find themselves cornered.
Gesturing for Niamh to follow him into his room, he threw the bag on the bed and unzipped it. Inside were two new passports, more cash than Kiyo knew what to do with, a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts, clean underwear and bras for Niamh as well as jeans and tees and underwear for him.
“These will fit perfectly,” she said, holding the jeans against her body. Her eyes flickered to the bras and twinkled with amusement. “How did he know?”
Kiyo ripped his attention from the new bras to the dark jeans and black tees Bran had put in the bag for him. He grunted in acknowledgment, realizing they’d fit him perfectly too. There were even black hair ties, and he knew they were for him. He was no longer surprised by Bran’s unnerving accuracy and efficiency.
And, as if on cue, a cell rang inside the bag.
Kiyo dug through it and noted the flash of silver at the bottom.
A katana.
He almost smiled.
Instead he pulled out the old-fashioned cell phone. He answered it, hitting the speaker button. “Yeah?”
“Good, you got everything, then? I did good, didn’t I? I even remembered your hair ties so you’re not walking around with your hair hanging in that gorgeous face. I know how much you don’t like feeling too sexy,” Bran said.
A burst of laughter brought Kiyo’s gaze to Niamh who was grinning widely, her shoulders shaking with amusement. The compelling vision of her laughing amused him, stifling his irritation with Bran. He bared his teeth in a half grin, half snarl, and she blinked rapidly, as if surprised. Her gaze lowered to his mouth and stayed there long enough for him to feel as if she’d caressed his lips with her fingers.
“Hello, anyone there?” Bran’s voice yanked Kiyo back to himself.
“Yeah, we’re here. We got everything. What’s next?”
“There will be a private plane waiting for you at Kalmar Airport tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp. The pilot is called Stephen and he will meet you at the entrance. It’s a small airport so he won’t miss you.”
“How far away is the airport from here?”
“Ten minutes. You left an SUV outside the hotel, right?”
Kiyo frowned. How did he know these things? “Yeah …”
“I’ve gotten rid of it. You’ll find a Honda Civic parked just down the street. Keys are in the duffle bag.” Bran rattled off the car’s registration number.
“Wow,” Niamh said. “You’re brilliant, Bran. You think of everything.”
“Why, thank you,” he answered with more than a hint of flirtation. “I just want to make sure you’re safe and comfortable. Are the clothes good? I stuck to jeans but I know you like your dresses, so …”
Kiyo raised an eyebrow. How did he know Niamh liked dresses?
“Oh, it’s fine. Jeans are easier to run in,” she observed ruefully.
“You two have never met, right?” Kiyo asked.
“No,” Bran answered. “But keeping an eye on Niamh for Fionn makes me feel like we have. Maybe one day I’ll get to meet your stunning loveliness in person, Niamh.” There was a definite purr of invitation in his voice.
And a red flush crested Niamh’s cheeks, meaning she’d caught it too.
He stemmed a growl. “You sound like a stalker, Bran.”
“I like to think of myself as more of an extremely hot guardian angel of the night.”
Seeing Niamh suppress a charmed smile, Kiyo felt his impatience grow. “What happens after Kalmar Airport?”
“Right, that. So, Stephen can take you to Düsseldorf where we’ll have Fionn’s private jet waiting for you. The jet will take you to Tokyo.”
“Fine. We’ll call if we need anything else.” Kiyo hung up.
Niamh gaped at him. “You hung up before we could thank him.”
“He’s paid very well by Fionn to do his job. That’s thanks enough.”
She shook her head. “Oh, you are such—” She faltered, letting out a small, anguished moan.
Her hand flew to her temple, the color draining from her face.
Kiyo was immediately at her side, gripping her biceps. “What’s wrong?”
“Vision,” she whimpered. “Another one—” Her head flew back too sharply on her neck, her eyes rolling as her lids fluttered at a rapid pace.
Feeling her body convulse, Kiyo pulled her into him and lowered them both to the carpet so he could hold her while she shuddered.
He watched her features strain with the pain of the visions. An ache flared across his chest, and his arms banded more tightly around her. The strength of her physical reaction to the visions was such that Kiyo wondered how Ronan ever comforted her through them. Surely a human couldn’t contain her while she was like this?
He cupped her nape to stop her head from jerking so much and caressed her neck with his thumb, hoping the comforting gesture might reach through the visions.
Part of him hoped the vision would transfer to him, too, so he’d finally know what was going on inside her head. But nothing happened.
Other than the strange realization that it disturbed him to see her like this.
His grip on her tightened and he bent his head to her ear. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
Finally, her convulsions eased and relief moved through him as he felt her hands rest on his chest as she came back to herself.
Her eyelashes fluttered and as her eyes opened, the gold bled back to aquamarine. Only golden flecks remained.
She felt warm and solid and real in his arms, and her sweet, spicy scent made him want to bury his face in her throat and breathe her in deep.
Hot awareness sprung between them.
This was becoming a problem.
In fact, at some point, Kiyo needed to leave her safe in her hotel room and go get laid to deal with the damn problem.
“Well?” he demanded gruffly.
At his sharp tone, Niamh’s hands dropped from his chest and she pushed away, forcing his hand from her neck.
He let her go and stood up.
He wanted to hold out a hand to help her to her feet, but he knew he shouldn’t.
Niamh slowly stood on shaky legs, looking exhausted.
“Well?” he repeated impatiently.
She looked at him steadily. “What are you, Kiyo?”
He blinked at the abrupt question. “What?”
“I know you’re not an ordinary werewolf. Tell me what you are and why Fionn sent you, of all people?”
Wondering if she’d seen something about him again, he took a step toward her. “What did you see in your vision?”
Niamh lifted her chin, a stubborn glint in her eyes. “First, tell me what you are.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” It was his rote answer. The one he gave anyone who got suspicious about him. “I’m a werewolf. An alpha. Stro
nger and faster than most … now tell me what you saw.”
Niamh stared blankly at him for longer than made him comfortable and then she sighed. “It was the same. Fate is impatient for us to get to Tokyo. I know the vision is about you … I just don’t know why. And it looks like I’m not going to get the answers from you.” She picked up the clothes from Bran. “Can I count on you to wake me in the morning?”
He swallowed hard against the frustration choking him. “Yeah. I’ll wake you at five.”
She gave him a nod without meeting his eyes and slipped out of the room.
Kiyo sank with exhaustion onto the bed, staring at the door.
It didn’t sit well with him, hurting Niamh’s feelings, but the sooner she realized he was just here to do a job, the better.
For them both.
8
Niamh had made her decision. In that moment, when Kiyo once again refused to divulge anything personal about himself, anything that would prove that he trusted her at least a little, she’d made up her mind to leave him behind.
It had been shockingly easy to slip out of the hotel undetected. Kiyo was exhausted from the last few days of constant activity and stress. She’d heard his soft snoring behind the door of his hotel room and known he was out for the count. Which was good because she didn’t really want to break his neck again to get away from him.
The latest vision hadn’t been about the fae or Tokyo.
She’d lied.
To her disbelief, the vision had been about an O’Connor witch.
The O’Connors were the Dublin coven Rose was born into, but after her parents died, the coven decided Rose’s existence was too dangerous. To stop the chance of her ever opening the gate, they planned to kill her. However, her aunt and uncle stole her away to the States and changed their identities so they couldn’t be found. When Rose was finally awakened to what she really was, the O’Connors learned of her whereabouts and went after her.
Unfortunately, Niamh and Ronan were there when she did.
Niamh’s pulse raced as her mind took her back to the memories she’d tried so hard to bury.
The coven had killed her brother.
Stolen Ronan’s life force to power themselves against her and Rose. It was a pointless, mindless death because his life energy was not enough. While she’d tried desperately to save him, Rose and Fionn had decimated the coven.
All but one.
At the beginning of the fight, Niamh had fought a witch and used her magic to throw her out the window of the apartment they were in.
According to this latest vision, that witch, Meghan O’Connor, was alive and hiding out in Paris.
The only thing that had kept Niamh from losing her mind when Ronan died was the knowledge that the coven had paid for what they’d done.
But they hadn’t.
One of their attackers still lived.
And vengeance like nothing Niamh had ever felt or ever believed herself capable of pumped black in her blood.
There had been a tiny part of her that had hoped Kiyo would trust her and in turn, she could trust him with the truth, that maybe he’d come with her while she dealt with the O’Connor witch.
Yet he was closed up tighter than a clamshell. Any illusions of feeling she felt between them were just that—the imaginings of a silly woman with a crush.
No, Niamh would deal with this alone. As she would deal with everything. The vision of the four stones, the four fae … the one who was supposed to be dead but wasn’t. Niamh would deal with it all because it was her job. Kiyo was just a well-paid guard. Nothing more. She couldn’t entrust him with the important knowledge she had.
Using the shadows to cloak herself as she moved through the tight, narrow, dark streets of Kalmar town, Niamh was a blur. Her first stop was an ATM. She pressed a hand to the machine and forced it to open its mouth and spew out cash. She slipped the money into her bag and then used her fae speed to arrive at the bus terminal. It took her about thirty seconds, what was otherwise a four-minute walk for a human.
While Kiyo had fallen asleep quickly, Niamh had gone downstairs to chat with the desk clerk about the bus routes out of Kalmar. She’d checked for Niamh and there was a night bus to Zadar, Croatia. One of its first major stops was near Copenhagen Airport. Niamh could get a flight from Copenhagen to Paris.
Using mind trickery to make the clerk forget they’d had the conversation, Niamh had returned to her room to shower and change into the fresh clothes Bran had provided. She conjured a bag from the nearest store and put her new clothes into it.
The bus terminal was quiet at midnight. There were only a few passengers, like her, waiting for the bus to Zadar. Every second she had to stand, ticket clutched in hand, waiting for the bus, was torturous. Any minute now, she expected Kiyo to appear and foil her plans.
Are you really going to hunt this woman and kill her?
Why was Kiyo now the voice of her conscience?
It was no business of his.
And Meghan O’Connor deserved it.
Ronan’s face, frozen in death, flashed before her eyes and her heart raced harder with determination.
* * *
By the time Niamh made it to Copenhagen Airport, it was just past four in the morning. She’d been a nervy, jangled mess on the bus, expecting someone—Kiyo or an enemy—to pop out of nowhere and stop her. But she’d made it. The next part of the waiting game was her flight to Paris. It didn’t leave until six-thirty in the morning.
Kiyo would wake soon, and although she knew it would be impossible for him to reach her in time, she still couldn’t wait to be more than four hours away from him.
No one could stop her.
Her mind was made up.
If she’d been provided with a vision of Meghan, it meant something. She was supposed to give Ronan justice. Maybe then, she’d find some peace at last.
* * *
The sound of a sharp beeping seeped through Kiyo’s consciousness and his lids fluttered reluctantly open.
It was the alarm on the hotel’s bedside table.
Groaning, he reached out and hit the top of it to shut the damn thing up. The time glared at him in neon red.
It was five in the morning.
They were supposed to meet this Stephen guy at Kalmar Airport in an hour.
Pushing up from the bed, Kiyo buried his head in his hands. He’d fallen asleep at seven thirty, which meant he’d slept for almost nine hours. No wonder he felt like crap. Kiyo was used to six hours a night. Anything longer made him feel drugged.
Damn it.
Rolling out of the bed, he decided to give Niamh a few minutes longer by taking a shower first. He hurried through his ablutions and tied his wet hair into a top knot.
Feeling more awake and refreshed, he set out to cross the hall and wake up his pain-in-the-ass charge. Anticipation thrummed beneath his skin.
To his dismay, he realized he was almost looking forward to the day ahead.
Nothing ever went to plan around Niamh. She definitely wasn’t boring.
Perhaps if he’d been more himself, he would’ve realized he hadn’t picked up on her scent when he stepped out into the hall. But he was so lost in his thoughts, it wasn’t until she didn’t answer his repeated knocks that he realized something was wrong.
Uneasiness settled over him. He grasped the doorknob and twisted until it broke, the electronic lock rendered useless. The door swung open and Kiyo marched inside Niamh’s room.
He took in the unmade bed and the fact that her scent barely lingered.
There was a stronger hint of it coming from the bathroom. He strode toward it, thrusting the door back against the wall. His nose lifted into the air and he followed her scent to a comb lying by the sink. It was one of the hotel’s free amenities. The cardboard packaging laid beside it.
Kiyo clutched the comb with Niamh’s tangled hair caught in its teeth. He almost broke it he gripped it so hard. She’d used the shower. The complimentary shampoo bottle was hal
f-empty. There were soap suds on the bottom of it. A wet towel on the floor.
Hurrying back into the bathroom, his anger built as he swept the space for any trace of her. Nothing.
The new clothes Bran had provided were gone.
She’d left on her own.
Damn her!
Racing back into his room, he quickly gathered his shit into the duffle bag, throwing the comb in, too, and got out of there. To his annoyance, the woman on reception last night had been replaced by a guy. He questioned him anyway.
No, he hadn’t spoken to a young woman with long brown hair this morning.
Eyes searching the lobby, his gaze wandered high near the ceiling, and satisfaction slammed through him when he spotted the security camera. The guy at the front desk watched him suspiciously, so Kiyo pretended to make his way back to his room. Instead, as soon as he was out of sight, he searched for the hotel office. The security tapes were likely in there.
Finding the office, he also found a security camera trained on the door.
That was fine. He’d just need to steal the tape for that too.
Making sure no one was watching (which there wasn’t because it wasn’t even six o’clock yet), Kiyo tried the office door. Locked.
He took care of it and slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Dumping the duffle bag, he searched the room and found three small TVs and old-fashioned VCRs for the security tapes inside a walnut cabinet. Using the remote, he rewound the tape on the first TV, which was for the camera trained on the reception desk. To his dismay, he had to rewind the damn thing back to just before midnight. There she was.
Niamh. Leaving the reception area.
She hadn’t spoken to the desk clerk.
He frowned.
Winding it back further, he found her again.
At around eight thirty last night, Niamh appeared at reception and had a ten-minute chat with the female clerk.
He noted the dazed way the woman looked at her.
No doubt, she’d used her powers to make the receptionist forget their conversation.