“I’m making you an omelet.” Her voice shook, but she covered it with a fake cough.
He wheeled around from the fridge, a slice of cold pizza in his hand. “You okay?”
“Why eat that crap when you can have fresh eggs from happy, dancing, free-range chickens?”
He stood there, grinning at her, and she felt better. Almost normal, just because he was smiling. Sometimes she remembered how she’d felt when she’d cried in his arms, and she wanted to feel that way again. Like there was someone who would hold her just because she needed the reassurance.
“Drop the pizza,” she said. “You know you want to. Come on.” She lifted the omelet pan. Iskander was a total pushover when it came to food. She used that against him as often as possible. “Hot, fresh cheese omelet? Yum.”
His eyes followed the pan back to the burner. “What kind of cheese?”
“Raclette. Garlic, heirloom tomatoes, and basil. Plus, I’m cooking it in butter.”
He threw his pizza into the compost she insisted on having. “It smells great,” he said.
“I have a fruit salsa to go with it and butter cookies from the bakery. Grab a plate.” He did, and she slid the omelet onto it, then arranged her fruit salsa garnish with a fresh basil leaf on top and a dollop of sour cream to the side. “Here. OJ in the fridge. Help yourself.”
Iskander took the plate and breathed in deep. “I’ve never had anyone look after me like this.”
Had he ever been in a relationship that lasted longer than eight hours? She gave him a gentle push in the back. “Eat.”
He gazed at her over the steaming plate, and for a minute he looked sad. Like his heart was broken. Then the look was gone and he smiled. “It’s nice,” he said. “The way you cook for me.”
“That was our deal.” She put her hands on her hips. “I love cooking for someone who likes food as much as you do.” That was absolutely true, too. Urban, her disaster boyfriend, as she liked to think of him, the man she’d loved to distraction and who had broken her heart, was a chef himself. Cooking for him had been a contest she could never win, even when she really did do better than him. “Eat before it’s cold.”
After he sat at the kitchen island, where they ended up whenever they happened to eat at the same time, she started another omelet. Behind her, Iskander groaned in delight. “This is amazing. You are amazing.”
Lord knows those words had never come from Urban’s mouth in any context. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, over the sound and smell of butter and garlic sizzling in the pan, he said, “How’s the new phone working? Any problems with it?”
“No.” She gave a quick stir to the garlic and butter sizzling in the pan. “I like it.”
“You sure?”
She faced him while she whisked up more eggs. Iskander’s arrangement with the phone numbers turned out to be clever. Brilliant, actually. “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”
“You looked upset when I came in.” He had excellent table manners, though he did use his knife and fork in the American manner, switching the fork between hands and keeping the tines turned down. “I thought maybe Rasmus was getting through somehow.”
“No.” If Rasmus was calling her, he wasn’t getting through to her new number. She poured the eggs into the pan and raised her voice so he could hear her while she faced the stove. “I can finally leave my phone turned on without getting inundated with phone calls from him. So thank you, for your genius suggestion.”
“If there’s something going on, you should tell me.”
“No.” She turned around. Lord, but that shirt of his made his eyes look especially blue. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Not nothing.” He lifted his eyes from his last bite of the fruit salsa. He had that strange, intense stare she found so unsettling.
“Just worried. About Rasmus.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Well. Thank you, of course.”
“You don’t believe me.” He shrugged, finished the salsa, and took his plate to the dishwasher. “But it’s true.”
“It’s not that.” She got her eggs onto a plate, and she and Iskander did a little dance while she was heading to the island with her breakfast and he was heading for the fridge. “Bottomless pit,” she told him while they adjusted their trajectories. Iskander slid his hands around her waist and pulled her close. Her stomach did a little loop-de-loop. She ended up near enough to him to catch the faintest whiff of a flowery perfume. “Ooohhh,” she said, leaning in to sniff. “Who is she?”
His smile slowly vanished. “It’s not what you think.”
She took a step back, but he left his hands on her hips. “None of my business, Iskander. You need to have your fun.”
“I was in a relationship once.” He let go of her and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “A long one.”
She recognized the wreckage left behind by a serious relationship that had crashed and burned. “Me too.” She made a face in order to lighten the mood. “In fact, my ex is coming here. Urban Drummond. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“You’re getting back with him?”
CHAPTER 12
Iskander didn’t understand what made him blurt out something like that. What a stupid thing to say to her. If she wanted to get back with her ex, that was her business. Not his. But strange that he would even think of objecting. Which he did.
“No,” Paisley said. But she answered too quickly, and he wasn’t sure she meant it. He thought probably she didn’t. From the way she looked, he didn’t think she’d been the one to end the relationship. “Believe me, we’re over.”
He didn’t believe that, either. They gazed at each other for a while, and Iskander knew he should say something to break the tension. But he didn’t.
“How long?” she asked. She carried her omelet to the counter and sat down next to him. “Your relationship, I mean.”
Way to turn the tables. “A long time.”
“Can I ask what happened?” She held up a hand. “It’s okay if you’d rather not talk about it.”
“What happened with your ex?”
“We were talking about getting married at the same time he was cheating on me.” She took a bite of her omelet and then used her fork to make patterns in her fruit salsa. “I found out about her, and that was more or less it. Took a while to make it final, but if he meant it when he said he was sorry and that it was over, why was he still seeing her? You know?”
He poured more OJ into his glass and pushed it to her. “No cooties, I promise.”
“Boy cooties is all.” She drank some. “So. What about you?”
What could he say? The woman who had been, literally, his other half, betrayed him to a fucking mage. “We were together a long time, but it didn’t work out.”
She arched her eyebrows at him.
No one had ever asked him about losing Fen. Not even Harsh, and in a way, Harsh had lost her, too. “She left me.”
“Urban and I lasted three years. Sounds like you were together even longer than that.”
His chest got tight. He wasn’t used to needing to figure out the right thing to do instead of doing whatever would feel good right now. “She left me for Rasmus.”
Her fork clicked on her plate, loud in the silence. Her eyes flicked to his, and his gut twisted. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
She pushed away her plate. Not hard, not like she was pissed off, but still. “When?”
“Couple of years ago now.” He knew this was heading into dangerous territory, and there were things he absolutely could not tell her without explaining things he wasn’t supposed to tell her. “She started up with him a while before we actually split.”
“Is she still seeing him?”
He had no idea how to answer that, so he grunted. He’d just screwed himself where she was concerned. He didn’t want to lie to her any more than he had to. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Does
him stalking me have anything to do with you?”
He met her gaze straight on. “Maybe.”
“Does she know he’s insane?”
“I don’t think he was crazy when she met him. Maybe he was, though.” He gave a rough laugh. “I didn’t know him then. Even now, I only know of him.” On impulse, he reached for her hand, folding his fingers around hers. His skin was several shades darker than hers. “It was a fucked-up time for me, and the truth is, I’m still fucked up over it.”
They weren’t sitting close, but they weren’t far apart, either. He expected her to move away, but she didn’t. She leaned toward him, leaving her hand where it was. With her head turned toward him, she gave a sad smile. “Falling in love with the wrong person is awful.”
“Sucks,” he said. He shouldn’t be thinking of starting something with her. Things were complicated enough already.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” she said.
He shrugged. “It won’t happen again.” What mistakes had he made with Fen? She’d been his blood-twin. How the hell did you make a mistake when you were practically the same person?
“I wish I was as sure as you about that.” She leaned her other arm on the counter. “Urban was… not who I wanted him to be. I should have realized that sooner than I did. Then I thought Rasmus might be a good place to start over. Bless my own heart. I went from one cheater to another. That doesn’t say much about my judgment, does it?”
“Doesn’t count. You didn’t really date Rasmus. You figured out pretty quick that he’s nuts.”
“Not soon enough.”
“Besides, from what I’ve seen, it’s your ex who blew it. What kind of idiot would break up with a woman like you?”
She laughed. Oh, she was playing it cool, but her cheeks were pink and she gave him a different look. Thoughtful, even though she was trying to hide it. He stayed where he was. “I won’t argue with you there.”
“Better not.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” If he played this right, he could score major points.
“Starting over. I know you were dating a lot. You used to have women here all the time. Now you don’t.”
Well, fuck.
“Maybe we could work out a system.” She lifted her free hand and waved it. Did she even realize they were still holding hands? “Secret signals so I know when to stay in my room or go visit friends. You know, a red cup in the window means one thing. A green one something else.”
He didn’t strike out with women very often. Practically never. “Number one, you aren’t going anywhere without me until we deal with Rasmus. Number two, what if it’s dark and you can’t see what color the cup is?” He considered the fact that he could kiss her. They were close enough. He could just tug on her hand, and if she didn’t let go, he could bring her around and see what kind of chemistry they had. He didn’t, though.
“Okay, so not cups. Whatever. You know what I mean. Text me, for crying out loud. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Cupcake.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “We don’t need to work out secret messages. I’m getting what I need. Besides”—he rubbed his stomach—“I like having you here.”
“Thank you. That’s nice to hear.” She looked at their hands and pulled her fingers free of his. “Speaking of exes, I keep forgetting to tell you the rest about Urban coming out here.”
“What?” His turn to play it cool. No way was he going to make a play for her when she wasn’t giving him clear signals that she wanted anything like that with him.
“Urban’s coming out here to film an episode of his cooking show. Did I tell you he’s a chef? Well, there’s going to be a big party in the East Bay.” She cocked her head. “I’ve been asked to do the desserts, and with all the press and attention, it’s a big deal for me.”
“That sounds great. When is it?”
“Two weeks from Monday.”
“We’ll work something out.”
She slid off the stool. “We better go. I don’t want to be late for work.”
“Sure thing.” Iskander took the dirty dishes to the sink while she grabbed her coat and purse. They didn’t say much during the drive, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. He parked in front of the alley, as usual.
And as usual, Rasmus was standing at the corner of Clay and Kearney so he’d know whether Iskander was going to take her in the front or the back. Three magehelds were directly across from the bakery’s back door, and the mage probably had more at the front door. Two more were with Rasmus. “Front or back today?” he asked Paisley.
She shrugged. “Back, I guess.”
He got out and pulled enough magic to keep parking control from noticing he was illegally parked, then enough for Rasmus to know he’d better watch himself. Today he was pissed off enough at the way the mage was screwing with her head that he draped an arm around her shoulder while they walked to the back door of the bakery. Rasmus followed, but he kept his distance.
When they got there, one of the waiting magehelds moved to intercept them. He didn’t cover the distance quickly enough to make him think Rasmus had ordered an attack, but Iskander was in a mood. He took one step forward, grabbed the mageheld by the face, and released enough magic into him to make his eyes bleed. The mageheld dropped to the ground and didn’t move.
He kept a hand on Paisley’s shoulder while he whirled to face Rasmus. The mage walked toward them with his magehelds in tow. “You know the rules,” Iskander said in a voice that wasn’t nice at all. “Stay the fuck away from her.” He nudged the fallen mageheld with his toe. “Next time I won’t be so nice.”
Rasmus stopped walking. “She’s betraying you with me.” The mage smiled, and Jesus, but he looked smug. Beside him, Paisley tensed. “We were together just yesterday.”
Iskander put a hand on Paisley’s shoulder. The tension in her shot through him. “I know he’s lying, cupcake.”
“She will belong to me soon. You cannot stop her from changing. It’s already happening.”
“That’s enough, Rasmus. Nobody here believes anything you say.”
“Before you came to get her last night, we made passionate love.” He gave Paisley a rude appraisal that made Iskander fantasize about ripping out his beating heart. “Didn’t you wonder why you had to wait for her?” Rasmus asked. “She told me she prefers me.”
“In your dreams, asshole.” Even Rasmus knew better than to interfere with him here, but he wished the mage would try something. He’d be within his rights to protect himself or Paisley.
Paisley grabbed his hand. “Ignore him.”
She was right. He walked her to the door. A gust of frigid wind blew down the alley, scattering trash and creating eddies of dirt. The city could surprise you with bitter chill even in the depths of summer. Cold never bothered him much, but Paisley was human. She had a whole different set of tolerances than he did. She shoved her hands into her peacoat, hunching her shoulders against the wind. He moved so he blocked the wind and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Pick you up about eight?”
“Sure,” she said.
“I’ll call you.” He stayed close to her. His back was itching with the chill of whatever magic Rasmus was pulling right now.
“Okay.”
He waited in the alley until she was inside, then took a few minutes to check the proofing he’d set. No major wards, just a few simple ones so if a mage or mageheld came snooping too close, they’d have some uncomfortable encounters. He walked past Rasmus without saying a word.
“She is mine, fiend,” Rasmus said.
Iskander took Paisley’s advice and ignored the fuck out of him.
In the truck, he called Nikodemus and asked him to send someone to watch the bakery front and back while he was taking care of a few things. Nikodemus agreed without even asking why. A few minutes before eight, he was back in the alley after dismissing the fiend Nikodemus had sent. This time when he walked past Rasmus’s magehelds, they all k
ept their distance.
He called to let her know he was here and felt a surge of anticipation because he was looking forward to seeing her. She came out and smiled at him all sweet and pretty. He waited while she set the alarm on the door. “Good day?” he asked as they walked to the truck.
“Pretty good,” she said when they were past the magehelds. The fog was in, and she had her hands deep in her coat pockets. If Rasmus was around, he wasn’t close enough for Iskander to tell. “The guy you had watching the bakery kept Rasmus away. Thanks for that.”
“You saw him?” That was damn sloppy work.
“Yeah.” She frowned. “What?”
He stayed by the passenger door. “Anybody I send to keep an eye on things, you shouldn’t see him unless he wants you to. Not even if you were standing next to him. If Rasmus wasn’t around, there was no reason for him to let you see him.” He frowned. “What did he look like?”
“But he was one of you.” Her eyes got big and wide, and he knew she hadn’t meant to say that.
He said, very slowly and with a black hole forming in his gut, “What’s that mean, one of you?”
“He was like you, Iskander.”
He reached out and tapped her chest. “Did you feel something? Here?”
She went still.
“Paisley?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” He took a step away from the truck and clasped his hands over his head. “Shit, shit, shit. How long have you been able to tell?”
CHAPTER 13
8:40 P.M., Clay Street, near Kearney
Paisley’s stomach did a flip while Iskander stared at her like she’d just told him she could read minds. Or worse. “Tell what?” she asked softly.
He kept a steady gaze on her and something tugged at her. “Tell that it’s me. Or someone like me.”
“What do you mean, someone like you?”
“That’s my point.” He looked skyward, and his mouth moved in a silent prayer. Or a curse. “We have to talk.”
“All right.” She had to be misinterpreting this. Had to be. Right?
“There’s a place not too far from here. We can walk there.”
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