Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death)

by Sabol, Suzanne M.

  I was still mad at Patrick. Now that I knew there wasn’t something wrong with me, other than the whole Fertiri thing. I could forgive him a little for trying to protect me. Not completely, but a little. His relief as I placed my hand on the doorknob filled my being with warmth. We weren’t okay by any stretch of the imagination but he and I both knew we would do what was necessary. That’s the frame of mind where I could understand his actions. I didn’t like it, but I could understand. I opened the door and stepped inside to silence, and wide eyes.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  The expressions staring back at me made me think someone was dead. My gut clenched and my fingers itched to grab my knife. The knife I’d left at home. I felt the heat in the room increase as Patrick’s eyes traveled from my feet, up my body, finally resting his hungry gaze on me. His luscious mouth turned up in a knowing smile. I darted my gaze from Patrick to Dean, whose nostrils flared as he closed his eyes. His hands were clenched tight at his sides.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked again.

  “Nothing,” Patrick said in a soft, seductive tone. “Nothing at all. We were just discussing strategy.” He circled the desk dressed in a billowy white shirt with lace cuffs and a matching lace collar. Black velvet pants clung to him like wet linen, tucked into midnight-blue knee-high leather boots with cuffs folded over, making the leather slouch down his calf. A deep blue velvet coat hung on the back of his desk chair behind him. The cuffs, sleeves, and hem of that coat were etched with gold embroidery like ivy growing across the fabric. The rich color suited his alabaster skin, dark hair, and the deep dark depths of his eyes. A brimmed black hat lay on the sofa next to me with a dark blue feather plume. I wondered which of the musketeers he was supposed to be.

  Alex sat on the edge of Patrick’s desk in a black cat suit with silver thread spread out across her body like an intricate, damp spider web. Her petite frame was exquisite in the black and silver form-fitting fabric. Her hair was dyed jet black to match the cat suit, making her pale skin and light brown sugar eyes smolder against all that black. She sat on Patrick’s desk with her legs crossed in a yogi style.

  “Oh?” I perched on the arm of the black velvet couch along the wall of Patrick’s refurbished office and crossed my legs.

  He’d had to get new furniture and replace the glass bottom boat floor when Midnight Ash had crashed through the ceiling. She’d destroyed his office and most of the club that night. It was almost exactly the same except for the desk. He couldn’t find a replacement for the art deco masterpiece or the sidebar that had been destroyed, so he’d redesigned. The office was all right angles and stainless steel. His desk was a glass-top surface with stainless steel legs and a black leather chair. It was sterile and utilitarian. The only comfortable and welcoming things in the office were the oversized black velvet couches along the walls.

  “We think it would be a beneficial to keep your identity a secret from the Fae, at least at first. There’s no point in showing all our cards at once,” Patrick said with a devious twinkle in those dark eyes. His gaze focused on the bulge of the soft white flesh of my breasts the corset forced up into view. I felt the heat in my groin as his eyes caught mine.

  God he was sexy; even a little more so in that ridiculously exquisite outfit.

  My pulse throbbed in my throat, pounding against the spot on my neck where he’d marked me.

  “Okay, but don’t you think that they’ll notice the only human in the group?” I uncrossed and crossed my legs to hide the scent of arousal I knew was now permeating through the room.

  “You don’t smell human anymore,” Dean said, opening his eyes, revealing his clear crystal Caribbean blue gaze.

  Patrick turned his attention to Dean, a grim expression darkening his already intense expression.

  “Your scent will be well hidden in the throng of people at the Masquerade and among us. They’ll be none the wiser,” Patrick said, turning his attention back to me.

  “I think it’s a good plan,” Alex offered. “I suspect we won’t be able to keep her from them for long but it’ll be interesting to see if they can pick her out and how quickly.” It was now not only a test of our power but a test of theirs.

  “What do you mean I don’t smell human anymore?” I asked, horrified.

  Dean’s nostrils flared and he opened his eyes again with his hands clenched at his sides in tight fists. His shoulders were stiff and full of tension.

  “I noticed it this afternoon. It’s a mixture of vampire, wolf, and human. It’s sweet, intoxicating, addicting, even,” Dean said with a soft growl. He sat on one of the black velvet couches across the room surrounded by Jackson, who was staring me down as if he could melt me with his eyes. On the other side of Dean, Niyati stood at attention.

  Niyati originally from Denver, had been dating Alex for a while, longer than either would admit. Niyati’s parents were from New Delhi. Her skin was the color of dark roasted chestnuts. She was tall and model thin with hips that moved in ways I had never seen a woman move, all sultry seductiveness and easy grace. Her eyes were hard, giving nothing away of herself.

  Dean, Jackson and Niyati were dressed in plain white T-shirts and jeans. Niyati stood at attention and regarded me with a question in her eyes while Jackson glared daggers at me in an easy casual stance.

  “See,” Patrick said, approaching me. He tugged me to my feet and in my heels I could stare straight into his eyes. The possession in those eyes and the hungry tone in his voice was filled with testosterone, rumbling deep in his chest. “You will be just fine,” he said. His antagonistic tone wasn’t for me. Glancing over Patrick’s shoulder, I realized his antagonistic tone was for Dean.

  Patrick pressed his lips against mine in a gentle kiss that was too chaste but filled with suppressed sensuality causing heat to pool low in my body. I ran my fingers up through his thick coarse hair and he clutched me to him, hard, crushing his lips down on mine in a ferocious kiss, filled with passion and need. Under the desire, I tasted a hint of something else. Regret? Release? Resignation? It was all of that and something else I couldn’t identify.

  Patrick broke the kiss as fiercely as he’d begun it, tearing his lips from mine. His hands cupped my face as he peered into my eyes with naked desire flashing in their depths.

  I suddenly didn’t care that I was mad at him. Swallowing hard to control myself and keep my hands above his clothing, I raised my chin. He released me, backing up the few steps to the desk, having appropriately marked his territory.

  Patrick circled back around his desk but I felt everyone’s eyes on me and the rumble of growls coming from Niyati and Dean. I fought not to squirm.

  Dean’s gaze bore into me as if he wanted to see what my insides looked like. His nostrils flared and the beginnings of a snarl curled his upper lip. I swallowed hard, not knowing what to do with the naked aggression lingering in his Caribbean blue eyes

  “So,” I said, swallowing, “what are you three supposed to be?” I couldn’t look away. Dean’s gaze was filled with tension, aggression, and desire. I already burned from the inside out with want. I was afraid of what giving in to both of them would do to me. The word consumed came to mind.

  “Goons,” Niyati said in her husky, soft, sensuality.

  I stared at her with a smile then glanced at Dean as Niyati turned. His eyes were closed and his chest heaved as he took deep breath after deep breath.

  “Dean thought this was the easiest costume,” she said, straightening the shirt over her back. In big black letters was Goon #3.

  I cracked a smile and stifled a laugh.

  “Cute,” I said. “Are you Goon #1?” I asked Dean.

  He stood slowly, taking his time to get to his full height of six feet three inches. Each muscle moved and flexed beneath his tight white shirt. Turning, he showed me the Goon #2 just above his perfectly round as
s.

  “Don’t wanna put a target on my back,” he said over his shoulder with a quick nod toward Jackson.

  That sly shit had put the target on Jackson’s back and there was nothing Jackson could do about it. I gave him a devilish smile with my eyes glinting with approval only Dean saw. Jackson was too preoccupied with Dean and Niyati to pay any attention to me.

  “Secretive takes on a whole new meaning when dealing with the Fae. We need to be alert and watch what we say. No thank you’s, don’t ask for any favors, or put yourself in their debt and be very specific,” Patrick said.

  The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t mine. Patrick was nervous which, in turn, made me nervous. Patrick didn’t get nervous.

  “So, we jump in the deep end and hope we can swim,” I said, my hands firm on my hips.

  “That’s what he’s sayin’, suga’,” Jackson snarled.

  My face flushed with anger as blood rushed through my body in a white-hot rage. I had an urge to test a theory.

  I strode over to Jackson. My heel strikes echoed on the Plexiglas floor in a sharp click, click, click. Striking him with all my strength, I shoved my fist into his nose, visualizing the punch going through his face. Thanks to Danny and probably Patrick and Dean too, my punch had a little more umph than just human strength. Then, I backhanded him across the face like the bitch he was. The crunch of his bone under my fist felt incredible, amazing. The moment my hand connected with his face, the room went silent. My ears filled with the sound of the crack of skin on skin as my hand crashed into his face.

  Dean flinched at the sound but he didn’t move to stop me.

  Jackson balled his hand into a fist and raised enraged eyes to glare at me. He drew back his fist to punch me then tried like hell to force his arm forward and strike me. The rage in his eyes turned to panic, disbelief, and then back to anger as his fist hung in the air.

  I went cold inside, empty as a familiar peace settled over me. I didn’t have to put up shields to block Patrick anymore. There wasn’t anything there to block.

  Niyati dropped to one knee, bowed her head and breathed, “Eithina.”

  “NO!” Jackson shouted through clenched teeth and a rock-hard jaw, still trying to throw his punch. He couldn’t.

  I punched him again, pounding my fist into his jaw.

  Blood sprayed from his mouth, staining down his crisp white T-shirt. Shaking with rage, he advanced on me as his blood gushed from his mouth and his split lip. He wouldn’t meet my gaze but he was still standing. I wanted him on his knees.

  Stalking around him, I watched him tremble with rage. Not fear. I wanted him afraid.

  I kicked the side of his knee, throwing his kneecap out with a quick painful pop, then taking him down to the ground. I grabbed the short ends of his cornrows, dangling down the back of his neck, and yanked his head back, bringing his beaten and bloody face close to mine. His pupils were pinpricks, his lips were curled into a vicious sneer and sweat beaded on his thin upper lip and brow.

  “Kneel before your betters, suga’,” I snarled.

  His eyes glittered with the liquid gold of his wolf. “I’ll taste your blood before this is over,” he hissed and stiffened as he fought my control.

  I shoved his head forward, forcing him to his hands and his one good knee.

  “You’ll have to kill me first,” I said, circling around his hunched and broken body.

  “Is that a promise?” Jackson huffed through gritted teeth. He relaxed into his quiet defiance, rolling his shoulders and breathing deeply.

  Moving quicker than I thought I could, I slammed his head into the floor over one of the support beams. His skull crunched as it crashed into the hard steel beneath the Plexiglas. Jackson swayed, unsteady on his knee and fell to the ground, knocked out cold in a heap of blood and battered flesh. Rolling my shoulders, I stood up straight and held my head high. He’d heal.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” Patrick said.

  I turned to Niyati. She wouldn’t meet my eyes and still knelt beside Dean.

  “Get up, Niyati. You make me self-conscious down there,” I said with as much levity as I could, considering I’d just beat a man unconscious. She stood, hesitant and cautious, keeping her eyes down and head bowed. I glanced over at Dean. For some reason, I needed his approval.

  His nostrils flared with a pleased smirk curling his full lips. His eyes shifted back to that pale Caribbean crystal blue that had scared me once. Now, all I saw in them was pride and naked possession. I cleared my throat and turned back to Patrick.

  “Is everything ready downstairs?” I asked, ready to get out of the confining, claustrophobic air of the office. Patrick held out his hand to me. He could take a hint. I slipped my hand into his. The touch of his skin and the comfort of his touch were like breathing, easy and instinctual.

  “Shall we see that everything is as you wish?” Patrick’s power prickled over my skin like a thousand prickly pears, sending shivers up my spine. He threw up his shields left and right. I didn’t need the emotional bond between us to see his sideways glances my way or the fear making his pupils large, and darkening his eyes.

  Once the office door closed behind us, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “Alex was right,” Patrick offered squeezing my hand. “It will be interesting to see if the Fae can identify the scariest being in the room.” There was no emotion or remorse in his words. He leaned in and pressed his lips against my hair. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes forward.

  I should’ve been offended. I wasn’t. I wanted to be better, though. I wanted to be the woman Patrick and Tre deserved. I’d become a monster, and the proof was splattered across my knuckles, crusting into a deep crimson stain.

  Chapter 19

  Damsel was bursting at the seams. Multicolored lights flashed above, people squeezed and shoved to get to the bar, music filled the club with dancers, body heat, and arousal. There was still a line around the block to get in. Word had gotten out the theme parties at Damsel shouldn’t be missed.

  No one got in without a costume and the costume had to be impressive. Nova was on the door and had complete autonomy over the guests entering, with a few exceptions.

  Sitting at the far end of the bar, my back to the wall and facing the door, I watched the entire club as the house music pumped through the crowd. Patrick had hired a big name DJ from France, Maitre De la Lune, which translated to Master of the Moon. Go figure. Patrick had found a DJ werewolf from France. If things got really bad, he didn’t want to risk the talent. Humans were too fragile.

  I sipped a club soda and lime as I watched everyone in their costumes bump and grind through the club. I scanned the crowd for some kind of power signature to tell me who was Fae and who wasn’t. A cold tingle of the vampires’ power crept across my skin, like cool breezes circulating amongst the body heat. I felt the werewolves moving through the crowd, too. Each one’s power brushed against me like I was the epicenter of a tropical depression.

  One of them approached. The hot anger riding his power was distinctive. I hadn’t hurt Jackson enough to keep him out the entire night. I’d’ve needed silver for that but I’d done enough damage to keep him subdued for about an hour, just enough to teach him a lesson.

  He hovered behind me, too close, his chest pressed against my back. Wrapping his arms around my body, Jackson rested his hands on the bar, trapping me. I tensed as his body pressed against my back, wanting him gone and far away from me. I slid my hand absently down my thigh and into my boot, grabbing the palm-sized can of mace. There were too many humans for anything more deadly.

  “Ya think ya won, don’chya?” he drawled in my ear.

  His hot breath crept down the side of my neck like a thousand little spiders. I shivered, disgusted. He wouldn’t hurt me, couldn’t. I’d p
roven that much when he couldn’t defend himself in Patrick’s office. That didn’t mean I trusted him.

  “Honestly, I don’t think that much about you,” I scoffed my cocky tone filled with an arrogance I didn’t feel.

  He took a deep breath through his nose. “I can taste the lie on you.”

  I should have known better than to lie. No point hiding my disdain anymore. “Oh fine,” I spat. “Yeah, I think I won. I kicked your ass and handed it to you like a hat.”

  “I can’t wait ta hear your heart stop beatin’,” he growled in his slow, southern drawl.

  I casually picked up my glass and held it before my lips. Nova was at the other end of the bar, watching Jackson and I. He stood in front of Dean, blocking the scene and waiting for the signal that I needed help. I didn’t need them to protect me, and Nova was one of the few who understood that.

  “You all right, Dahlia?” Miguel, the vampire behind the bar, asked.

  I sipped my tonic and lime with a smirk curling the corners of my lips up. I flashed him the smile I knew never reached my eyes. Miguel nodded once and backed away from the bar, leaving Jackson to me.

  Setting my drink down on the bar, I slid my hand down into my lap without drawing his attention and reached my hand around behind me. Jackson didn’t notice my movement. Nova would never have ignored any movement I made. Maybe Nova was smarter than I gave him credit.

  I grabbed the bulge between Jackson’s legs and dug my nails into him, squeezing his most sensitive body parts in the palm of my hand. He tensed, hunching over me in a frozen state of agony as he groaned against my ear.

  “We’ll see,” I growled over the music and met Nova’s eyes across the bar. He smiled with a proud twinkle in his eyes then disappeared into the crowd, also leaving me to deal with Jackson on my own. I squeezed until a gasp and a whimper of pain escaped Jackson’s lips as his testicle popped in my hand. That little sound made my heart race and a real smile brighten my eyes. The pleasure that surged through me probably should have worried me but that was something to think about later. After the Fae left.