At least he didn’t let out one of his maddeningly dry, ironic observations. “It’s Wolfe. Now let’s get down to business. Take it from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”
Chapter Nineteen
Josiah’s stomach felt like someone had tipped a bucket of worms in. The bite on his throat burned fiercely, as if already infected. Just what he needed. “So the gene-therapy ones are the ones that turned into dust?”
“They are trying to re-create me, without much success.” The mangled man leaned back in the chair, his chalk-white face drawn thin and tight. His lips were so pale they were almost blue, just like a drowned, frozen corpse. “Your bullets affected them because they are young, and only pale copies of a true…well, still mostly human, after all. The gene therapy stresses their physical structure. Makes it unstable. So, a sudden shock—a bullet, a knife wound, a broken bone—introduced a fatal chain reaction.”
Anna still sat cross-legged on the bed, half-turned to face Kit. She was heartbreakingly pale, and he began to wish he hadn’t given her the sedative to help her sleep. But she’d needed dreamless rest.
Probably still did.
She stared at the man, who sat with his mutilated fingers quietly in his narrow lap, his broken feet lying obediently together on the floor. He perched, motionless as a cat, having glanced through the files with apparent interest and absorption. Josiah got the idea his ears might twitch at any untoward sound. Anna’s gaze was intent and troubled, a slight vertical line between her eyebrows as if the man were a painting she wanted to pay special attention to. She had sometimes studied Josiah like that, usually with her mouth slightly full from a kiss and a wondering intensity filling her beautiful eyes.
He didn’t like her looking at someone else like that, giving her whole attention, her hair slightly mussed and begging for a man’s fingers to straighten it. When Josiah spoke, his tone alarmed even himself—combative, and just slightly disdainful. “So poof. They turn into dust. What about the mayor, the chief of police? When the injections stop, what happens?”
Kit shrugged. “They will age rapidly. Their own cellular structure has been stressed, and without the stabilization of more infusions they will deteriorate.” He paused, thoughtfully. “It is not a pleasant death.”
“How do you know?” Josiah found his fingertips resting on the bandage on his throat. Made his hand fall back to his side. Kit’s face didn’t change, but Josiah had the sudden sense that he smirked.
Anna still stared at the man, biting her lower lip slightly. Her pale silence filled the spaces between their words, as if she was trying to speak.
“It has been tried before. There are those who crave to be as I am.”
I’ll just bet. “How many of you are there?”
This made Kit cock his head slightly. “It is,” he said very softly, “safer for you not to know.” For a moment his eyes glittered, a flash of red like a badly taken photo, and Josiah could have sworn his canine teeth lengthened just a little. The two puncture marks on his throat throbbed.
Forget it. I have a better question. “How did they find me?”
“If they have a sample of Eric’s blood, tracking fair Anne would not be difficult. Kinship has its own scent, and the living leave it everywhere.”
Great. Which means no place is safe for more than a day or so. “How long does it take them to track—”
Kit shook his head. The greasy ropes of his hair moved like fat snakes. “I have confused her trail, for the time being. Consider it a gift.”
Right. Great. A gift. Josiah had to restrain the sarcasm, and that wasn’t a good sign.
The freak was strong. Inhumanly quick, as well. By all rights, Kit should have been a corpse on the floor. There weren’t many people who could tangle with Josiah and walk away breathing. But this… thing … had not only overpowered Josiah, he’d done it easily and bitten him as well, right on the goddamn neck. Bitten him and held him pinned against the wall as effortlessly as Josiah might hold Anna, as easily as he might hold a child.
And the sonofabitching bite hurt. Red-hot needles drilling into the skin, and a tender soreness swelling around the spot.
He didn’t want to think much about that. His head was only provisionally clear at the moment. Josiah suspected that in a couple of hours he was going to have some very unpleasant mental messiness. His wrist ached, too, and his knuckles. Not to mention his legs. And his shoulders. A dull heavy pain, as if he’d had a hard workout. The stress was catching up with him. “So we fetch your ring, and you what? Go on your merry bloodsucking way?” Something inside his head that strangely enough had Anna’s voice was trying to tell him to calm down. He wasn’t handling this right.
Kit’s eyes didn’t flame with red again. They merely narrowed. “Then I return to the place of my captivity and raze it to the ground.”
The way he said it, it sounded almost doable.
“Wait a minute.” Anna held up her hand like a fifth grader uncertain of the answer but willing to give it a try. “If Eric even managed to get his hands on the ring. If it’s in the post office box. What is this ring, anyway?”
“It is mine.” Kit’s eyes didn’t flash red, but his voice dropped a few chill degrees. “And it is to your profit to aid me. If those who sought to use me are dead, fair Anne, you are safe. And your brother may rest avenged.”
Josiah swallowed a derisive laugh. That’s one way of looking at it. “Still not a good deal for us. You could take your ring and disappear, leaving me with the whole mess.” I’ll bet Chilwell would love to get his hands on you. The agency would, too. You would be solid gold for them, an unstoppable agent only vulnerable to…what? Sunlight? Silver? Garlic? Crosses? I don’t know nearly enough about you, friend. He couldn’t stop staring at the missing fingers and the blue corpse lips, the eerie immobility and the skeletal thinness. Kit’s knees were knobs and his elbows bigger than his biceps, but he’d held Josiah up off the ground with one hand. With no discernible effort at all.
Kit didn’t answer. He sat still in the chair, his head tilted just so, and his eyelids dropped halfway. Underneath the heavy hooding his dark eyes turned flat and sleepy, his attention turning inward. A slow rattling hiss sounded in his narrow chest.
The world slowed down, every motion wrapped in syrup. Great. Now I’m going to have a dead body in this room to handle. If I can kill him. His hand jerked toward his shoulder holster. Anna gasped.
In the next eye blink Kit was suddenly there, his cold, marred hand clamped tight around Josiah’s. “Stop,” he hissed, chill breath tickling Josiah’s nose. It reeked of dirt and chill open air, instead of the normal sourness of a human mouth. “Listen. My hunger for vengeance has kept you alive. You are useful to me as you are, do not force me to kill you.” A slow, meditative pause. “Or worse.”
“Stop it.” Anna didn’t shout, but it was damn close. “Just stop, both of you!” The springs creaked as she bounced up off the bed.
NO! Goddammit, Anna, stay still!
The creature’s gaze bored into Josiah’s, crimson streaks revolving in their depths. Anna padded closer, and Josiah’s world narrowed with each step. “Stop,” she repeated, quietly but firmly. “Snarling at each other isn’t going to help anything.” Her hand touched Josiah’s shoulder, and he could feel the trembling going through her, a high fine voltage of fear. Was she also touching the other man?
Anna, for Christ’s sake, get away from him. He couldn’t make the words come out; his mouth was dry and his throat closed up. Looking down would mean submitting, and Josiah was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a very good idea to show this son of a bitch any weakness.
“Please.” Anna’s voice started to trembled. “Please, both of you. Stop it.”
Kit looked away first. He made a swift movement, pushing Anna so she stumbled. Josiah half-turned to catch her, his left hand blurring out instinctively. Between one blink and the next, the slim, pale man was at the door. His distorted hands had curled into fists, and as Josiah pu
shed Anna behind him, hearing her trip over a suitcase full of clothes, Kit’s canine teeth stretched with a slight crackling sound, curving viciously down into the bloodless lower lip.
Oh, Jesus Christ. He leveled the gun and tried to tell his hands to stop shaking. Anna let out a short cry of surprise, choked off halfway as she fell, banging into something on the way down.
Kit was trembling, too. His face had become feral, contorted with rage; he bared the rest of his teeth and hissed with a reptilian twitch. A thin trickle of sweat slid down Josiah’s back, tickling.
If he comes for us he’ll kill us both, but he’s going to have to take me first. That might give her a chance to get away, to run.
The door opened. Josiah caught a slice of fog pressing between the lights out in the parking lot, having crept in on little cat feet during all the fun and games. The door swept closed, and he let out a long shaking breath before bolting across the room to lock it, almost skidding to a stop in his boots. It wouldn’t do much goddamn good, but it made him feel a hell of a lot better.
His eyes glued themselves shut. “Fuck,” he whispered, and began to curse methodically, in a monotone-whispered rosary. In every language he knew.
Little soft sounds told him Anna was struggling to her feet. Josiah braced himself against the door, his arm bent and the cool metal of the gun pressing his fevered forehead. Think, goddamn you, Anna’s in here and she needs you to think. There is no alternative.
The first answer was the easiest, an immediate change of scenery. Rule one—when a hole is blown, the agent moves, especially a liquidator.
She was exhausted, he wasn’t much better, and they’d been clean coming here. A corpse with superhuman strength finding them wasn’t like being found by any enemy he’d ever dealt with. And how on God’s green earth had it found them? By smelling her relationship to Eric? Blood thicker than water, and all that.
He said he’s confused the trail. God. Dear God.
The bite on his neck twinged unpleasantly. He held the cool metal against his forehead until it warmed up, gathering himself.
Logic. Think about this logically.
Only there was no logic to the game. It just kept getting more and more fucked-up-weird at every turn.
“Josiah?” She sounded uncertain. “What do we do now?”
She doesn’t know what the hell, and she thinks you have a plan up your sleeve. Great. “Did he hurt you?” His voice didn’t shake. That was good. He opened his eyes, lowered the gun, and looked back at the hotel room.
She stood at the end of the bed, her hair even more mussed, her eyes wide. She wasn’t panicked yet, thank God. “Hurt me? He bit you, for God’s sake!”
“That he did.” I sound calm. “Did he hurt you?”
“I guess not. I fell, though. My back is never going to forgive me, and my ankle seems to be swelling again.” She took a step forward, winced as her ankle buckled.
He reholstered the gun. “Do you want another pill?”
She shuddered, visibly. “The last thing I want is to be drugged and helpless if he comes back. Or more of them.” Her arms came up; she hugged herself, blinking. Her eyes shone. A single, glittering tear slid down her unbruised cheek, slowly, while he watched.
Oh, Christ. It took him six steps, but he reached her and took her in his arms, helpless not to. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled, suddenly aware of the thing that bothered him the most about the corpse-man.
Kit didn’t smell human. She did, gloriously so, and it called up memories of lazy mornings spent in bed, of lifting up her long mane and kissing her nape, surrounded by her, without any perfume.
She was home. Warm skin and softness, a safe haven.
Like heaven, as a matter of fact.
Josiah threaded his fingers through her hair, pulled her closer. And closer still. The marks on his neck settled into an even, persistent throbbing, easy enough to ignore. The other throbbing, down low, wasn’t easy to ignore at all. “I’m pretty sure I’m still sane.” He kissed her hair. “I feel sane. This feels sane.”
“You saw what I saw, right?” Her voice was muffled in his chest. “Long teeth. Glowing eyes. And he moved—”
“Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about that right now.” The feeling of the world tilting sideways slid through him in waves. If he didn’t let go of her immediately he was going to do something he’d regret.
He held on. Kissed the top of her head again. Then, wonder of wonders, she tilted her head back, as if trying to get free. Her arms came up, and the next thing he knew she had tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down.
Their mouths met. It had been too long, but he hadn’t forgotten. How could he, when she was pure sugared heat, when his skin suddenly felt too tight and all he could think of was getting every thin layer of fabric out of the way and getting closer to her? Close as he could.
She was ripe, and she was willing, and he was the lowest bastard on the face of the earth to even think about taking advantage of the situation.
As many times as I want. And you’ll act like you like it.
Was that what she was doing? She pressed against him, and the slight movement drove every sensible consideration out of his head. Anna had always done that, gone through his nerves just like a drug and robbed him of careful control. It had all been over from the moment she looked up from her sketchpad and grinned at him.
He kissed her greedily, even as his fingers curled around her shoulders and he slowly, gently, pushed her away. It took some doing, especially since his entire body protested.
Protested? No. Screamed in agony, demanding her. She was battered and bruised, and if there was any justice in the world she should never have had to suffer this. She should be with a normal man, with a house in the suburbs or a penthouse suite with enough art materials to keep her happy and busy for a very long time. In a safe, sane world where there was no place for a man like Josiah Wolfe or this fucked-up situation.
Anna made a small surprised sound as their mouths broke contact. Her breathing came light and quick; his was harsh but just as fast. He sounded like he had just finished a four-minute mile. He made one last grab for the good angel sitting on his shoulder, the anemic barely used one.
“No.” He barely managed to get the word out through the gravel in his throat. The bite on his throat pulsed hotly, echoing that other pulse. It was normal, actually. Getting close to death, being terrified, always made the human animal want a little heat.
A little? Hell no. He wanted all the heat she had to share.
Her lips were slightly swollen, and he cursed himself again for not being gentler with her. Anna blinked, with the heavy-lidded look she wore after a particularly intense make-out session. He felt like a teenager again, sneaking a few sweating minutes behind the gym with a cheerleader too desirable to be a mortal creature.
Mortal. The sensation of ice cubes trickling down his back managed to bring him back to himself. “No.” He repeated it, but he didn’t sound any surer the second time. “You’d better…rest. You’d better get some rest.”
The flash of hurt in her eyes was a knife to his heart. “I thought you wanted…” She trailed off, her shoulders slumping.
You have no idea how much I want. “I do. But you need rest.” There. I’m being decent, see? I’m being a good boy.
“I don’t want it.” Stubborn, her chin lifted just a little. She reached up to touch him, and he had to straighten his arms to keep her away. He’d had daydreams about her touching him again. None of them had ever felt this good. “Josiah. I don’t want to rest.”
Be a good boy, Jo. Then go take an ice bath. “You have to. You’ll be no good tomorrow if you don’t.”
“I don’t care.” Another tear spilled out, glittering in the warm electric light. This one tracked down her bruised cheek. He had to turn the light off soon, and take another look at that parking lot. Keep watch.
But she leaned forward in his hands, as if she wanted to touch
him as badly as he wanted to touch her. “Please. Josiah.”
Oh, Jesus. God help me. Please, God, help me. His fingers loosened. She pushed forward, into his arms again as if she were coming home. She ran her fingers over his cheekbone, down the stubbled rasp of his jaw, almost touched the plaster over the aching wound. He caught her hand, and the movement broke all stasis. His mouth met hers again, and he was lost; his only thought was to get his sweater off, and hers. The backs of her knees hit the tangled bed, and they went down, her fingers working at the button to his jeans. He had enough presence of mind to lay the gun on the nightstand before he descended into red haze, and it was every bit as good as he remembered.
Chapter Twenty
The next day dawned foggy and turned into rain splatting dully against the windshield as Josiah drove. The windshield wipers beat irregular time, and Anna kept sneaking glances at his profile. He hadn’t said much, but he certainly looked a little happier. Which was nice, but Anna’s entire body ached, and she had to be careful even with limping. Her ankle hurt like hell, and her back was a solid bar of pain. Plus, she was hungry, and she needed coffee.
Still, she couldn’t help smiling a little. It had been a long time, and he was just as careful and sweet as ever.
Even the thought that he might just consider it payment couldn’t dampen the first halfway decent mood she’d had since finding her brother dead in his office.
The thought of Eric dispelled all trace of even that faint pleasure. She slumped in the seat, watching newly strange buildings pass by outside the windows. The city she’d lived in since beginning college now looked like a leering mask over a twisted, unfamiliar face.
Even fresh clothes and an oblong white painkiller—be careful with these, I’ve only got a few, Josiah had said with a smile, before he ruffled her hair the way he used to and went off whistling to the bathroom—didn’t stop the way her heart hurt whenever Eric’s battered face rose in front of her.
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