by Carmen Caine
I dove after him, but Lucian clamped two hard restraining hands on my shoulders. “Not this one, Cassidy,” he warned in a voice thick with malice.
I rounded on him, surprised, but his malice wasn’t directed towards me. His silvery-blue eyes were locked upon the man splayed out at his feet.
The man didn’t last long under that piercing gaze. After only two seconds, he moved for his gun. I don’t know why he even tried.
In a flash, Lucian was there, crouching over him like a tiger, his booted foot pinning the man’s wrist onto the asphalt. “Mr. Thomas Culpepper,” the warlock hissed the name with deadly contempt. “You have quite the reputation. But alas—for you---your story ends today. Today, justice will be served. Tell me, Culpepper, how does it feel?”
“Justice will only be served when the Rowles are eradicated from the face of this Earth,” Culpepper fearlessly clipped his words out like bullets, his southern accent growing more pronounced with each word. “You can surround yourself with whatever mutants you please, Rowle, but you can never hide.” The man cocked a brow my direction and spat.
A huge gob of spittle landed on my catsuit. I lurched towards him, but Lucian moved with vampiric speed to stop me, confining me with a strong, muscled arm.
He cut my protest short with a dry chuckle. “Come now, I didn’t ruin all of your fun, my dear,” he said almost lightly. “I let you kick him where it hurts. But the rest belongs to Tabitha. I promised her.”
As he spoke her name, a whirlwind of white smoke appeared, and Tabitha stepped out from the center of it. Her arrival shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. With Lucian’s wards still activated against me—obviously, there were lingering trust issues—I still couldn’t detect their mana.
The slender Asian woman brushed past me as if I didn’t exist, heading straight for the man sprawled on the asphalt. With her black hair covered with a white scarf that matched her slinky evening dress and coat, she didn’t appear too threatening. Especially with the bright pink high heels.
But I knew better.
Tabitha was a firedrake, and although I had yet to fully understand their capabilities, I’d seen enough of her lizard shape-shifting and icy character to know I should give her a wide berth. She stood over the wrinkled Culpepper, her eyes sparkling with more than just glittery eye shadow—no, there was anger in them and an unmistakably unhealthy dose.
“You’re mine, Culpepper,” she declared in cold, emotionless tones. “At last.”
Culpepper didn’t respond, not even when Tabitha yanked him up by the back of the collar. It was odd. He didn’t even try to break free as she proceeded to drag him into one of the nearby abandoned buildings. He just dangled from her arms like a limp rag doll. The door closed behind them with a rusted creak, and a few seconds later, light flashed from behind the broken, grime-covered windows followed by what sounded like … a roar?
Puzzled, I silently sought an explanation from Lucian, but he responded only with a devilish lift of his brow. “Retrieve your knives,” he ordered with a bored yawn. “We’re leaving at once.”
By nature, I don’t respond well to orders. I opened my mouth to object—just on principle—when he moved close.
“You’re coming back to my place tonight, my dear,” he purred in his deep baritone, his lips brushing my ear.
Crud. I couldn’t suppress a thrilling shiver. He knew how to play me. I’d spent the last few weeks trying to erase the memory of his kiss, and in less than a millisecond all of my efforts unraveled with one suggestive inflection in his voice. Not to mention the nearness of his lips.
Still, I was a master of seduction in my own right. Turning so that my mouth was only a hairbreadth’s width from his, I breathed, “I’m too hot for you to handle, Lord Rowle. Know your limitations.”
Wickedly sexy, that’s what he was. He peered down at me from the lengths of his aristocratic nose, the gleam of amusement in his eyes accompanied by a superior smirk. For one scorching, sizzling second, the undeniable attraction leapt up between us, but in the next, it died a quick, flaming death.
The three dead bodies nearby were an effective buzzkill.
As Lucian stepped away, I moved to my nearest victim and crouched down to retrieve the blade protruding from his neck. Curious, I subjected the man to a real, first inspection. He had been young, lean, and in shape. He wore lightweight body armor, something that seemed highly advanced, secret. Unluckily for him, the stuff only covered his chest.
“Who are these people?” I wondered aloud.
In slow, measured steps, Lucian sauntered over to join me. Gritting his teeth in a dark smile, he offered, “Templars. Knights Templar. Some are quite dangerous, but these particular ones are no match for a Rowle warlock.”
I suppressed a snort. Clearly, Lucian’s ego was alive and well. Since he’d just rescued me from a bullet in the head, I refrained from pointing out that pretty much everyone had heard of the Knights Templar—medieval dudes surrounded by mystery and the subject of more than one conspiracy theory. Rowle warlocks? Well, their reputation seemed alive only in Lucian’s narcissistic imagination.
Knowing he’d likely not appreciate that point of view, I asked instead, “So, they’re vampire hunters?” Even dead, the man before me seemed pretty fearsome.
I noticed then that the disturbing mana that had compelled me to run was no longer present—at least in the surrounding bodies. Although I could still smell Culpepper’s faint trace in the abandoned warehouse, the unsettling aroma of his companions had dissipated entirely, leaving only the fading scent of pure garden-variety human.
Odd.
I moved to the next body.
Same thing. The distinct scent had vanished. It wasn’t likely Lucian had masked it with his wards. If he had, I’d not be smelling Culpepper. No. The offending essence of evil had truly dispersed.
Very odd.
Lucian’s deep voice droned in the background. Realizing that he was still talking, I tuned in just to hear him say, “And thus the Knights Templar began to hunt more than vampires, expanding their prey to all things supernatural. They prize human purity above all else, and that’s why they wish to eradicate the Charmed.”
Great. I’d zoned out, but I knew I could pry whatever I’d missed out of Heath later. It wouldn’t be hard. The werewolf couldn’t keep a secret if his furry life depended upon it.
“Seems hypocritical,” I muttered. “How can they prize human purity when they dabble in the supernatural themselves?”
“And why do you say that?” Lucian’s baritone took on a puzzled note.
As his shadow fell across the body I was currently examining, I glanced up into the warlock’s impassive, pale blue eyes. I couldn’t interpret the expression in them. It was masked even more than usual. Just how many secrets and layers did Lucian have?
“The hex net, for one,” I said, taking a stab at answering his question as I extended my arm to showcase the shredded material.
Lucian shrugged me off impatiently. “Technology,” he responded in a withering tone. “The Templars have devised all sorts of hi-tech gadgets to capture the Charmed. They’ve been at it for years. Centuries. It’s the Templars who started the technology revolution. Computers. Cellphones. All of it.”
I was about to point out that their disturbing mana scent could hardly be a result of technology, but before I could, a large shadowy form of a werewolf bounded out from behind the buildings, heading for us at a dead run. At the last second, it morphed into Heath’s familiar figure complete with shell necklace, Hawaiian shirt, and spiked bleached-blond hair.
“Nice to see you, Cassidy,” he greeted with an easy grin. Taking in the bodies lying on the asphalt, he gave a low whistle. “Whoa! Templars don’t get themselves dead easily. And you got three. Man, that’s got to be a record.”
“Weird how I popped up on their radar,” I grunted. It was obvious that someone had tipped them off. My money was on Gloria. Most likely she wasn’t sitting in some gondola in Veni
ce waiting for evil fortune to befall me. She’d tried to kill me as a baby—and that was before I’d helped Lucian turn her brother, Dorian Ramsey, into a marionette.
As usual, Lucian followed my thoughts. “Perhaps you have made a few enemies of late, my dear,” he suggested with a touch of dry humor before adding in a somber tone, “And if the Terzi do have a contract out on you, the Templars certainly would’ve picked it up, but more importantly, it means we’ll have more than just Templars at our door.”
My clothes still reeked of garlic. “So, like those clowns in the van?” I asked.
“Pah!” Lucian’s snort of disgust revealed just exactly what he thought of my initial captors. “They aren’t a threat. They were human, governmental agencies trolling the internet, dabbling in things they don’t understand,” he supplied in a voice riddled with disdain. “No, the real danger lies with the Terzi assassins and those controlling the Fringe. There are dangerous folk there, but hardly a menace to a Rowle.” All at once, he sounded removed. Distracted.
Fringe? That was a new term.
Before I could ask, Lucian turned away, indicating he considered the conversation over. With an abrupt chopping motion of his hand, he practically barked, “You’re taking too long. Be quick. I haven’t all day.”
That was Lucian for you. All High-and-Mighty. I guess somewhere in the back of his mind, he still thought of himself as the Lord of Castle Llewellyn. Whatever. I’d ask Heath and get a better explanation anyway, an unbiased one free of Rowle superiority assertions.
Reaching for my knife, I paused. It was the first time I’d ever killed humans—intentionally, anyway. Yes, it had been in self-defense, but part of me felt uneasy. Being a bold, capable badass and still having a soft side weren’t mutually exclusive. Even if their deaths had been deserved, I never wanted to be so hard-hearted that it wouldn’t bother me to take a life.
Except, of course, Emilio’s.
My moment of discomfort over, I twisted my wrist and pried my knife out from my first victim. It slid free with a sickening kind of plop. Blood dripped off the blade. Feeling a wave of repugnance, I wiped it clean on the man’s sleeve.
Heath knelt beside me to lift my victim’s hand, squinting at the palm. “Turcopolier,” he announced, nodding his chin at a small red cross tattooed under the ring finger. “All three were Turcopoliers, Lucian.”
“A higher rank than usual,” the dark-haired warlock commented in soft surprise. His gaze swept over me, a little impressed. “Whoever’s after you is powerful, my dear. Few Charmed can bend three Turcopoliers to their will or would they even try. Interesting.”
Interesting? It wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. Retrieving my remaining knife, I wiped the blade and tucked it into my boot. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, anxious to be gone.
The light coming from the warehouse windows was little more than a flicker now. The odd mana scent was distinctly weaker. Whatever Tabitha was doing in there, I hoped she was nearly finished.
“I’ll wait for her,” Heath volunteered, noting my gaze. “No need for you to stay.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Then I’m not staying.”
I turned on my heel, poised to go as Lucian asked, “Shall we?” He waved towards the far end of the parking lot where there was a hole in the chain-link fence running the perimeter of the place. “We’ve time for a quick jaunt through Times Square before heading to my place,” he offered coolly, breaking into a powerful stride. “We can both grab a quick bite to eat.”
An eager half-smile curled my lips.
Just when I thought Lucian was pretty much all self-centered jerk, he surprised me with a touch of thoughtfulness. He knew I was hungry and that jostling into the crowd at Times Square was my version of a McDonald’s Happy Meal. I opened my mouth, intending to thank him.
But then he opened his and ruined it all. “Hurry up, Cass.”
He’d butchered my name on purpose. I could tell by the gleam of wicked amusement in his sparkling eyes.
I headed after him, snapping, “The name is Cassidy, not Cass.”
Case Closed
Yeah, Lucian was incredibly hot and sexy, but that didn’t mean he was particularly likable. But I guess I had quirks myself. And while neither one of us could qualify for sainthood, we did, however, make a striking couple strolling through New York’s busy streets. Even without his arresting looks, Lucian moved with an aura of confidence that drew women's eyes to him like magnets while more than one man appreciated my curves served à la catsuit. Apparently, its recent subjection to a bit of Hex Net shredding had only made it all the more flattering.
In short time, we arrived at Times Square. The entire place sparkled with thousands of lights. Christmas music blared. We were still days away from lighting the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree, but the holiday crowds had already arrived. I loved the bustling atmosphere, but mostly because it made bumping into my dinner a piece of cake.
However, it wasn’t so simple this time, and not because I was extraordinarily famished. It was the garlic. The acrid scent blasted the nostrils of my potential meals, making them gun-shy before I could indulge in more than the briefest of nips from the heart chakra. They balked, blanched, and scurried away.
Whoever those clowns were in the van, I vowed to get even.
Lucian waited for me at one of the many Starbucks cafés. Settling down by a window, he sipped espresso from a tiny white cup and perused his phone. Several times, I caught him wincing, but whether it was at something he saw on the tiny glowing screen or from dwindling patience, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t bother me either way. It must have been an hour later when I returned to rap on the coffee shop window. He responded immediately. With a deep frown, he joined me at once.
Waving me wordlessly to a nearby cab, we were soon off. The traffic was heavy. At times, I was certain that crawling to our destination would have been faster. Lucian wasn’t inclined to talk the entire trip, but then, neither was I.
At last, we pulled up to his apartment, an Upper West Side luxury affair, complete with doorman, security guards, and a tuxedoed concierge. Weaving our way through an extravagant lobby resplendent with Italian marble and a ten-foot chandelier, we reached the glass elevators.
The moment the elevator door whooshed shut behind us, Lucian heaved a sigh, and leaning against the glass interior, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Head hurt?” I asked as the floor numbers whizzed by on the digital display.
I figured the fact that he didn’t bother to reply meant that it did.
Only one floor short of the top, his apartment turned out to be a modern marvel of decadence and style. We entered near a gourmet kitchen, all granite, steel, with designer recessed lighting. The living room was open, light, and airy. The furniture was all modern. The floors—exotic hardwoods. A circular metallic staircase spiraled up into the loft above, offering a tantalizing glimpse of a king-size bed and a room reveling in yet more luxury. Everywhere I looked, my eyes were inundated with marble, leather, and original works of art. Hand-blown glass sculptures, the kind that look like melted sea anemones. Modern oil paintings. Antique wooden figurines. An elegant black leather couch curved around a twisted-metal coffee table littered with numerous magazines. On the opposite wall, a large bookcase filled with ancient manuscripts covered the entire expanse.
“For being destitute, you sure live like a king,” I commented wryly.
Still ignoring me, Lucian tossed his phone onto the kitchen countertop and, rubbing his temples, stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view: a breathtaking panorama of Lincoln Center against a backdrop of sparkling city lights.
As I drifted into the kitchen, Lucian’s black cat, Esmeralda, jumped down from the back of the couch to wrap herself around his ankles, purring. Funny. I hadn’t noticed her there before, but then, she was Lucian’s familiar. I wasn’t sure she was 100% cat. She seemed to possess the ability to materialize when least expected—or wanted.
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“Hi, Esmeralda,” I greeted her with as sincere of a smile as I could muster—which wasn’t much. “It’s nice to see you again.”
She didn’t even attempt to reciprocate the gesture. She outright ignored me.
Rolling my eyes, I slouched against the granite countertop to run my hands over its smooth glassy surface.
Time passed. Lucian continued to act as if I didn’t exist.
Normally, I’d have hightailed it out of there. I’m action-oriented and short on patience. But now, well, I was a tad concerned about the contract out on my head, and after the strange events of the day, I felt unusually drained.
Still, I didn’t care to be ignored.
I opened my mouth to break the silence when Lucian chose that moment to shrug out of his jacket. My heart jumped. Crud. Why did I act so hormonal around the guy? For Emilio, he’d puppet-cursed Gloria into turning my mother into a Chosen One, bringing about my mutated existence, yet the instant I saw him in a white shirt—a shirt he’d just unbuttoned at the collar—all I could think was: yum.
He stretched.
Make that double yum.
It took me a moment to realize that he was moving. My way. I watched as his long legs carried him into the kitchen. He didn’t slow down until he was almost upon me and even then, not much. With his blue penetrating gaze never straying from mine, he relaxed his pace just enough to give his lean hips a pronounced sensual swing as he walked right into me.
I let him push me flat against the countertop, enjoying every inch of his delectable, sinewy physique.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached over my head into the cupboard behind and pulled out a glass. “Care for a drink?” he asked in a low rumble.
Chemistry. Pure. Raw. Chemistry.
“Thanks,” I said in my low, husky voice.
He slanted an amused look at me from under half-closed lids, his astonishingly long lashes just begged for a ruffle with a fingertip. “For?” he queried, tilting his sexy chin to one side.