Destiny

by Rachelle Mills et al.

  “Grant. Hello. Some, uh, things have come up. Bottom line is that I’ll be on Fourth Ave. and Congress tomorrow night with someone. Haven’t been on that scene in a while, so I wanted some recommendations for the best places to go these days. Give me a call when you get the chance. It’s Henry, by the way.”

  He hung up and tossed his phone on the bed. Ingrid crept into the room and followed suit. She sat down and stared at him with luminous eyes. When she chirped at him impatiently, he obligingly massaged the fur between her ears. Unsurprisingly, a text instead of a call from Grant came through on his phone:

  Grant: No one does voicemails anymore. In Vegas. Back in a day or two. What’s up?

  Henry sighed. Of course he hadn’t bothered to listen to his message. Unease tightened his shoulders as his friend’s words sank in. He’d hoped Grant could tag along as a buffer, but that plan was out. He would have to drink extra blood before leaving tomorrow night. He would take every precaution to minimize temptation. He was a gentleman and a scholar, not a boor like Grant could be. Emma was his employee, not food. And she was definitely not an option for complete ravishment. Grimacing at his phone, he jabbed in a simple reply.

  Henry: Best bars and/or clubs to visit in downtown Tucson?

  Suddenly his phone rang shrilly, Grant’s number on the caller ID. Henry panicked and threw the damn thing back on the bed like it was a jar full of large spiders. Well, that had been an error in judgment. Unless it was the movies or a library, Henry didn’t exactly go places, and Grant knew that. The last thing Henry wanted now was questions. Questions would lead to nagging, nagging would lead to answers, and answers would lead to needling and unwanted advice. He could do this on his own. Couldn’t be that hard.

  His phone chirped with another text. He leaned over and peered down at it with the same wariness he would give a raccoon rifling through garbage.

  Grant: DUDE. Does this involve a woman?

  A blush crept across his cheeks, and he paced his room to walk off his nervous energy. Finally, he broke down and snatched his phone to hammer out a reply:

  Henry: Do you have recommendations or not?

  Grant’s response popped up immediately.

  Grant: Recs are for friends who don’t avoid their feelings.

  His hands clenched his phone.

  Henry: Not avoiding anything.

  He was avoiding everything.

  When Grant didn’t reply, he assumed that was the end of the conversation and hit the lock screen button. Then one last piece of unwanted advice graced his phone:

  Grant: If you want to close the deal with her, use that line from back in the day. Might be old but works for me every time.

  Henry leaned against his dresser and rolled his eyes. After all these years, Grant was the same. He couldn’t resist one final parting shot:

  Henry: Didn’t I already tell you you’re not allowed to talk to women anymore?

  Still, Henry pursed his lips in thought as he turned over the suggestion in his head.

  Chapter Ten

  Henry had no idea what he was doing. Emma would be here soon, but he only had a vague idea of where they should go. He opened a dresser drawer to rifle through some jeans. Grant had tried calling again, but Henry ignored it. He still wasn’t prepared for that can of worms, so he was going to have to wing it. Henry scowled. He was excellent at playing things by ear, and by excellent, he meant awful.

  He would have to try. The plan wasn’t that difficult—find supernats, drink, laugh, bond with supernats, repeat. With some help from Rick and Daphne, they could pull it off.

  He shrugged out of his slacks and traded them for some dark jeans. Discarding his button-down shirt and tie, he pulled his head through a charcoal fitted V-neck t-shirt. This was an opportunity. If he could get supernats to trust Emma, he could stop turning away transactional clients. Although from a purely professional perspective, it would be interesting to get to know her better. It had been fascinating watching people’s attitudes and behaviors evolve over the last century.

  Emma wasn’t the first female mortal to find out he was a vampire. She was, however, the first woman who he had let keep her memory of that knowledge. But he was going to stay far, far away from the implications of that thought. It was irrelevant. He had needed—still did need—an associate to help him. That was the one and only reason she still had her memory of him.

  Swinging open his closet door, he grabbed a pair of scuffed-up black boots and tugged them on. He grabbed a lightweight black jacket and left his bedroom. Even with cooler evening weather, it was still probably too warm out for it, but he had to look the part of charming vampire badass, not vampire law nerd. Somehow he managed to convince himself that he was dressing the part for his Underworld clients and not his sweet-smelling associate. He was fine. Totally fine. Fine.

  He glanced at his phone—still an hour to kill. To keep his mind from going to dangerous places, he would read. Before she’d wandered into his life, reading on his couch had been a beautifully innocuous way to spend an evening.

  ***

  Emma glared at her closet. There was no reason to have this much trouble deciding what to wear on a work outing. But really, what did one wear to visit the things-that-go-bump-in-the-night side of town? She’d almost gone to Daphne’s for help but resisted the urge, which was probably for the best—Emma might’ve ended up in a strapless mini dress. At least Daphne had agreed to subtly sing her praises to anyone who looked like they might need a lawyer. It would hopefully make fitting in easy. Picking an outfit was not.

  Tucson was casual for the most part, but vampires, werewolves, witches, and tigers, oh my…what did they wear, especially to go out? Corsets? Fishnets? Leather pants? It wasn’t like she owned any of that, but if she was going to meet potential clients, she should probably look somewhat professional. Or at least classy and approachable, not like she’d raided the sexy costume section at a Halloween store. Now was not the time to accidentally insult the people she was still trying to get to know.

  In the end, she went for nouveau vintage in the form of a bottle-green wiggle dress. She loved the boat neckline with the keyhole cut-out in front; while the fit was on the tight side, the hem was plenty modest, hitting her at the knee. Partying with the children of the night meant that the obvious makeup choice was dark, smoky eyeshadow. Emma left her hair down, deciding it would probably be safe since the heat of the day had mostly worn off. There—she was decked out and ready to make her debut to Tucson’s Underworld. It was now officially time to stop overthinking her appearance because she looked awesome.

  As instructed, Emma showed up to the office at ten, but any bravado she’d mustered while getting dressed dissipated like a balloon with a leak. She hesitated to open the front door. Emma knew a hands-on experience in Henry’s world would be the best way to learn how to help their clients. But still, this felt strange. Almost like it was a date. She sighed and rolled her eyes at herself. Yeah, right. She’d gone so long without getting any that she was becoming delusional. This was a work outing. Team building, really. Something Henry had offered out of pity after she had continually screwed things up. But maybe the outfit was too much. She probably looked like a rockabilly wannabe.

  Get over yourself; you’re a fox who deserves respect and admiration, she scolded herself mentally. Anyone who failed to realize that was an idiot. Insecure feelings abandoned, she jerked the door open and strode into the building. It was dark out, but the blackout blinds eliminated any feeble light that may have come through the windows anyway. Feeling her way around the dark room to Rick’s desk, she snapped a lamp on. Spying the light switches on a nearby wall, she turned those on too, lest she trip over a corpse or a sleeping werewolf.

  She poked her head into Henry’s office. Empty. She supposed he’d stopped at his own house to change. She wondered where he lived. Probably somewhere in the Foothills since it was quiet up there, but that would make for a hellish morning commute. He would have to leave way before sunrise
to avoid turning into dust. Might explain why he was always here first thing.

  Emma approached her office. The door was closed, but she finally noticed a faint light coming from underneath it. Frowning, she walked in. And suppressed a laugh. Henry was passed out on the couch, a book resting on his chest. A crumpled jacket served as a pillow beneath his head. His arm hung off the side of the couch, fingertips skirting the floor.

  Ingrid was curled up near his feet; the cat awoke and leapt from her nap spot. She sauntered toward Emma and rubbed up against her leg, purring loudly. Emma leaned down to scratch Ingrid behind the ears for a moment before the cat decided that was enough and bolted from the room.

  Looking back over at Henry, Emma bit her lip to keep from giggling. Some vampire he was, if he couldn’t even make it to ten p.m. without falling asleep. The obvious route was to prank him, but she had a feeling that a penis drawn on his face in permanent marker would likely result in lots of scowling and cancelation of her introduction to the Underworld.

  Instead, she carefully slipped the book out of his hands and examined the bright yellow cover. Counterculture Through the Ages: From Abraham to Acid House. Emma smirked. Henry was definitely a part of a counterculture. Most humans just didn’t know it existed. That was about as underground as it could get.

  She slid the edge of the dust jacket between the pages to mark where he’d left off before she shut the book. She set it on the floor next to the couch and studied him. She started to say his name to wake him up but found herself crouching down next to him instead. His dark hair had gotten a little mussed while sleeping. She noted that he had changed clothes. More casual, but just as attractive as his work suits. The man could wear jeans. Leaning closer, she watched him inhale and exhale.

  Emma knew she was being creepy, but she would likely never again get a chance to look at him without his guard up. His mouth opened slightly and he expelled a small puff of air. What if she brushed her lips against his? No, because then she would want more…maybe lick his neck…give him a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His breath would feel warm against her face. She leaned in still closer to inhale his rich pine cologne. Her eyes started to drift shut—she could pretend. For a moment, she could pretend what they had was real. His eyes flashed open.

  Henry let out a loud, startled yell. He shot up, and Emma barely moved away in time to avoid getting head-butted. They stared at one another.

  “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

  Emma opened her mouth, but she wanted to die from embarrassment, so she tried to cover it up with a loud snicker.

  “Trying to wake you up,” she said and hoped she sounded lighthearted instead of weird and stalkerish.

  It was sort of true. Not really. She’d wanted to kiss the man. Who knew it was most dangerous to be around a vampire when he was asleep? It could make you want to do crazy things. He blinked at her so slowly that she knew he didn’t believe her.

  “There are easier ways to do such a thing,” he commented. “Such as a shove to the shoulder, or simpler yet, you could just call out my name.”

  They both paused. A warm shock shot through her. She would definitely like to call out his name. Over and over again. Focus, Emma! Work time.

  She bowed her head with mocking obedience. “I’ll remember that for next time you fall asleep in my office with your cat.”

  “I came here for the couch.” Henry rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What time is it?”

  Thankful to have something to do besides ogle him, she popped open her simple black clutch to check her phone.

  “Ten minutes after ten. Are you about ready?”

  He stood up and grabbed his crumpled jacket. “Yes, we can go.”

  Emma gave him a minute to gather his bearings and trailed back into the reception area to wait for him by the front door. He emerged a moment later wearing the casual black military jacket he’d been using as a pillow. It had a high collar and strategically placed pockets. From the scuffed boots to the slightly messy Ivy League haircut, he looked every inch the seductive, brooding vampire. She looked away, trying to seem nonchalant.

  “Shall we?” he asked with a smile, heading toward the front door.

  “Sure.” She swallowed.

  This was back to feeling like a date, and that made her feel stupid, so she would have to keep reminding herself of what the purpose of the evening was. She fidgeted with her clutch to triple-check she had everything she needed. He killed all the lights and swung open the door for her.

  “Do you want to walk or drive?” he asked as they left, his keys dangling from his hand.

  The thought of being closed up in a car with him, even for a short time, made her panic. What if the privacy made her say or do something stupid? The fresh air would keep her hormones in check.

  “Walking is healthy!” she blurted.

  He nodded as if this were a perfectly acceptable thing to say. “Indeed it is.”

  They marched out into the empty street.

  ***

  Henry wanted to punch himself in the dick.

  It might at least force the painful stiffness in his jeans to have mercy on him. He’d been reading on the couch but not paying much attention to the words as he waited for her to arrive. When he finally heard her open the door, he’d decided to pretend to be asleep. He wasn’t completely sure why, but he’d been curious about how she would react. Perhaps her pulse would ratchet up. Or maybe she would squeeze his arm.

  He had not, however, been at all prepared for her to loom over him, her mouth mere inches from his. He alternately cursed himself for not taking advantage of the situation and for letting his mind drown itself in fantasies of him slowly unzipping that vibrant green dress from her shoulders.

  This woman was continually catching him off guard. The only reason he’d resisted grabbing her shoulders, pulling her down on top of him, and kissing her right then and there was because he’d spent the last five years tamping down his libido with his intellect. Thinking of Rick reciting Henry David Thoreau while juggling tennis balls had also helped immensely.

  While her pheromones perfumed the air, he reminded himself yet again that there was a huge difference between being attracted to someone and wanting to actually pursue a relationship of any sort—sexual or otherwise. Law was old hat to him; Emma was still at the beginning of her career. While she was clearly ambitious, she was still figuring out what she wanted. He felt like a broken record thinking it, but it was true: He had no right to risk their professional relationship just because of a stubborn erection.

  Said erection obviously had other thoughts. Hell, this whole evening had been more his dick’s idea than his own. It was smart to take action to fix his firm, but his intentions had been far from noble when he’d suggested the outing. Nevertheless, they both needed to focus on keeping crime-prone supernats from landing themselves in jail and revealing themselves to the mortal world. Sex would lead to all kinds of detrimental distraction.

  People got sloppy with workplace romances, and both the work and the relationship suffered. Grant had made a brief foray into windowless office work in the eighties at Henry’s behest but had found himself out on his ass a month later after getting caught screwing a co-worker in the bathroom.

  They walked in silence toward downtown proper. She seemed nervous, and he was too preoccupied by the thought of her ass to make small talk. It was a warm, but not sweltering, night with plenty of stars. Downtown Tucson was unlike most other cities in its stillness; even the streets only a few blocks from the main drags could be eerily quiet. But as they approached Congress Street, it finally woke up.

  Live music tumbled out of bars. Drum kits snapped and punched; guitar melodies slinked out of amps in intense riffs. They passed the Hotel Congress where people were trickling in, one by one, attracted to the bass kicking its way out of the door. Henry and Emma continued past all of it and crossed under a bridge. A Sun Link streetcar rumbled slowly past them. By the time they reached Fo
urth Avenue, the crowds were thick and the evening was in full swing.

  They ended up at a bar nestled at the corner of the street. A client stood in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, guarding the spot from mortals. Henry paused to greet him. Emma, however, continued to walk past the entire establishment altogether. His eyes widened as he spotted her hurrying down a side street. Laughing, he jogged over to her. Before he could think about what he was doing, he caught her hand in his. His chest tightened as soon as their skin made contact. He hadn’t given taking her hand a second thought; it had just seemed like the natural thing to do.

  She spun around with surprised eyes. “What?”

  He smiled and pretended holding her hand made complete sense. Keeping his handhold casual, he jerked his head to the side. “Bar’s over this way.”

  “Really?” She looked down at their intertwined hands.

  He tensed, expecting her to wrench hers away because why would her employer grab her hand like they were a couple embarking on an adventure? A normal employer wouldn’t because it was inappropriate. Still, he held his breath and waited.

  She kept her hand nestled in his. When she gently squeezed it, his mind went momentarily blank. They avoided each other’s gazes and continued walking. He couldn’t keep a grin off his face. So she was fine with the handholding, employer or not. This was encouraging.

  “I forgot to tell you,” he said before the silence between them grew stale. “Witches put deterrent spells over all of the Underworld establishments to keep mortals away. That’s why you went right past the bar.”