Night's Cold Kiss

by Tracey O'Hara

  There were five of them, their faces obscured by either sunglasses or ski masks under hooded jackets.

  “Come on dude, show us what she’s got. Let’s see her tits,” one of the other attackers said.

  The masked mugger pinned her against a dirty wall and ripped open her jacket with one hand. Underneath she wore a silk shirt over a loose skirt. He grabbed her left breast roughly with his knife hand, the handle bit into her flesh and she tried not to flinch away.

  “Hey!” Lucian yelled as he lurched forward and was rewarded with a punch to the mouth then another to the gut. He doubled over, spitting out blood, which was dark in the dim light.

  “C’mon, dude, are we gonna do this or what?” the gunman said.

  One of the men became twitchy, moving rapidly from one foot to the other, giggling almost hysterically. She tried to move but was spun around and shoved harder against the wall face-first. The brickwork bit into her cheek as her jacket was yanked roughly off her back.

  A scuffle broke out behind her and was silenced by two loud meaty thumps. Her attacker turned her back around to face him and she took the opportunity to glance at Lucian. He hung slumped between two men; one of them lifted his head by a fist full of hair at the crown. A dark trickle ran from Lucian’s right brow down his cheek. They let go and his head lolled forward again.

  A sneering masked face blocked Lucian from her view and she raised her eyes to meet his. There was something familiar about those eyes. He lowered the knife, bringing it level with her belly, then began to cut the buttons from her shirt one at a time.

  “Be nice or we’ll slit your throat before that stuck-up professor,” his low voice growled in her ear. “Alive or dead—you choose. Makes no difference to me what you are when I fuck you.”

  11

  Black Ties and Attitude

  Antoinette stilled. The way he said “fuck.” She took a closer look at his eyes and his grin widened in the same snide way. It was the rude little prick from this afternoon. And he was even more stupid than she’d first thought—taking on a fully trained Venator with just one gun and a knife. Well, this was all to her advantage.

  “Ooh, yeah,” she purred, relaxing her body against him. “All that death is such a turn-on, isn’t it?”

  She and Lucian weren’t random victims—these men had been waiting for them. The boy froze, her response confusing him, and then he chuckled.

  “I’m going to make you watch while I fuck your little friend, Professor,” the boy said. “Lift his head so he can see.”

  The man without the gun yanked Lucian’s head back by his hair again. Lucian’s eyes narrowed on her attacker, burning with helpless fury.

  “Do I get to do all of you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, baby,” the nervous giggler said and let out another hyena-like laugh.

  “Oh, wow,” she breathed and her eyes dropped to the gun held loosely at Lucian’s side then back up to his face. He glanced at it quickly, then nodded slightly. When the time was right Lucian would make a move for it.

  “Sure, baby. If that’s what you want.” The creep leered. “But me first.”

  He unzipped his fly and dropped his pants then braced himself against the wall with his free hand.

  “I’m so hot.” Antoinette’s shirt lay open to her waist—buttonless. She shucked it off and lifted her skirt high around her waist. “Touch me.”

  His eyes dropped between her thighs and ran his tongue over his thin lips. “I’m gonna need both hands for this.”

  He passed the knife to the giggler who was almost bursting with excitement.

  Antoinette took his hand and ran it up her inner thigh to her panties. She swallowed the burning bile creeping up her throat as his fingers kneaded her flesh while she grasped his straining erection and lowered her hand to encircle his heavy balls.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he moaned and dropped his head to her shoulder.

  Just before his fingers reached her underwear, she clasped her thighs together. He jerked his head up and she smiled sweetly. He looked down and tried to tug his hand free of thigh muscles trained to hold her weight while hanging upside down on a rope. She had him right where she wanted him. If he tried to move his other hand away from the wall he’d overbalance. He was hers now and she watched the realization dawn in his eyes.

  His stiff flesh shrunk quickly under her hand as she squeezed. His eyes widened, the nervous smile slipping fully from his lips. She increased the pressure and he let out a heavy groan and his buddies cheered still thinking he was enjoying himself.

  He tried to pull away from her but she held him tight and gripped harder. Large eyes bugged out of his head, tears streamed down his cheek, and a strangled cry rattled in his throat. She gave one final crushing clench. Something popped and his screams pierced the alley as he dropped to his knees with his hand still trapped in the viselike grip of her thighs.

  The other men froze, unsure of what was happening, just as she’d hoped. Lucian took advantage of their surprise by heaving backward, pulling the two holding him off balance and crashing them into the one behind. The armed attacker dropped the gun and Lucian sent it skittering down a nearby drain with a sideways sweep of his foot.

  Now that the gun was out of the picture, Antoinette held all the aces. She twisted her lower body sharply to the left and chopped down with her right hand, snapping his wrists. She relaxed and he flopped to his side and pulled his knees to his chest. Tears and snot smeared across his face, mingling with the filth on the ground.

  The skirt fell to cover her legs again, but she yanked it off—it would only encumber her movement. Lucian backed away from the others to stand by her side. Loose and ready for attack he picked up her discarded silk shirt. At first she thought he was going to give it to her, but he began to wind one end around his fist.

  With student-boy out of action the other four stood uncertain until the giggler took off back down the alley, no longer giggling. His desertion seemed to spur the others into action. The three of them looked at each other and, as one, ran toward Antoinette and Lucian.

  With all of her might she kicked the side of the knee of the first, busting his leg with an audible crunch. He dropped to the ground, instantly out of action. The one to the far right lunged at Lucian, who dodged away from the blade in his attacker’s hand. He wrapped her silk shirt around the wrist of his opponent’s knife arm and pinned it behind his back. Lucian then smashed him face-first into the brick wall, opening the thug’s cheek and nose.

  Antoinette pulled back her arm and punched the last one full in the face. His lips burst open like ripe plums spraying blood across Antoinette’s chest. He fell to his knees at her feet and she brought her knee up to connect with his chin. The audible crunch of breaking teeth preceded the sound of his skull slamming into the pavement behind him. He lay sprawled and unconscious among old newspaper and discarded burger wrappers, his ruined face gurgling with each breath.

  “Duck!” Lucian picked up a dustbin lid and threw it like a Frisbee. She lowered and metal whizzed overhead and hit something behind her. Antoinette turned to see a knife skittering away from the man with the busted knee who was now dazed on the ground. He’d been close enough to jam that blade into her back. Lucian had saved her life.

  He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her blood spattered semi-nakedness.

  “Thank you,” she said pulling the jacket tighter. Now that the danger was over the adrenaline ebbed and cold seeped into her bones instead. She suppressed a shiver.

  Lucian wrapped his arm around her shoulders and glanced at the groaning attackers. His face split into a cheeky grin. “So—want to be my date for the CHaPR party?”

  The Hilton Grand Ballroom swarmed with representatives of the parahuman races, all in attendance for the formal conclusion of the CHaPR conference.

  Valerica clung to Christian’s arm as they entered the packed room while Viktor patted the hand Lilijana rested in the crook of his elbow. The ballroom held a sea
of black and white—with the males in tuxedos and most of the women wearing either black or white gowns.

  Christian leaned in to his friend. “There’s Sir Roger.”

  Viktor followed his direction and nodded at the real reason Viktor and Christian had rushed back to New York. Intel had received a tip that an assassination attempt could be made tonight on the human CHaPR ambassador. Christian and Viktor were there to keep an eye on the ambassador and represent the Department.

  “I see we aren’t the only ones playing nursemaid tonight,” Viktor said, his eyes fixed off to the left.

  “Hmmm,” Christian said. “Oberon, the head of Personal Security.”

  “I heard he got bumped from the Violent Crimes Unit down to this babysitting gig.”

  “Yeah, poor bastard, such a waste. Apparently it wasn’t pretty either.”

  As if sensing they were discussing him, the large man turned his head and met Christian’s eyes, his heavy brow knitting.

  “Uh-oh, we’ve been made,” Viktor said.

  The large bear of a man lumbered across the room.

  “Laroque,” Oberon’s deep voice rumbled. “I trust we aren’t going to have a problem.”

  “Not if you keep out from under foot,” Christian returned.

  Oberon’s frown deepened. “I’m here to do a job, just like you.”

  Viktor stepped between the two of them. “We’re all here representing the Department. Let’s not make any of us look stupid. Okay?”

  “Humph,” Oberon muttered, and with one last scowl turned on his heel and marched away in ground-eating strides. Everyone seemed to sense him coming and opened a path before him.

  “I can see Oberon hasn’t graduated charm school since I saw him last,” Viktor said.

  Christian snuffed. “If anything, he’s worse. We’ve butted heads over cases before, he’s beyond stubborn.”

  Lilijana turned to Valerica. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  Christian scowled when Valerica giggled. He’d almost forgotten about the women.

  A ripple of movement parted the crowded room as Akentia, dressed in signature white, made her way toward them with full entourage in tow. Christian bowed in the formal greeting of royalty as did the others in his group. This was an official event and all deference would be shown to the closest thing they had to the head of their society since the Treaty prohibited any ruling monarch.

  “It’s good to see you all here,” she said. “Lilijana, it has been too long.”

  “Yes it has, majesty.” Lilijana kissed the royal ring on the princess’s outstretched hand.

  She turned her attention to Viktor. “I see you’ve reunited with your sister.”

  The twins each kissed the ring in turn, though Viktor couldn’t help giving her a cheeky wink. Akentia’s lips twitched.

  “Christian.” The princess held her hand out to him. “A word.”

  “Yes, majesty.” He took it and kissed the ring as the others had and she led him away a few steps.

  Akentia put her full lips to his ear. “There is death in the air tonight, be on your guard.”

  The princess was a known clairvoyant, though her power was greatly diminished from the ancient royalty of old.

  “Thank you, majesty,” he said. “We are taking precautions.”

  “Good to know,” she said, and with a flick of her wrist she dismissed him and summoned her entourage. With one last nod at Christian she moved off into the crowd.

  “What was that about,” Viktor whispered.

  “She’s sensed something and wants us to be on our guard,” Christian answered.

  “Lilijana!” Sir Roger’s booming voice cut off any further conversation as they turned toward him. His round fleshy face split into a wide grin as he shuffled his bulky frame in their direction. “You look more beautiful every time I see you.” His breath wheezed heavily. “I missed you at the conference sessions this year.” He pressed his liverlike lips to the back of her hand.

  Her mouth tilted, but only Christian saw the revulsion behind her forced smile. “You know how they just bore me to tears. I’ve got much better things to do than sit around listening to a bunch of stuffy old men and women arguing about things beyond my silly little head.” She waved her hand in the air.

  “Ah—how easy it is to forget that you’re more than just a slip of a girl.” The ambassador patted her hand.

  “Oh, Sir Roger Wilberforce-Smythe—are you flirting with me?” She tittered, playfully tapping his chest with the tips of her manicured nails.

  “You can’t blame an old man for trying,” Sir Roger said and turned to grasp Christian’s hand. “And it’s good to see you again, Laroque.” His gazed flicked to Valerica and his fleshy smile deepened. “I see you have brought the best-looking ladies with you to the ball.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador.” Valerica’s smile widened and she clutched Christian’s arm.

  Sir Roger hardly seemed to hear her as he stared over their shoulder. “Hmm…looks like you might have some competition, ladies.”

  Christian followed the ambassador’s gaze and his breath caught low in his throat. Antoinette stood at the entrance, a vision in a sleeveless royal blue and silver Chinese gown. Her blond locks were piled on top of her head with silken ringlets curling around her face and kissing the back of her neck, all held in place with what looked like a pair of ornate silver chopsticks.

  She turned around to pass her coat over the check-in counter and Christian’s collar tightened around his throat. The dress left very little to the imagination, clinging to her body in all the right places. A split in the filmy material ran up the length of her right leg and Christian caught a flash of black lace high on her thigh as she moved. He’d bet his next warm meal she had a weapon strapped high on that thigh and the split was to give her easy access.

  Everyone in the room turned to stare as Lucian Moretti took her arm and guided her into the room, a flash of color disappearing into a black sea.

  12

  A Tango with Danger

  Antoinette lacked any moisture to lick her lips, which was just as well—this lipstick had cost a fortune. So many people gaping at her: her stomach went round and round like a washer and her heart hammered double time in her chest. Crowds had never been her favorite thing.

  Lucian patted the hand she’d hooked through the crook of his arm and she managed a shaky smile.

  “They aren’t going to eat you,” Lucian whispered in her ear.

  “I shouldn’t have listened to that stupid salesgirl and bought this dress,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Everyone else is wearing black and white.”

  “Nonsense, you look beautiful.”

  She looked up at him, screwing her nose. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “And I’m the envy of the entire room.” Lucian’s infectious chuckle chased away some of the knots in her stomach. “Every man here wants to be where I am right now and every woman wishes she were you.”

  She gave him her best attempt at a smile. He snagged a couple of glasses from a passing drinks waiter and handed one to her.

  She shook her head.

  “Go on—it’ll make you feel better.”

  What the hell. She smiled and took a large swallow—the bubbles tickled all the way down to calm the last of her butterflies.

  “That’s my girl,” Lucian said. “Come, I want to introduce you to the ambassador.”

  He took her arm and led her further into the room. Antoinette missed a step when she looked up and saw Christian standing among a group of people. Lucian caught her elbow and steadied her before guiding her toward them.

  Christian was striking in a black tuxedo jacket over a black shirt and bloodred bow tie. Classically dressed and yet not. The tall woman on his arm in a stunning black dress flicked strangely familiar amber eyes over Antoinette as they approached. Warmth tickled her face as she met his eyes for the first time since their heated encounter on his plane.

  “You
’re looking very lovely tonight, Antoinette,” Viktor said, bending over her hand. His long silken blond hair fell over his shoulders. He wore a black, thigh-length, Asian-influenced jacket—still the image of a manga hero.

  “Blue suits you,” Christian said softly as he followed Viktor’s lead—his lips burning the back of her hand. Her face heated even more and her gaze dropped to his feet. She was so out of her element here.

  “Ah—this must be Sergei’s niece. I was talking about you with my assistant Andrew this afternoon.” The ambassador’s voice was as large as the man himself. Sir Roger scanned the room. “Where is that fool? Anyway—no matter. Knew your father, you know. And your mother.”

  The familiar hollow pang stung at the mention of her parents, but Viktor distracted her by introducing the woman possessively clutching Christian’s arm.

  “Antoinette, this is my sister, Valerica.”

  No wonder those eyes looked so familiar.

  Valerica greeted her with a condescending arch of a perfect eyebrow. In fact, everything about her was perfect—with her full mouth, almond-shaped amber eyes and honey brown straight hair sweeping her lean supermodel shoulders, she could have stepped straight out of Vogue or Elle. Apart from Viktor’s dyed blond hair, the siblings were the spitting image of each other.

  “How do you do?” Antoinette held out her hand.

  Valerica regarded her coolly and then turned away on the pretense of greeting someone else.

  Viktor patted the hand of the woman at his side. “And this is Lilijana—Christian’s mother.”

  Antoinette was taken aback; her gaze flicked to the silent Christian, the resemblance was amazing. Lilijana had the same jet black hair and sharp blue eyes, which narrowed as she ran them over Antoinette from head to toe. Antoinette had the feeling she’d just failed some important test. Christian stepped back a little. Antoinette felt his piercing stare still on her but she refused to even look in his direction.