I leaned forward in my chair and massaged my sternum. The imaginary fist that had been squeezing my heart for the past seven months clenched tight, leaving a dull ache I couldn’t get rid of no matter how long I rubbed. I’m not a fool. I realized that the blame for our separation rested solely on me. I ran—and spent four months away—from the one person in this world I should have sprinted toward. I shunned his protection, disregarded his strength, and stomped all over the love he offered . . . all in the name of arrogance.
Ty showed me how much he appreciated my treatment of him by returning the favor in classic “eye for an eye” fashion. I’d come back to Seattle after a months-long excursion spent in O Anel looking for—then protecting—Brakae.
According to Raif, during my absence Tyler had become temperamental, angry, and resentful, not to mention dirty and disheveled. I arrived at his apartment expecting to find a broken man. What I found broke me. Calm, clean, showered and shaved, and packing a suitcase for an extended vacation, Tyler gave me one last kiss and left. And he’d stayed gone. Three months and counting . . .
I took a deep breath, tried to slow the frantic beating of my heart that signaled the onset of another panic attack. Dredging up memories of my many mistakes caused my palms to sweat and my breath to stall in my lungs. The floor seemed to tip beneath me and the room swam in and out of focus in a dizzying blur.
“Darian, stand up.” Raif’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it echoed in my mind as if shouted down the length of a tunnel.
The door to the council’s private chambers opened, and I just about fell on my ass as I shot to my feet. Raif reached out to steady me, his face etched with concern. I would have given him a reassuring pat to the shoulder if my hands weren’t bound in the damn cuffs. A few deep, steady breaths managed to calm me down enough that I was no longer seeing stars at the periphery of my vision, and my head finally felt like its normal size—not floating above my shoulders like a balloon.
Xander sauntered out of the council’s chambers much the same way he’d entered. Only this time, the smugness of his expression spoke of victory, not just the prospect of success. Great. If he had any pull with regards to the council’s decision about my sentence, I’d never live it down. Just one more thing for his royal pain in the ass to hold over my head.
The Fae with the dark blue hair—Amelia, Xander had called her—cast a cautious glance in the king’s direction before turning her focus to me. “The accused is officially absolved of any wrongdoing against the PNT and any charges brought against her are stricken from the official record.” She brought the opalescent orb down against the table with a resounding crack. With the sound wave, a pulse of energy swept through the room and caressed my face like a kiss of warm breeze. The cuffs around my wrists loosened and dropped to the floor. Amelia’s eyes narrowed shrewdly as she addressed me. “You are free to go.”
Xander turned to leave, his chest puffed out with pride. “You can thank me later,” he said and strode from the room.
As the council members rose once again to leave, I said to Raif, “He really gets off on throwing his weight around, doesn’t he?”
Raif’s laughter was the only answer I needed.
Chapter 2
“Let me take you to dinner.”
“No.”
Tyler just couldn’t get it through his thick skull that I didn’t mix business with pleasure. I’d been working for him for a little over six months, and it seemed we’d begun to make excuses to see one another. Problem was, I was the only one who realized this wasn’t a good idea and we needed to put the brakes on whatever was developing between us.
“Come on, Darian,” he teased. “I don’t bite. What’s the big deal? It’s just dinner. I mean, you eat dinner on occasion, don’t you?”
A smiled threatened, tugging at my mouth. But I bit back the urge to let Tyler see just how charming I found him. He was my employer, for Christ’s sake. To-die-for good looks or not, I didn’t allow myself romantic entanglements of any kind. Love was a weakness I couldn’t afford, and the more time I spent with Ty, the more I thought he’d be very easy to fall in love with.
“I eat,” I finally replied, looking anywhere but right at him. “Just not with you.”
Tyler took a step closer and I breathed in his scent. Delicious. Like warm cinnamon. Such a comforting smell, it put me instantly at ease. It was actually the first thing I’d noticed when I met him. I don’t know what it was about Tyler, but being with him felt safe. Like nothing in the world would ever harm me when he was around. Stupid, I know. Sentimentality was another trait I couldn’t afford. Sentiment made you sloppy. And sloppy assassins didn’t get paid. “You’re invading my personal space,” I said flatly. Another step and he’d be close enough to touch. And oh man, how I wanted to touch.
“Has anyone ever mentioned how ridiculously stubborn you are?” His voice was warm with a sensual edge that gave me chills. “I think if you spent a little time with me, you might just find that you like me.”
Damn, he smelled good. My head was so full of his scent I couldn’t think straight. And those eyes—gorgeous. I didn’t need time for him to grow on me. Tyler was on my mind more times than not lately, and that was bad.
“Look, Ty, you’re a nice guy, and I’m sure you know how to show a girl a good time. But it’s not gonna happen. Not tonight, not ever. That’s just the way it has to be.”
He leaned in close, the playful expression gone from his face.
“Who says?” he murmured.
A pleasant chill raced up my spine and I shuddered. Thank god I was leaning against the wall, because I wasn’t entirely sure my legs would hold me up. “I say.” My own voice was breathier than I’d intended. Damn it, he could rattle me with nothing more than the intensity of his stare.
“Darian.” My name on his lips was enough to make me swoon. No one had ever said it the way he did, with so much emotion and reverence. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he said, his mouth hovering close to my ear. “I won’t hurt you.”
The way he spoke . . . it was like he knew everything about me, right down to the nightmare of the human life I’d lived so long ago. But he couldn’t know those things. The only other men who’d witnessed that weakness in me were long gone. I was beyond repair, damaged goods. And once Tyler realized that fact, he wouldn’t stick around either.
“Here’s how it’s going to work between us from now on,” I said. “You call me when you have a mark you need eliminated. I take out said mark and you pay me. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.” Rejecting his advances was the right thing to do. He just didn’t realize it yet. As if on instinct, I caressed the ring on my thumb, the very same one Tyler had given me after I’d completed my first job. I hated to admit it, but the damned thing had quickly become a security blanket, sort of a good luck charm, and I couldn’t help but touch it.
“So you’re not even going to give me a chance, huh?” Tyler said with a sigh, obviously frustrated. “You just get to decide, right here and now, that there can’t ever be anything between us?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “Believe me, you’ll thank me for keeping my distance later.” I let the shadows take me, becoming nothing more than a gossamer form. “Good night, Tyler.”
* * *
Some days, it’s just not worth getting out of bed.
As if my current heartache wasn’t enough, my dreams taunted me with past mistakes. I felt the sting of that moment with Tyler as if it had just happened, and wasn’t that just great? Everyone wants to be wanted. Needed. Desired. Loved. Ty wanted me and I’d rejected him. Putting distance between us again and again, wasting precious time we could have spent together. Happy. I guess there was no denying I was a Class A fuckup when it came to my love life. Not one man in my entire existence had managed to want me enough to stick it out. I supposed Henry didn’t truly count, but Azriel had dropped me without a second thought. And as for Ty, well, I guess he finally realized I was just too broken t
o fix.
I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth, which felt like it’d sprouted fur overnight. Bourbon always tastes so good going down. But the hangover I suffered this morning, coupled with the remnants of my memories, made me rethink ever touching the stuff again. Wasn’t it a sign of a problem when you started drinking in solitude? Whatever. It’s not like I gave a shit, and the liquor wasn’t going to do anything to my preternatural liver. It did, however, make the pain go away for a while. A very short while. I guess at this point, I was willing to take what I could get.
One of the benefits of living in a warehouse-turned-studio-apartment is that I could see every inch of my space from the bed. The place was a mess: clothes piled in the corners, dishes stacked in the sink, unwashed. I couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore. I wondered how much longer Raif would wait before he staged an intervention. He’d even resorted to bringing my mail up once a day after he realized that I’d quit checking it. I had no desire to tell him that I was scared of what I’d find each time I looked in the box. My eyes wandered to my kitchen table. Laid out across the high-gloss surface, tossed in with the piles of mail Raif insisted on bringing up, were two postcards. At first I’d thought there’d been only the one, sitting on top of a stack of bills and junk mail. But when I’d dug deeper through the pile, I’d found another one. A beautiful bird’s-eye view of Central Park. Aside from my address, the only words scribbled across the card stock read: Wish you were here.
I tried to swallow, found my mouth too dry for the simple act. A cold lump of dread congealed in the pit of my stomach, sending out icy shards that speared my composure. Almost a century ago, Azriel had helped an Armenian mob boss’s son go into hiding. Lorik sent us a postcard from every city he’d visited, writing only: Wish you were here. And now, when the mobster’s son should have been long dead, the postcards started showing up again. Whatever mess Azriel had left for me to clean up, I had a feeling it would be an unpleasant one. The tremor stretching out from my palms to the tips of my fingers had nothing to do with a hangover. I was straight-up rattled. Damn Azriel and his secrets. Shake it off, Darian. Jesus. It’s just paper. It’s not like those cards are going to self-destruct and blow your ass halfway across Seattle. Get a grip.
The whine and whir of the elevator coming to life drew my focus from the table. I reached for my pillow, for the throwing knives stashed under it. I may have been wallowing in self-pity and apathy, but I didn’t fuck around when it came to unannounced guests. And nothing says “Welcome!” like a knife barreling point-over-hilt in a blur of glinting silver light. Of course, it could be Raif again, but I didn’t take any chances.
I sat up, gathered the belt that held the six small knives and waited. I shook off the wave of anxiety threatening to pull me down to the fetal position and jacked my chin up a notch while willing my spine starch-stiff. I don’t know what I expected. A ghostly apparition of an Armenian mobster, perhaps? The intoxicating aroma of Shaede reached my nostrils long before the open elevator compartment came into sight, and I drew a knife from the holster. I knew the scent well, and though it wasn’t the specter from my past that I’d anticipated, this was one visitor I wasn’t about to entertain. Waiting, hand drawn back and ready to throw, I let my breathing slow. You need a certain stillness to throw a knife with accuracy. Stillness and patience. The elevator came to a halt, and the gate slid to one side. Heavy footfalls crossed the elevator’s threshold and I inhaled. Held my breath. Then let the knife fly.
The throw went wide and the knife buried itself to the handle in the drywall. So much for stillness and patience. Goddamn it.
“Your aim is shit,” Xander said, strolling through the living room like he had every right to be there. The King of Shaedes never let anyone forget who he was. Least of all me.
I took another knife from the holster, and sent it hurtling toward my mark. It glanced off the fireplace in a flash of silver, landing with a dull thud on the carpeting. Son of a bitch.
As if he hadn’t noticed me trying to scar his beautiful face, Xander stopped at the dining room table, idly shuffling through my mail like it was all addressed to him. My heart skipped a beat as he came across the postcards, which he flipped over, seeming to read with interest. But he discarded them as easily as he had my water bill and turned to face me. “I said you could thank me later for intervening with the PNT.” He smiled. “It’s later.”
Knife number three left my hand before I could even think through what I was doing. It bounced off the polished concrete of the kitchen countertop and came to a skidding halt on my stove.
Xander cocked a sardonic brow. “Not quite the show of appreciation I was expecting.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped. My comebacks were as bad as my aim.
Xander pivoted on a heel and changed his course for my bed. I instinctively reached for another knife before I noticed the gleam in his eyes. Butterscotch flecks glowed in molten caramel depths. He was hoping I’d throw again. It always made my day to keep Xander from getting what he wanted, and so I sheathed the knife and tucked the belt back under my pillow. I wasn’t in the mood to play his games.
“I could have left your fate in Amelia’s hands,” his tone dripped with reproof, “but you are my employee. Paid on retainer, if I’m not mistaken. And I have a job for you. I couldn’t have the PNT detaining you when you have work to do. So, my darling, whether you want to admit it or not, you owe me for convincing the council to drop the charges against you.”
“Screw you, Your Highness.” I lounged back in bed, and pulled the covers up nice and cozy. “You can show yourself out the way you came in, because frankly, I’m not interested in doing anything for you, and I’m not moving any time soon.”
Xander bent toward me, and I reached for my knives. I drew one of the blades from the holster—which, honestly, wasn’t long enough to do any real damage—determined to send him on his way. I may have been out of my mind to threaten a king with a weapon, but hell, I’d thrown three of the knives at him when he arrived. What’s one more offense?
I didn’t have my usual oomph to lend credibility to the act. Instead, I sort of held the knife out in front of me, my elbow drawn in like I had no idea how to use the thing. Fact was, I had no interest in picking a fight with Xander. I just wanted him to leave me alone so I could continue to wallow in self-pity, undisturbed.
“You look like a frightened girl, holding that knife,” Xander said. His voice was like expensive velvet: rich and luxurious. It’s his most winsome quality in my opinion. I could only imagine how many women had gladly dropped on their backs from nothing more than a few words.
Not this girl, though. “Get out,” I said, fighting to keep my voice from quavering.
He smiled. “No.”
“Xander.” My throat burned with emotion. Jesus, Darian, get your shit together. I held the knife up, straightened my arm. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
So fast that he caught me off guard, Xander batted the knife out of my hand. It didn’t take much effort; I wasn’t holding it like I was planning to use it. It rang as it bounced off the hardwood floor and I shrunk back into my pillow. Christ, why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I didn’t want to talk to him, or anybody else. I wanted to be alone.
“You will stop this childish behavior. Now. I’ve allowed you these months to mourn the loss of your Jinn. But that time is over. I have work for you and expect you to snap out of this depression and get to it.”
Xander’s words had me rankled. If I’d been feeling more like myself I would have shown him how much with my fist. I was not mourning the loss of Tyler. That would indicate that he wasn’t coming back. Like he’d died or something. Tears stung behind my eyes, and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stem the traitorous flow that would betray my emotions. Tyler wouldn’t leave me. Not forever. He was coming back. He had to. If he didn’t . . . well, let’s just say I didn’t want to think about what I’d do if he stayed away for good.
“I wan
t you cleaned up, properly dressed, and at my house in an hour.” He turned on a heel and headed for the door.
I didn’t take my eyes off his broad back as I tried to keep myself from committing an act of violence. Xander’s steps grew silent and he paused, shouting from the elevator, “Don’t make me come back here for you, Darian. It’ll be more than a cordial visit if I do. One hour.”
The gate slid closed with a rasping of metal, and the gears once again whirred to life, taking the Shaede King from my apartment. I guessed going back to bed was out of the question.
Chapter 3
I glanced down at my black boots. I’d dressed and armed myself, ready to go, without even realizing I’d done it. I held out my arms, kicked up a leg, taking stock. Ran my fingers through my damp curls. I didn’t appear any different. Showered—sure. Clean—yep, April fresh. Clothes—my standard black. But on the inside, I was a different person. I didn’t feel like the cold, ruthless killer I used to be. Though I could still do some heavy-duty collateral damage, I felt . . . empty. Alone. One half of a whole. “Come home, Tyler,” I whispered, praying that he’d hear me. “Please.”
Sunlight melded with my skin as I left my corporeal form, obeying Xander’s orders lest he come back for a fresh round of torture. It’s not that I was anxious to get out of the apartment. The idea of leaving actually made me break into a cold sweat. But I knew Xander. He’d come back. Again, and again, and again. He’d annoy me to the point that my life would become even more hellish than it already was. Besides, going back to work may actually help distract me from the pain. Because the bourbon sure as hell didn’t.
Crave the Darkness: A Shaede Assassin Novel Page 2