by Laura Hall
Delilah had Seen, and told me several times.
I told him now, “Because you are not for me.”
His arms fell away, his sigh ruffling my hair. Stepping back several feet and once more composed, he said, “Maybe you’re right, and I’m the one fighting for something I shouldn’t.” His smile was touched by sorrow. “It wouldn't be the first time.”
As he turned toward the door, I said, “Connor?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing at the precinct?”
He studied me solemnly for a moment more, then his expression went cool and blank. The public Prime. “Meeting with the Chief of Police and the FBI. Do you remember Special Agent Whitaker?”
I made a face. “I thought he was on the Liberati case.”
“According to him, the missing women qualify.”
“He’s wrong,” I said quickly.
Connor nodded. “But he doesn’t need to know that, does he?”
I managed a faint smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned away and opened the door, then paused. “I’m leaving town this evening. Adam will be taking my place until this case is resolved.”
I swallowed heavily. “Okay.”
I’m sorry.
I miss you.
When will I see you again?
But I stayed silent.
“Goodbye, Fiona.”
“Bye,” I whispered, but he was already gone.
I stared at the dirty floor for another minute, then walked back to Records in a stupor. My mind was quiet, but my heart felt like a splinter was lodged in it. And somewhere deep inside me, on a level I’d never experienced before, there was a quickening. An infinitesimal flare no less impactful for its size, like the first vibrations of an earthquake.
Katrina was sitting where I’d left her. She looked up with tired eyes from the case files. A tablet sat next to her, the screen filled with notes. “Did you get lost or something?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
She studied my face, then sat back. “You’re wearing the glazed look you have after seeing the Prime. What happened?”
I sat heavily and dropped my head into my hands. “Delilah really screwed me up. Last year she told me Connor and I weren’t supposed to be together, and that if we were, I would end up like Gabriella. Forever obsessed with him and alone.”
Her brows rose. “You’re going to let your crazy mother be in charge of your life?”
“She’s a Seer,” I said half-heartedly.
“She’s a bitch.”
My charge shivered to life, vibrating in my bones. The quickening sparked and began to blaze. “I’ve fucked things up royally.”
“Fix it,” she said firmly. She glanced at her watch. “You have two hours before his plane leaves.”
Nerves exploded in my stomach. “What am I supposed to do?”
She smirked. “Whatever you want.”
Sixteen
As I walked across the marble floor of the Beverly Wilshire’s lobby, conversations stopped all around me. I kept my gaze fixed on the face of the concierge, a prim looking woman whose eyes showed white around the edges. The attention wasn't because I looked out of place, though I certainly did in ripped jeans and a black tank top.
I wasn’t hiding anymore. My hair was its natural white, and if that wasn’t enough to identify me, my bare arms did the rest. There was no camouflaging or mistaking the delicate ribbons of silver scarring that extended from my shoulders to my wrists.
“Ms. Sullivan,” said the concierge in a hushed voice. “What an unexpected honor.” She glanced aside at a nervous looking man. Her manager, presumably. He nodded spastically and she turned back to me with a bright smile. “We’d be beyond pleased to offer you a suite, though the penthouse is currently occupied.”
Here went nothing.
“Tell him I’m coming up.”
Her tan when splotchy. “I’m sorry, I—uh—” She looked helplessly at her manager, who hurried forward.
“I’m so sorry,” he said graciously, “but we have express orders to allow no one access to the penthouse until late this evening.”
My heart began pounding, sending adrenaline through my veins. I took a slow, deep breath and said, “Tell him or don’t tell him, but you’re giving me the key right now.”
The phone at the desk rang. The woman answered, listened for several seconds, then carefully replaced the receiver. She swallowed convulsively, then said, “He said to give her the key.”
No turning back now.
The manager unlocked a drawer beneath the long counter, then slid a keycard across to me. I palmed it, then tilted my head. “Directions, please.”
They pointed together at a small hallway. “The private elevator will take you directly to the fourteenth floor,” said the manager.
“Thank you.”
I focused on keeping my charge at minimum as I entered the elevator and pushed the single button. The compartment rose fast. Too fast for my liking. When the door opened, I wasn’t prepared.
Then again, nothing could have prepared me for a crying, half-naked blonde stumbling in my direction.
I gaped. “Samantha?”
In less than a second, Connor’s ex-girlfriend went from misery to rage. She blurred. I had time to throw my hands up before she hit me like a freight train. The impact from the elevator door was so sudden I didn’t feel any pain, only a small pop somewhere in my body. In true catfight fashion, her nails went for my face.
I didn’t have time to think, but thankfully I didn’t need to. Plasma erupted from my body in a searing wave. Samantha leapt back, screeching and swiping at her red, blistered face. She backed straight into Connor. I didn’t see him move, but his arm was suddenly around her neck. She fought, screaming, but he stood immovable until she fell limp.
His eyes, black with rage, met mine. “Did she hurt you?”
I took inventory. Although I was pretty sure I’d cracked a rib on impact with the elevator, I said, “I’m good.”
Samantha began sobbing loudly. “What does she have that I don’t?” she screeched.
Connor’s lips thinned. “Fiona, would you like to press charges?”
I got to my feet, swallowing a wince as pain spiked. “No. Just make her stop crying, will you? I have a headache.”
Surprise momentarily lightened his eyes. Samantha stopped wailing to blink at me in astonishment. The blisters were already healed, but her eyelashes and eyebrows had yet to grow back. It was difficult, but I refrained from commentary.
She asked, “You’re not going to have me arrested?”
I shook my head. “Next time I’ll just hang on until you turn crispy. That sounds really nasty, so let’s not go down that road, okay?”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, okay.”
I looked over her head at Connor, who watched me like he’d never seen me before. “Let her go,” I told him. He did. Samantha darted across the room and onto the balcony, leaping off it like it was a diving board.
Connor and I stared at each other.
Finally, he said, “She came through the balcony door. I insisted she leave.”
Inane laughter bubbled in my chest. “You sure know how to pick crazies.”
His lips twitched. “Present company excluded?”
“Oh, no,” I said, grinning. “I definitely qualify.”
He took a step toward me, wary and halting. “I must say, I’m surprised by your reaction. Last time . . .”
“I know,” I said, my humor fading. “Last time I was attacked by one of your exes, I ran.”
“And disappeared for months.”
I nodded, dropping my gaze from his. It was the moment of truth, but my throat felt swollen shut and my heart was thumping so hard I could taste my pulse. He took another step. I locked my knees against the impulse to retreat.
“Fiona?” he asked softly.
I lifted my head. “Don’t you know what I’m feeling?”
>
His gaze scanned my face. “Not anymore. I muted the bond on both ends. But your thoughts are more erratic than usual. You’re very nervous. Why?”
I blurted, “Don’t leave.”
His brows rose. “I have to. I’m expected in Washington.”
For someone as old as he was, he was pretty slow on the uptake. I stayed silent, and within seconds the first stirrings of understanding dawned on his face.
His lips curved wryly. “I’ve learned not to assume anything with you.”
I crossed my arms. “This isn’t easy for me,” I snapped.
Now he was definitely amused. “What isn’t easy?”
“Asking for forgiveness. Asking for another chance. A clean slate. You know, this.” I waved my hand between us. “I want . . .” Improbably, my eyes burned with tears. I finished weakly, “I’m not the healthiest, emotionally speaking. I have a bucketload of issues. I also can’t promise I’ll be a good girlfriend. I’m working on it, though. I’m trying. I want to try.”
His steps weren’t hesitant this time. Strong, elegant hands framed my face, tilting it upward for his questing gaze. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I’m not high society like Samantha, or gentle and feminine like Gabriella. I’ll probably embarrass you in public. And you know I like pushing your buttons. Are you sure?”
He smiled fully, eyes crinkling and dimple appearing. I went a little lightheaded. “I like our bantering. Your flaws aren’t flaws to me, mo spréach. They’re merely layers of the most fascinating woman I’ve ever known.”
My gaze dropped to his mouth and stuck there. He took the cue, dipping his head to brush his lips lightly over mine. I mewled in protest. “Your rib is cracked,” he said against my mouth. “At least let me heal you first.”
Remembering the effects of his blood, I shivered in anticipation. “Good idea.”
He laughed and kissed me soundly, and not nearly long enough, before taking me by the hand and leading me across the penthouse. When I thought he’d head for the bedroom, instead he veered toward a couch. I couldn’t quite hide my grunt of disapproval.
His laughter flowed over me, honeyed and warm. “There’s not nearly enough time for that before my flight,” he said, grin turning wicked at my resulting blush.
Dropping to the couch, he tugged me onto his lap, which I conceded was a pretty good compromise. My charge hummed brighter at his proximity. Swaying forward, I asked, “Can I kiss you, at least?”
His thumbs grazed my cheeks. “You never have to ask.”
I leaned closer until our breath mingled, until he whispered, “Tease.” We were smiling as our lips met. The kiss was slow, deep, and so sweet my limbs turned warm and liquid. His hands sank into my hair, cool fingers lightly gripping. I shifted forward—and pain flared in my ribs.
“Dammit.”
He mumbled something incoherent, then kissed my nose and leaned back. His lips parted, revealing fangs that elongated as I watched. Tucking his lower lip between his teeth, he bit down lightly. My whole body shuddered with arousal.
As blood welled on his lower lip, his brows went up. “I suppose it’s good you aren’t repulsed by the sight of blood.”
We both knew it was only his blood that did it for me. Electric with power, salty and sweet, it was the best chocolate and my favorite wine wrapped in one. It wasn’t better than sex with Connor, but it was close.
I leaned forward and licked the blood from his lips, then slid my tongue into his mouth. My enthusiasm apparently pushed the right buttons, because a second later I was flat on my back with him hovering above me. I blinked, my mind racing to catch up with the change in position I hadn’t seen or felt.
“How’s your rib?” he whispered against my jaw.
The pain was gone. “What rib?”
I felt his smile and arched helplessly as his mouth found the spot beneath my ear. “May I?” he asked, the words hummed against my neck.
“Mmhm. Yes. Absolute—”
He struck, a slight pinch, then sucked hard. The world went soft and hazy, my body boneless with pleasure. I might have yelled his name. Electricity rose beneath my skin, hot against his coolness. Light against his darkness.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. With him, I always wanted more. All of him. Everything he had to give. I couldn’t believe I’d almost lost him . . .
You will never lose me, his voice whispered in my mind.
The phone in my back pocket rang.
And kept ringing.
Loudly.
“Shit,” I groaned.
Connor licked the puncture marks, making me tremble anew, before lifting onto his elbows. His eyes were peridot, sparkling with laughter. There was a time when his seemingly constant amusement had annoyed me. Now, I wasn’t sure I could live without it—or how I had lived without it.
Either my thoughts or the expression I wore made Connor’s smile widen. “Sentimentality suits you,” he murmured, then glanced down. “Are you going to answer that?”
It was a serious dilemma, but I finally shimmied around until I could pull the phone from my back pocket. I looked at the number. “Where’s the 303 area code?”
“Colorado, if I’m not mistaken.”
I sat up fast, avoiding smashing my forehead into his chin by virtue of him possessing vampiric speed. Shooting him a glance of apology, I answered the call. “Fiona Sullivan speaking.”
“Ms. Sullivan, this is Jesper Valcourt.” His voice was high and thin, wavering slightly like he was walking fast.
“Thank you for calling me back, Mr. Valcourt.”
“Doctor.”
“Sorry. Dr. Valcourt.” I rolled my eyes at Connor.
There was a slight pause on the line. “Is your interest in the Lodestone academic?” The waver in his voice was now audible panting. What the hell was this guy doing?
“Not exactly,” I replied. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
There was a longer pause. “Not unless you tell me why you’re inquiring.”
I glanced at Connor. He nodded, so I said, “I’m working for the Western Prime’s office. We’re investigating a potential link between the Lodestone and several missing women.”
Valcourt was silent so long I thought he’d hung up. Then he said, “How do I know you are who you say you are?”
I guess if you wrote about government conspiracy theories revolving around mythical stones and chemical warfare, paranoia was normal. While I debated pulling out the Elemental card, Connor slipped the phone from my hand.
“This is Connor Thorne. Very well, thank you, Dr. Valcourt. Yes, of course I remember. The Celestine Institute’s annual benefit. I very much enjoyed your lecture on religious relics and the impact of faith on their chemical compositions.”
I gaped, then glared and muttered, “Always one step ahead, aren’t you?”
Connor winked, continuing the conversation with, “Fiona Sullivan. Yes, the Elemental. Wonderful. See you soon.”
He hung up and handed me the phone. “We’re due in Denver tonight.”
My nerves rang with anticipation that had nothing to do with meeting Valcourt. “We?” I echoed.
Connor’s smile was sly. “Anything to escape bureaucrats. Besides, he won’t meet with you without me.”
I smiled. “Liar.”
He settled back into the couch, a smug cat with the canary under his paw. “You won’t need a bag. We’ll fly back after the meeting.”
I frowned. “I’ll be cold on the plane.”
“No, you won’t.”
Oh.
Seventeen
I wasn’t cold on the plane, but sadly, not for the reason Connor had alluded to. I spent the short flight snuggled in his suit jacket while he and Katrina talked on speaker phone. It was my doing—I’d made the mistake of calling her after liftoff, only to find out she’d uncovered a surprising lead.
She’d instantly recognized the man in the video feeds from Clover as her cousin, Ethan Accosi. Opal M
age. CIA agent. Juggler of hidden agendas and in possession of a gilded tongue. He’d played a friend and more to me, then sold me out to the Liberati. Sure, he’d done it for the good of mankind or whatever, but the betrayal still stung. I didn’t trust lightly, and I certainly wouldn’t be trusting Ethan ever again.
To add sourness to the bitterness Ethan’s name evoked, Katrina revealed that when she’d heard from him several months ago, he’d been living in Denver. As far as she knew, he was still there.
Coincidence? Not a chance.
But what had Ethan been doing with Tiffany and the women at Clover? What did the CIA want with a quartet of Los Angeles socialites? Were they tracking the Lodestone drug, or were they dishing it out?
Maybe Valcourt and his theories weren’t as far off as I’d thought.
I spent the final descent listening to Connor debrief Adam, and tried not to read into the fact that my name wasn’t mentioned. When he hung up, neither of us spoke as we taxied toward a private hangar.
Finally, he murmured, “Adam doesn’t hate you.”
Facing him, I said softly, “Katrina said I’m like a ghost at the compound and that no one mentions me. Adam should hate me. So should Declan. So should you, Connor.”
It was dim inside the cabin, and lights from the wings and the nearby airport washed in intervals over his rigid features. He was a statue of himself, vampiric-still and unbreathing. For a moment, I felt alone in the plane.
Then he stirred, eyes sparking briefly with light. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t still angry. And obviously we can’t just pick up where we left off.”
Uncertainty tightened my shoulders, but I nodded. “This is good. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
One brow rose. “However, I’ve seen Ancients driven mad by dwelling too long in their memories. I prefer to look to the future. Besides”—his lips twitched—“if you have taught me anything, it’s that you starve in captivity.”
He was right, of course, but I still quipped, “I’m not a bird.”
His gaze finally warmed. “No comment.”
The plane rolled gently to a stop. Connor stood and offered me his hand. I accepted, only to find myself airborne, then landing in his arms with a squeak. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders. His features were calm, though more reserved than I would have expected given our closeness.