Lies That Blind

by Diana Rose Wilson

  At the car, she tucked away the bundle and saw she had missed a couple text messages from Dave. His concern for her bordering on frantic. She punched back a response.

  Fine. Working. Everything is great.

  The last thing she needed was Dave freaking out on top of everything else.

  Chapter 14

  Cleanup

  She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. Keeping busy helped her blot out her clawing rage and grief. To her shock, Vivianne and Sophia not only offered to help, but did so without the earlier glares and insults.

  It was a start Frankie gladly accepted. She didn’t need to add re-staffing to her to do list.

  Oliver and Juan dropped by and joined in the work, even though Frankie told them this was her responsibility. It was no good arguing, as Oliver said, “For what it’s worth, we are all in this together.”

  Juan grinned broadly as he looked Frankie up and down several times.

  “Love, exciting and new,” he sang, dodging a towel Frankie snapped at him. Her glowers and growls didn’t stop his singing, or his festive mood. Even the wreckage of his kitchen didn’t seem to dampen his spirits. Singing off-key, he threw himself into the cleanup effort.

  Oliver, who did not get ear-bent by Barbara, was as silent and evasive as he had been at the wake. Dressed stylishly and poised, he swaggered through the demolished bar without saying more than a few greetings. He kept his manners civil, focusing on cleaning of the office, salvaging what he could of the records.

  The hairs along her neck prickled, the weight of attention focusing behind her as she swept broken remains of bottles from the shelves. Turning, she found Christopher standing in the doorway, looking like a man who just witnessed a car crash.

  He wore a black chef coat buttoned up to the throat with the Hooligan Hideout logo embroidered across the breast. It did not hide all the bruised marks on his neck, or the obvious bite at his jaw. Dark curls tumbled across his brow but there were no dimples. His eyes were hard.

  Silently, his gaze moved across the words on the broken mirror and settled on her. The weight behind the expression crushed down into her chest. His brows pinched together, his mouth tight. The big man’s walls were up and that fortress shadowed his wild green gaze.

  He looked terrifying.

  “You didn’t say anything,” he said, voice flat. It wasn’t quite an accusation but disbelief she had excluded him.

  From the kitchen, Juan’s horrible singing warbled into silence. The industrious noise of cleanup stilled and the air around Frankie went very still.

  “Are you all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond. The question was businesslike, his expression unsmiling.

  This was not the man she knew. This was a cold, remote stranger. She realized too late the wound she inflicted by not including him in her struggles.

  She flexed her fingers inside the protective gloves, wanting to reach out and touch him, to explain. She didn’t know how to pull him back to her and tear the walls back down. Those were not skills she possessed. Pushing away and hiding were all Frankie knew. Pain keened in her heart.

  “She said she didn’t need you coming in and being a white knight,” Vivianne said, twisting the insult deeper with her snide tone.

  Christopher’s back stiffened as he took the cut, not looking away from Frankie. His expression didn’t change. His jaw flexed and he let out a soft breath before tipping his head to acknowledge her wishes.

  “Viv!” Sophia gasped in shock. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  “Its fine,” Christopher said and lifted the item he held. It was a plain white box tied with simple twine. “I thought—” The conversation about champions whispered back to her and heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks. His jaw clenched as he thrust the box out to her. “Here.”

  She barely caught it in her slippery gloves. He tucked his chin to his chest and pressed his fist over his heart for a long time before turning and strode out.

  Looking around the bar, she felt dazed. Talk about eroding her foundation. Vivianne met her gaze, a vicious smile curved up her lips.

  Before Frankie could speak, Juan’s voice murmured from the doorway of the kitchen, “Vivianne, you’re out of line. Do you imagine Amy would approve of what you’re doing? Is this the sort of leader you would be? Cruel and haughty? Consider that this is why Amy didn’t name you as her successor.”

  That hit a nerve and Vivianne winced, the smirk bleeding away as she turned to Sophia. But Sophia was already walking out, slamming the door behind her. Viv stared a moment before hurrying after her.

  Oliver came out of the back office, watching the action with curious black eyes. He didn’t take a side, or really display any emotions at all. It was a show he was watching and calculating.

  “You know, this is enough for one day. Thanks for pitching in but you can go ahead and go.” Frankie stripped off the gloves and balanced the box in her bare hands. All of this was too much emotion in one day for her.

  Juan rumbled something supportive and assured her he would see her tomorrow to continue the work.

  She closed and locked the door behind them and stood at the empty bar and eyed the package. Sighing, she pulled the delicate twine and opened it. On top was a note, written in Christopher’s graceful, strong hand.

  Frankie,

  I know it has only been a few short hours since I saw you but already I look forward to being with you again. You don’t know how much I enjoy turning your fierce scowl into a smile.

  I heard what happened to the Salamander. If I come across curt when you get this, please understand I am concerned for you and troubled by what happened. You are being treated dishonorably by people I call friends. This is completely unacceptable.

  I always have your back, my fragile Fire Goddess. Let me shelter you against this wind and rain so you can always light the darkness for me.

  Yours,

  Christopher Allen Harris-Wallace

  Chivalry is not chauvinism, Barbara had said. God, and Frankie wasn’t honestly sure if she understood the real difference.

  Under the note was a thick layer of fleece and beneath it lay a golden knight on horseback. The details were elaborate, down to the fixtures on saddle, reins, and the intricate coat of arms across the chest.

  It felt heavy in her fingers when she lifted it, not only physical but she understood what Barbara meant by intention behind those pieces. The knight made tingles ripple from the pads of her fingers up to her shoulder, quickening her heart. A bit of Christopher was there, for her and everyone to see.

  Point me at thy enemies. I am the weapon you command.

  Oh, she had some serious making up to do. Her cheeks warmed. How best could she offer her apology? There really was a first time for everything.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening cleaning. When she finally worked the edge off her anger with sheer weariness, she stopped and made a lengthy list of repairs needed. It was only slightly easier when she pretended this was LeGrange.

  It gave her time to plan just what she was going to say to Christopher, but as the night wore on she grew more nervous. What she knew about relationships could fit into a thimble. But without question she knew she owed him an explanation and wanted to thank him for his gift. Putting the knight on the clean bar top, she smiled at it, feeling affection kindle in her ribs.

  Chapter 15

  Knives

  She opened the door and the night air, hot and sticky, swept over her. The furnace heat of the day was gone but the imprint of warmth in the cement and asphalt radiated up with oppressive heaviness. She entered, then armed the alarm and locked the door.

  Beyond the entryway, the night seemed impossibly dark. There were fewer lamps on this street and a wall of darkness awaited her. She walked through the ring of yellowish light and stepped into deep shadows. She could make out the sidewalk not far off, illuminated by distant lamplight. The other establishments nearby were closed.

  It w
as only a few blocks to the Hideout, so she would enjoy the night and put the pieces of her plan together. Silently, she ran through a few practiced lines. I was wrong because… And, I wish I hadn’t because… And, In the future I will… Most importantly. Will you forgive me?

  And how in the world would she condition herself to let him white-knight her? It wasn’t natural.

  As she walked down the street the hairs along her neck and arms prickled up. She saw no cars or pedestrians. The night was silent and still. No moon shown above, only faint stars in the black. Then a noise split the air. It cut short and then built anew, sharpening into a snarl.

  “Go on, dog,” she called, voice loud in contrast to the soundless darkness.

  Intuition whispered, That isn’t any dog.

  From behind, right on her heels another sound trailed her, a whine that swelled into a scream. Huge, terrible and utterly inhuman. Her heart went cold, sharp prickles dancing over her arms as she forced her breathing slow and steady. She lengthened her strides, glancing around in the dark for the source.

  “You don’t want any part of this,” she shouted into the darkness, her voice steady and cold. This felt like home in New York. A dark alley, someone who wanted to take something from her. She pushed thoughts of Christopher-sized beasts from her mind and focused on reality and what she knew she could fight.

  Her plan had been to arrive at the Hideout when Christopher was closing. Then she could bare her soul without getting cold feet with witnesses pricking her pride. Now she regretted it. She was not familiar with night being quite so dark, deep and still. Even the cricket song had abandoned the vacant street.

  Movement across the street caught her eye and she saw three men fighting. Actually, it was two against one. Two men were dressed in dark shirts and jeans, with heavy boots. One wore a shiny new leather jacket. The third was larger, dressed in a black chef coat, achingly familiar even without the magnetic tug summoning her.

  Christopher.

  He bowed forward, a hand clutching at his stomach as the man kicked him again.

  Her warrior heart roared, No!

  “Leave him alone.” Clutching the keys, she started across the street. The fury at those jerks hurting Christopher almost blinded her. “Get off him.”

  One man looked up, dark eyes glinting off the lights on the street. She felt an ache against the back of her head.

  “Oh, go on, honey. The men are having a talk.” His features twisted with disgust before disregarding her.

  “I said, Get. Off. Him,” she growled, striding toward them.

  “Frankie, don’t. I’ve got this covered.” Christopher turned his head and spit, it looked dark in the shadowy night.

  It didn’t appear handled and she didn’t back down. Leather Jacket stepped back, keeping his eye on Frankie. The other shoved a hand into a pocket but not before she saw a glint of a curved blade. She felt the sick sensation as the knife winked out of sight. She smelled the blood, tasted copper at the back of her throat.

  “Got this covered?” she asked, poised to help him if his attackers advanced on him. Her heart beat with a steady, eager tempo. Silently, she dared them to come at her.

  “Frankie,” Christopher cried out a warning as a snarl rumbled from behind her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cougar prowling toward her. Its wild eyes burned into her as it crouched, poised to spring.

  All right, she might be a little out of her weight class here.

  The keys felt flimsy in her fingers as she adjusted them and eyed the cat stalking closer.

  It all happened before she could process it. Christopher ran toward her, his warning cry blending into a roaring scream. She didn’t even have time to throw her arms up to protect herself in the time it took for him to leap between herself and the predator.

  One moment he was running, long legs gathering as he flung himself forward and the next his body changed into the magnificent dark jaguar.

  Snarling, he bowled over the other cat in a flurry of claws and fangs. The cougar fell, then twisted away to avoid being pinned. It darted to the side, evading the platter-sized paw and claws.

  He towered over the other feline, his shadowy pelt melting into the dark, silver rosettes throwing off starlight.

  “Guess you don’t hear too good, honey,” Leather Jacket hissed.

  They both looked like the type best employed as bouncers or body guards. “No witnesses,” the other growled.

  They underestimated her.

  The bigger man lunged forward and she met him, aiming the heel of her hand at the underside of his jaw. His teeth rattled with the impact and he bit his tongue. He roared in pain, rocked onto his heels with the force. Not expecting her attack, he was unable to adjust his mass before he lost his balance, falling heavily.

  She kicked Leather Jacket in the stomach, sending him sprawling. Neither had a chance to use their blades. Yet.

  She could feel the eyes of the golden cat but the larger feline prevented it from taking advantage of her unprotected back. Fighting humans was one thing, but she wouldn’t get far battling a beast.

  “You two should get out of here,” she warned as she stepped on the man’s wrist. She quickly retrieved his blade, shuddering at its unnatural cold. She felt nauseated touching the handle. The knife pulled against her hungrily. Greedy.

  Leather Jacket clutched at his stomach, but danced forward with his knife out. He slashed the weapon at her, angling it upward toward her chest. Forced to dodge back, she couldn’t keep her weight on the man’s arm.

  “Not yet, bitch! We’re going to get what we came for.”

  The roars from the cats echoed down the street. Out of the corner of her eye she watched them tangling together, clawing and biting as they rolled into a bush with yowls of fury and pain.

  “You’re going to get teeth busted out. Walk away.” She flexed her fingers around the blade, spinning away from the overextended attack. He lunged at her again and this time she twisted and drove her elbow into his side. Rather than use the edge of the weapon, she hit him with the hilt, slamming down between his shoulders.

  His knife whispered through the cloth of her shirt, slicing through it. She felt the bitter cold of the blade in contrast to the August heat lick against her flesh. A chill split her, even though the edge didn’t break the skin. The knife’s hunger gnawed at her before slithering past.

  She twisted toward him, driving her key into the back of his knife hand. He roared in shock and dropped the blade with a heavy clatter.

  “Leave it. Just get out of here. All of you,” she demanded, trying to kick him again. This time he evaded her, dodging away.

  She collected the second blade as the men drew back. She was so focused on the humans, she didn’t notice the cougar had clawed free of Christopher.

  It came for her, charging at horrible speed. She experienced a momentary, dizzying fear as the jaws gaped open, full of teeth. She stumbled back as it closed in on her, both of those horrible blades in hand.

  Years of training took over and she could hear Dave’s steady voice outside the ring, coaching her. Calm. Hard.

  If you get in trouble with a dog, you must go for the eyes or the throat. Do not run. Do not show fear.

  She took a steadying breath, balancing her weight, and adjusted her grip on her weapons.

  The cat’s eyes met hers. They were not feline. Unlike Christopher’s eyes when he changed, these were robin’s egg blue and completely human. Filled with an inhuman wrath.

  Not quite sane.

  She drove forward before the cat could get its weight behind the leap, thrusting the blade toward its eyes. The jaws clacked inches from her face, tusk-like teeth gnashing. One blade caught the bridge of the nose and skittered to the eye, plunging in deep.

  The other slid down the jaw and caught against the bones in neck and shoulder. The sound the cat made when the tip of the blade slid under the skin was horrible. The hilt jerked in her hand. As the metal bathed in blood, it
went ice cold.

  Easy.

  It was too easy.

  It sank right in up to the bone and stopped, grinding through fur, tendons and meat where the neck connected to shoulder.

  The larger weight of the cat knocked her off her feet and slammed her into the ground. Pain punched through her as she went down, breath bursting from her lungs at the impact. Claws scratched her, the talons gouging her hip, arm and chest.

  As they fell, something within the cat tore open. The sensation was something both very physical but also ethereal.

  The cat writhed, trying to escape the agony of the knives. It was too late though. The moment the metal drank the blood, it unraveled the cat’s form. It ripped apart the delicate threads like spider webs. Before the claws could rip her open, they transformed into hands and feet.

  She could feel the horrible moan of delight through the hilt in her palms. They shivered as it quenched their savage thirst, eating up everything the cat was and much of the humanity too.

  She wished she could forget how it felt when the threads snapped and sizzled as they wrenched free of the creature.

  No. This was a man.

  The man who flopped over her, clutching his gouged eye, bleeding horribly from the gash the knife had made in his neck and shoulder. Bone and tendons gleamed under the flap of skin slumping open. Hot blood spurted her, coppery and slick.

  The men stared in horror at what she’d done. Would she have done it if she knew it would strip them of all those precious connections?

  They’d been after Christopher with those knives.

  Hell yes, she would do it again.

  Dripping blood, she staggered to her feet and lifted the drooling blades, showing them to the men. The shadowy jaguar ghosted to her side, huge and powerful. He growled furiously, lips curling up from sharp fangs.