by Unknown
He’d never had that, personally. Hadn’t had the luxury. But he liked that she had it. Liked that she gave him a piece of her mind, too.
“Sounds lovely on paper,” he said. “But when there’s nothing between a person and the poorhouse, it becomes exceedingly easy to nick something from people who’ve been dead for centuries.”
“There are other ways to survive.”
“Aye, for some. For a Mythean orphan on his own who has the mortal workhouse at his back? Why shouldn’t he use his skills to the best of his advantage? No one else is going to care for him.” The words flowed out on a tidal wave of repressed anger. He blinked in shock.
He’d never shared his past before, not when it was so ugly and unflattering. Though Logan was his only true friend in the world, he hadn’t even shared it with him.
“I’m sorry. That’s awful.” Sincerity rang in her voice.
Heat threatened to creep up his neck, an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation. “Aye. But doona pity me. I turned out all right.”
His past wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, damn it. His childhood had been shite—an unwanted orphan—but he’d made the best of it. He sharpened his gaze on the alley and tried to ignore her at his back. But even the rising sounds of the lovers couldn’t drown out Fiona’s voice.
“I see your point. I sound like an idealist and a prude. Cultivating and preserving our history is a luxury. Survival is a necessity.” Her voice sharpened, and he worried it would alert the mortals. “But I’ll be watching you in there. I’ve got everything on the line here. I’m totally fucked if this goes wrong.”
Totally fucked. Gods, the way women talked these days.
He liked it. He liked her, and the fact that she told him exactly how she felt, that she didn’t back down and gave as good as she got. True, the fact that she didn’t trust him burned. But why should she? She’d been in his prison cell. He wouldn’t trust him either.
She’d given him the knife, though. She might not trust him to ignore his thief’s ways, but she did have faith in him not to kill her. It was a very basic thing, but it warmed his chest. Which was evidence of how low he’d fallen—he was pleased the woman he wanted didn’t think he’d kill her.
“Right, then. No stealing.” Except the book.
The moans and rustling of the lovers in the alley cut through his thoughts. His breath tightened in his throat at the images that flashed through his mind. Him and Fiona, in this very corner of the alley. His fists tightened. Ignore it. But there was a beast within him that had been caged for far too long.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sounds in the alley were sending streaks of heat through Fiona. Her desperation to find the book had pushed out all other aspects of life. She hadn’t been doing nearly enough of what they were doing.
And Ian, who was tense as a wire, was in the same boat. He’d been without sex for nearly a century. A century. It almost didn’t sound real. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to imagine what was happening in the alley. What she could be doing.
Her eyes snapped open. That was crazy. She needed to get her mind on the job.
“Ian, we need to—” She snapped her mouth shut when a rustling from the other end of the alley caught her attention. She whipped her head around and peered into the darkness. Ian did the same.
Nothing. The couple at the other end of the alley suddenly quieted. Tension prickled along Fiona’s arms. Was something here with them?
The mortals giggled, then stumbled toward the new noise. Fiona gripped her knife and squinted after them, her skin prickling with awareness.
But the mortals passed unharmed onto the street and went on their way.
Fiona shook away the eerie feeling and followed Ian deeper into the alley. The back door to the museum was made of unmarked steel. The lock at the door, however, was familiar.
“Keep an eye out.” She knelt in front of the door.
“I’ll take care of it.” Ian reached for the little leather pack of tools she’d withdrawn from her coat pocket.
She yanked them away. “I’ve got it. And this is a way newer lock than you’ve ever tried to pick.”
“Natural skill.” The cockiness in his tone made her grit her teeth, but he turned and covered her while she made the lock give up its secrets.
She felt the latch give and stood with a grin. Anticipation sang in her veins. “We’re in.”
Ian turned to her. “Good work, we’ll be—”
A shadow loomed behind Ian, then two arms reached out and picked him up, throwing him into the wall. Fiona stifled a scream as she yanked a knife out of her boot and flung it at the hulking figure. Shadow hid its features, but its bellow was unmistakable. Her knife had found its mark.
She didn’t have time to spare a glance for Ian as she yanked the other knife free of her boot. Before she could throw it, the figure was upon her, knocking the blade from her fist and wrapping meaty hands around her neck.
She gasped and kicked as he hoisted her into the air. She caught sight of an eerie face—snub nose, slitted eyes, and long fangs—and kicked harder. Her throat throbbed and she clawed at the demon’s hands. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Shite, she was going to pass out. She didn’t know what kind of demon he was, but she’d be dead in seconds if she fell unconscious.
Suddenly, the hands released her and she hit the ground hard, toppling to her arse. At her feet, Ian was wailing on the demon, his fists a blur as he beat her attacker’s face.
Ian plucked the blade from his pocket and raised it.
“Doona!” Fiona reached out for him. “We need to—”
The blade sliced down, straight through the attacker’s neck. Ian put such force behind the cut that he severed the throat to the spine. Another hard hack and the spine was gone too.
She collapsed back onto her butt. “Shite.”
Ian dropped the now-dead demon and knelt at her side. Rage and worry fought in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She coughed. “Fine, but we needed to find out where he came from!”
Ian scowled. “Bloody bastard was going to snap your neck.”
“I was fine!” She hadn’t been, but she was so peeved she didn’t care.
“Really?” Concern radiated from him despite his glare.
Something twitched in her chest. She had a protector. She’d never had one of those before. It was problematic, considering that they needed to know who the demon worked for, but it was quite nice, really. Annoying. But nice.
“I’m fine.” She glanced at the demon. He’d begun to steam. “Move it, I need a picture.”
She crawled away from Ian and yanked out her phone to take a quick picture of the demon’s sublimating face. Eventually, he’d reappear in the hell from which he came.
“What the hell was that for?” Ian asked.
She turned to snap at him, but shut her mouth when police sirens rang through the night.
“Damn it! The alarm.” She grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled. “We need to get out of here. The demon distracted me before I could stop the museum’s alarm system. It alerted the police.”
“Fuck.” Ian surged to his feet.
Fiona reached for the door and locked it, then pushed it closed. Mortals didn’t have her prints on file, so she paid no mind to shielding her hands.
She jumped over the remains of the demon, who’d almost entirely disappeared, and ran down the alley with Ian. They reached the main street.
Thank gods, no police yet.
“Wrap your arm around my shoulder,” she said. “And pretend you’re pissed.”
He did as she said, and they stumbled off down the street as if they’d just been to the pub. Fortunately, there were so many around here that it wouldn’t look strange. They were slipping into the doorway of the building that housed their flat when the first police car pulled to a stop in front of the museum.
“Damn it, Ian,” she said as they climbed the stairs to the flat. “We needed to find out who that
demon worked for. Logan will no’ tell us, but I want to know which god is after the book. Why’d you have to kill him?”
“You expect me no’ to kill him after I watch him try to strangle the life from you?” The residual violence in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was weird, but she kind of liked it. Though it had screwed them.
“I bet that the god who wants the book sent only one demon to get it, because he thought it would be an easy grab job. When that one does no’ show up with the book, he’ll just send more.”
“No’ killing him would no’ have changed that.”
“True. But I wanted to question him.”
“I’ll no’ kill the next one, how about that?”
She scowled. “The police are going to be canvassing the museum all night. They’ll want to make sure no one got in.”
“Then we canna go back in until tomorrow. Though the mortal police will no’ trigger the enchanted exhibits, our presence would. I can navigate around them, but it might no’ be a quiet job.”
“Fine. The god will no’ realize his demon has failed for a while yet, anyway. We’ll go in tomorrow night.” She glanced over to see that one of his fists was clenched while the other was pressed to his ribs. And he was limping. “You’re hurt.”
“He was a bloody big demon who packed a hell of a punch. I’ll be fine soon.”
She let them into the flat and turned to him. “Take off your jacket.”
His brows rose.
“I just want to check your ribs. You’ve been favoring them.” Gods, some weird, crazy compulsion had her wanting to take care of him. Nothing crazy, like washing his clothes, but check out his wounds at least. Besides popping the top on Fluffy’s Meowy Meal cans, she wasn’t really a caretaker. But she wanted to take care of him. She scowled.
“Well?” she asked.
He gave her a long look, then shrugged out of his jacket and drew the shirt up over his head. His arms dropped and he gripped the cotton loosely in his right fist.
She sucked in a breath at the sight of rigid muscles, then coughed, trying to cover the noise. Smooth. Broad chest and trim hips created a proportion that the ancient Greeks would have envied. Pythagoras would have discovered a golden triangle had he seen Ian.
“Move your arm.” She tried her damnedest to make her voice brisk, but the huskiness was plain even to her ears.
She walked to him and ran her fingers lightly over the bruise on his ribs, searching for a broken bone.
He hissed in a breath at her touch, but she swore it wasn’t a sound of pain. He stiffened as her fingers ran over his smooth skin and she was dreadfully, wonderfully aware of his gaze on her. It burned through her, from her scalp to her ankles, lingering at the more interesting bits in between.
With her fingertips pressed to his warm skin, she glanced up. Her breath caught at the look in Ian’s eyes.
Hunger. It cut through the exhaustion that had built up and hit her right in the chest, along with the reality of it all. She was in a tiny flat with a criminal. A man who hadn’t been with a woman in a century. The idea made her hot and cold at once.
She shook her head. Nerves over finding the book were making her jittery.
Liar. Nerves weren’t the only thing making her jittery. He made her jittery. The way he watched her made her jittery. No one had looked at her that way in years, or if they had, she’d had her nose so far in a book she hadn’t noticed.
His dark eyes never strayed from her face, never moved south to the parts she was sure he’d dreamed about in prison, all alone in his cell. The idea made her mind buzz. She wanted his gaze to stray. The idea made her hot, made dirty images flash through her mind like a magazine that should be shoved under a mattress.
This was the best opportunity she had to get the book back. Her career depended on this. Weird fantasies would get her nowhere.
She stepped back. “Well, your ribs are fine.”
He nodded.
“So, um… It’s getting late. Probably time for bed.” She was babbling. She knew she was, but she couldn’t help it.
“I assume I’m sleeping here?”
“Aye. There’re two bedrooms.”
“Thanks.” He glanced down, then back up, uncertainty drawing his brows together. The uncertainty was strange on such a big man—one who could fight like a warlord. Broad shoulders, forearms roped with muscles and those sexy veins that popped, big hands that hung at his sides. “You doona have to worry about me, you know.”
“What?” She flushed.
“You’re a woman alone and you doona know me. But we’re sharing a flat. I understand that you’re nervous, but you doona have to be. I’ll respect your boundaries. Stay right away from you.” He looked like he was worried he might scare her off.
“Oh. I— thank you.” And suddenly she was no longer jittery. Not from fear, at least. “Um, I’m going to hit the hay. But there’s TV if it’s still early for you.”
“TV?”
“Oh, shite. I’m sorry. Could you watch TV in prison?” The enormous differences between their lives loomed in the tiny space between them. Not only was he out of prison for the first time in nearly a century, it was the twenty-first century. But there was no leeway in their schedule for him to adjust to the outside world.
“I doona even know what it is.”
“Crap. Uh, I’ll show you some other time. Sorry.”
“Doona be. You keep saying that, but doona be. I sure as hell doona like that you work for the university, but quit saying you’re sorry.”
She nodded. Her apologies were so futile. There was no way she could understand it. Or him. But she wanted to. She didn’t want to analyze why, when she hadn’t cared enough to try to understand any other guy in years. But she wanted to understand him. “What did you do for all that time in prison?”
His eyes darkened. “I spent an eternity doing forced labor in a hellish afterworld, constructing a monstrosity of a cathedral in the middle of an abandoned hell. In the midst of hundred-degree heatwinds and smoldering embers, I worked for nearly a hundred fucking years creating something in hell that was constantly destroyed before my eyes.”
Horror carved a hole in her chest. “What? Why?”
“I’ve no idea. The university wanted something built, and prisoners are good labor. It kept us too tired to cause trouble at the end of the day. But it was hell.” His fists clenched at his sides.
Fiona’s heart ached for him, for what she imagined it must have been like. She loved the university and truly believed that it was a foundation of good in their world. They worked hard to protect mortals and Mytheans alike. But they were an ancient institution. Using prisoners as forced labor wasn’t at all strange to those who ran the university.
Most of the elders who ran the place were ancient. She was far younger—a mere thirty-six chronologically, though she’d stopped physically aging sometime in her mid-twenties. An infant to Mytheans. She had modern ideals about ethics that many at the university lacked. For the most part, the prisoners were truly evil. Ian wasn’t, but hearing his story made her want to fight harder to drag the university into the twenty-first century.
Guilt streaked through her at the knowledge that she’d lied to him about the university possibly releasing him if he helped her retrieve the book. She’d needed his help so badly—to preserve her very sanity and her life—that she’d have said anything to get him to help. But that was before she’d realized that she liked him. And now she’d have to send him back to that hell, else risk her own freedom. Permanently releasing a dangerous prisoner could get her in serious trouble.
Gods, this was all too complicated. She needed some space. “I’m headed to bed.”
“All right. I’m going to get cleaned up in the bathroom and do the same.”
“Do you know how to work the shower?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, then spun and walked toward the little hallway that led to the bedrooms, grabbing her bag on the wa
y.
As soon as she was in the tiny room, an image of Ian in the shower flashed in her mind. She rubbed a hand over her forehead, trying to banish the thought. There was a hell of a lot more complexity to this situation than she’d planned on.
She liked him. And boy, did she want him.
Wow, celibacy was so easy when there was no one around to tempt a person. His presence in her normally bare and boring life was so out of the ordinary it was like she now inhabited a different life entirely.
She tried not to think about all the things that work had evicted from her life. Like men. Like sex.
Those things had no place in her life, not until she found the book. She couldn’t afford them. He was here to work for her. And he was a damned thief. This was her best chance at getting the book back, and she couldn’t afford to lose her focus.
There was a job to be done. The job.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ian shut the bathroom door and leaned against the smooth wood. A great sigh shuddered out of him. Adjusting to the real world was going to be harder than he’d expected.
He turned and braced his hands on the small pedestal sink. A glance in the mirror confirmed it—he barely recognized the man looking out at him.
In prison, it hadn’t mattered that he was changing. He’d changed to survive.
Had he expected to return to his old self when he got out? Hell, he didn’t know. He didn’t even know if he remembered that man.
But he hadn’t expected to lose his damned mind over a university Acquirer. He didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to want her. She worked for the organization that had thrown him in prison and tortured him for nearly a hundred years. She would throw him back in again when this was all over.
His mind should be on getting the book in order to barter his way out of this collar. Instead, his thoughts were on the woman who’d sprung him from hell—and it pissed him off.