“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, coming closer. “You look great.”
So do you, I thought as he shrugged off his heavy wool peacoat. Ty never overdid it in the clothing department. He was a jeans and T-shirt guy all the way, but he knew how to make the simple garments complement his lean, muscular body. Tyler’s not even a notch below Calvin Klein underwear-model physique, and has a tousled mop of gold-and-bronze-streaked hair and strange hazel eyes—green with a brownish star surrounding the pupil. A garbage bag would’ve looked like an Armani suit on him. He reached around to his back pocket and produced an envelope containing the rest of my money, and a slip of paper. “Is that for me?” I asked, reaching out.
“Yeah, the information’s on the paper.”
I leaned over the bar and he pressed the envelope and paper into my hand, grazing my fingers as he pulled away. Though his skin was cooler than mine, Tyler’s touch left me warm. And wanting more. My skin all but burned where he’d touched me, a brand that reminded me I’d have been better off dealing with Marcus. Tyler must have felt it too, judging by the way his lids became hooded and his chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm. I took a tentative step back, irritated at my own stupidity for orchestrating this visit. Shit.
He ran his fingers through the thick tangles of his hair and dropped onto a stool at the bar. His jaw clenched, the muscle at his cheek flexing. “Look, Darian. I want you to be careful on this job. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Ty’s instincts were usually right on. But I never gave much thought to things like caution. “I can handle it,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I know you can handle it.” Ty gave me a level stare. “That’s not the point. Maybe I should take this one myself.”
“No way.” This job paid double my usual fee. I had no intention of giving up that kind of money. Or the kind of action a double fee usually indicated. “I’ve got this one. Period.”
Ty shifted in his seat, and I knew his pensive attitude had nothing to do with the mark. “You ever think of a change in venue? Maybe a new line of work?”
“Sure, because I’ve always secretly wanted to pursue my dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher. Please. I’m good at what I do, and you know it.”
Standing from the stool, Ty rounded the bar and leaned up against the sink beside me. I balled my hands into fists, more to keep them from shaking than anything. God, he smelled good. Comforting, like fresh-baked cinnamon bread or something equally delicious and loaded with rich spices. His unique scent swirled around in my head, and I wanted nothing more than to lean into him, feel the weight of his arms around me as I breathed him in. But then my common sense gave me a swift kick in the ass. There was a stack of reasons why I couldn’t be with Tyler. He was human while I . . . well, I sure as hell wasn’t. Plus, he deserved someone softer. A nice piece of womanly eye candy. Someone capable of giving and receiving love without considering it a bargaining chip. Someone who wouldn’t stab another person with something sharp if he pissed her off. That someone wasn’t me.
“How long are we going to keep doing this?” His tone, though dark, had a sensual edge to it. A yearning that mirrored my own. Shit.
“Tyler—” My gaze dropped to the floor. I couldn’t look up because he’d see the emotion written all over my face. “We’re not going to talk about this.”
“Maybe I want to talk about it.” His voice became softer still. He reached out, his fingers caressing me, shoulder to wrist. A jolt of excitement shot through my core, and I cursed my weakness and my susceptibility to his touch. I wanted him, and not just for the night.
“We work together.” The excuse sounded as lame in my head as it did coming out of my mouth.
“Then you’re fired,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against my palm.
My cheeks flushed and it had nothing to do with the temperature in my apartment. These moments between us were becoming more frequent—and harder to resist. I put my palm against his chest, my entire hand tingling with excitement from the contact. He felt solid, rock hard, under my hand, and I wondered what his skin would feel like without his T-shirt between us. I pushed him gently away, severing our contact and allowing me enough space to take a decent breath. I couldn’t focus with him so close. And we needed to talk business.
“So,” I said, shaky, “I take it the mark’s a real bastard?”
Tyler took an extra step back, his smile turning almost sad. “You know me,” he said with a sigh, and the sound mirrored my own disappointment. “I don’t take money to kill just any asshole. Only the scum of the earth will do.”
That’s why I worked for Tyler. He shared my disgust for the morally bankrupt, and I could count on him to flush them out of their holes for me. Be it a drug dealer, pimp, or worse, Tyler hated abusers just as much as I did. And each and every one of them abused their victims in one horrible way or another.
Talking business was like a gust of fresh air. It cleared my head, redirected my focus. This job was the only thing keeping me from violating all of my self-imposed rules in regards to Tyler. I’d spent decades polishing my armor, and now was not the time to let it tarnish.
I leaned back against the stove, but still, the distance between us could be closed by an arm’s length. Even the air seemed thinner, as though there wasn’t enough of it to share. Tyler sealed the gap, his eyes trained on my face, drinking in every detail. He reached out, his fingers feather light against my cheek, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Time to take this conversation out of the kitchen. I needed some space, and the current cramped quarters weren’t doing anything for my willpower. I tapped the envelope of money against my palm, paced away from Tyler, and rounded the far end of the polished concrete countertop. I flopped down on the overstuffed chair in the living room that bordered the kitchen. Unfolding the slip of paper, I read the mark’s info with more interest than the situation called for. “I’ll get ahold of you when it’s done,” I said.
Tyler stiffened, his shoulders square. “You can’t keep avoiding this—us—Darian.”
Who says? As far as I was concerned, I could keep avoiding it until the end of time. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Right, Ty? We work well together. And I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Why can’t things stay just the way they are?”
“Change is the only constant, Darian.”
He always said my name with care, as if the word were fragile. The sound of it made my chest ache. “We just can’t . . . be together.”
His eyes burned into mine. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed? “It’s not a good idea. Trust me, Ty. I’m not what you need.”
He threw his coat over his shoulders and headed for the elevator. “Why don’t you let me worry about what I need? Be careful tomorrow. I’d hate for you to trip on your boulder-sized pride before you get the job done.”
The elevator whined its way to the ground floor, leaving me alone.
Way to go, I thought. You wanted things to cool down. Looks like you got your wish. He’d forget about his fascination soon enough. It wasn’t really me he wanted. More likely it was the idea of me. The exotic, preternatural creature. Tyler would find someone worthy of his adoration. The thought of his arms around another woman made me want to scream. I sat for a moment, absorbing the quiet and the hollow ache in my chest that only his absence caused. Fuck if I knew why, but the torture of having him near was almost better than the anguish of watching him leave.
Rather than continue to stew in my misery and obsess over emotions best left unrealized, I locked the envelopes—both the seventy-five percent and the remainder of my fee—in a safe tucked behind a false wall. Tyler wouldn’t dare cheat me. I trusted him with my life; the money was a no-brainer.
I unfolded the paper once again and reread the name and address scrawled on it.
Xander Peck, 1573 East Highland Drive
His name rolled off my tongue a couple of times. Not exactly a Tom or Josh or Steve. But I gue
ss Darian wasn’t exactly a Becky, Suzie, or Jennifer either.
Poor bastard. I wondered who Xander Peck had pissed off to deserve a visit from me. Whatever he’d done, it must’ve been pretty bad. People paid through the nose for my services, and I wasn’t exactly listed in the yellow pages. You’d have to have connections, and not the normal kind, to hire a Shaede to mete out your punishments.
Chapter 2
The next night, a light rain misted the air and the snow from the previous day melted away in the gutters. The city teemed with activity, restless and anxious, just like me. I carried, tucked inconspicuously beneath my coat, a dagger and a short saber slung across my back. I never use guns—too impersonal.
I could have traveled unseen, but that night, I wanted the attention. It kind of revved up my engine, got me ready for the job. I wore my signature black—tight pants, low on my waist; long-sleeved black nylon turtleneck that clung to every curve of my body; black boots (of course); and, to top it off, a long black duster. I admit, the coat was a little over the top, but I love dramatics. Especially when I’m on a job.
I went without an umbrella, and my hair coiled in soppy curls that dripped over my shoulders. I walked with my chin high, shoulders back, and my stride long. And I made sure to direct my glowing gaze at anyone who dared to look.
A group of guys passed me. One of them ran right into a streetlamp, he was so busy staring. The man to his right seemed much more confident. “Hey, baby. Lookin’ for a little company?” he shouted, turning to watch me pass.
I stopped dead and turned to face him. He must have thought himself a real ladies’ man, because he went so far as to urge his friends on their way.
I flashed a wicked smile. A dumbstruck look crept onto his face. Weak. Easy. Not even a challenge.
“You must be this tall,” I said, leveling my hand well above his stocky height, “to ride this ride.” I blew him a kiss and kept walking.
The light drizzle became a downpour as I made my way toward East Highland Drive. I could no longer remember what things sounded or looked like through my human ears and eyes, but with my heightened senses, a simple rainstorm became a symphony of sensory overload. I heard every drop as it made contact with the ground, exploding from one into several, dissipating into the collective body of water that ran in a sheet along the concrete sidewalk. I felt sorry for humans sometimes. They missed out on a lot.
As I neared lucky Mr. Peck’s address, the city melted away and the neighborhood became more residential. Apartment buildings morphed into town houses, and retail spaces disappeared into grassy parks. The neighborhood looked richer than I’d expected. Usually the kind of people who ended up on the sharp end of my knife took up in a decidedly seedier atmosphere.
I found the place with little effort and took a seat, watching, on a bench across the street. Tyler’s visit the previous evening still had my head spinning. The set of his jaw, the way he’d thrown his shoulders back as he walked toward the lift . . . Maybe I’d put the final nail in the coffin of our almost relationship. A pang of regret shot through my chest at the thought, even though I knew it was for the best. Sure, it would have been fine in the beginning—all groping, greedy hands and hours of sex followed by sweet affirmations and professions of love. But that would only last so long. The moony-eyed-lover crap would turn to resentment, power struggles, and manipulation. He’d grow to hate me, and not just because of my less than gracious personality. Then something would happen. He’d want me to quit this line of work, or move away, or he’d expect me to go June Cleaver and marry him or some shit. And when none of that happened, he’d resent me. Or he’d use my affection against me like Azriel had. He’d use love to control me, keep me nice and subservient. And wouldn’t that just be the fairy-tale ending. No, I had to be strong. I couldn’t let Tyler worm his way into my heart. He was human and he’d age and eventually die. He needed to forget about me and find himself a pretty human woman to grow old and die with. And then I’d be truly alone. Wouldn’t I?
Rain pattered against the round toes of my thick-soled boots, and I watched the drops splatter like the tears I refused to shed. The town house loomed before me like a voyeur, its windows curious eyes that drew my attention away from the empty ache in my soul. The place looked pretty much like every other generic town house on the street, except for the fact that the curtains were open wide and every light in the place was on. Maybe he’s afraid of the dark, I thought as I felt for my dagger.
“Xander Peck,” I said, popping the “P” as I tried out his name again.
As if he’d heard me, the man in question strolled in front of the largest window on the second story. He was a tall one—muscular, late twenties, maybe, with flowing blond hair that brushed his shoulders.
From the looks of him, he wasn’t expecting company. Wearing nothing more than loose cotton pajama bottoms, he stretched for an inappropriately long time. Give me a break. I’m sure the show supplied more than a few suburban housewives with enough fantasy fodder to get them through a tedious night or two.
Damn it. Discretion might be a bit of a problem if telescopes all over the neighborhood were dialed in to that window. I’d been paid a pretty chunk of change for this job, and I wanted it neat and tidy.
Standing from my perch, I fluffed out the duster. Raindrops scattered from its black surface, sounding like wind chimes and steel drums. I wrung the water from my hair as well. Didn’t want to add insult to injury by dripping all over the poor guy’s floor.
I reached to my right thigh. The sheathed dagger waited to be put to good use. Stretching my neck from one side to the other, I looked up at the balcony to the side of Xander Peck’s picture window, and with as much concentration as it took to bat an eyelash, my body became one with the dark night air.
In the next second, I stood on the balcony. I didn’t need to break in; I simply glided through the glass. Shadows don’t worry about things like doors, windows, bars, gravity. I appeared in the next room—the bathroom, to be exact. I could hear Blondie moving around his bedroom, probably flexing and posing for his audience.
A faint smell lingered in the air, and at first I thought I’d imagined it. The aroma of warm spring flowers, stream water, grass, and pitch. That fragrance hadn’t touched my nostrils in at least a century. It threw me off my game a little, but I brushed it away like a buzzing mosquito and focused on the job.
His presence was harder to pinpoint than a human’s should be. Usually I can feel where they’re standing, as if I have a built-in thermal imager. But my senses felt askew and I couldn’t quite get a bead on him.
Oh, well, I told myself. You’ll just have to be quick.
I passed through the wall, feeling no hindrance from the solid structure, to where I thought he’d be standing. He’d moved beyond the large window, just as I’d predicted. Dagger poised and ready to strike, I took a steadying breath and prepared myself for the kill. Muscles rippled beneath flawless, creamy skin. His spine straightened. I couldn’t get my arm around him; he was too broad for my shorter reach. So I decided to sever his spine at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t my usual MO, but beggars can’t be choosers.
The smell that I’d tried to ignore hit me hard, choking me with its sweetness. I stabbed and then cut with the sharp steel blade, but all I managed to slice was thin air.
My target, vulnerable only a moment before, vanished just as effectively as I had. I spun around to guard my own back when a large, strong hand seized me by the throat.
“Who sent you?” Xander Peck asked, a little too calm for someone who’d almost lost his head.
I should have been more shaken, but his voice distracted me, draped over me like a red velvet blanket. I wanted to wrap myself up naked in that voice. The next thing—and it should have been the first thing—I noticed was the way his form quavered in the artificial light. He was almost . . . transparent.
I hadn’t encountered anyone like me in close to a century. In fact, I’d been sure I was the only one left.
But there he stood: tall, blond, and angry, and a natural-born Shaede.
“Who sent you?” he asked again, his grip tightening on my throat.
“I’m hired,” I rasped in a flat, icy tone.
“Then who hired you?”
He almost sounded amused, but he wasn’t going to be when he got his answer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I never meet the clients.”
“Well, then, you’re not much use, are you? Maybe I should kill you.”
“You could try.” I didn’t have to pretend to sound defiant or confident. Even a born Shaede would need a special blade to kill me.
He laughed, and the sound of it caused a spasm of pleasure to ripple from the top of my head right down to my toes. His grip on my throat disappeared with his body, and in a waft of dark air, he reappeared on a small sofa, very much at home.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Darian,” I said, throwing it out there like I had nothing to lose.
“Darian,” he repeated. “So, Darian . . . who do you think would want me dead?”
“How the hell should I know?” I asked, maybe a little more indignant than I ought to have been considering the circumstances. “I guess you must’ve really pissed someone off.”
“You think?” I couldn’t blame him for mocking me. Hell, I was there to kill him. “Now, why would anyone send you to kill someone that you couldn’t kill?”
I hadn’t thought about that. Didn’t care. Thinking wasn’t part of my job. The client had to have recognized something inhuman about Xander Peck. Born Shaedes did have the ability to dazzle, glamour—whatever—a lot better than I could. They could convince humans that they’re made of something more solid. Still, the “otherness” that exists in us has a tendency to set a person on edge.
“My guess,” he said, resting an arm over the back of the couch, “is that you were set up.”
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