by T. F. Walsh
She attempted to focus on the TV again until she heard his wet towel hit the floor. He padded back into the bathroom to change. A flash of movement in the full-length mirror beside the closet hinted that, if she leaned forward, she’d have a clear view of Kagan in all his naked glory. Mira closed her eyes and fought the battle inside her head. I will not look. I will not look. I will not look. It worked for about thirty seconds. Then he began to hum softly and she caved like a mine disaster.
Mira couldn’t stop staring at his newly revealed manhood jutting from its nest of dark curls, his balls heavy below. She’d never wanted to contemplate a man’s body, not after the abuse. Now, she couldn’t seem to tear herself away.
The smooth, pink head of his shaft glistened under the vanity lights. Would he tremble if she stroked him? Moisture pooled between her legs, making her squirm on the sofa. Her slow gaze traveled upward. By the time she reached his face, her curious eyes locked with Kagan’s in a heated stare. Busted. Fuck!
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to break the tension. A final glance into the mirror gained her an unfettered view of his tight ass before his jeans slid over the hard curves. He wore nothing underneath. Lucky jeans!
Mira took several deep breaths, struggling to gain control of her rioting emotions. She sought refuge in the coffee commercial playing on the TV. Caffeine! That’s what I need. She walked to the kitchen and poured a cup.
“You ready, piccola?” The low velvet purr of his voice startled her, his hot breath close to her ear. She jumped, sloshing hot coffee over her hand. Mira brought her scalded flesh to her mouth.
“Merda! Here.” Kagan’s grin disappeared. He turned on the faucet and took her hand, guiding the injured skin under the flow. Kagan directed cool water over the area with his thumb, his concentration centered on his ministrations. His expression was serious, his tone quiet and full of apology. “Scusa, piccola. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mira blinked, her focus also trained on their joined hands. “It’s okay. I was distracted.”
“Si? Wonder why?” His deep, rich chuckle rumbled through the haze of her emotions, reminding her of his naked form, her arousal. His thumb continued to stroke, to caress. “How’s that feeling?”
“Um … ” She hesitated, her gaze locking with his. He tugged her forward until she stood a bare wisp away, his warm breath fanning over her face. His head descended. She wasn’t ready for this, was she? His lips brushed hers, withdrew. His pupils dilated, black devouring the blue. His gaze dropped to her lips and his tongue swept out, sheening his mouth with moisture. Mira was lost. She leaned closer, granting him the unspoken permission she’d never granted anyone before. He accepted, his hips pressing to hers and his hand cupping her nape, drawing her closer.
His ringing phone startled them both back to reality.
Kagan cursed. His forehead dropped to hers. Mira stared at her toes until he turned away to answer his call, her cheeks heating. She’d violated every rule about handling an unknown threat, and Kagan was the most dangerous peril she’d ever faced. She took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves, struggling to distance herself from a situation way beyond her experience.
“Xander,” Kagan said, approaching again and clicking his phone shut. “He and Wyck have new information. If we leave now, we can stop at your apartment and grab the stuff you need before we head over.” Kagan grabbed a fresh coat from the closet then scooped a second one out for her. “The jacket’s big, but warm.”
Mira slipped the overcoat on and rolled up the sleeves while she waited for him by the front door. Kagan took out his weapons and stowed them as he strode to her. He stepped beside her and she shot him an inquiring look. Kagan ignored her unspoken question and clamped an arm around her waist, preparing to flash away. “What? You need your stuff, so we get your stuff.”
“Wait a minute.” Mira held up a hand, her jaw tense. “How about we do this the old-fashioned way? My stomach sure would be grateful.” She pointed out the window. “You have a train station across the street.”
Kagan glanced at his watch. “Fine.” He pulled her out and locked the door. “If we hurry we can catch the next one.”
• • •
Argus peered into the sunny Chicago morning while he walked back from the brunette’s apartment. It’d taken all of his strength to haul his happy ass out of the club before the cops arrived last night. Hidden in the alley, inside a Dumpster, his human host had died and been reborn again through the power of his demon. He’d been forced to regenerate a new heart because of that Scion fucking douche. Argus coughed, his new heart stuttering, the beat not yet regulated. His host still continued to rattle in his head, now crazier than ever since his death. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He pushed into his host’s apartment and walked into the kitchen, rummaged through the cupboards until he uncovered a box of chocolate puff cereal. Argus popped the lid and tipped the box overhead, filling his face to the brim with sugary goodness. He searched the shelves and uncovered a bottle of honey. Arugs poured the thick flow down his throat with one hand while he continued his pantry raid with the other. Sugar was the fuel his demon body depended on in the human realm. Regeneration required more than usual.
Argus tossed the empty cereal box and honey bear into the sink and untwisted the top from a newfound jar of strawberry jam. He picked up a dirty spoon from the counter and dug out a huge glob. Then, too impatient to wait, he dumped the utensil in favor of direct scooping with his fingers. He washed everything down with two liters of stale orange soda from the bottom rack of the fridge.
Energy levels on the rise, Argus moved into the living room. He clicked on the TV and listened to a news blurb about the club shooting while he invaded the bookcase. He scanned the titles with a sneer. Nothing but medical journals and classic literature. Who the hell did this asshole think he was fooling? Argus knew the information he wanted was hidden somewhere in the piles.
Books and magazines flew, tossed haphazardly over his shoulders as he continued to search. His eyes flicked to the bottom level, and he spotted doors below the shelves. He popped each one open, empty handed until he glimpsed a plain cardboard shoebox concealed in a far corner. He fished out the container and flung off the lid.
With a grin, Argus retrieved a small piece of paper with the words Union Station, locker number 77 and a numeric combination scrawled in red ink. Bingo. He shoved the slip into his pants pocket, his grin threatening to encompass his entire head.
Argus licked the last of the strawberry jam from the jar then guzzled a gallon of apple juice. He shrugged into his trench coat, mindless of the stained wifebeater underneath, smeared with the remnants of his blood and breakfast. The empty plastic juice jug rattled into the sink where he tossed it before he barged out the back door.
An hour later, Argus pushed his way through the crowds of departing passengers at Union Station and headed toward the wall of lockers near baggage claim. He scanned the numbers until he located number seventy-seven. With trembling fingers, he punched in the code. The human’s spirit rampaged in his head and a sharp twitch convulsed his neck. He mentally bitch-slapped his newly insane host and wished for the zillionth time he’d eradicated the cracker-ass mofo prior to possession.
After a roll of his shoulders and a loud crack from his joints, he finished punching in the numerical code and the locker hissed open. He squinted into the dark cavern and fished out a black briefcase. It fell to his feet with a heavy thud as the door slammed. He hoisted his bounty and took off out the revolving door. An electric surge spiked through him, jerking him to a stop. His head snapped around, searching for the immortal’s presence. No luck. He hailed a nearby cab and dove into the backseat. The weight of the heavy case hurled him sideways while he barked out the address to the driver. The taxi pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic on the busy street.
Once they wer
e a safe distance from the station, he shifted to stare out the back window. A hulking silhouette stepped from the shadows, and Argus sank lower into his seat. The car turned a corner and moved further from the area. Relief flooded him when the electric buzz ceased. Argus brushed his fingertips over his black leather prize, a Grinch-worthy grin encompassing his face. Mine!
Chapter 5
Kagan and Mira climbed the creaky wooden stairs to her small studio above a corner liquor store. His nose wrinkled at the smell of musty damp and cheap cigarettes wafting from the graffiti-covered walls. Vaff! Why would the woman live in such a hellhole?
“Is he here?” Mira turned, staring at him while he searched the dim stairwell.
“What?” Kagan swiveled to face her. He took in her irritated expression and knew enough to tread lightly. Cristo, she was moody!
“Nothing.” Mira whipped around and continued toward her apartment.
He tossed up his hands. “Let’s just hurry, si? I don’t like you being out in the open. Too vulnerable.”
“You know, you’re a real … ” Her speech trailed off, only to be replaced by a resounding curse. “Shit!”
Kagan leaned around her and noticed the broken handle. He pushed the battered door open to reveal a war zone. Her furniture and belongings were strewn about like so much garbage. Clothing and dishes and memories all jumbled together to produce a life in shambles.
“I’m a real shit?” Kagan said over her shoulder before he glanced into the apartment. He yanked her behind him and drew his gun. “Stay here until I clear the area.”
He took a step forward then stopped abruptly to visually inspect the apartment. Mira ran smack into his back. “I told you to stay put! Let me do my job, Il Dottore.”
“Look, asshole. I can protect myself. Been doing it a long time. I don’t need you coming in and taking over.” She stepped around him and headed for the kitchen. “Besides, there’s one room and a bathroom. If you haven’t seen anybody by now, you’re not going to.”
Kagan pushed past her and finished checking the apartment for intruders before clicking the safety on and stuffing the gun into his waistband. He cut a swath through the debris to stand guard by the front door. As he waited, Mira plucked two daggers from the mess in the kitchen. She then climbed to the bed and grabbed a green canvas duffle bag from the assorted chaos.
“I have to say, your housekeeping skills are exemplary.” Mira provided him with a lovely middle finger in reply. Kagan grinned and glanced away. Behind a large punching bag, he spied various awards hung on the wall. “What’s your black belt in?”
“Krav Maga.” Mira looked up from her packing. “You familiar?”
He nodded, remembering her moves at the club. “I’m impressed, piccola. Not many women could handle themselves the way you do.”
“Damn straight! Don’t you forget it, either.” Her finger jabbed toward him for emphasis. Mira moved past him to remove the award and tuck it in her bag before slipping into the bathroom. He glanced into her duffle as she ducked around him. From the bag’s open top protruded pink boxing gloves, a yellow coffee mug, and purple fuzzy slippers with monster fangs and googly eyes. Not what he would’ve expected from the tough Ms. Herald, but he’d given up trying to decipher her puzzle.
Kagan checked his watch. Xander was going to be less than overjoyed if they didn’t arrive soon, and he couldn’t stand another lecture. Not today. The momento with Mira had put him in a tailspin. He’d brought her here as a show of truce, an act of contrition after the way he’d pounced on her this morning.
Oca! He needed some time, some space from the situation before he lost his head. Maybe conferring with his Scion brothers was exactly what he needed right now.
Loud footsteps echoed on the stairs outside, breaking him out of his thoughts. He squinted into the dim hallway, sniffing the air and detecting a faint odor of sulfur. Magnifico. “You ready?”
Mira emerged from the bathroom, her expression murderous. “I’m going to kill the bastard who did this.”
“Let’s go.” Kagan grabbed Mira’s arm and pulled her tight against him.
The unknown intruder drew closer, ominous footfalls echoing louder.
Kagan prepared to flash, despite Mira’s continued fidgeting. He closed his eyes and pictured the location of Wyck’s apartment, zeroing his mind on the destination. A sudden, soft knock resounded, shattering his focus and snapping his attention to the door. He gripped Mira to his side and drew his Glock, aiming to kill. A statuesque brunette with huge, dark eyes lingered at the apartment’s entrance, her expression frozen in shock. Merda!
“Zoe!” Mira jerked from his grasp and ran to embrace the woman. “Thank God you’re okay! You got your stuff?”
Zoe lifted the bag slung over her shoulder, her attention fixed on Kagan. “Who’s he?”
Kagan’s muscles remained tense, his frame braced and ready for battle. “You know this person, Mira?”
Mira hooked her arm through the brunette’s. “Kagan, this is Zoe. Zoe, Kagan.” She elbowed the woman, who reluctantly extended a hand.
Kagan forced himself to relax and took her hand in a brief, firm shake before grabbing Mira. “We are leaving.”
“Zoe’s coming with us.” Mira’s firm tone defied argument.
“She’s not involved in this, Mira. She can’t come.”
“We’re a package deal, Kagan. No Zoe, no me. End of story.” Mira pulled Zoe closer. “Besides, your friend Argus has made her involved.”
Jaw set, he took a menacing step toward Zoe. “What’s she talking about?”
“The man you shot last night. McClaine. He was outside my apartment this morning.” Zoe’s voice wavered, but she held her ground. “He found me.”
“Why would he care?” Kagan scowled, his gaze darting between the two women. Mira’s death grip on the woman’s arm and the way Zoe kept fidgeting under his close inspection told him there was more to this story. “Tell me.”
“He’s our … ” Zoe flicked her eyes to Mira. Mira shook her head. Zoe dropped her eyes and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Basta! Xander was going to kill him anyway for being late. What was a little more ammo for the barrage? Sending up a silent prayer for patience, Kagan ushered the ladies out the door. “We’ll figure this mess out at Wyck’s. Now hurry up and go!”
• • •
One hour, two trains, and a six-block walk later, they arrived at their destination. Kagan’s dark scowl told Mira everything about his mood. He was unhappy about the public transport, but she’d insisted because of Zoe. Her own first experience with Kagan’s preferred mode of travel hadn’t been good, and she wanted to ease Zoe’s introduction into this new world of crazy.
They stood outside a nondescript metal door in a brick-and-mortar warehouse hallway. The surfaces were well worn but clean and invitingly spacious after the heavy gray winter outside. Kagan knocked while a small security camera above captured their every move. The door slid open to reveal a less than amused Xander. Kagan entered, followed by Mira and Zoe.
Xander held the door open, his smile tight and his eyes trained on Zoe. “Who’s she?”
Kagan pulled Xander aside, giving Mira an opportunity to take in her surroundings. One half of the large room resembled a military command center, filled with multiple screens and stations. Along the wall behind them, metal shelves overflowed with bundles of wires and equipment. The other half was a normal warehouse apartment. The whole space was filled with the constant whirring white noise of computer terminal fans and digital beeps.
A man Mira didn’t recognize peeked from around the side of a computer station and grinned. His hair was tousled, his clothing haphazard, and the stubble on his chin glinted in the light from the screen. Great. One more crazy friend. A hand touched the small of her back. She jumped. Kagan and Xander loomed behind
her. Her gaze slipped sideways to Zoe, who seemed to be taking things in relative stride.
“Glad you decided to come, Mira.” Xander flashed her a guarded smile then extended a hand to Zoe. “I’m Xander.”
Zoe gave him a once-over before clasping his hand. She frowned at the contact then released him like toxic waste, her arms crossed and her face pale. Xander took a step toward her before Kagan blocked him.
Mira exchanged an intrigued look with Kagan and pushed Zoe to the sofa. “C’mon, let’s sit down.”
Xander kept a watchful eye on Zoe while he played the gracious host and offered the girls drinks. Mira accepted water on behalf of her now mute friend. Moments later, Xander returned with their beverages. His tone betrayed more than a hint of underlying tension. “I was beginning to worry something happened to you.”
Kagan crossed his arms and shot his commander an acerbic stare. “Oh, nothing for me, grazie. I’ll get my own.”
“They’re guests,” Xander said, his tone spinster schoolmarm with a hint of defense. He shoved Kagan out of the way, lingering a bit too long when handing Zoe her water. Then he strode to the computer station and waved the girls over.
Mira grabbed Zoe’s arm and pulled her along. The guy behind the screen stood at their approach. His build was similar to Kagan and Xander’s, but his appearance was less GI Joe and more hipsterish Silicon Valley. He sported sparkling, green-gold eyes and an infectious grin beneath his scruffy, dark blond shag.
Xander made the introductions. “Ladies, this is Wyck. He’s our resident tech guru. Wyck, this is Mira Herald and Zoe … ” He paused, looking at Zoe with an expectant smile, waiting for her to supply a last name.
Zoe extended her hand, her quiet tone as tight as her smile. “Just Zoe.”
Wyck chuckled, jerking his head in Xander’s direction, his voice infused with a heavy dose of proper British. “Don’t mind him. Bloody tosser’s always been too damn nosy for his own good, eh?”