As I walked through the City’s winding streets, my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket. I flicked open the screen, finding a text from Scarlett.
Things OK in Blighty?
She was into archaic slang. Yeah, apart from all the serial killers, I typed.
You need the serial killers, she wrote back. Without them, you’d be out of a job.
Weird slang and dark humor. That was my best friend’s thing. That’s grim, Scarlett.
After another minute, the green bubble popped up again. Speaking of grim, please visit my favorite London spots: Anne Boleyn’s execution spot, William Wallace’s execution spot, the plague pits, and Kennsy’s Fried Chicken, which is disturbingly addictive when you’re drunk. XO.
Scarlett consistently ruined my mental image of CIA agents. They weren’t supposed to stumble around foreign cities drunk and eating fried chicken, but she seemed to get away with it. I wasn’t going to argue that I was here for work, not a vacation, because she never seemed to get that concept.
I looked up from my phone at the city streets. Like I’d told Gabriel, I didn’t get lost. I had an excellent sense of direction.
But I seemed to have misplaced myself a bit.
The streets in the “Old City” were contorted relics of a time before proper math or straight lines, when the whims of bakers and butchers overruled good sense. It seemed easy to end up off by a block or two.
A chilly night breeze nipped at my skin through my merino sweater. I listened to my suitcase scrape along the pavement, trying not to think of Catherine Taylor and the horrified look on her face.
Shivering, I slowed my gait when I noticed the road narrowing. Suddenly, the buildings seemed to loom over me. I frowned. I should be heading toward lights and traffic, not away from it. When I pulled out my phone, I could see I’d gone off course. Not by much, fortunately; I had taken a wrong turn one block back. I was one street away from where I should be. I could actually follow the alley all the way to the main street, but something didn’t feel right here.
I checked the map again. The name—Catherine Wheel Alley—didn’t inspire a lot of confidence. Wasn’t that a sort of medieval torture device? And after what I’d just seen, the name “Catherine” alone conjured images I’d prefer to revisit in the warmth and safety of my hotel room.
From somewhere behind me, footfalls echoed off the walls. Fuck, I do not want to meet the kind of people who are out at this hour. I began hurrying forward. Maybe I would just keep going on the same way. But a man stepped from the shadows in front of me, blocking my way in the narrow alley. He wore jeans and a grey hoodie and his hands were tightened into fists, his body tensed as if ready to attack.
“All right, darling?” he asked.
Turning, I quickened my pace away from him, heading back to Middlesex street. My footsteps echoed in the tight alley, the sound intermingling with the constant rumbling of my suitcase on the ground.
Another man appeared, sliding toward me like a wraith. This was the owner of the first set of footsteps I’d heard. My heart began to gallop in my chest.
“Where do you think you’re going, beautiful?” he asked. I could just make out a pair of bright blue eyes and a mop of blond hair.
My hand flew to my holster—or where my holster would have been if I was back in the States. My beloved Glock did not get to join me on this trip.
The two men closed in on me. Blondie grinned, eying me up and down. “Don’t you know there’s a killer out in the City? Wouldn’t want him ripping your pretty little body open, would we? That’d be a terrible waste.”
“Why don’t you let us take care of you,” said the man behind me. “You just need to be nice to us first. You know how to be nice, don’t you?”
A dark smile curled my lips. In training, I’d had to hold back from hurting men twice my size. And I didn’t imagine these two men were particularly well-trained. I wouldn’t hurt them if I didn’t have to, but I would if I needed to. I rehearsed my mental motto in my mind. Be courteous, and be prepared to kill everyone you meet.
Blondie grabbed his crotch, his excitement nauseatingly apparent. “What do you have under your tight little sweater?”
Okay. Maybe the courtesy thing wouldn’t last long. My gaze flicked behind Blondie, to where the alley made a sharp turn. I could dip behind the corner. They’d rush forward, a predator’s basic instinct. And then I’d leap out, catch them unawares.
“Excuse me,” I simpered. Always give your opponent a reason to underestimate you.
I dropped my grip on the suitcase handle. I’d come back for it later if I had to.
“Excuse me,” I said again, pushing past Blondie. If they let me out of this unscathed, we’d end it here.
But with Blondie pressing in on me in the narrow alley, I had to rub against his body to move past him. He let out an appreciative moan as I squeezed past, and grabbed my ass. I choked down my revulsion.
I broke into a run, giving the impression of a frightened woman—prey. I was breathing hard—not an act. When I reached the corner, I ducked behind it, listening to their oncoming footsteps. When Blondie rounded the corner, I lunged forward with a lowered shoulder, catching him in the gut. The leverage was perfect and he went down hard. But his body had been much heavier than I’d expected, like a brick wall.
Worse, he instantly bounded to his feet, in an unexpectedly catlike movement. His speed disturbed me. He was too fast for an untrained goon.
His friend rushed me and reflexes took hold as I rammed my fist into his nose. The sound of crunching bone echoed off the walls, and he stumbled back, hollering.
I whirled to face Blondie. I was now between them, with nowhere to run. The alley was narrow enough to allow anyone to block the way completely.
Blondie’s face was a mask of rage. “I’m gonna have fun taking you for a ride, bitch,” he snarled, his voice like sandpaper on a log. “And since you’ve got on my wick, I’m not gonna be gentle.”
He lunged, grabbing for me, and I took a step back, kneeing him in the groin. He folded in half, sputtering something in a language I couldn’t name. And yet, the sound of those strange syllables made the hair on my neck rise. He raised his face and my eyes met his. Blood red circles, shimmering in the darkness. I froze at the sight, and felt arms wrap around me. His friend, from behind.
His throaty whisper was damp in my ear. “Gotcha, darling.”
He held me in a vice grip, thrusting his hips against me. Despite the broken nose, he seemed to be enjoying himself. And I was quickly starting to panic. I wasn’t normally on the losing end of a fight. What was with these guys? Performance-enhancing drugs?
I tried to elbow his stomach, but I couldn’t move my arm more than a few inches. I let out a whimper, heard him laugh as I dropped my head.
And then threw it back, hitting his face.
On its own, a broken nose is a terrible thing. But I don’t care what your pain threshold is, if someone slams you in a nose that’s already been broken, you’re going down. And he did—screaming, clutching his face. Music to my ears.
Before I had the chance to feel too good about my victory, Blondie punched me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I stumbled back, and he stepped forward. Moonlight glinted off a blade in his hand.
I scrambled back against the wall, sliding down to the pavement. Fear climbed up my throat. My diaphragm spasmed, my lungs still struggling against the pain.
Something hit my left ear hard, agony exploding in my skull. Broken-nose guy had kicked me in the head. Pain ripped my mind apart, and my vision blurred. I stumbled back, crashing to the ground.
The world was going dark. Through my haze of confusion, a long-buried memory began to ring in my skull. A woman screaming. Horace, don’t!
My gut tightened. Not now… I forced myself to focus, grasping at my consciousness, and I was back in the alley, woozy, my head throbbing painfully.
The blond man stepped forward, his red eyes flickering, and his
head darted in a weird, reptilian motion as he spat at me. Instinct took hold and I rolled aside, the spit missing me by inches. There was a strange sizzling sound, and I glanced at the pavement. The asphalt hissed and bubbled where the spit had hit it. What the fuck?
Fog pooled on the ground, a blanket of gray making the asphalt nearly invisible. The temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees. Surely this was the effect of a concussion. On the one hand, my body burned with a strange energy. On the other hand, the blow to my head dizzied me.
The man with the knife smiled a toothy, menacing grin, taking another step toward me. But before he could do any damage, his body was suddenly flung aside like a rag doll.
My brain scrambled to comprehend what was going on.
A dark silhouette stood where my attacker had been. Now, a third person had entered the picture. He was so tall that, for a moment, I wondered if it was Gabriel. But no; this man was even bigger—six-five at least. Wide shoulders framed against the night sky, a moss-green coat billowing behind him. A copper clasp fastened the front of his coat, shaped like a stag’s head. Through the fog, I could make out his rich gold hair. Emerald green eyes pierced the fog, and there was something predatory in his glinting stare. A shiver ran up my spine. Inhuman…
I was losing my mind. Obviously, that had been a serious blow to my skull.
Broken-nose guy snarled, charging for us, a knife appearing in his hand. The newcomer moved in a blur of green—so fast I couldn’t track his movements. I just heard a snap. My attacker groaned, the knife tumbling from his hand.
Grasping the alley wall, I pulled myself up, my mind still muddled from the blow. The giant was grappling with the second attacker, his movements preternaturally fluid. The thug flew six feet, then crashed on the ground, smacking his head against the pavement. No fancy rolling this time.
Both attackers rose to their feet, trying to hurry away. I lunged after them, but the newcomer grabbed my arm, his grip tight as iron.
“Leave them,” he growled.
His grip sent an entirely unexpected surge of electricity through my body. I’d wanted to connect my boot with the attackers’ faces one more time, maybe get a chance to call the cops. But the feel of the stranger’s hand stopped me. It was almost as if power rolled off his body, and an unnatural energy seemed to root me in place.
Slowly, I turned to look at him, and when my gaze met his, I froze.
His green eyes bored into me, his fingers still tight on my arm. I had the sense that he was restraining himself, and that he was far, far more dangerous than the two men he’d just chased away. He exuded pure menace, a tightly coiled lethality.
And yet, his oddly feral beauty mesmerized me, his perfect gaze stirring some long-dormant part of my brain—the part that whispered of forest trysts on beds of moss, fingers digging into dirt with wild abandon.
Despite his raw masculinity, his lips had a deeply sensual look. Black lashes framed his green eyes, which were locked on me—his fascination apparently as great as my own.
I stared at the chiseled planes of his face, then let my gaze roam over his body. Under his green coat, he wore a tight gray sweater. It looked expensive as hell, stretched over a powerfully muscled chest. My pulse began to race out of control.
He smelled of moss and sage. Some sort of power seemed to charge the air between us.
I found myself unable to move.
I wasn’t sure if it was my fear, or the carnal way he stared at me. Surely no one had ever looked at me that way before. I felt my body responding to him, growing warmer.
With a low growl, his eyes slid down my body, taking in my ripped clothes, lingering over my curves, and I had the strange sensation that he could see right through my clothes to the little Latin phrase tattooed under my right breast. When he raised his gaze again, it lingered on my mouth. His dark brows drew together, entranced. I have no idea what possessed me to do it, but I licked my lips, and his body tensed.
He snarled—actually snarled—and moved his hand from my arm to the nape of my neck. As I looked into his eyes, I was torn by two competing desires: one, to keep staring at him, and the other, to lower my gaze submissively. I fought the urge to look down, instead staring right into his eyes.
I should have been running away.
And yet, for some reason, I really didn’t want to.
I was used to feeling emotions from other people, their fear or excitement. Normally, it only came from a crowd buzzing on intense emotions, but at that moment, I could sense two emotions rolling off his powerful body, a war raging in his mind. One emotion was desire; the other, pure rage.
As I watched, his eyes turned from green to the pale amber of sunlight.
Yep, I should definitely run the other way.
He leaned in, his breath warming the side of my face. “Stop what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing?” I managed. I wasn’t doing anything, except imagining my naked body sliding against his.
He slipped his fingers into my hair, gripping it. Our bodies were so close now, my peaked breasts skimming against his chest. I could almost feel his heart beating against me.
He pulled my head back to expose my neck. “I know your game.” He spoke as if in a trance, but his movements were precise and controlled. Gently, his knee pressed between my legs, urging them open.
“What are you talking about?” I breathed.
He leaned in, and his teeth grazed my throat. The touch of his warm mouth against my skin sent a rush of hot desire through my core. I heard myself moan lightly, and his other hand found its way to my hip, tightening possessively. His thumb lingered dangerously close to my waistband, slipping lower onto my bare skin, over the hollow of my hips. The feel of his skin against mine—even a tiny amount—lit my body on fire. I had no idea why, but I arched into him, wanting more.
“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” he growled. “And yet, you can’t help yourself.” His accent wasn’t quite English—not like the London accent of the other two. It had a different lilt to it—Scottish, maybe? I didn’t really care right now. I just wanted to shove my hands under his clothes.
My pulse was racing out of control, and I had the strongest desire to kiss him. As I looked up at him, the moonlight flickered over his face.
And then my heart skipped a beat. To my horror, two golden horns shimmered just above his forehead. Was this a trick of the light, or my battered brain playing tricks on me?
I clamped my eyes shut, panic claiming my mind. I was losing it—but of course that was destined to happen to me at some point. “Get away from me,” I snapped. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
Slowly, he released me, stepping away, and I opened my eyes again. The stranger’s irises had returned to their green color; the strange horns had disappeared.
His lip curled, as if disgusted with himself. The air around us had cooled, the mist thickening. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
“I don’t know what just happened. I have a head injury.”
He backed away, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you are, and yet I’d be willing to bet that you feed off fear,” his voice was a low growl, dripping with disgust, and something about his tone sent terror rumbling through my gut. “A terror leech.”
My mouth went dry. How could he possibly know how I felt about fear? “What are you talking about?”
He coiled his fingers into fists, as if he were holding himself back from touching me again. Or perhaps from strangling me to death.
My body began to cool again, but my heart still pounded. “Right. Well, thanks for your help. Perhaps you have another alley to haunt.”
I could see his knuckles whitening, his jaw tense. He nodded back in the direction I’d come from. “You left your wheelbarrow back there.”
“My what?”
“You’ve been injured.” His tone dripped with hostility. “You look weak. I can help you with your wheelbarrow.”
“My wheelbarrow?” I snap
ped. “You mean my suitcase?”
“Suit-case.” The word sounded alien in his mouth, as if he was learning a new language. “You don’t look as though you can manage it.” His lip curled disdainfully.
I had absolutely no explanation for the overwhelming attraction I’d felt for him just moments ago, because he was obviously an asshole. And had I really seen horns? It must be a brief psychotic break brought about by the trauma of the attack, plus the head injury.
I mean sure, he looked like a god, but there was something not right about him. Something predatory and feral, like he was holding back from dragging me off as a conquest. Asking him to accompany me to the police station was out of the question. He would not step into a police station. With his muscles tightly coiled, his powerful body conveyed a threat of extreme violence. He was definitely not a man with a clean slate. The only reason I was talking to him at all was that he’d tried to help me.
“I’ll be fine, thanks.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, dizziness overwhelmed me, and I faltered. His arm shot out, fast as lightning, gripping my wrist. Again, at the contact with him, an electrical charge surged through my body.
I yanked my hand away, glaring at him. “Like I said. I’m fine.”
I turned, suddenly desperate to put myself as far as possible from this encounter. I walked a few paces, when it occurred to me that I’d at least need his name to file a police report. But when I turned, I found the alley completely empty again.
My chest tightened. Shit. I was definitely losing my mind. And given my family history, that was a very dangerous thing indeed.
* * *
I dropped down on the smooth hotel bed, my head throbbing from the beating I’d taken. I’d been on hold with the police for a good ten minutes. If I hadn’t been psychotic before, the cheery elevator music droning through the phone threatened to put me over the edge.
The Metropolitan Police dispatcher had answered immediately, I had to give her that. She had very politely told me that since the actual crime occurred in the City of London, and not in Greater London, I’d need to be transferred. This, she had explained, was a matter for the City of London Police. I was promptly transferred. The dispatcher for the City of London was happy to hear that I was in no immediate danger, and transferred me to the constable in charge, who asked if this could wait until morning. When I said it couldn’t, she put me on hold. Again.
Agent of Enchantment (Dark Fae FBI Book 1) Page 3