The Slayer

by Brenda Huber

  Okay, she couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer. “Are you saying you’ve been celibate all this time? As in like a monk celibate?”

  Oh why couldn’t she get past that?

  A muscle leaped in his jaw, but he nodded. Once.

  “Two hundred years celibate?” She couldn’t help it. She stared, her mouth hanging open. He stared right back. Grim.

  Just as she finally managed to gather her scattered wits, began to ask him…well, she wasn’t sure what her next question would be, the door to her apartment burst open.

  Summer’s voice filled the air, contorted in a poor imitation of Desi Arnaz. “Lucy, I’m home!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Xander’s instincts went into battle mode, every ounce of his focus on the woman who’d just entered Kyanna’s apartment as if she owned the place. Vivid red hair was tugged up in short pigtails. Bright freckles dusted her alabaster skin. He hadn’t seen clothing like that since hippies had roamed the streets flying peace signs and preaching brotherly love.

  Instinctively, he pushed to his feet. Tense. Alert. Ready to attack. Kyanna sprang up between them. Hands held out, palms facing him. At the same moment, the woman dropped the bags she’d been holding on the end of the sofa and pivoted to stare.

  “Holy sex-on-a-stick!” Summer leered at Xander, making him want to climb right back into the shower, cold water or not.

  “What are you doing, Summer? I told you I’d meet you down stairs. Why didn’t you call?”

  “Had to see what you were hiding away up here, Ky.” Summer stepped farther into the apartment, her gaze never leaving Xander. Not even to blink. “Va-va-voom! Gotta say, if this is what’s been keeping you holed up in here all this time, you have my whole-hearted approval!”

  “Did you bring the clothes?” Kyanna frowned at him warily. She hurried across the room to dig in the shopping bags.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Summer waved an idle hand over her shoulder. Extending her free hand to Xander, she beamed a sunny smile. “I’m Kyanna’s oh-so-envious friend, Summer Thomas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you are?”

  Xander ignored her offered hand. He made it a habit of not interacting with humans any more than strictly necessary. Which was to say, not at all. He had no interest in touching this woman’s hand. Or any other part of her.

  Now if Kyanna were the one offering a body part—

  Kyanna had begun to sort through the packages. But she realized how close Summer was standing to him, and she froze. Xander could all but read her mind. She may as well have posted a neon sign.

  Imminent hostage situation.

  Before Kyanna could come racing to the rescue, Xander folded his arms and scowled at the intruder. “I am Xander.”

  Summer blinked. One hand lifting to cup her throat.

  Kyanna bolted across the room anyway, carting all the bags in her fists. “Here.” She shoved them against his chest. “You can get dressed in my room. Just pick out whatever you like.”

  Kyanna latched on to his wrist and tugged, only to be drawn up short when he refused to budge. She turned a beseeching gaze on him. His lips compressed. Two could play at that game.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Satisfied he’d made his point, he allowed her to lead him away. She all but dragged him across the room and shoved him inside the first open doorway. But before she could slip away, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her into the room and up against him. Well out of sight of the human in Kyanna’s kitchen.

  “I told you, I protect the innocent,” he grated. “I don’t use them as hostages.”

  Her eyes widened, lips parted. “I didn’t—”

  “Yes, you did. It was written all over your face.” Her reaction had offended him. And that he was offended by her reaction baffled him.

  The Slayer didn’t give a flying rat’s rear end what anyone thought of him.

  A long, pregnant moment passed. Slowly, he became aware of several things. The darker, sapphire ring around the paler inner circle of blue in her eyes. The thickness of her eyelashes. The curve of her cheek. The silken texture of her skin beneath his fingertips. The lush attraction of her lips. Lips so very close to his own. And the decadence of her body fitted against his.

  The air around them grew heavy. The warmth of her drew him closer.

  She was the one lure he couldn’t seem to resist.

  Snapping his head back, he released her with a low growl. Kyanna stared up at him for a long moment. Blinking rapidly, she finally stepped away. Without a word, she pivoted and left the room. The door slammed behind her. Heaving a sigh, Xander clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. He studied the room, plastic bags crushed under his arm. The scent of Kyanna was strongest here. It settled in the pit of his stomach, a hot aching pool of need.

  This wasn’t going to work. He needed to get out of here before he did something really stupid. Like throw two hundred years of penance out the window.

  Desperate for something to distract him, he peered around the room. Although the curtains and the comforter matched, they were not overly fussy. Tranquil garden scenes had been matted and framed and hung on the sage colored walls at strategic points. The dressers, heavy dark oak, were clearly antiques and free of clutter. The bed was large, with a massive, intricately carved matching headboard. And, as with the rest of her apartment, everything was neat as a pin.

  Dumping the bags on the bed, he drew a deep breath, closed his eyes as a strange longing filled him. Images battered at him. The long lengths of Kyanna’s spun gold hair spread out upon her pillow as she slept, curled against his flesh. Pale moonlight streaming across her glowing flesh. Her warm limbs entangled with his. Her deep, even breathing—the only sound in the room—soft upon his skin.

  A gentle oasis in the middle of a brutal, bloody war. Contentment as he’d never known. Not even as an angel in Heaven.

  Shaking himself free of those useless, detrimental thoughts, he upended the bags and began picking through the offerings. He needed to convince Kyanna—the human—he needed to convince the human to hand over the relic and then get the hell out of here.

  Head in the game, Slayer.

  Summer propped her fists on her hips. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Kyanna pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and set to work gathering the remnants of breakfast. She carted it all to the kitchen counter.

  “Sure it isn’t.” Summer dropped onto the chair Kyanna had vacated earlier and picked up Kyanna’s coffee cup. She took a sip and grimaced before setting the cup back down. “Tell that to the bags under your eyes, Ky. You look like he kept you up all night long.” Summer’s eyebrows did a limber tango.

  She refused to rise to the bait. Kyanna balanced plates and glasses in her hands, then dumped the works in the sink before returning to the table with a warm, soapy washcloth. “Thank you for bringing the clothing. How much do I owe you?”

  “Big. Huge. You can start with answers.” Propping her elbows on the freshly scrubbed table, Summer turned a rapt gaze on Kyanna as she loaded the dish washer. “Where did you meet tall, dark, and hunkalicious? What does he do for a living? I bet he’s a firefighter. He has to be, ’cause that boy is smokin’ hot.” Again with the eyebrow wiggle.

  “How about I give you a call later?”

  “Uh-uh.” Summer leaned back in her seat. A gamine smile easing on to her lips. “I want deets, girl. Dish!”

  Man, she was tired all of a sudden. “Listen, Summer—”

  “He’s good in bed, right? Tell me he’s good. Don’t crush the fantasy.”

  “Summer.” She dropped the towel she’d been using to dry her hands onto the counter.

  “Oh, man.” Summer snapped her fingers. A fleeting look of disappointment crossed over her features. “I should have bought that vintage ‘Got Beef?’ T-shir
t. I don’t even care where you found him, ’cuz that is one grade A, prime piece of—”

  “Summer!”

  “What a great way to break the old dry spell, Ky. Talk about getting back in the saddle. Ride ’em, cowgirl. And here I’ve been so worried about you closeting yourself away like a nun. I mean, Jack was never one to kiss and tell, and you can tell when a guy isn’t getting any, which obviously he wasn’t. But he wanted it. Bad. Still does, from what I can tell.”

  A loud thump sounded from the bedroom. A muffled curse. Oh, lord, he was probably listening to every word.

  “Summer!” Shooting a horrified glance at the closed bedroom door, Kyanna tugged her friend up from the chair and all but stiff-armed her toward the exit.

  “Oh, I get it,” Summer stage-whispered. She stopped at the couch to snatch up her purse before patting Kyanna on the shoulder. “I’ll lock up on my way out. Have fun! And don’t worry. I took care of everything.”

  With those enigmatic words, and a sassy wink, Summer slipped from the apartment.

  Frowning, Kyanna closed the door behind her. She turned and leaned back, her palms pressed to the door behind her. Sometimes dealing with Summer was exhausting. Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath and straightened. Then she caught sight of Xander, and froze. The bottom of her stomach fell away.

  Xander stood in the doorway of her bedroom. A plain white V-necked T-shirt stretched taut across sculpted muscles, his golden skin glowing against the stark white. Dark jeans fit him in all the right places, as if tailor made for him. His hair had dried. Auburn highlights glinted in the already forming stubble on his jaw. A small, blue cellophane covered box rested on his open palm.

  His questioning gaze lifted to her as she approached him. And, as she crossed the room, she got a good look at the box. Printed across the front in bold white lettering was the word Trojan. She nearly tripped.

  “Oh God!” Kyanna bolted forward and snatched the box of condoms from his hands before thrusting it behind her back. Fire raced from her neck upward, engulfing her face.

  Filterless Summer, score one million and two.

  “Are those—”

  “Just forget them, okay?” Kyanna hurried across the room and blindly shoved them into the first cupboard she came to.

  “I do not believe those belong in the—”

  “Please, just don’t go there!” Spinning around, she caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, right before his bottom lip flattened.

  Solemn, he inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  Flustered, Kyanna surveyed the kitchen. Everything had been put away, cleaned up, wiped down. Satisfied, she turned on the dishwasher and marched toward the stairs. At the doorway, however, she turned to him. He’d remained in the entrance to her bedroom. Unmoving. Wrestling with her choices, she considered him. He could have used Summer as leverage, demanding his release. Could have tortured her friend to force her hand, killed her even. But he hadn’t, insisting once again that he was a protector, not a predator.

  She considered the closed, protected second bedroom. Trust him up here? Alone? Unsupervised? Or take him downstairs with her? Into the shop?

  With customers?

  He hadn’t hurt Summer.

  Actions speak louder than words, Ky.

  She licked her lower lip, and caught it between her teeth as she made up her mind. “It’s nearly time to open the store. Will you come downstairs with me, please?”

  His expression grew frosty and he stiffened. “I will not be locked in the office.”

  “No, I won’t lock you up again.” Folding her hands before her, she waited. And she watched him. As he watched her.

  Xander finally crossed the room, regal and uncompromising. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Feeling as if they’d come to some tentative truce, she led him down the steps.

  He followed her to the front of the store, where she flipped the closed sign over, turned the big florescent overhead lights on, and snicked the deadbolt open. Xander glanced around, taking in her store for the first time. Though his expression was as meticulously inscrutable as always, tiny tells gave away his puzzlement. Microscopic lines etched the creases of his eyes. His lips had compressed, and his right eyebrow dipped so slightly it was barely noticeable. She tried to see the store from his perspective.

  Her business. Every bit of space was taken, filled with knickknacks and doodads. Treasured plate sets. Lovingly polished silver services. Aged pieces of furniture and more. All of it precisely arranged to the most advantageous display. Orderly and neat. At first, watching him wander around the store, studying this, skimming over that, had been nerve wracking. But when he kept his hands safely at his sides, looking but not touching, she relaxed a bit.

  Kyanna seated herself behind the long counter, turned on the adding machine, and pulled out her bookwork. But no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, she couldn’t force her attention far from Xander. Suddenly he reached out for something—she couldn’t tell what—and he picked up the object of his interest. She tensed, ready to caution him, but then thought better of it. Instead, she got up, skirted the counter and quietly approached him. What could compel Xander, the king of emotionally distant demons, to be so curious about something that he had to have a closer look at it?

  Stepping close, she peered at the object cradled so carefully in the palm of his hand.

  “Ah, the Jesus and Mary porcelain figurine. Circa 1900. It’s inspiring, isn’t it?”

  “It’s chipped,” he noted.

  “Yes, but still inspiring.”

  He harrumphed, but set the figurine down with all due respect before moving on. She trailed in his wake, absently noting a bit of dust. A smudge of tarnish. Things she mentally filed away, things that would need to be seen to, even as she made note of the objects that drew his regard. At length he stopped once more, lifting a fragile bone china teacup adorned with pink flowers, holding it up in the light.

  “Why are you scowling?”

  “Why do you choose to sell this old junk?”

  Now she was the one scowling. Sternly but gently, she claimed the teacup from him and returned it to its display. “It isn’t junk.”

  Stiffly, she turned on her heel, intent on ignoring him. But his voice stopped her. “What good is it? All old. All worn. In this day and age, why would someone want this stuff when they could simply buy new? After all, isn’t that the saying? New and improved?”

  Turning back to face him, she regarded him warily. He was so cynical. “New doesn’t always mean improved.”

  By his finely arched brow, he begged to differ. His expression was just shy of a sneer. Suddenly, he turned to peer down at her. As if he’d had one of those ah-ha! moments. As if she were a puzzle and he’d just found a missing piece. “You’re sentimental.”

  “Perhaps.” She picked up another small figurine. This one crystal. A dancing bear. Kyanna traced her thumb fondly over the soft etching, the quaint lines. “Each object here was once someone’s treasure. Someone held this once. Treasured it. Took care of it and passed it on to the next generation.” Suddenly it was important to her that he understand. Vital that he do so.

  Xander was obviously unconvinced. He crossed his arms. His face remained impassive. But his eyes…they were locked on her face as he drank in her words. Absorbed them. Weighed them.

  “Holding this, touching it? It’s like holding a piece of someone’s life, a piece of their memories,” she pressed. “Was this a Christmas gift once? A token of someone’s love? A family heirloom? These were all important to someone once upon a time. They meant something, to someone.”

  Still he remained quiet. Unmoved.

  Frustrated, she set the bear aside. Nudged it back into place with a crooked knuckle. “Each innocent you save, each soul you spare? They are important to someone as well. Cherished. Be
loved. Right?”

  He rolled one shoulder in an unconcerned shrug. “It’s not my problem. I prevent their death at another demon’s hands. They live another day. End of story.”

  “But don’t you see? That’s not the end of the story. Did you just save a father? A sister? A son? Someone’s friend? What will he or she do when they wake up in the morning? Don’t you ever wonder?”

  “No.”

  She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Don’t you ever think about the lives you save? What that person is doing? If they’ve changed somehow, altered their priorities because they got a second chance at life? Did they go out and do something nice for someone else? A kind of pay-it-forward thing?”

  “Their life was saved. What they do with it isn’t my problem.”

  “And yet you save these souls in hopes of what? Forgiveness? The chance to return to Heaven?”

  He nodded.

  “I would say that I don’t understand,” she said quietly, her bleak gaze searching his features. “But maybe it would be more accurate to say that you don’t.”

  With a disappointed shake of her head, Kyanna returned to her accounting books, refusing to glance his way again. How could someone as old, as worldly as Xander be so dense? So closed off? So pessimistic?

  Her mind raced as she stared blindly at balances and figures. Why was Xander so content with feeling nothing for those he saved? Where was his compassion? As with any challenge, Kyanna set to picking the conundrum apart. Pecking away at it until she found the threads of understanding.

  No, her question wasn’t correct. He felt. She was certain of that. She’d caught fleeting glimpses of emotion lurking in the sullen, stormy depths of his gray eyes, though he was ever diligent at masking those emotions. Pretending they didn’t exist.

  Perhaps the better question would be, why he was so bent on keeping such distance between himself and everyone else? What was his motive? Obviously he wanted to return to Heaven, or he wouldn’t have fought his nature, wouldn’t have turned his back on what was surely the easy way. Lucifer’s way. What had he to gain?