by Aliya DalRae
Harrier stepped into the cabin and shut the door behind him. His eyes sparked and she took a side step to the far end of the sofa. That move made his smile bigger, brighter. More beautiful. And when he spoke again, she nearly slid off the back of the couch.
“Hello, Kitty,” he drawled. “You owe me dinner.”
Chapter Eleven
A fter the meeting with Mason, Merlin returned to the tech lab to finish his research. His fingers danced along the keys, setting up search parameters on five of the fifteen monitors gracing the wall above his command center.
With the last search running, he leaned back in his ultra-plush high-back executive swivel-tilt chair and laced his hands behind his head. Gods, he was exhausted. It was barely three a.m., but then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the day. An hour here, an hour there. The nightmares were killing him. Perhaps if he closed his eyes for a moment…
Merlin jerked awake, his boots hitting the floor as he sat up straight and scrubbed at his face. Something had…there it was again. Judas priest, it was just someone at the door.
“Come in,” he said, relying on the knocker having Vampire hearing. He didn’t have the energy to raise his voice.
When the Soldier entered, Merlin sighed and tucked his hair behind his ears. He didn’t have the energy for this either.
“What is it, Soldier?”
“Sir, I wanted to let you know I’ve gathered the troops and we’re heading out. Wanted to check and see if you had any leads or instructions on where we should start.”
The kid was new to the Legion. Hell, he was new to life. Couldn’t be more than thirty if he were a day, and yet Merlin felt drawn to him. He was a bundle of enthusiastic energy, eager to do whatever he could to please the Warlord. The blond hair and fresh face were probably a detriment, and Merlin was certain Martin had to work twice as hard as the other Soldiers to prove to them he was more than an aristocrat. To prove he was as tough as the rest of them, even though he’d never wanted for anything in all his short life. Why he ever joined the Legion was beyond Merlin.
“Sir?” Martin interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s Merlin.”
“Sir?”
Maybe the kid was a moron. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ It’s just Merlin.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
“And don’t be sorry. Christ.” Had he said that last part out loud?
“Sir…”
Merlin growled, couldn’t help it.
“I mean Merlin.” Martin was standing at attention for chrissakes, shoulders squared, hands fisted behind his back. When had the Soldiers started looking at Merlin as that Warrior, someone that required this level of formality? They didn’t treat Tas like this, or even Viper.
“What is it, Soldier?” Soldier? Really? Maybe that was the problem. Then again, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the kid’s name.
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, yes! Speak!”
“Have I done something to offend you? Merlin? I mean, I’ve seen how you look at me, and I know what you and the others are thinking. But I work my ass off and I assure you I can do the job.”
Merlin stared at the boy, not sure what to say. Certainly, not what he was really thinking. To him, Martin represented so much more than a spoiled highbreed. When he looked at him, it wasn’t the blond young Soldier he saw. It was a different young male, a Warrior with a good heart and a bright future. And he saw the tantou—the blood on its blade—and that’s when the nightmares crawled from his subconscious to assault his waking hours. Just as well the kid misinterpreted the looks he threw at him. Nothing good could come of Merlin’s true thoughts.
Still, he couldn’t stand the rigidity, the rules, the godsdamned sirs and formal stances.
“Relax,” he said, more to himself, but Martin took it as an order and lowered his hands to his sides. “I apologize if I’ve given you the wrong impression,” Merlin said. “I don’t…I see your dedication, and I know Mason has noticed as well. Why do you think you keep getting these plush assignments?”
The boy’s grin was crooked, and for the first time he looked like something other than a Soldier. “Punishment?”
Merlin shook his head, his own smile an impulsive reaction to the Soldier’s attempt at humor. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Martin shrugged and relaxed a bit more, his grey-green eyes losing some of the anxiety they’d previously held. If anything, it made him seem younger, more vulnerable, and Merlin had to look away.
“I’m still running the scans,” he said, returning to the Soldier’s reason for being there. “Go ahead and hit the streets. Do your normal patrols. As soon as I get something, I’ll tag you and let you know.”
“Sure thing.” The boy hesitated, then said, “Hey, Merlin? Can I ask you a personal question?”
If it would make him go away. “Sure.”
“When’s the last time you were out there? On the streets, or anywhere that didn’t have you chained to a computer?”
Merlin swung his chair around and looked up at the Soldier. The kid had dropped the militaristic attitude and was looking at Merlin with genuine interest. Only thing was, Merlin couldn’t remember.
When he didn’t answer, Martin said, “That long, huh? You really should get out more often.” The Soldier winked at him, performed a perfect about face and marched out the door, giving the frame a double tap on his way through.
Chapter Twelve
H arrier plopped down on the lumpy sofa, gave his legs a healthy stretch and planted his shitkickers on the rickety coffee table in front of him. That guy, Gabe, had given him the four-one-one and then gone off to do whatever it was he planned to do for the rest of the night. Probably get some sleep, as Harrier assumed the cat had been up for the better part of twenty-four.
The look on Kitty’s face when Harrier first spoke had made this charade of an assignment almost worthwhile. Before yesterday, it had been months since he’d seen her. Small town and all that, but apparently they didn’t run in the same circles. They hadn’t so much as bumped into each other since February.
Now here they were, thrown together twice in less than twelve hours. Kitty’s shock had worn off soon enough, leaving her in her current state of pacing and muttering. He couldn’t make out all of it, but he was certain she said “stupid Vampire” more than a few times.
Harrier folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. After his extreme workout and the hour he’d spent stretching his wings, he was borderline exhausted. He’d planned to head down to the Club locker room and spend some time in the hot tub after his flight. Instead he was babysitting a cat who, by appearances, was even less thrilled about the prospect than he was. Not to mention this was the same cat who had sent him down that dark path to begin with, but he was trying real hard not to think about that.
He cracked an eye to check on her progress and jumped, his legs flying to the floor as he jerked upright. Kitty leaned over him, hands on her skinny hips, her eyes boring holes into him where he sat.
“What the hell kind of bodyguard are you, anyway? You’re supposed to be keeping out the bad guys. How’re you gonna do that when you’re asleep?”
Harrier blinked. “I only closed my eyes for a bit, wee Kitty. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
Kitty’s glare turned volcanic. “Don’t you worry about what my panties are doing. Don’t ever mention my panties again. In fact, don’t even think about my panties. My panties are none of your damn business!”
Harrier wanted to laugh, but she looked so serious. Of course, now all he could think about were her panties. Did she wear silk and lace or was she more of a cotton kind of girl? What if she wore a thong, or—he swallowed hard—no panties at all?
When he didn’t respond, her eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking about my panties, aren’t you?”
Harrier scratched at the scruff on his jaw and chuckled. “You’ve made it bloody difficult to thin
k of anything else.”
“Well stop it.” She stomped off to the other end of the cabin and leaned up against the little stove. She made a show of folding her arms across her chest and he could practically see the virtual steam puffing out of her ears.
Harrier stood and stretched again, then joined her in the kitchenette. “I see you’re ready to make my dinner, then.”
Kitty glared at him a moment longer, and like that her whole attitude changed. She uncrossed her arms, and leaned her hands on the stove behind her, pushing her small breasts out in the process. She wore a thin t-shirt, and there wasn’t much underneath it to speak of, but really, she gave it a good go. Then she turned around with a sexy ass-wag and reached into one of the cupboards.
“Fine,” she purred. “You’re hungry? Well, I’ll have something hot whipped up for you in no time.”
Harrier knew exactly what she was doing, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t having the desired effect. He’d be damned if he let her know it, though. “I’ll eat practically anything,” he said. “I’ll be on the sofa. You can bring it to me when it’s done.”
There was dead silence from the kitchenette as he turned his back to her and reassumed his previous position on the couch. The quiet lasted all of about sixty seconds. That’s when the pot-banging and not-so-subtle swearing began.
Harrier stifled a chuckle at the sounds of her trying to work an electric can opener, then frowned. What the hell was that smell? Hoping it was nothing too nefarious, he relaxed again, taking entirely too much pleasure in the music of Kitty’s culinary exploits.
Twenty minutes later she stood before him, a large bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. Anyone else would have called her expression sweet, but Harrier knew better.
He sat up and took what she offered, that not-so-innocent smile of hers widening as he got a look at the bowl’s contents. What appeared to be tuna and macaroni noodles swam in a thin liquid that looked like a mixture of vegetable oil and powdered cheese. Soggy bread crumbs floated near the top, some of them mysteriously burned while others soaked up the juice and expanded before his eyes, like tiny glutinous sponges.
Harrier looked up at her, rethinking his previous assertions. He also seriously regretted giving his Polar King meal to the twins. Still, he’d eaten worse when he lived on the streets, and it wasn’t like there was anything in there he couldn’t identify. Probably.
He sniffed the bowl and with a loud, “Mmm-mmm-mmm,” dug right in. If he didn’t look at it, it wasn’t too bad. A little runny for his tastes, but whatever. He watched Kitty watching him as he took another bite, then he screwed his eyes back in his head and let roll with an ecstatic moan.
Kitty’s triumphant smile turned upside down. “You’d better eat every last bite,” she growled, then stomped back to the kitchenette. “And you’re doing the washing up,” she snarled.
Harrier didn’t say a word, just kept shoveling that mess in until it was gone. Then he carried his dishes to the sink and hip-checked Kitty out of the way so he could rinse them off.
She stared at the empty bowl, doing that gaping fish impersonation she was so good at. A moment later, she clamped her mouth shut, narrowed her eyes at him and retreated to the living area, where she stomped around lifting sofa cushions and checking under the furniture.
Meanwhile, Harrier filled the sink with soapy water and went about cleaning the pots and pans as he whistled a cheerful tune.
Chapter Thirteen
N ox sat in the tech lab with Merlin, doing his best to recall anything and everything about the feral, Maxx.
Newly escaped from his centuries-long imprisonment by the Primeval, Nox had arrived in New York City without a clue how to survive in the real world. That he’d managed to get as far as he had, all the way to the New World, was a miracle in and of itself. Once there, however, he had no idea what to do.
Maxx had found him huddled beneath a dock, an hour away from succumbing to the morning sun. The feral’s orange eyes had startled Nox, but the male was kind to him, gave him shelter and food. Had even found a blood source for him.
When Maxx offered him a place in the brood, Nox had eagerly accepted. They numbered near thirty at that time, though like him, many still maintained their original eye color. The orange eyes came from drinking dead blood, from continuing to feed after the blood source’s heart had gone still. Not everyone was so eager to kill. Until the Sorcerer, Helmut Fuhrmann, had conscribed him, Nox had never taken a life.
Those thoughts, however, were no help in the current situation.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Merlin asked.
Nox had to think. “It was well before I came to Fallen Cross. Maxx had become bored with New York, said the blood was gamey, whatever that meant, and he was itching to move on. We made our way west, eventually ending up in Chicago. It was during prohibition, I believe. Maxx loved it. He loved the gangster lifestyle, set himself up as a mob boss. We never wanted for blood there, but it wasn’t always fresh. I managed to abstain, but some of the younger brood weren’t as strong. I watched as good Vampires, males I had come to respect, turned into something wild and uncontrollable. Maxx thought it was hilarious. In fact, he would hold contests, sometimes forcing those who were holding out to kill or be killed. That was about the time we parted ways.”
“So how did you end up here?”
Merlin’s question had nothing to do with the current investigation, but Nox didn’t see any reason not to answer.
“I took some of the weaker brood, the ones Maxx was preying upon, and moved them south. We ended up in Valparaiso, Indiana. It was large enough for us to hide, small enough that we could avoid any major trouble. While it was too late for many of my brethren to regain a normal life, I maintained my eyes, and my soul. I became their leader, not because it was a position I wanted, but because among them, I was the sanest. Helmut Fuhrmann found us there, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Merlin nodded, but didn’t say anything for a while. When he spoke, Nox flinched and withdrew from his memories.
“Did Maxx have any favorite haunts, places he frequented?”
Nox sighed. “Of course, but that was a century ago and hundreds of miles from here.”
“You never know what bit of information might be useful.”
Merlin was only doing his job, but Nox didn’t see how anything he had to offer could be helpful. Maxx was a blast from the past, a figment of a former life. The fact that he had turned up in Fallen Cross of all places couldn’t be good. Why the tiny burg was on his radar at all was a puzzle. There was no way the current Fuhrmann could have known about the feral’s connection to Nox, let alone where to find him. Unless…
“Do you think some of my ferals might have tracked him down? Maxx, I mean?” Nox’s small brood had scattered the night the elder Fuhrmann died—the night Nox had killed him. Not one of them had turned up in Fallen Cross, Miamisburg, or anywhere in Dayton. They were in the wind. “When we separated, they would have gone looking for someone, anyone, to take my place.”
Merlin nodded for Nox to continue.
“They would have struggled on their own. Tank might have tried to keep them together, but I doubt he could have managed it for long. If they returned to Chicago, chances are they tracked Maxx down. Better the devil you know, right?”
“Do you have any contact information for your former brood?”
Nox thought. “Maybe, although with the Legion after me, I doubt any of them hung onto the phones they were using. Except…”
“Except?”
Nox pulled out his cell and scrolled through the contacts list. There had been one among them who may have held out hope. One whose irises, even as late as last year, had still held a hint of brown.
Nox found the name he was looking for and tapped the screen. He held his breath as the phone rang, and Merlin leaned in to listen.
When a familiar voice said, “Hello,” Nox exhaled.
“Mouse,” he said. “I
t’s me.”
Chapter Fourteen
K ythryn frowned. That stupid Vampire was actually doing the dishes. There weren’t many, not for lack of effort on her part, but he hadn’t even argued. He strolled right up there, easy as you please, stuck his hands in all that foamy water, and cleaned up her mess. She’d made it a point to dirty every pot, every piece of silverware, she could find, and all he did was stand there and whistle.
A lock of ginger hair fell across his eyes and he lifted a soap-covered wrist to brush it out of the way. Then he went right back to his scrubbing.
Kythryn turned away, not sure why that simple act made her stomach flutter. More to the point, she couldn’t believe he’d eaten that slop she’d served him; would have sworn he had dumped it when she had her back turned. But, nope. He hadn’t dropped a crumb. Kythryn didn’t cook much, but she did know her way around a can of tuna and a box of Kraft’s finest. Making it gross had taken a lot of work. Waste of time, obviously, as he’d seemed to enjoy it.
He was probably screwing with her, like she was with him. Keep reminding yourself of that, she thought, because the idea of him liking the “dinner” she’d prepared for him shouldn’t be giving her the warm fuzzies the way it was. It just shouldn’t.
Harrier turned to her and held a pan up with an unspoken, “Where’s it go?”
Kythryn threw her hands in the air with an equally silent, “Fuck if I know.” That only made him turn up that odd half smile, the one that looked so out of place on his rugged mug. It was obvious he didn’t use that expression much, which made her wonder why he did it so often around her.
Once he found homes for everything he’d washed, and wiped down the counter and stove, he dried his hands on the dish towel and hung it on a drawer knob. He then stood in the kitchenette looking around, those yellow eyes of his drinking in everything the tiny cabin had to offer.