by Lizzy Ford
“You’re a good man, Darian. Take care of Sofi,” Dusty ordered. He watched the change, irritated by the bizarre mood swings and cryptic ramblings that defined Darian’s speech lately. “And follow the rules.”
“I will. I’ll make sure she rests and I’ll go with her everywhere so nobody hurts her.”
“Good man,” he said again. “And if you need anything, come to me.”
“I won’t,” Darian said. “I mean, I won’t need anything, and if I do, I’ll come to you. We don’t have much time; we better go shopping for baby clothes.”
Darian watched the confused Grey God leave, never imagining he’d deal daily with this type of drama in addition to managing the battles against the vamps in the western hemisphere. His second-in-command and executive officer, Sasha, was in Europe, along with everybody he’d been able to spare. It left him more hands-on with the western front than he’d been in hundreds of years. Once Damian came back, Dusty was going on his first vacation ever.
He glanced at his watch. He’d messed around with Jenn only a few hours earlier and already felt the need to unwind again. He rose and left Darian’s room for the foyer, where Toni was waiting for him.
“Hey, boss!” Toni greeted him cheerfully. “We interrogated the kid we found in the Camaro the other night. He’s kind of a spaz. I think he’s on drugs.”
“Was he initiated yet?” he asked.
“No, not yet. You want us to keep him or cut him loose?”
“Cut him loose with a GPS tag. We’ll see where he goes. He have any good info?” Dusty asked.
“Good, no. Weird, yes. He seems to think Talon is the Black God.”
“That idiot?”
“Apparently Talon’s telling folks he’s being crowned the next Black God,” Toni said with a grin.
“Crowned? Don’t think that’s how it works. White Gods inherit their title, but Black Gods normally get hacked to pieces by their successors. I’m not old enough to know how,” Dusty said, convinced Talon was psychotic in addition to sadistic. They strode into the sticky heat towards the gym between the house and the garage.
“Me neither. Czerno will eat him alive. Boss, I was gonna ask if you needed an XO while Sasha is out,” Toni ventured.
“You want the job?”
“Definitely.”
“It’s yours,” Dusty said, somewhat relieved to have a little more help. “Move your shit here. I need an hour in the gym then we’ll go over the logistics issues you’re inheriting.”
“Groovy, boss.” Toni saluted him with a smile and jogged to his car.
Dusty strode into the gym and peeled off his shirt. He’d gone a week with an hour of sleep. If Darian lost his focus and disappeared again, he suspected it’d be another week before he had a chance to sleep. If Talon was planning to challenge Czerno to a showdown here in Miami, Dusty would never get another wink of sleep again. His phone rang as he reached for a dumbbell.
“Sir, this is Speck in Ohio, Southeast Sector. We’re seeing something strange out here. Not sure what to make of it. You got someone free to take a look?”
“I’ll be right there,” Dusty said, retrieving his shirt. He hung it up only for it to ring again. “What, Sofi?”
“Someone’s going to ask you a question tomorrow morning. The answer is Mercy Hospital.”
“Is that all you’ll give me?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“I’m headed to Ohio. I’ll be back later.”
“Dusty, you need to get some rest,” she said, concern in her voice. “The world can wait for you to sleep for a few hours.”
“Bad guys don’t stop doing bad things just because I need a nap,” he said. “I’m okay, Sofi, I promise.”
“I worry about you.”
“You’re the only one.”
“You’ll have to get used to it pretty soon,” she said.
“Damn Oracles!”
“Have a good trip.”
“You’ll get yours,” he promised. “Any minute now Darian’s going to beat down your door.”
“Remember: Mercy’s.”
He hung up and tucked the phone away, amused. He closed his eyes and summoned his power to Travel, one of the most useful gifts Damian granted him. When he opened his eyes, he was in Speck’s backyard. Speck was waiting for him, at his feet a creature Dusty couldn’t identify. Grimly, he realized he wouldn’t be catching a nap for some time.
Chapter Four
Bianca awoke in a cocoon. The sheets were so fine and light they seemed to melt against her skin. The bed molded to her body with each movement, encouraging her to stay there even longer. Her hair was damp at the roots but her long curls as bouncy and cheerful as she felt fatigued.
She rolled onto her side, body aching from exertion. The sheets smelled of a man with an ensnaring scent, a mixture of dark musk and soap. She breathed it in again before climbing from the bed.
His room was clean to the point of anal, his color scheme black on white. Even the pictures on the wall were black and white photography in black frames. He had no family pictures, no trinkets or doodads like she had all over her apartment. There was an alarm clock on the nightstand beside the black base of a lamp. It read 6:23AM.
The door to the room was closed. She eyed it nervously, not wanting to venture past the safety of the bedroom. Crossing the threshold into the bathroom, she paused to look at herself in the mirror with a grimace. She wore an oversized shirt and boxer shorts, neither of which was hers.
However, on the counter was a folded pair of jeans, a set of matching bra and underwear, and a sweater. She looked at it, flushing to think someone had taken the time to figure out her sizes.
Even the bathroom was too clean, she noticed. The towels on the towel rack appeared to have their creases ironed into them. Similar to the bedroom, there was nothing on any of the flat surfaces, not even dust. Whoever lived here had nothing personal to show, no pieces of his personality for her to dissect before she faced him.
Unnerved by the idea of being somewhere she clearly didn’t belong, she opened drawers until she found a pair of shears. She changed and took the shears, hiding them against her body as she approached the door.
With a deep breath, she opened the door, uncertain what horror she’d face next. The rest of the spacious apartment was decorated in an identical black and white color scheme as the bedroom. Black furniture, white carpets, black granite countertops in the kitchen, white walls and cabinets.
The apartment overlooked the beautiful blues and greens of the ocean. The sun lingered on the horizon, as if waiting for the closing clouds. Her gaze moved from the incredible view to the condo’s owner, whose desk sat against the wall opposite her beside the windows. He wore headphones and spoke into a microphone, simultaneously responding to half a dozen chat windows open on this computer. He wore nothing but sweatpants, and his exposed upper back drew her attention.
Whoever he was, he was as strong as a lion. His skin was golden, his wide back muscled, lean and defined down to the slender hips and waist. She’d never seen a man as perfectly honed as he was.
She waited until she was certain he was distracted before she crept across the apartment, keeping as close to the wall farthest from him as possible. She reached the door and undid the locks with trembling hands, wondering what kind of person kept five locks on his door. When she’d finished, she twisted the knob and pulled.
Nothing happened. She tugged harder. She rechecked all the locks and tried one more time.
“It’s not gonna open.”
She jumped at his low, even voice, heart racing. She turned to face him, surprised to find the man who’d almost killed her earlier. He leaned against the wall a few feet from her, arms crossed and cold blue eyes on her. He was even more striking than she remembered. His cheekbones were high, his chiseled face matching the chiseled body. From his shoulders to his chest to his flat midsection, every part of him looked as if he’d been carefully carved from stone.
“Of all th
e weapons under the bed, you chose that one?” he asked, looking at the scissors.
“I didn’t see any others,” she murmured.
“A woman always has weapons in the bedroom.”
She flushed, sensing he wasn’t talking about knives and guns. He studied her for a long minute. Uncomfortable, she cleared her throat.
“Are you going to …” She drifted off and displayed her scarred forearms.
He stepped forward, taking the scissors from her in one hand and one of her wrists in the other. His fingers were long and slim, his palms round. Even his hands were muscular, and she couldn’t help comparing his light touch to Talon’s brutal grip. Her gaze went to his chest and thick arms. His movements were controlled, his strength restrained. She felt his body heat from the short distance between them and recognized his scent from the sheets.
“Talon?” he asked.
She nodded. He traced the long scar marking Talon’s attempt to slice her arm in two from elbow to wrist. She winced and pulled away, remembering the pain too well. He didn’t move away, and she looked up at last.
His direct gaze was intense as he took in her features. His gaze went lower, and she flushed again as he looked her over. It wasn’t the same type of scrutiny as Talon’s feral, maniacal look. This man’s look was considering, as if he were trying to memorize her features in case he needed the information in the future.
“Sit your ass down,” he said and nodded his head behind him towards the living room.
“I have to go,” she said quickly. “I have to find my brother. He’s in trouble.”
“Now.”
She found herself hurrying around him to the couch at his low growl and suspected he wasn’t someone who ever repeated anything. Panic stirred as she recalled what his men had done at Talon’s stash house. She braced herself for him to turn into Talon and hurt her.
“You’re fatigued,” he said.
She followed him with her eyes as he retreated towards the kitchen. Her gaze returned to the door and lingered. She must not have twisted one of the locks, even though she’d checked them all twice. When she looked to the stranger, she found his warning look on her.
“Rule one: no running. Think of yourself in the predators’ wing of the zoo. You run, they kill you. You stay put, they just might ignore you. Got it?”
The comparison made her breath catch. She knew him to be merciless, and his words only reminded her how dangerous he was. From his cold features to his controlled, efficient movement, to the low, commanding tone, there was no doubt he belonged in the predators’ wing of the zoo.
“I have to find my brother,” she said in a small voice. “Did you find him in the stash house?”
“No,” he said and then muttered something that sounded like damn Oracle before raising his voice to address her again. “But I know where he is.”
Her heart leapt, and she stood, halfway to him before his sharp look reminded her he wasn’t someone she wanted to approach. She retreated to the couch and sat on its arm.
“Is he okay?” she asked at his silence.
“We’ll see.”
He returned from the kitchen with tray holding a glass of orange juice, a plate with what looked like homemade granola bars, and a small bowl of sliced apples. He set it down on the coffee table and returned to the computer.
Surprised, she watched him. He said nothing as he responded to the messages on his screen. She ate quickly, looking from his perfect body to her scarred forearms. In a few days, even the scars would heal.
She wondered what was wrong with Jonny, if she’d get to him in time to heal him from whatever drugs Talon gave him. She fidgeted then rose, too antsy to sit still when her emotions were in turmoil. She looked at the pictures on his walls, not surprised to find them bland. Images of landmark buildings, of the seven greatest wonders of the ancient world, and city scenes from around the world. Coldly impersonal, like the rest of the apartment.
“There’s no life in here.”
She felt his cold gaze and didn’t face him, cringing instead. He hadn’t hurt her like Talon, but she had the feeling she wasn’t at all welcome. Even in the kitchen, the fruits and vegetables that gave a splash of color to her kitchen were hidden away. She opened one cabinet, not surprised to see white bone china. And no dust, even in the cabinet. She’d go crazy in such a place!
Pushing the cabinet closed, she jumped to find the stranger so close. He’d changed into a sweater and dark jeans and gazed down at her, disapproval in his hard features.
“Don’t touch my shit,” he said firmly. He was too close again. His hand grazed her as he reached around her for a set of keys she hadn’t noticed on the counter. Another warm buzz traveled through her, scattering her thoughts at his nearness and scent. “C’mon.”
She sprang forward, anxious to see her brother. He stopped at the door and faced her.
“Rule number one,” he reminded her.
She nodded, willing to agree to anything if it meant she could see Jonny. He led her through the apartment building to an underground garage and to a sleek, black sports car with black interior.
He said nothing as they exited and drove north, towards the highway. She took in the clean car and shook her head, wondering how many hours a week he spent cleaning everything he owned to keep it all so spotless.
“Can I ask you something?” she ventured, gazing at his handsome profile.
“Depends on what it is.”
“How about your name?”
“Dusty.”
She stared at him. “You don’t think it’s ironic?” she asked. “You don’t have a spot of dust anywhere in your house or car and your name’s Dusty.” He said nothing, void of emotion. She cursed herself quietly for saying stupid things.
“Name,” Dusty said.
“Bianca Rodriguez.”
“Brother’s name.”
“Jonathan, Jonny for short.”
“Address.”
“I’m staying with Jonny here in Miami at Dad’s … Jonny’s apartment. Our dad died last year, and I moved-- ”
“Age.”
“I’m twenty-five, he just turned twenty.”
“Marital status.”
“I was engaged for a while, but that … well, single, both of us,” she said with a frown.
“Birthdays.”
“Eighteen November for me and five March for him.”
“How’d your dad die?” he asked.
“Heart attack.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an aspiring chef. I’ve been studying culinary arts for a few years and recently decided to branch out on my own.”
“You’re unemployed.”
“I guess,” she murmured. She was worried and tired already, and his latest jab didn’t buoy her spirits at all. He seemed done with his interrogation of her, and she looked at him. “Do you like living in Miami?”
“I don’t give a shit where I live.”
“You have a nice view from your apartment.”
No response.
“Am I your prisoner or are you some sort of really weird Good Samaritan that’s gonna let me go when we get to where we’re going?” she asked with a sigh. “I’m kinda not digging this whole put-me-in-the-bathtub-and-suck-my-blood gig.”
He glanced at her.
“So, if you could tell me either way,” she continued. “I don’t think you want me imprisoned in your apartment. I’d use the wrong towel or leave a dish out, and then you’d be threatening to kill me again. It just won’t work. It’s better if you let me go.”
“You’re a prisoner.”
“For how long?” she asked, frowning.
“Not your concern.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Right now, I’m thinking of gagging you,” he snapped.
She swallowed her other questions and twisted her hands in her lap, distraught.
Dusty almost felt bad for snapping at her, but she was drivin
g him crazy. He glanced at her again. She was staring out the window. His gaze lingered, and he took in the beautiful doe brown eyes, deep set and large, framed by long eyelashes. Her skin was caramel, her long brown hair falling in fat ringlets around her elfin features. She was built the way a woman should be: shapely, with large breasts, plump lips, tiny waist, and rounded hips and ass. She was toned and curvy, her skin as soft as her voice.
He hadn’t thought twice about Toni’s message that he’d delivered the package from the stash house to his condo until he walked in and discovered the vamp he expected was a woman. She didn’t have Jenn’s drop dead, gorgeous beauty or Sofi’s classic, cool beauty. Bianca was the epitome of adorable, her dark eyes sparkling and warm, and her sweet glow innocent and fresh. She didn’t realize her natural effect on men, what with the sultry sway of her hips and ass and her large, dark eyes.
He hadn’t paid much attention to any woman in many, many years, but couldn’t help thinking her one of the most attractive he’d ever met. If shit was about to hit the fan like he suspected, he’d rather not spend his last days alone. Then again, if his shithead friends in Europe answered their phones, he wouldn’t.
Sofi wanted her watched for some reason. After the trip to the hospital, he’d drop her off for the Oracle to deal with and go back to work, where maybe he could shake his sense of doom by killing some vamps.
“Oh, my god!” Bianca exclaimed.
He glanced out the window and realized he’d pulled in the entrance for the emergency room and morgue. Bianca gazed at him, pale and stricken. Her hands trembled.
“He’s not dead,” he assured her.
Her gaze remained on him, disbelieving. He resisted the urge to reach out to her as he did Sofi when the Oracle cried after a particularly brutal session with Darian’s bad memories. He wondered if Bianca’s thick curls were as soft as Sofi or Jenn’s hair. His phone rang, and he snatched it from the dashboard. He grated his teeth to see Darian’s number on the screen. He answered.