My target, vulnerable only a moment before, vanished just as effectively as I had. I spun around to guard my own back when a large, strong hand seized me by the throat.
“Who sent you?” Xander Peck asked, a little too calm for someone who’d almost lost his head.
I should have been more shaken, but his voice distracted me, draped over me like a red velvet blanket. I wanted to wrap myself up naked in that voice. The next thing—and it should have been the first thing—I noticed was the way his form quavered in the artificial light. He was almost . . . transparent.
I hadn’t encountered anyone like me in close to a century. In fact, I’d been sure I was the only one left. But there he stood: tall, blond, and angry, and a natural-born Shaede.
“Who sent you?” he asked again, his grip tightening on my throat.
“I’m hired,” I rasped in a flat, icy tone.
“Then who hired you?”
He almost sounded amused, but he wasn’t going to be when he got his answer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I never meet the clients.”
“Well, then, you’re not much use, are you? Maybe I should kill you.”
“You could try.” I didn’t have to pretend to sound defiant or confident. Even a born Shaede would need a special blade to kill me.
He laughed, and the sound of it caused a spasm of pleasure to ripple from the top of my head right down to my toes. His grip on my throat disappeared with his body, and in a waft of dark air, he reappeared on a small sofa, very much at home.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Darian,” I said, throwing it out there like I had nothing to lose.
“Darian,” he repeated. “So, Darian . . . who do you think would want me dead?”
“How the hell should I know?” I asked, maybe a little more indignant than I ought to have been considering the circumstances. “I guess you must’ve really pissed someone off.”
“You think?” I couldn’t blame him for mocking me. Hell, I was there to kill him. “Now, why would anyone send you to kill someone that you couldn’t kill?”
I hadn’t thought about that. Didn’t care. Thinking wasn’t part of my job. The client had to have recognized something inhuman about Xander Peck. Born Shaedes did have the ability to dazzle, glamour—whatever—a lot better than I could. They could convince humans that they’re made of something more solid. Still, the “otherness” that exists in us has a tendency to set a person on edge.
“My guess,” he said, resting an arm over the back of the couch, “is that you were set up.”
That thought knocked the breath right out of me. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins. My heart hammered against my rib cage. Who would set me up? And why? Who, besides Tyler, knew—truly knew—about me? And, more importantly, who knew I wasn’t the only one of my kind? I choked up on the dagger, the guard digging uncomfortably into my hand for a brief moment before I slid it into the sheath at my thigh. I’d been alone. The only one. Only. One. God, it didn’t sound convincing even as I thought the words. Had Azriel known? He couldn’t have. He never would have kept it from me. Or would he? His words, spoken long ago, haunted me. We are alone in this world, and you have nothing to fear. My head swam, feeling as though all the blood had rushed from my brain to my pounding heart. Not alone. I am not alone. The situation demanded a little more thought and a lot more caution. If anything, I needed answers from someone, and there happened to be only one someone on my list.
For the first time in my long existence, I left a job unfinished.
I sought the shroud of my shadow self for a stealthy escape and fled the town house. But when I gazed up at the window, Xander Peck stood at its center. He bowed his head deeply and vanished.
Chapter 3
“Meet me at The Pit in thirty minutes,” I growled into my cell, “and if you’re even fifteen seconds late, I’m going to slice you open like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Tyler was five minutes early.
The Pit isn’t a prize to behold, but it’s my favorite haunt. The stale smell of beer never went away and mingled with hundreds of different perfume and cologne samples into an olfactory nightmare. But the dim lighting and the warm air made me feel safe, no matter how bad it smelled or how many times I had to send an overeager guy on his way.
Lucky for me, I like the heat. And the club happened to be seven different kinds of hot that night. But I couldn’t take the duster off; it hid my saber and covered the dagger. I’m sure I looked like a Goth kid’s wet dream, sitting in my black sex-kitten outfit, sipping a rum and Coke, exuding little to no emotion on the outside while my insides writhed like angry vipers.
Despite the fact that I’d all but shut him down the night before, Tyler gave me one of his lusty once-overs, and if I hadn’t been so jacked up I would have smiled or even welcomed the attention. Ty was easygoing and had a tendency to bounce back even when things didn’t exactly go his way. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to give up on me quite yet. But my encounter with Xander Peck had been more than a message, and more like a slap in the face—just what I needed to keep my mind focused on the business at hand. And I wanted answers.
“Who’s the client?” I shouted over the thumping club music that tuned out the private conversations I couldn’t help but overhear.
“How should I know?” he shouted back, giving me his most charming smile.
I reached across the table and grabbed him by the collar, drawing him as close to my face as I could without biting his nose right off. “I’m not playing fuck-around, Ty. Who is it?”
His eyes narrowed, fixing me with a shrewd and calculating stare. But then his eyes softened as he studied my face with an expression of . . . could it be . . . concern? My stomach churned as I fought a wave of emotion, and I hate to admit that I dropped my gaze first. Ty glanced down at his shirt and slowly back to my face. I released my hold and he sank back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his thick coppery hair and continued to study me as if trying to crawl right into my thoughts. Maybe he was wondering if I was still thinking about what had happened between us last night. Right now, though, I didn’t have the luxury of mulling over my love life. And, really, at this point, neither did he.
My nerves hummed, wound as tight as a trampoline spring. Though I’ll admit to being arrogant at times, I realized now I wasn’t the only unnatural thing on the planet. Of course others like me existed! I wanted to bang my head against the table. How could I have been so blind? I probably couldn’t even pick one out of a crowd, though once or twice I’d sensed a different kind of energy surrounding someone who, for all intents and purposes, looked human. I’d let Azriel’s words lull me into a false sense of security. I minded my own business and they minded theirs.
But now I truly worried that someone hadn’t read that same memo. Someone who knew me as a Shaede had chosen to put me in a very precarious position.
“I never met the guy,” Tyler said after a passing silence. “I talked to him on the phone and we arranged drops for the money. He called me, but his number was blocked.”
“Did he ask for me specifically?” Tyler had a tendency to hire freelance professionals, even though we both knew I was the best.
“Yeah. Said he’d heard about you. Said you were the only one for the job.”
I’d been set up. At least now I knew why the client didn’t want to pay up front.
But that also prompted another interesting question. How had the client known what I was? If he knew about Shaedes, he would know we aren’t so easy to kill. Food for thought.
“I want you to set up a face-to-face with this guy.” I didn’t care that it wasn’t the norm. I wanted to look the bastard in the eye, let him see that I wasn’t a helpless target.
“Are you crazy?” Tyler’s voice rose above the din of the music. “That’s a huge liability!”
“Can you arrange the meeting or not?”
The muscles in his jaw flexed. “This isn’t a good idea.” His voice strai
ned as he fought for control of his temper. “I’m the middleman for a reason, Darian. Your anonymity protects you. If you meet with a client, it puts you in danger.”
“I’m not worried about that.” I could handle myself and Ty knew that. “Please. I want up close and personal with this client. See the whites of his eyes.”
Tyler’s jaw flexed and his brows came together, crinkling his forehead. Again, I got the feeling he wanted to get cozy with my private thoughts. “You think this is necessary?”
I nodded once.
“Fine,” he said, as if the word left a nasty taste in his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I stood up and stretched my too-tight muscles. Extending my thumb and pinkie to my ear and mouth, my lips moved in a silent call me. I left Tyler staring after me as I wound my way through the gyrating dancers to the exit.
“Goin’ home, Darian?”
The bouncer’s nickname was Tiny, and he was as big around as a California redwood. I thought Killer or Skull Crusher might have been a more appropriate term for him, but, oh, well, it wasn’t my job to give him a name.
“You know it,” I answered as he put his body between me and the line of enthusiastic patrons salivating at a chance to get into the packed club. I shook my still-damp hair forward to hide my luminous eyes and sauntered down the street, fading into shadow as soon as I knew curious stares no longer followed me.
I stepped out of the lift into the vast, open square of my apartment. The only room closed off from the studio was the bathroom. The bed sat in one corner, the living room in another, and the kitchen and bathroom at the opposite side. High, vaulted ceilings gave me a good twenty feet of space, and windows showed a cityscape dotted with skylights. The frequent Seattle rains played a symphony on those skylights, and I usually lay stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling until nature’s music put me to sleep.
I discarded the wet duster, flinging it across the flat-screen TV to dry, and returned the saber to its resting place on the wall above my fireplace. I set the dagger on the mantle, wondering at Tyler’s show of protectiveness. I liked to think he cared enough about me to be concerned, though now was not the time for him to get all personal bodyguard on me. One of the things I liked about Ty was the fact that he didn’t coddle me or treat me like I was made of glass. He thought of me as an equal, and I thought of him the same way. But my inner damsel did swoon—a little. Dislodging one boot and then the other, I kicked, sending each to a different corner of the studio. After peeling off my wet pants and sweater, I stayed in the living room, allowing the balmy heat floating down from the vents to air-dry my body, clad in nothing but a black bra and matching lace underwear.
“Now, that’s a sight to behold,” said a red-velvet voice from behind me.
I cursed under my breath. Xander had been following me. Anger pulsed hot and welcome in my veins. I shouldn’t have let my guard down—especially now that I knew someone like him existed.
Instead of turning to face him, I strolled to my bathroom to retrieve a fluffy white fleece robe that I draped over my body and cinched tight at my waist. Then, with murder written on my face like tomorrow’s lunch special, I turned around. He sat relaxed in my overstuffed chair, looking very much at home.
Even from across the apartment, his eyes held me captive. Melted caramel flecked with gold, possessing the bright glow that I knew mine had, though his were more brilliant. The smell of him permeated the air, filling my studio with a sweetness that would put a field of wildflowers to shame. His lips curled up at the corners, hinting at an arrogant smile.
“You look even better in that robe,” he said.
The sound of his voice sent a spasm of chills over my skin. I tried to shake the sensation and moved to the kitchen to pour myself a tall glass of juice. It’s not like I could throw him out, but I wasn’t going to be hospitable either.
His voice cut through the silence. “Who is your maker, Shaede?”
I bristled. After all, I’d told him my name—he should’ve at least tried to use it. “His name”—I paused to sip my juice—“was Azriel, and he is dead.”
He rolled that comment over in his mind for a moment. “I’ve heard the name,” he said. “How did he die?”
“I don’t know,” I said indignantly. “I know only that he’s dead.”
I didn’t leave the kitchen. For some reason, I didn’t want to be too close to him. You don’t often drop in on the assassin who’s been hired to kill you, and I didn’t think he’d stopped by for a cup of tea.
“From whom did you acquire your skills?” he asked.
“From myself,” I snapped.
A deep, rumbling laughter erupted from his chest, and another round of thrilling chills trickled across my skin. Shaedes are alluring by nature. Azriel’s eyes, voice, and laughter often had the same effect on me. I wondered, though: Could it be something more?
“I’ve come with a message,” he said.
“Oh yeah? What’s tha—?”
Before I could finish, he appeared in front of me in a wisp of darkness. His form became solid and his face demanded my attention.
“You are summoned to the king’s guard,” he said.
“Whose king?” I asked. Certainly not mine. I was my own woman, and I had no country or master to swear allegiance to.
He brought his hand up to my cheek. I could feel the heat before he touched me, but when he did, I felt as if he’d laid my skin against one of those electric heating pads that humans use to ease their aches and pains. Wonderful.
He brushed his thumb across my cheek before dropping his hand to his side. I couldn’t break his hold on me, and my eyes didn’t leave his. I swallowed. Hard.
“Your king,” he whispered, and vanished.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Well, this has been a shit-tastic day, I thought, leaning against the kitchen counter to steady my quaking body.
I had been alone for so long—the only one for years. I’d developed a comfort zone and lived my life within its boundaries. Well, that was shot to shit now. I turned toward the picture window, staring out across the dark city peppered with random white lights.
The rain had started up again and pounded on the skylights like it wanted in. I watched the water bounce and land, running in rivers down the pitched glass. Making my way to the bathroom, still watching the rain on the skylights, I shucked my robe and started the shower. I never used the cold water; I like my showers hot, and the temperature didn’t damage my preternatural skin. Within moments, the room filled with glorious steam, and I joined its company for a single second as I glided under the water. I could have taken the extra couple of steps, but why exert the energy?
The steam was welcome as I inhaled and held it in my lungs. I gave off a perfumed aroma like any Shaede, but mine smelled like summer blossoms in the late-afternoon sun. Sitting on the tiled shower floor, I let the scalding water pour over my skin until it ran cold. I passed through the steam again—lazy, I know—and ended up next to my robe. After running a comb through my hair, I collapsed into bed and drifted off to sleep, wrapped like a mummy in fluffy white fleece.
Xander’s visit prompted me to dream about Azriel that night. His perfect image floated nearby, just as I remembered him. With olive skin and black hair, he looked like someone of Middle Eastern or Indian descent, though he’d been cut from an entirely different cloth. His eyes were nearly black—cold and devoid of emotion. But when he smiled, a spark lit in them and they danced to life with a mischievous gleam that rendered me helpless. He was neither kind nor cruel; he simply was.
He made me, left me, and taught me nothing.
My eyes were thick with sleep but I pried them open, fighting against the dream. My heavy breathing filled the air, though I lay still as death on the bed. Banishing every thought of Azriel, I closed my lids and forbade myself to dream.
The next morning, I sat at the table, working on my second cup of coffee, when I heard the lift. My apartme
nt, which used to be old warehouse space, occupies the entire top floor, hence the lack of an actual door. No locks, no security code. Just an old freight elevator protected by an iron gate. Some people might have been put off by the lack of security, but I’d never worried about my personal safety. A proper visitor would’ve thought about ringing the bell before coming up, but this guest didn’t have a problem with barging in like he owned the place.
Tyler.
He had a recognizable signature for a human, and my unique senses had no problem picking him out, even in a crowd. His smell was different from most of theirs—homey and comforting with a dark, spicy edge. I’d wondered about it, but it’s not like I lost any sleep over it. Maybe it was his aftershave. I loved the way he smelled. One breath of him could make me feel almost normal, but I would never tell him that.
He helped himself to a cup of coffee, knowing that I wasn’t going to extend any kind of Martha Stewart hospitality, before taking a seat next to me. I didn’t look at him. For some reason, Xander’s visit made me feel as if I’d betrayed Tyler somehow, though the Shaede’s invasion of my privacy left me more rattled than enamored. I hoped Ty couldn’t sense my leftover discomfort, and I prayed he’d come this morning because he had good news.
Tyler never disappoints.
“It’s set up,” he said. “Tomorrow at midnight.”
My scalp prickled and the chill continued down my arms. Something didn’t add up. “How’d you get him to do it?” I asked, still not making eye contact.
“It took some coaxing, but I convinced him.”
“You can’t even get face time with the guy. But suddenly he’s warmed up to the idea?”
“More or less,” Tyler said. “I told him there was a complication and you wouldn’t do the job without seeing him in person first.”
“How do you know I didn’t get the job done?” My suspicion of Tyler grew by the second. But every instinct in me screamed that he’d die before allowing any harm to come to me. Still, no matter who’d orchestrated it, the whole situation reeked of a setup.
Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel Page 3