She wanted her life back and she intended to claim it!
A movement in one of her mirrors caught her attention. Stepping closer to the glass, she recognized Nykyrian in her front room.
She trembled in rage. He hadn't left. In a heated daze, she went to expel him from her life. She was tired of having no control over anything that happened to her. The time had come for people to realize she would tolerate no more encroachments on her freedom!
Reaching the kitchen, Kiara paused, shocked by the sight before her.
He was preparing dinner? Her anger dissolved. Never had she expected a mercenary assassin to cook. "What are you doing?" she asked, subdued.
"I thought you might be hungry, I know I am."
Kiara watched him rinse assorted brenna vegetables in her sink. Pulling her cutting block off the wall, he began chopping the vegetables into tiny pieces. "You actually look like you know what you're doing."
He stopped chopping and looked up at her. "Does it surprise you? Even killers need food."
She ignored his obvious barb. "Food yes, but Cretoria? That is what you're making?"
"Yes." He finished chopping the vegetables, then placed them on the counter.
"So, you're a killer and a gourmet."
Nykyrian shrugged while he walked to her cooling unit and pulled out her defrosted trona meat. He returned to her counter. "You could say I'm a gourmet killer. Being Andarion, I like my human meat cooked well."
She bit her lip at his even tone that betrayed no hint of emotion. "You told me you don't eat humans."
She was sure the look under his glasses was a sharp glare. Without a word, he began chopping the meat.
Kiara watched the hacking cleaver, and with each thump she cringed. Was she safe alone with him? Her hands trembled. Her father wouldn't have hired him if he thought there would be any danger to her. Right?
If only she could read his thoughts as easily as he seemed to read hers.
"Do you ever remove your glasses?"
"No."
She pursed her lips at his curt response. "Are you embarrassed over your Andarion eyes?" she persisted, trying to figure out why he wanted to wear them inside.
He growled low in his throat. "Nothing about me, bothers me. But my eyes seem to make everyone else damn uncomfortable."
"Even Hauk?"
The cleaver thumped louder. "Especially Hauk."
Kiara wondered at his words. How could an Andarion be made uncomfortable by another of his kind?
Who was this man in her home?
She realized she wouldn't find out. the answer today. "I need to dress," she said quietly, leaving the kitchen.
Thank you, Nykyrian thought to himself. The low-dip in the front of her robe caused him quite a bit of discomfort. Since she had called his attention to the studio, the only thing he had really noticed was the tiny droplets of water clinging to the deep cleft of her breasts.
He vowed to keep his mind on business not Kiara's body.
To help achieve his goal, he switched on the disc player located on the kitchen counter. As he finished placing the meat and vegetables into a dish, he heard Rachol's knock code on the door.
Kiara came running from her room, fastening the last three buttons of her blouse. Nykyrian groaned inwardly, regretting he had ever told her he wasn't interested in her body. No doubt, she figured she could run about naked and not stir him. This was going to be a long mission.
Reining his body back into his rigid control, Nykyrian moved to the door.
Kiara opened it, admitting Rachol and her father.
"Thank God," the Commander said and pulled her into his arms. "When I saw the bodies, I was terrified you were hurt.'"
Another wave of panic threatened to consume Kiara as she thought over her near death. "Luckily Nykyrian and Rachol were there," she said.
Tiarun released her and faced Nykyrian. "I thought you people were going to wait until tomorrow before starting your protection."
"Had we waited, she would be dead," Nykyrian said with his usual nonchalance, making Kiara wonder if anything ever set his temper off, or elicited any other "normal" response.
Her father tensed before nodding at Nykyrian's callous words. "I wanted to tell you about this," he said to Kiara, rubbing her arm tenderly. "I was waiting until after your performance. I didn't want to upset you."
"I'm not upset," she lied, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Tiarun gave her a grim smile. He looked back at Nykyrian with the stern frown that never failed to intimidate Kiara. "I do have misgivings about this. I warned Nemesis, now I warn you. Should anything happen to her, I won't rest until I have destroyed every member of the OMG."
Nykyrian had to stifle his disbelieving snort. "We're professionals. Kiara is safer with us than she would ever be with you," he replied calmly.
Tiarun narrowed his eyes in a way that made Nykyrian want to growl in response. "She'd better be. I intend to keep in constant contact." Tiarun pulled Kiara back into his arms, giving her a tight hug. "I hate to leave, but I need to get back to the base and deal with the reporters and paperwork over what happened tonight. If you need me. call."
"I will," she promised, kissing his cheek.
"I'll check on you when I get home."
"Okay." Reluctantly, she closed the door behind him.
Kiara frowned at the mocking expression on Rachol's face as he walked to Nykyrian.
"Parental worries? Yuck!" Rachol shuddered.
Nykyrian shoved his shoulder. "Don't mock."
"Come on, Kip. Doesn't it give you the boowahs?"
Kiara stared at Rachol, curious about his words, angered over the way he acted about her father's concern. "Don't your parents ever worry over either of you?" she asked acidly.
"What parents?" Rachol returned.
A ripple of shock went through Kiara. "Are they dead?"
"Careful," Nykyrian said, returning to the kitchen. "You might not want an answer."
Frowning, she tried to understand his cryptic response. "What do you mean?"
"Kip wasn't born, he was spawned." Rachol smiled.
Now she was completely confused. "Who's Kip?"
Rachol indicated Nykyrian with his thumb.
"You were a tubey?"
Nykyrian glanced up from his dinner preparations. "Rachol has a brain disorder that causes him to lie most of the time. Ignore him."
So Nykyrian wasn't a test-tube baby. This really didn't make a bit of sense. "But neither of you has parents?"
Nykyrian grimaced. "We're orphans."
"That's what I asked to begin with," Kiara said, watching Rachol take a seat on one of her stools.
They ignored her agitated voice.
"Are you staying for dinner?" Nykyrian asked, handing Rachol a glass of spara juice.
"Do you mind?" Rachol asked Kiara.
"No," she said, surprised by the honesty of the statement.
For some reason, she liked Rachol despite his unorthodox looks. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. His brown eyes were ringed in black eye-liner, giving him the look of a feral hunting beast. Two silver hoops hung from his left earlobe.
He was definitely not the type of man who attracted her, but she had to admit, he was oddly handsome.
Kiara shifted her gaze to Nykyrian as he talked with Rachol. He seemed far more at ease with Rachol than he had with his other two friends.
As Rachol made another joke, she realized Nykyrian never smiled or laughed. She couldn't remember ever seeing him do either. For some reason, she wanted to see his lips curl up and hear his laugh.
What could take away someone's laughter?
Her chest tightened as she considered the life he must have lived. No parents, no laughter, a League Assassin. In truth, it was a miracle he was still alive.
She wanted to solve the enigma before her.
Nykyrian might not be interested in her, but she had a deep curiosity about him. And she had never been one to lea
ve a mystery unsolved. Kiara promised herself in the coming days, she would delve into his mind and find out what there was underneath those glasses and his distant manner.
Chapter 4
Kiara was talking to her father over the telelink when Rachol took his leave. Nykyrian listened to her soft voice drifting from her room. The silken, dulcet tone pierced him. Forcing his mind to business as he had promised himself, he retrieved his portable computer terminal from the bag Hauk had left for him on the floor.
Nykyrian took a seat on the couch and unzipped the terminal. Kiara's laugh rippled, causing a bittersweet pain to twist his stomach. He clenched his fists and ran through the litany his adoptive father had forced him to recite while growing up— He was a warrior, a killer. He didn't need anyone. He was stronger alone.
His thoughts back on his job, he switched on the terminal. The bright blue screen glared, causing him to flinch. His eyes burned from the strain of wearing his glasses indoors, but despite the pain, he didn't dare remove them around Kiara.
Maybe he should have assigned Rachol watch duty tonight. This mission was bound to be his undoing.
He had spent the entire dinner wanting her, feeling her presence next to him. If only he hadn't allowed her to touch him at the theatre, he might have been able to banish her from his thoughts.
Nykyrian scoffed at himself. Who was he trying to fool? Since the first performance he had seen her in, he hadn't been able to banish her from his thoughts. She had haunted his dreams like a stalking phantom out to steal his rotting soul.
He sighed wearily. This mission was definitely not what he needed to help him get her out of his mind. He heard her finish her conversation. She entered the front room with a warm smile on her face as she looked at him. Nykyrian's blood raced in heated response to her gentle look.
"Is Rachol gone?" she asked cheerfully.
"Yes," he said, forcing himself to concentrate on his work.
Kiara sat in her favorite chair, across from him. Her father's dire words echoed in her ears. He had warned her of the OMG's ferocity, telling her they killed on contract without emotions.
Watching Nykyrian closely, she tried to read his thoughts. Though his face didn't betray any tell-tale signs of feelings, She knew he had them. No one was totally devoid of emotions.
Nykyrian's own words drifted through her mind. Emotions are bred out of us during training. She still refused to believe he was emotionless. Were that true, he wouldn't have comforted her while she cried.
A wicked smile curved her lips as she studied his lean, muscular build. She had seen and been held by many men who constantly worked to improve their physical appearance, but none of them had ever appealed to her as much as the man before her now. A man whose distance annoyed her.
She wasn't used to having to fight for someone's attention. Usually, she fought to escape it. Kiara wondered if maybe that was part of her attraction for him— the old hard-to-get routine.
But as she studied him, she realized even if that were part of it, there was much more to her desire than just the challenge of the aloof. There was something about him that called out to her like a hurt child needing comfort. Kiara almost laughed aloud at the thought. She stared at Nykyrian, his jaw tense, his features blank. No, there didn't appear to be anything about him even close to frail.
So why did she feel this way? "What are you working on?" she finally asked.
He growled a low warning in his throat that made her a bit uneasy. "I have a lot of work that needs to be finished. I'm not here to be sociable. I'm here only to protect you."
Kiara folded her arms around her leg and rested her chin on her knee. She watched his flying fingers, the keys of the terminal clicking beneath them. "But since you're here . . ." His fingers stopped, the sudden silence echoed around her, increasing her discomfort. "I just thought you might as well tell me something about yourself. We could end up spending days together, weeks, and I for— "
"Fine," he snapped, cutting her off.
Kiara hid her triumphant smile behind her knee, but she was sure her eyes glowed in mischief.
Nykyrian sat back and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "If it will solace your mind, I will allow you to ask eight questions about me. After that, you'll never again ask me another thing about my past, or my friends, and you'll remain quiet and let me finish what I'm doing."
The sharp, clipped words irked her. She stared at him, trying to think of things that would give her some advantage over him. "Okay," she said, as she thought of the first one. "What's your surname?"
"One, Quiakides."
Surprise widened her eyes. "As in the universally famed and acclaimed Commander Huwin Quiakides of the Intergalactic League of Peacekeepers?"
He sighed. "Two, yes."
"Was he your father?"
She thought she noticed his teeth clench before he answered, "Three, yes."
Kiara gave an unladylike snort. "That doesn't count. You should have said that when I asked the second question."
He shrugged in an aggravating manner of disinterest. "Be specific. Anything counts."
Kiara sat for a minute, thinking over what little information Mira had given her while she had been in the OMG's base. "If he was your father, why did you leave the League?"
This time, she definitely saw the angry tick in his jaw as his features hardened. "How did you know I was in the League?"
Kiara gulped at the harsh, deadly tone. At that moment, she could easily imagine him tearing someone into pieces and she had no desire for that someone to be either her or Mira. "I just heard it somewhere. It is true, isn't it? You were a League Assassin?"
Some of the tenseness left his lips, and she wondered why. "Four, yes."
Kiara was getting tired of him numbering his answers. "You know, you could try and be a little friendlier."
"I'm not paid to be nice. I'm paid to kill."
A lump of dread closed her throat at the thought. "Do you like to kill?" she asked, her throat growing tighter by the heartbeat.
Kiara witnessed the first visible, emotional response from him— he winced as if she had struck him. His breathing became labored in anger and he slammed the terminal closed with a sharp snap before he tossed it aside. Without a word, he left the room.
Kiara sat in her chair for several minutes, wondering about his reaction. Since he brought the subject of his killings up so often, why would her question bother him? She went to find out.
He stood in front of the blast shields in her studio, She watched him from the doorway as he slid his hand over the plastic panels as if looking for a hole. He appeared calm.
"You said you would answer my questions," she said softly, wishing she could see inside him for a minute and find out why he was so distant.
He dropped his hand. "I didn't expect you to ask that one."
She rubbed the chills from her arms. "Why not?"
Nykyrian crossed the room to stand before her. His nearness intoxicated her more than a thousand cups of larna could ever do. For a moment, she thought he might actually touch her, but he remained less than a foot from her—just close enough to warm her with his body heat, with an intangible wall so thick around him, she didn't dare reach out and touch him the way her heart cried for her to.
"Why would you care how anything makes me feel?" His soft voice seemed somehow humble, searching.
She swallowed the clump of assorted emotions churning inside her. "I don't know, I just do."
He took a deep breath and turned around. "Do you practice in here?"
Kiara frowned at the unexpected question, wondering what had prompted it. "Yes."
He walked over to the mirrors and touched the barre. "Do you enjoy what you do?"
The question caught her off guard. She frowned again, thinking about the answer. "I never really thought about it," she said. "Dancing was all I ever wanted to do, so I guess I must enjoy it."
His grip tightened on the barre. "Or do you just do it because someone
expected you to?"
A chill crept up her back. "What makes you think that?"
Nykyrian turned around and faced her. "The pictures you have in the main room. Most of them are of you as a child, dressed for dance recitals. You don't look old enough in any of them to make a life-shaping decision. I would say you dance because you were told it was what you should do with your talents."
The truth in his words cut through her consciousness. How could he see something about her that she had never even noticed? "Are you always this acute?"
He shrugged. "In my business, it pays to know and understand people. It keeps me alive."
Kiara ran his words through her mind. And in that moment she had her first insight into him. "Is that why you do what you? Because someone told you, you should be an assassin?"
Silence answered her.
"You still owe me six answers."
"Four answers," he corrected acidly, folding his arms over his chest. "And I've answered enough questions for tonight."
He walked past her and Kiara knew the subject was closed as firmly as if it were held in trust by League Protectors. With a weary sigh, she realized she didn't know much more about him now than she had in the beginning.
Frustrated, she returned to the main room where he was once again occupied with his terminal.
"Will it disturb you if I turn on the viewer?"
"No," he answered curtly, his fingers not even hesitating in their rapid beat.
Returning to her chair, Kiara picked up the control and began flipping through the channels. She listened more to Nykyrian The Tough than to her programs. Even though he appeared oblivious to her, she sensed the rigid wall of defenses he had closed around himself. Somewhere, there had to be a chink.
But did she really want to find it?
Kiara swallowed in trepidation as she considered what it would mean to her life if he were to open himself up to her. He was a wanted criminal to most governments. If people associated her with Nykyrian on a social level, she would be barred from the theatre. She had spent too many years carving her career to just toss it to the wind for some handsome man. Even one as delectable as her guard.
The League 1: Born Of The Night Page 6