The League 1: Born Of The Night

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  She pulled the tape off the top shelf. "I'll take care," she said absently.

  Rachol lifted a questioning brow. "What, no fear?"

  She shrugged and plopped her bundle of wrapping supplies on the floor. "I'm the daughter of a soldier. My father comes awake with a blaster aimed at your head if you disturb him from his sleep."

  Rachol gave Nykyrian a knowing smile. "And I thought it was just you and your idiosyncrasies."

  Nykyrian shrugged and sat in the other chair across from the couch. "I've told you not to think. It's just a waste of your time."

  Kiara looked up, startled by the barb. There was a tiny lifting of the corners of Nykyrian's mouth that might actually be a smile. She glanced at Rachol who took the words in stride.

  "Well, I guess I should be going. I've got a psycho to track." Rachol hesitated for a moment, casting her a sheepish glance before looking back at Nykyrian. "Are we still planning on tomorrow?"

  "We can't. Everyone's scheduled tomorrow."

  Rachol scratched his head. "Then when are we going to do it?"

  Kiara pursed her lips, wishing she knew what they were talking about.

  "Hauk's free the next day. He can watch Kiara."

  Rachol nodded. "I'll have Hauk come over then the first thing." He gave Kiara an encouraging smile. "You two be careful and don't let the diras get you."

  Kiara waited until Rachol left before questioning Nykyrian. "Why are you leaving?"

  "I've got a few things to take care of."

  She unrolled the wrapping paper and cut a square large enough for the box. "Can't Darling stay with me instead of Hauk?"

  His head snapped toward her. She saw his breathing intensify as if her question outraged him. Too late, she realized her mistake. "It's not because he's Andarion," she said quietly, wrapping the paper around the box. "Even you have to admit Hauk's not the nicest person around."

  He relaxed. "I guess not," he said with a sigh. "Darling has his own things to do. Hauk just likes to intimidate people. Stand up to him and he'll back down."

  "Or, have me fricasseed by the time you return."

  "There's always that possibility."

  With a grimace, Kiara pulled the tape off with a loud screech.

  Hours passed quickly while Nykyrian worked and Kiara tried to find some way to occupy her time. Reluctantly, Kiara finally called the dance company to inform them of her temporary withdrawal from the show.

  She lay on her bed, listening to the clacking of computer keys as Nykyrian worked on whatever seemed to occupy him. If only she could put him out of her mind as easily as he seemed to do her.

  After awhile, she got up and went to the studio to practice. She might not be able to perform for the next few weeks, but she couldn't afford to let her muscles stiffen.

  In spite of Nykyrian's efforts to concentrate on paperwork, the sound of Kiara's dance music lured him out of his cocoon like Tyna lured Brilar to his early demise. Without conscious effort, he found himself walking down the corridor to the studio.

  His breathing stopped as he saw her in all her graceful glory twirling about the room. Chills ran down the length of his body. What he wouldn't give or do for the right to peel the tight exercise suit off her lithe body and make love to her for the rest of the night. He gripped the wood of the door frame until his knuckles turned white.

  Kiara turned about and caught a sudden flash of silver. She almost stumbled as she realized Nykyrian was watching her. "I'm sorry," she said, taking deep, calming breaths, unsure of what made her more breathless, her exercise or his obvious interest. "I didn't realize you were there."

  She reached to turn off the disc player.

  "Don't stop," he said with an odd note she couldn't quite place.

  Kiara let the next song begin. She walked up to him on her toes. Intending to awe him with her pirouette, she gasped as her foot gave way under her weight.

  Nykyrian caught her before she fell. The sudden impact of strong muscles surrounding her, stole her breath.

  "Are you okay?"

  She smiled at the warm concern in his voice. "It's my foot. I think I might have hurt it."

  He eased her to the floor. Kiara wished she could think of some way to keep his arms around her, but his warmth vacated her and left her longing.

  With deft movements, he unlaced her shoe and pulled it free. A hiss escaped his lips. Her eyes widened at the emotional display. "My God, what happened to your foot?"

  Kiara wiggled her toes and looked down at the member expecting to see it broken or swollen. Instead, it looked quite normal to her. "There's nothing wrong with it."

  He brushed his fingers over the ball of her foot as if he held a holy relic. Chills crept up her legs despite the burning sensation she felt where his hands touched her, "You've got more blisters on your foot than I've got scars ..." his voice trailed off.

  Kiara gave a half laugh. "It's a hazard of my business," she answered. "I'm used to them. They only hurt when they bleed."

  His grip tightened. "You shouldn't do this to yourself. I'm sure it hurts like Hell."

  She studied his face which was bent away from her while he examined her foot. "Why would you care how anything makes me feel?" she asked, deciding she liked using his words against him.

  He looked up at her. "I don't know, I just do."

  Warmth flooded her body. She leaned over to kiss him. For a moment, she thought she'd succeed, then he pulled away and released her foot.

  "You should take a few days and let those blisters heal. At the rate you're going, you'll end up crippled by the time you're thirty."

  Disgruntled, Kiara unlaced her other shoe. "Why is it I have a feeling someone has said that to you?" she asked, snatching the shoe off.

  "In my case, it wasn't crippled, it was dead.” he said and was gone.

  Dread gnawed at her stomach as she stared after him. The blasé delivery chilled her. It had sounded almost as if he wanted to die.

  Why do you care? her mind screamed at her. You are a dancer, he is a killer, the two are not compatible. But then, why did she feel so much attraction for him? Sighing for lack of an answer, she got up and went to shower.

  Nykyrian heard the shower come on. He walked to the door and leaned his head against the panel, wanting, aching for the courage to enter the room, to feel her arms wrapped around him.

  No, his mind screamed. You don't need this. What kind of life could he offer her? A bullet in the back one day because some asshole wanted vengeance on him? He had no choice but to remain alone. There was no room in his life for anyone.

  He wanted . . .

  Nykyrian sighed. He refused to think about what he wanted. His wants were unimportant. He had a job to do and that's exactly what he was going to do. Protect her, nothing more.

  He pushed himself away from the door and returned to the main room.

  After a few minutes, Kiara came out and bid him goodnight. Once again, he heard her move about in her room as she prepared for bed. He trembled with desire.

  With a curse, he snatched his boots off. In morbid retaliation to remind himself of what he was, he checked the retractable blades hidden in his boots. The cold steel shot out, glinting in the light. He fingered the blades, feeling the razor-sharp edge scrape against his skin. He was a killer, that was the only destiny he had.

  Satisfied that he had himself controlled where Kiara was concerned, he pushed the blades back into their hidden compartment and set the boots on the floor next to the couch. With a sigh, he tossed the glasses to the table. His eyes watered from the light as he rubbed the pain.

  He heard Kiara's bed squeak under her weight. A lump of longing closed his throat. He clenched his teeth in frustration. Doffing his shirt, he settled down on the couch to sleep. She moved again. His body continued to throb in a sweet ache for Kiara, despite all the arguments he constantly gave to himself why-he shouldn't want her near him.

  After lying there for several minutes unable to get comfortable, he finally yielded
to his parched throat. At least it was one need he could quench. He headed to the kitchen. Grabbing the spara juice from the cooling unit, he poured himself a glass.

  Kiara's door opened.

  Nykyrian froze. He glanced to the low table in the main room and realized too late he was too far from his glasses to get them on before she saw him. Having no choice but to wait, Nykyrian gripped the glass tightly.

  Kiara yawned as she plodded down the hallway, belting her robe closed. She stopped as she reached the opening to the kitchen, her eyes riveted to Nykyrian's bare back.

  More deep, white scars crisscrossed his tanned well-muscled flesh than she could count. Her heart twisted at the sight. How much pain had he suffered? Were all of them war wounds?

  She crossed the room, aching to touch him, to soothe the skin puckered by the welts. Her hand reached out, but she stopped it before she touched him. He wouldn't like that and he was too old for her to coddle.

  "I was thirsty," she whispered in an awkward apology.

  Without facing her or a single comment, Nykyrian pulled a glass down and handed it to her over his shoulder.

  As she poured her juice, Kiara realized he was missing his glasses. She was so surprised by that fact, she forgot what she was doing. Juice spilled over the rim of her glass, soaking the sleeve of her robe and splashing up against her feet and legs. Gasping, she plopped the glass and juice down on the cabinet and reached for a towel.

  "I'll clean it up," he growled.

  Kiara's hand trembled as she tossed the towel back to the counter. She tried to see his face, but he turned away.

  She took the hint. Despite the overwhelming curiosity, she grabbed her juice and left.

  Kiara raced to her room where she shook with emotions she couldn't quite name and wasn't even sure if she wanted to know what they were or what they signified.

  Nykyrian wiped up the sticky juice, his thoughts and emotions churning. He wished for the strength it would take to trust Kiara. But experience had taught him that no one could be trusted.

  He would have her assassins tracked down soon and hand them over to her father. With Bredeh and Pitala out of action, no one else would dare accept a contract on her life knowing the OMG protected her. Then he would be free to return to his life. Alone.

  An ache twisted through him worse than any physical pain he had ever experienced. Clenching his teeth, he vowed to himself to see Bredeh and Pitala caught soon.

  Chapter 5

  Kiara paced the floor of her bedroom, completely stir-crazy and it wasn't even noon yet! What was she supposed to do? Spend the next however many days, weeks, months it took before the Probekeins recalled their dogs wearing a trail in her carpet?

  "I mean face it," she said aloud. "This is asking too much of a person!"

  There was nothing on the viewer worth watching, her friends were either working or busy, she was tired of her disks, Nykyrian ignored her, yet what else was there for her to do?

  Even prisoners were treated better! At least they were assigned jobs to make the day go faster. This kind of restriction was what had forced her from her father's home. And frankly, she just couldn't stand not having anything to do.

  In a huff, she went to find Nykyrian and vent some of her frustration. Just as she expected, he sat there on her couch, hammering at the keys of his terminal in perfect harmony with his isolation. She wanted to throw something at him.

  "I've had it!"

  He stopped typing and looked up from the screen, his face impassive.

  If he weren't wearing his glasses, she bet he'd be cocking his eyebrow at her. "I told you yesterday, I can't just stay here without something to do. I'm bored."

  He looked back at his screen. "While you're standing there hands on hips, why don't you stomp your foot and pout like a good little spoiled girl."

  Kiara narrowed her eyes and dropped her arms to her sides. His words infuriated her. "I don't pout!"

  The snort that answered her really made her want to bounce something off his head. Piqued at him, her confinement, and life in general, Kiara sat stiffly in her chair. "Can't we please do something? If I stay here any longer, I'll go bended."

  He sighed and closed his terminal. "What would mu Tara like to do, go shopping again?"

  Despite the deadpan voice, she caught the sarcasm. "Not hardly."

  "Then what?"

  Kiara thought for a minute. There had to be something they could do that wouldn't endanger their lives, or where people wouldn't gawk at her guard.

  Tiyana's party!

  Kiara smiled, remembering why they had gone shopping yesterday. "My best friend's birthday party is this afternoon. We could go to it!"

  "A birthday party?"

  Dread was obvious in his voice. Kiara stared at him, wondering why such a simple occasion would wring an emotional response from him. "Well, why not? It's in a housing building, the only people invited are friends and business associates. Tiyana said it would be just a small gathering."

  He growled.

  Kiara smiled the smile that always bent her father to her will. "Please?"

  He growled again and for a moment, Kiara thought he'd deny her. "If it will keep you from going bended, all right. But," he said, interrupting her beaming smile. "We are only going to stay for one hour. No longer."

  She pursed her lips. "Well it beats staying here the whole day," she said with a sigh. Rising from her chair, she watched him return to his work. "It's at four-thirty."

  This time, he didn't even bother to growl, he just ignored her.

  Sighing wearily, Kiara made her way to her room where she decided she could spend the next few hours catching up on her reading.

  * * * * *

  Kiara smoothed her dress with her hands, double checking to make sure she looked fine for the party. Tiyana had warned her a group of promoters would be there, and a disillusioned promoter could damage her career as much as death. In the dancing business, image was everything. Opening the door to her room, she went to find her sullen guard.

  Once again, Rachol was there to house-sit as he so grudgingly called it. To her the effort seemed a waste of his time. She couldn't imagine why they needed someone to stay in her flat all the time. But she wasn't willing to argue, she was too relieved to finally be going outside the confines of her four-room flat.

  The two of them leaned over the computer terminal which sat on her counter, absorbed. They spoke in their weird language, oblivious to her.

  Kiara took a deep breath. This was the first time in her life she actually blended into the background and she found the experience horrible, if not somewhat humbling. What did she have to do, run through the house nude to capture their attention? "Excuse me?" she said.

  They looked up simultaneously.

  "We're going to be late."

  Nykyrian pushed himself away from the counter. "Get started on it," he said to Rachol.

  Rachol nodded, a seductive smile on his face as he stared at her.

  Without another word, Kiara retrieved Tiyana's present from the kitchen table and walked to the door. Nykyrian walked past her and opened the door for her.

  "We won't be gone long," he told Rachol.

  Kiara bit the caustic remark she wanted to utter. She promised herself she was going to enjoy herself at the party, no matter what.

  Tiyana's flat was just two streets over. She and Tiyana had been classmates and best friends at several academies while growing up, and as adults they both danced for the same company. When Kiara had first starting looking for her own place to live, Tiyana had insisted she live close by so they could continue their lengthy gossip sessions and late-night food binges.

  Doing her best to ignore Nykyrian and his latest dour mood, Kiara rang the bell. After a brief wait, Tiyana opened the door, her beautiful face beaming as she recognized Kiara. "Sweetie!" she exclaimed, drawing Kiara into a fierce hug. "I was so afraid you wouldn't come."

  Kiara smiled, pulling out of the hug before Tiyana broke her ribs, to
stare at Tiyana's bright green eyes. Tiyana was everything she had always wanted to be— tall, blond, voluptuous, gorgeous and sophisticated, not to mention strong. "How could I miss it?" Kiara said happily. "It's not everyday you turn twenty-six."

  Tiyana shuddered and put her finger to her own perfectly rouged lips. "Don't say that so loud," she whispered conspiratorially, flipping a long blond curl over her shoulder. "I've told all the promoters I'm twenty-two. If they ever found out how close to thirty I am ..." She held her hand up to her head like a blaster and pretended to pull the trigger.

  Kiara laughed at the gesture. "Do me the same favor and we'll call it even!"

  "Done!" Tiyana said, pulling her into another hug.

  Kiara felt Tiyana stiffen. "Who's your date?" she whispered.

  Kiara moved away from Tiyana to stare up at Nykyrian. "He's not my date, he's my bodyguard."

  Tiyana's eyes widened. "Your father must be up to his old tricks."

  Kiara nodded.

  Tiyana smiled a dazzling smile at Nykyrian, but he didn't acknowledge Tiyana in the slightest way. Kiara couldn't resist feeling a bit satisfied that Nykyrian seemed as immune to Tiyana's charms as he was to hers.

  A frown of disappointment flitted across Tiyana's face, only to quickly disappear. She turned back to face Kiara. "Well I can't blame your father for being neurotic after the way those guys broke into your hotel room, and then that night at the theatre." Tiyana shook her head.

  "Enough!" Tiyana said, interrupting herself, and dragging Kiara into the house by her hand. "Come on in." Tiyana shut the door behind Nykyrian. "I think you know everyone here, if not, just give me a wink and I'll introduce you."

  Tiyana pulled Kiara to her and whispered in her ear, "Paulus is here and he's drunk, so be warned."

  Kiara rolled her eyes. Paulus was every dancer's nightmare. His father had made a fortune with his media company before becoming an art sponsor and as a result, Paulus thought he should have the privilege to sleep with any dancer who caught his fancy. Kiara cringed in distaste.

  Well she had always managed to avoid him in the past, by now she was used to prying his wandering hands off her body.