Kiss at Your Own Risk

by Stephanie Rowe

  Yeah, better. No way was he letting that witch stalk him now that he was free. He was a man, not some artiste like Nigel.

  The gun clicked as Trinity cocked it. “What do you know about the black widow thing?”

  He eyed her. Checked out the flexed triceps, the battle stance, and then his gaze settled on the small, yellow tulip tattooed on her collarbone. Same pattern the witch had emblazoned above her bed. And on the ceiling of the Cavern of Hellish Moments.

  Adrenaline flooded his body, and his skull and crossbones began to tingle. Yeah, no problem thinking of Trinity as a threat and not a woman when he looked at that damn flower. Heat pulsed beneath his skin, and his muscles thickened, preparing him for battle. Much better. Screw the cross-stitching softie. Try murderous gladiator.

  Trinity’s eyes widened. “Did you just get taller?”

  “Probably.” He walked across the small bathroom until the gun was pressed against his heart. Against his tattoo.

  Trinity stiffened. “You even try to kiss me, I’ll shoot you.”

  He growled. “No chance in hell is there going to be any lip-locking between us. Trust me, that’s one thing you don’t need to worry about.” Lovemaking with a yellow tulip was not gonna happen. Not by a long shot.

  She blinked. “I don’t?”

  He almost laughed at the surprise on her face. Typical witch progeny: so used to being a man magnet that they didn’t get it when a man failed to respond. He wrapped his hand around the barrel of the gun and turned it away from his heart. “You forgot to shoot me.”

  She stared down at the gun that was now pointed at the mirror. “Dammit,” she muttered. “I have no willpower whatsoever.” She sighed and released the gun. “Someday I’m going to have the strength to shoot a man as good looking as you who comes here to abduct me.”

  He took the gun and tossed it into the still-full bathtub. “I need your help.”

  “Hah.” She turned away and grabbed a black thong from a small pile of clothes on a bamboo stool in the corner. She bent over to pull it on—

  Shit and hellfire. That was one nice ass. Muscular, but curvy at the same time. The woman clearly worked out, but hadn’t lost that soft side that made her all female—

  Then he thought of her flower and smiled when he felt fire burn in his cells. Yeah, who needed a cold shower? A yellow tulip was the best mood killer around. “You’re going to come with me and use your black widow talents to kill someone.”

  She yanked the thong over her hips and turned to face him. “You have got to be kidding.”

  He was about to deny it when he saw the fire in her eyes.

  And then he remembered lesson #76.5 from Man Decorum 101: Never tell a smart, pissed-off female what to do. Ask her. Nicely. Preferably with roses in hand.

  He stared at her.

  She glared back.

  Ask her to kill someone for him?

  Trinity rolled her eyes and grabbed a black bra from the chair and fastened it around her ribs. “At least the fact you demanded such an asinine thing makes it slightly less dangerous for you. It must be your lucky day to be smart enough to behave like a thoughtless beast around me.” Her gaze slipped to his chest. “But you still need to go away. Fast.”

  Like, ask her?

  Screw that. The witch was the one who’d given the lessons. She was a man hater, and everything she’d ever forced on them was solely for the purpose of humiliating them.

  He was a warrior. Not a counted cross-stitch uber talent.

  Trinity pulled the straps over her shoulders, and those perfect breasts disappeared from view.

  Which put him in a worse mood. He’d liked them and had already gotten used to having them blink cheerfully at him. Didn’t appreciate having them taken away. He narrowed his eyes. “You have three seconds to get dressed, and then we’re going on a witch hunt. I find her. You kill her. Got it?”

  Trinity stared at him, then she grinned. “On the one hand, that’s completely fantastic that you’re being such a boor. Even your yummy shoulders and huge biceps aren’t going to win me over if you keep making those kinds of demands of me.”

  “I—” He stopped. Couldn’t remember anything she’d said after “huge biceps.” When was the last time any female had made any comment about him that wasn’t about how much pain he could take? Kinda liked it.

  “However, the part about needing me to kill someone is a little scary, especially since you might be big enough to make me do it.” She smiled even wider, and there was no missing the intense relief in her voice. “But now that I know that you’re unkillable, you have totally freed me up to defend myself. And for that, I really appreciate you.”

  He blinked at her visible honesty, at the earnestness on her face, and something inside him turned, knowing that he was the one responsible for the release of her tension. He’d made her feel better without even trying. What a guy.

  Then she reached into the tub, grabbed the gun, and shot him in the heart.

  Chapter 7

  Okay, so he hadn’t been ready for her to shoot him.

  Blaine was still falling to the tile in a pool of blood when Trinity ducked past him and ran for the door. The pain in his chest was eerily reminiscent of when his deranged jailer had decided to test his resilience to Jarvis’s sword. Nice memories of his dear friend.

  But as he watched Trinity sprint away, his amusement vanished.

  Turning into a bat would have been impressive.

  Shooting him in the heart?

  Not really feeling the love for that.

  The pain might have been all warm and fuzzy, but the actual act of a woman shooting him reminded him too much of the females he’d spent the last century and a half with. Estrogen junkies who tortured him, and then laughed. Not his favorite type of girl to get naked with.

  Yeah, maybe he wasn’t going to feel quite as bad when he had to off Trinity Harpswell.

  He hit the floor and rolled onto his back, concentrating on sending fire to his chest to seal the wound. She had about thirty seconds before he’d be up on his feet again, and this time he was ditching the nice guy shtick. Christian’s life was at stake, and now that he knew Trinity Harpswell was like every other woman he’d known, there’d be no mercy. She deserved to wear the badge of the witch on her collarbone—

  Then she stopped in the hallway and looked back at him. Her gaze went to the blood on his chest, and she got a stricken look on her face. “Oh, God. Look at you.”

  He felt his heart begin to knit back together, and he prepared to launch himself at her. Ten more seconds and she was his—

  “Dammit!” She raced back into the bathroom and grabbed a towel off the rack.

  He was just reaching out to grab her ankle when she knelt beside him and pressed the towel to his bleeding chest. Her face was pale, and her hand was shaking. “Damn you for bleeding and looking hurt! You weren’t supposed to do that!” Her voice was trembling, and she sounded near tears. “You’re such a bastard!”

  He stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Baking a cake, what does it look like?” She pressed harder on his wound. “I can’t believe you’re bleeding this much! What, do you have like an ocean of blood in you or something? That was completely cruel to make me think I could shoot you and not hurt you! I have issues with hurting living creatures. You could have warned me!” She glared at him. “I don’t like you.”

  “You don’t—” Blaine finally comprehended that she was wrecked over the fact she’d shot him. That he’d bled. Hell, the woman had been halfway to freedom (or at least, she thought she had been. In reality? He’d been hot on her tail) but she’d ditched the escape and come back to help him.

  Women didn’t do that. No one did that. They just didn’t. No one came back to help him.

  But she had.

  He looked up into her teary eyes, and he stiffened. Yeah, it just seemed that way. She had black veins. No way had she come back just for him. She had a reason, and he’d find out what it was
. And in the meantime, he was going to make sure she helped him get Christian home.

  He grabbed her ankle, and she jumped. She looked down, and her lips pressed together when she saw his hand fisting her leg. “Please. I can’t kill for you. Don’t ask me to do it.”

  That “ask” word again.

  Didn’t anyone get he wasn’t going to ask? Christian’s life was on the table, and he wasn’t going to be polite about saving him—

  She laid her hand over his, and he tensed, waiting for whatever trick she was going to try to pull on him. Waiting for the pain. For the poison dart she’d try to shoot into his skin.

  But nothing happened. Her hand was gentle where it sat on his. “If you have any mercy at all in you as a warrior, you will walk away and leave me alone.”

  He was still waiting for the attack. “Mercy was tortured out of me a long time ago.”

  She looked up and met his gaze. “I can’t deal with you right now. I just can’t.”

  He saw the truth in her eyes. She might be wearing a yellow tulip, and she’d shot him in the heart, but she was out of reserves.

  And she was touching him. Softly. Her hand was warm. Her skin soft. And it felt incredible. No one had ever touched him with tenderness. Even if she was going to stab him in another minute, right now, in this second, he had the happiest damn hand on the planet.

  And she’d come back for him, at risk to herself.

  Yeah, she shot him, but she’d come back for him.

  Hellfire and damnation. He didn’t want to do it. He wasn’t going to do it.

  But she’d come back for him and that was… well… that was something he couldn’t overlook.

  Ah, hell. He was going to do it, wasn’t he?

  He was going to be nice.

  ***

  Trinity tensed when the warrior’s face got all twisted, like he was in pain. Or dying? She grabbed his wrist. “Are you okay?” Oy! What had she been thinking, shooting him? She was a black widow, for heaven’s sake! What kind of risk had that been to shoot a man in the heart? She was much too good at killing men to engage in that sort of activity!

  He laid his hand on her face, and she stiffened. But his hand was warm. It felt wonderful.

  “Trinity.”

  “Yes?” Her voice was too throaty, too soft, but she couldn’t help it. It felt so good to be touched.

  “I’m asking you for your help,” he said quietly. “Please.”

  Trinity blinked at the roughness of his tone. At his urgency. And his politeness? “I—”

  “There’s a man who will die if I can’t kill the woman who’s torturing him. I need to bring him home.” His palm was becoming hotter, almost too hot, as if he were on the verge of catching fire again.

  There was anguish in his eyes, and she realized that he’d bared his truth to her, asked her for help with a task of monumental importance to him. Saving someone he loved. Her heart swelled—

  Ack! She couldn’t afford to feel empathy for him! That was the first step down a very dangerous path! “Don’t be likable,” she snapped, scrambling out of his reach. “I don’t want to hear about anyone nice getting killed.”

  She whirled away and grabbed her jeans. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t get those dark eyes out of her mind. He knew hell. She could see it. She hated that. Couldn’t deal with someone who’d suffered like she had. The urge she was feeling to hug him right now was just so, so, so dangerous.

  “Trinity.” His voice was low in her ear, and she went rigid at the feel of his breath on her neck.

  The towering boor was right behind her! “Go. Away.”

  “I—”

  “No!” She whirled around and slammed her hands into his chest to get him to back off.

  He didn’t move.

  “You don’t get it! I can’t afford to kill anyone right now! My own dad’s going to die if I can’t figure out how to assassinate some monster without actually wielding the blade, and you want to add more to my list? Are you kidding? I—”

  “That’s easy.” A sudden grin broke out over his face, a look of pleased relief. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “And furthermore—” She stopped suddenly. “What did you say?”

  He shrugged. “I can kill anything. It’s no biggie. I’ll kill your monster and you kill mine.”

  The room started to spin and she had to sit down on the edge of her tub. Her chest was tight. It couldn’t really be this easy, could it? “You’ll just waltz in here and kill something for me?”

  He plucked her shirt off the chair and crouched in front of her. “Here’s the deal.” He picked up her hand and shoved the shirt into her grasp. “I can kill anything except the woman who has Christian. She’s unkillable.”

  Trinity laughed softly. “Nothing is unkillable. Not by me.” Not by the monster within.

  He grinned, a smug look on his face. “That’s why I need you.”

  Oh, nice work, Trin. She sighed. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but you looked good while doing it.”

  “And looking good so matters to me right now.” In another lifetime she might have laughed at his inappropriate and cavalier remark. Right now, it felt more fitting to lay down the welcome mat for the devil himself. But there was also something so appealing about flirting back, about pretending this great nightmare wasn’t pressing down on her from all sides. “In fact,” she quipped, “right before you got here, I was inspecting my closet and trying to decide what outfit would show off my breasts to the best advantage.”

  He raised his brows. “And you went with the shirtless look? I’d say that was the right choice, you know, for that goal.”

  She couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out. “Shut up. This isn’t funny.” She found her way back to her cranky state and took the shirt from his hand.

  He leaned forward, his gaze so intent it made her uncomfortable. “Christian needs help, and I’m the only one to do it. The witch has to die, and you’re the only one who can cover that. I’ll kill your monster, you kill mine. Fair trade.”

  “I can’t.” She pulled the shirt over her head. “I’ll be cursed for life.” She sat up, feeling stronger now that she had a top on. “I can’t deal with a life of murder.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just studied her face. Then he reached toward her throat. She jerked back, but all he did was brush his thumb over her collarbone, over the flower-shaped birthmark she hated. “The black widow curse,” he said quietly. “You’re down to your last kill?”

  She pulled free and walked over to get the jeans she’d dropped in her moment of panic when he’d done the hot-seduction-breath-on-her-neck move. “I have less than seven days. If I can make it that long, then I’m free. I’ve come this far. I can’t blow it. I—”

  “Killing’s no big deal,” he said.

  “Yes, it is! And being forced to do it…” She yanked her jeans over her hips. “I hate not being in control of my actions. I’m sure a badass like you has no clue what it’s like to be condemned to a life that chafes at your very soul, but trust me, it sucks.”

  He swore under his breath. “Oh, I get it.”

  She scowled. “How can you possibly understand what’s it like not to be master of your domain? You’re like this uber warrior. Who could possibly bully you?”

  He went silent, staring at her, but there was intense turmoil in his eyes. Finally, he simply said, “Fine.”

  She zipped her jeans. “Fine, what?”

  “You get one reprieve for coming back.”

  “Coming back from where?”

  But he was already walking toward the door. He was leaving? “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t push it, Harpswell. I’m not this nice of a guy, and if I don’t find another black widow, I’m coming back for you.” The boards cracked under his feet, and he disappeared into the hall.

  She stared after him. It was good he was leaving. She couldn’t afford a man right
now, especially one who believed in killing. He wasn’t like Barry, who had been compelled. Granted, Barry had been directed by little voices in his head, but it had still been a compulsion like Trinity.

  But this warrior killed because it was no big deal. Because he could, and because it was an easy answer to his problems. A chill ran through her. Was that what she’d become after she killed enough? A monster who didn’t even care about the trail of corpses? Would she stomp ants and laugh?

  She didn’t want to be around a man like that, someone who represented her greatest nightmare of what she was becoming.

  She heard his boots thudding down the hall. Were there other black widows alive to help him? There had to be. He wouldn’t be back.

  Then she looked down at the sheaf of papers on her chair. The details on the monster she had to kill. He could take care of it for her. She took a step toward the door to call him back, then stopped herself.

  The cost was too high. If she killed the witch for him (like she could hurt a defenseless female, but that was so not the point at the moment), then she would still be in the same situation, cursed for life. Her dad’s sacrifice in vain. It was all her fault her dad was dust right now. If only she hadn’t told him what her vision had shown her, he never would have known how to kill Martin—

  Oh! That was it!

  “Wait! Wait!” She raced out into the hallway, desperate to catch the warrior before he disappeared forever. “Don’t leave!”

  She ran around the corner as he was yanking open the door to her apartment.

  He didn’t even turn. “Don’t push me—”

  “What if I told you how to kill her? What if I saw it, and then you did it?” Her stomach rolled at the idea of orchestrating someone’s death, but at least it wouldn’t trigger the curse. Her own soul was a different matter.

  He paused and turned toward her. “That works?”

  She nodded, numbly, her soul recoiling at the offer to help him murder someone, even as the words tumbled out of her mouth. “When I see a death, it’s not me in the hologram. Anyone can kill them using the method I see. I could tell you how to do it.” Her stomach roiled again, and she forced herself to take a breath. “And will you help me with… the other one?” She couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t believe she was asking a man to murder twice for her, just to save her soul.