But as Trinity disappeared into the building that looked way too much like the Den, his tattoo began to smoke at the thought of entering it. A building filled with women, including one of Death’s assistants and the witch’s Chosen? Who knew what the hell he’d find?
He was going in ready to fight. He set his skin to simmer, pulled a couple of blue balls out of his pocket, and went in.
***
Blaine charged through the front entrance, then skidded to a stop when five women turned to face him. They were gathered around a closed door, and their faces went from worried to stark shock when he entered the foyer. Except Trinity, who simply raised one eyebrow in a classic “I told you so” look.
Five women. In one small room. He instinctively took a step backward and began to spin the blue balls in his right hand. A spiral of smoke rose from his chest, and he caught the acrid scent of his shirt beginning to burn.
A tall woman with red hair and alabaster skin spoke first. “Well. This is an unexpected treat.”
Sarcasm intended, he was sure.
Trinity waved in his direction. “Everyone, this is Blaine Underhill. He’s helping me with a personal matter. Ignore him.” She cocked an unsettled look at him, as if concerned for his safety, then turned back to the door and knocked on it. “Cherise, it’s me. Will you unlock the door, please?”
Ignore him? Yeah, not feeling the success of that order, as all of the other women continued to stare at him. The tall one looked curious, three looked like they were channeling some evil force to shoot at him, and the Death chick was alternating between inspecting him and looking at Trinity. She looked fascinated, furious, and rabidly worried at the same time.
Okay, yeah, so maybe he should have taken two seconds to grill Trinity on the talents of these women before walking in here. Might be helpful to know whether they were more likely to start slinging oversized killer bees at him or simply try to vilify him with the silent treatment that women were so good at.
Vilification, no problem. He could take it. But if one stinger-loaded bug appeared, he was going on the offensive.
Reina tapped Trinity’s shoulder, still eyeing Blaine as if she couldn’t decide whether to ask him to dance or skewer him with whatever it was Death’s peeps were using to knock people off these days. “Trinity,” she whispered. (Stage whisper, anyone? Not sure the people in the next state could hear.) “What are you doing with a man like him?”
A man like him? He pulled his shoulders back. Screw that. He didn’t have to take that shit anymore. There was nothing wrong with him, and he knew it.
Trinity rolled her eyes at Reina. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a good fit for me. I’ll fill you in later.”
A good fit? He shot a smug grin at the other three women still eying him like he was a cat that had just dumped a dead rat on their Oriental carpet.
He got back four impassive stares.
Shit. He didn’t like this. He shouldn’t be here. This was a female zone, and he was well-versed on what hostile women could do to a man and his genitalia. He did a quick recon of the battlefield. Three window exits. Stairs went north. Computer room to the right. Oriental carpets. Very nice ones. Handmade. A three-foot bouquet of white roses on the hall table. A cross-stitched sampler on the wall… His gaze went back to it. “Proportions are off on the trees,” he said. “Wrong shade to get the right depth—”
He realized suddenly that all the women were looking at him again, even Trinity. Why the hell had he said that aloud? He managed a casual shrug. “Understanding depth helps me to hit my target from a mile away,” he muttered. “Colors help determinate how far away it is. So I kill on first shot,” he added.
They continued to stare.
Hell. Were they going to come after him? He really didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not a female.
A loud wail echoed from the room, and everyone turned back toward the door.
Hallelujah.
“Oh, man.” Reina’s eyes were black now. “Something just died in that room.”
“Cherise! Open up!” Trinity swore and thudded her fist on the door. “Don’t we have a key?”
“It’s magically protected from the inside,” a short brunette said. “I did it after that vampire tried to convert his ex during our Wednesday night We Love Our Bodies meeting. Cherise must have seen me set it and triggered it herself tonight.”
Magically protected? Blaine eyed the woowoo girl, massaging his balls with a little more force. Witch? Black magic or white? He narrowed his eyes, but there was no smut on the woman. Didn’t mean anything. There was no smut on Angelica either. Some poor bastard was carrying her smut, and this woman could be doing the same thing.
Women who played around with magic were not the kind of girl that gave him a hard-on.
“Okay, so you locked the door and Cherise set it.” Trinity fisted her hands, and he saw her fighting back aggravation. “Did you at least put in a safety, Lacey? A back door or whatever it’s called?”
Lacey shrugged. “No. Never thought I’d be on the outside of it.”
“So, how do we get in?”
“We don’t.”
“But we have to help her!” Trinity was pale and Blaine shifted at her obvious distress. Once again, the black widow was going in after someone who needed her. She had a dad to save, a witch to kill, and a curse to defeat, and she was taking time to save someone else?
Yeah, that was aggravating. Did she really need to keep doing that? Because each time she did it, it completely screwed with his plans of being ruthless, dominating, and focused only on his goal. People who sacrificed themselves to go after others were his freaking Achilles heel. The last thing he wanted to do was get involved with a bunch of hostile women, but if he could help someone save someone else, damned if he could walk away. He sighed. “I can open it,” he muttered.
But no one even acknowledged his comment.
“I might be able to mist into the room,” Reina said. “Since something died, I could write it off as a business expense.”
“No,” Lacey, the lock-builder, said. “It’s impermeable. Vampires can mist, right? So I blocked vapor.”
Reina scowled. “Well, that was brilliant. How could you allow no way in? Didn’t it occur to you that you might lose control of your system? I mean, it’s not like you’re the only one in the world who’s magically inclined.”
“Get off my case, Death Girl,” Lacey retorted. “Getting all hostile won’t help things right now.”
Blaine scowled. Did none of these women appreciate a warrior offering to solve their problems? “I said I can open it.”
Trinity turned back to the door and started banging on it. “Cherise! Open the door!”
Reina continued to argue with Lacey about whether it was actually possible to block mist through magic, the tall one was scowling at the door as if she could intimidate it into opening, and the other two had run off to the computer room and were frantically searching the Internet.
Fine. He folded his arms over his chest and propped up against the wall near the sampler. They wanted to run around in circles? Teach them to ignore a man’s offer for help. Someday, some woman somewhere was going to realize that men had some value, but until then, they could just—
Then he saw Trinity’s face as she pounded on the door. Her skin was ashen, her shoulders rigid, and the tendons in her lovely neck were strained. She bit her lip and rested her forehead against the door, her eyes glistening as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cherise,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
“Bloody hell.” He immediately levered himself off the wall and strode through the women. Didn’t even bother to flinch when they bumped against him. He just grabbed Trinity’s fist as she raised it to hit the door again. “I’ve got it.”
She looked up at him, and something registered in her face. Intense relief. “Okay.”
For an instant, all he could do was absorb the expression of raw gratitude on her fac
e. Damn, he was so liking that look of utter capitulation in her eyes, the way she’d instantly turned the problem over to him and trusted him to take care of it. Couldn’t remember any female ever looking at him like he was what she’d been searching for her whole life, and not some deviant bastard who needed to be punished. Trinity was making him feel like a hero, and he loved it.
He gently clasped her arm and dragged her away from the door. After the way Trinity had looked at him, he was so getting this right. “Everyone back,” he ordered.
He shoved the blue balls back in his pocket, not knowing how close Cherise was to the other side of the door. Then he ignited his tattoo, sent the flames rushing along his skin until his whole body was on fire. A simmering blue, flicking along the surface.
Then he walked up to the door, braced his palms on it. The magical protection prickled at his palms. It was strong, powerful, but there was no pain when he touched it. It was white magic, not black. Since all his mutations were the result of black magic, he was powerful against black magic. Against white magic, the poor cousin? It was like putting out a match with a tsunami. Good luck to the match.
He heard the women murmuring behind him, and tension prickled down his back. Instinct told him to turn around, not to take his attention off them. Hah. He was so much tougher than that. Instead of doing the damaged-wimpy-male thing and turn around, he focused his fire into his palms. Heated the door until the wood was smoking, and he could feel the magical shield buzzing. He shifted the color of his flames from blue, infusing some tendrils of white to match the tenor of the magic that had been used. “Hasta la vista, baby.” He lifted his hands off the door, then slammed his palms against it.
The door incinerated instantly, and ash floated down around them. He grinned and stepped back. “Impressive, huh?”
Trinity set her hand on his back with a small sound of relief, then she rushed past him, not waiting for the ash to settle. He watched her go, his back still burning from the way she’d touched him. She’d said nothing, but that touch… yeah… that had said all he needed.
He tossed a grin at the other women, but they shoved past him, crowding the doorway to see inside the room. His smile faded at their lack of appreciation, and then he watched Trinity race toward her target. The sight of her reaching her goal was all the reward he needed, and he folded his arms over his chest to watch. Yeah, he was responsible for this, for getting her in there. He was the man.
In the corner, below a painting of Amazon warriors, a young woman was huddled, her knees pulled to her chest. Her head was down, her eyes were closed, and her aura was a muddy mix of crimson, black, and brown. A woman in bad, bad emotional shape.
He was suddenly glad that Trinity was going to help her. She might be female, but she was clearly a victim, and he had a thing for helping those who’d been jerked around by someone else. As Trinity fell to the carpet beside her, whispering gentle words of reassurance, he was struck by a memory. Of a woman kneeling beside him. Being kind. Her hands gently rubbing his back? His mother—
And then the memory was gone.
***
“Oh, thank heavens!” Trinity’s heart leapt when Cherise raised her head. “You’re alive.”
Cherise lifted a white linen napkin. “Mister Fancy just died.”
“Mister Fancy?” Trinity looked down and saw a rainbow colored fish cradled in the ivory cloth. “Your fish?” All this was about a fish? Not that she didn’t like scaly water-dwellers but dear Lord, she’d thought Cherise was dying.
Suddenly too exhausted to sit up, Trinity slumped against the wall next to Cherise and draped her arms over her knees. “A fish,” she repeated wearily. Her dad was in danger of dying. She had a witch to kill, a hot guy to hate, and she was here on account of a fish?
“My fish.” Cherise leaned her head back against the wall. “It’s over. It’s done. I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?” Trinity looked up as Reina and her boss, Elise Parsons, slipped into the conference room. Elise’s auburn hair was in a tight bun, as always, and her blue eyes were worried.
Elise had opened the Jamboree five years ago after she’d left her sex-addicted husband (who was, unfortunately, addicted to sex only with females to whom he wasn’t married. Females of all sorts… ahem…). After getting hammered by people who tried to convince her it was a mistake to leave the only man who was big enough to make a six foot four woman like her feel petite and girly (you know, the same helpful souls who liked to point out that if she kicked him out, the only sex she’d ever get again would involve mail-order appliances) she’d decided that women who took control of their lives needed a champion, and the Jamboree was formed.
And yes, there was a Friday night class once a month on appliances. Nothing wrong with self-love when the mood strikes.
Reina sat in a nearby chair, and Elise knelt beside Trinity, her long legs elegant in her narrow, black skirt. “Your friend did a nice job on the door, Trinity.” She let the question hang in the air as to what exactly Trinity had been thinking bringing a man with her, but she didn’t press it. That would be for later, when Cherise was no longer on the edge of whatever precipice she was about to leap off of.
As for Trinity’s friend? That wasn’t exactly how she would have described Blaine. More like an unfairly hot, arrogant jerk who was going to either save her soul or make it implode. Trinity peeked over her shoulder and saw Blaine standing in the doorway. He had an odd look on his face, as if he were confused. Like he’d just seen something he wasn’t sure about. Something that had bothered him. She started to rise to her feet to go to him, to see what was wrong.
Cherise let out small a moan. “It’s Damian.”
“Your fiancé?” Trinity looked sharply at Cherise and sat back down. Damian was a much bigger problem than Mister Fancy. If Damian was the issue, then she was very, very glad she’d come. “I mean, ex-fiancé?”
Last she’d heard, Damian was in “ex” status, and they’d all been so hopeful that Cherise would be strong enough to stay away from him before he broke her.
Sometimes seeing the clients at the Jamboree continuing to go back to the men who treated them so badly almost made Trinity want to hand them her curse, just for the night, just to get them free.
Almost.
Cherise nodded. “He came over last night. He’d been out chasing foxes with his friends, and you know what he and the boys are like when they do the werewolf thing. The women, the drinking, and the farm animals.”
“Feeding on raw steak before he went out didn’t curb the need to eat sheep?” It had been quite interesting hearing all the women’s suggestions on how to successfully date a werewolf, but loading up Damian’s stomach had seemed like the best choice. Indulging his furry fantasies had evoked a resounding “No” from most of the women, though not all.
“It didn’t work. He still had wool in his teeth. I couldn’t make love to him. He had bone fragments and wool in his incisors, you know?”
Blaine raised his brows, and Trinity felt her cheeks heat up. It was one thing to discuss sex openly with the girls, but it felt different with Blaine listening. Especially when she could still feel his hands on her naked body when he’d plucked her away from Thor-the-Kidnapper, the way his palms had slid over her oil-slicked skin—
Ahem.
“Yeah, sheep remnants would be a major mood killer,” Trinity agreed, trying to focus on the conversation. Maybe dating a werewolf would help with her murderous tendencies. She’d always had an aversion to guys with hairy backs. A guy who had hair over every body part might be perfect for her.
She glanced over at Blaine again. Sort of wondered how hairy his chest was. Would he be smooth and bare, with just warm, lush skin taut over his muscle? Or would there be that curly dark hair, weaving a path downward toward his—
“So, anyway, when I kicked him out of my bed,” Cherise continued, “he got all pissed and started howling about his animalistic need for sex. You know, the whole ‘guys can’t li
ve without it’ and stuff? How, as a dominant male, he’s naturally programmed to need to spread his seed and everything.”
“Yeah.” Trinity had to admit, on some levels, that it didn’t sound so bad. Having a man not be able to live without her? A real relationship, with commitment, bonding, and even too much sex? What if a man like Blaine couldn’t get enough of her body? Those shoulders, his biceps, that strong jaw. All day long, getting naked and sweaty? That hard-core male body wrapped around her—
Reina kicked her. “You’re staring at him,” she whispered. “Close your mouth.”
Trinity instantly averted her gaze from the way his jeans sat on his narrow hips, and tried to concentrate on Cherise.
“So when Damian stared to tear up my favorite pillow—like that’s going to make me want him—I got a rolled-up magazine and smacked his nose, like it said to do in this new Fix the Problem Dog book, and did it work? No! He growled at me, then he ran into my office and started eating my fish!”
Trinity suddenly understood what Cherise was saying. Cherise, the world renowned fish geneticist who had spawned seventeen new species of fish in the last eight years, had pet swimmers all over her house, but the ones in her office were a completely different story. “Your work fish? The new breeds you’re developing?”
“Yes! In one stupid, hairy moment, Damian set me back a year on my research. What kind of man eats your fish when you won’t sleep with him?”
“Werewolves, apparently.” Reina moved off the chair to sit beside Cherise. “Men who act like dogs are one thing, but guys who actually are canines are notoriously difficult to keep indoors. They’re best off chained up outside under the stars when you’re not using them.”
Trinity raised her brows. “Chaining him up? Isn’t that a little bit harsh? I mean, he is a man sometimes.”
“Oh, my sweet black widow, being chained up is one of the joyous pleasures of being in an intimate relationship.” Reina leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Have you never done the handcuff thing?”
Kiss at Your Own Risk Page 12