by LJ Swallow
I gesture at the window. "We're three floors up. Expecting me to jump from the window?"
The guy struggles to keep his eyes off my almost-naked body. "No."
"Want more of an eyeful before I dress?" I ask. Really, I don't give a shit about people seeing me like this. I've never been body conscious and really, what's the difference between a guy seeing me in underwear versus if I stood in a bikini on a beach?
Man, I wish I was on a tropical beach right now.
"Sorry, I’ll leave, but don’t hit me if I tell you I’m enjoying the view." Cillian's dark-eyed expression tells me skimpy underwear interests him a little too much. I tip my chin and tighten my mouth. I’m flattered, but if Cillian touches me, this situation will create an unhappy ending for his face.
"I’m not naked. I don’t care as long as you control yourself." I grab the damp towel and squeeze water from my hair.
Cillian closes the door steps forward and studies me with his strange eyes. His face holds the same expression as yesterday in the alley outside the club. "Your face is a mess."
"I know."
"I think the guys will see sense. Let me talk to them. Morgan’s stress about his brother grows every day."
"I can understand that, it’s fine. I'm leaving."
"But what about this?" I shiver as he turns my arm over and runs a finger along the black skin. "I want to help."
"You mean you want me to use my skills to locate your item? I'm not stupid, that's what this has been about all along."
His eyes meet mine again and he shakes his head. "Wrong. Yes, we need that from you, but you're worth more than that."
"Because I can find more items? Probably best I stay alive then. If you’re lucky, I’ll find a cure for my death mark and come back to work for a price. Charge you ten times my going rate for being ungrateful, unhelpful bastards."
The mattress sinks as Cillian sits beside me. "I wouldn’t blame you. I will talk to them. We can sort this out."
"I don't understand Dex's reaction either."
Cillian screws up his nose. "Dex is a weird guy. He's constantly paranoid someone will catch or kill him. He won't tell us much about his life before, but it must've been bad."
I nod. "Do you agree they’re overreacting?"
"Yes. I agree." He pauses. "But I also think you're overreacting by leaving."
"A guy who can turn into a poisonous, slavering, huge-ass dog said he doesn't trust me. I think I have a right to be worried."
"No. Dex wouldn't hurt you." He sighs. "He's the one who pushed us to find and recruit you."
Dex’s words about owing and protecting me come back into my mind. But this is such a contradiction. I place the towel on the bed. "I think I'm better leaving to stay with Col. I was stupid not to go to him in the first place."
Cillian gives a wry smile. "Too proud. Like now."
"What if the bones don't exist, Cillian? Maybe there isn't any hope."
Cillian dangles his hands between his legs and looks at the floor. "I believe there's always hope."
"I hope so." I nudge him at my semi-joke. "Otherwise it's a few days of 'Netflix and chill', apparently."
"Great. I can help with the chill part." He frowns when I chuckle. "What?"
"You don't know what the phrase means, do you? ‘Chill' equals sex."
He holds me in his steady gaze. "Willing to help with that too."
There's something fascinating about this tall, wiry guy that draws me in. At first, I thought it was his eyes and unusual looks. I'm always drawn to this—just look at me and Bastian. But, in the last couple of days, I'm fighting to figure out more. Guys don't usually look at me the way he does. He asks questions. Tried to understand what's going on beneath. His protective reaction yesterday soothed over a raw patch exposed by my encounter with Bastian.
"Stay, Syv," he whispers. "Let us keep you safe."
He takes a damp tendril of hair and winds it around his finger. "We should get to know each other more. I'm sure we'd make a great team."
"Are you talking about me and you, or the four of us?"
"Both."
My skin goose-bumps when he drops my hair and it brushes my cheek. I'm suddenly aware how little I'm wearing. How he could touch me right now and I'd probably respond. I swallow and stare at his mouth. What would an elemental kiss feel like? Cool? Warm?
I tear my eyes away before I follow through on my thoughts. "One look at me semi-naked and you're propositioning me?" I shake my head and pull a shirt from my bag.
Pulling the shirt over my head, I flinch as the neck pulls against my injured cheeks and the soft cotton heats my already heated skin. Cillian reaches out and strokes my hair flat. "Don't leave."
"I think it's best, don't you? This was a mistake. I can find others to help."
His mouth purses. "I worry about you. Not just the demons, but the fae guy. You're vulnerable."
I suck on my teeth. "I'm fine."
"At least think about staying until the morning and we've talked about this. When emotions aren’t running high." He rubs a thumb along the injured skin on my lip. "I won't be happy until we have that mark off you."
My mouth parts and I've no idea why this man has such a huge effect on me. His tenderness would normally be a huge turn-off, but his thumb's rough pad sends a spark across my face to match any magic.
I could easily respond to the undertones between us and pull him onto me--his mouth, his hands, all of him. Would sex with an elemental be earth-shattering? I smile to myself.
"What do you mean 'earth shattering'?"
I blink. This is becoming a habit. "Did I just say that out loud?"
"Yeah, with a weird look on your face."
Shaking myself out of lustful thoughts, I turn away from Cillian and bend to to pick up my jeans from the floor. I hear a sharp intake of breath.
"Stop staring at my backside.” I pull them on without turning back to him.
"Sure."
"You’re still looking, aren’t you?" I ask focusing on fastening my jeans.
I hear movement and hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention as they detect Cillian close behind. "Maybe."
I tense as he pulls at my shirt, straightening it over my jeans. His fingers brush my backside, lightly, without lingering. He turns me to face him and touches my cheek with gentle fingers, brow tugging together as he looks at my injuries.
"I can't persuade you?" he whispers.
"To stay?"
Cillian's lips brush my injured cheek and I'm torn between moving my lips to meet his or backing away. "To stay. I don’t want you to leave."
Summoning every ounce of self-control, I step away. "I can't stay. I'll invite you over sometime. For Netflix and chill."
21
I have a key to Col's old Victorian terrace—a place in a nicer part of London than my usual digs. He once told me I'm the only one who owns a key, which is bloody trusting considering my line of work. Especially with the amount of valuable magic items he has stashed here. But, we both know our professional relationship is more profitable for me than a quick buck from stealing his stuff.
If I need to escape, this is where I come.
Despite all this, I don't like rocking up at his place uninvited. The first few times I did, I was terrified magic traps or some shit might hit me. But whatever wards his place also allows me through.
I can't help feeling smug and a little special he allows me.
Empty houses don't bother me, but for once I wish Col was here. After two days with the guys' company, I feel a strange loss. The quiet echoes with my footsteps through Col's restored home. I'm unsure if his weird magic causes this, but spending time around Col when I feel like shit helps.
With no fae immortal to chat to, I turn to my most trusted friend: alcohol.
Once I dump my stuff in my unofficial room, a large bedroom with a bay window overlooking his gardens, I head downstairs with the whisky I bought on the way here.
I wasted my time. I
should know better than to attach myself to people. Sucks when they die, but when I trust people and they screw me over, it hurts more.
The whisky burns my throat as I drink my way through half the bottle. I left my boots and jacket in the bedroom beside my dagger—this is one place I don't need a weapon on hand. The room darkens as night falls and I sit in the lounge room, curled up in a chair watching the dusk turn to night. I don't draw the curtains, and the only light shines from a nearby streetlamp.
Stripped down to my T-shirt and jeans again, I keep catching sight of the death mark on my arm. But the alcohol soothes me, along with the weird floral scent my friend's house fills with.
Damn I wish Col owned a TV, then I wouldn't need to watch a replay of recent events in my head.
I'm snoozing, warm and glowing from the whisky's effects, when Col returns. The front door closes, the sound echoing down the hallway outside the room. I don't hear his footsteps, but when the light flicks on overhead, I know Col's here.
His tall figure appears in my line of vision.
This guy— he's a strange combination of beautiful but sexy. His angular features and large eyes are human-looking, but only just. As with most fae, he's taller than an average human guy. Not a bulky build, but his toned body is fitting for an immortal. He often walks around the place in just trousers, with feet and chest bare, and I can vouch that the sight of his taut abs distracts a girl.
We've never hooked up; our relationship moved from professional to something odd, but not physical. We're close, which is why our recent argument and distance hurt. He's the one person in this world I think cares for me, but I’m convinced he sees me as a sister figure. Well, if an immortal fae could be a half-demon's brother. I hate to admit this, but I think part of the attraction to Bastian was his similarity to Col. In appearance, anyway.
Col crouches down and rests his hands on his thighs as he studies me. His face shadows in anger and violet eyes light up with magic.
"What happened to your face?" His voice is quiet, and the harsh tone unfamiliar.
"My face is only half the problem." I stretch out my arm and Col takes my hand, holding it straight as he stares at the mark. "You know what this is, I presume?"
He nods and stands. "I’ve heard about them appearing on girls. Who did this to you?"
"A necromancer’s buddies. I think. I don't know. I've been working with some guys—Dwellers—to find ingredients for a cure. But they decided I wasn’t worth the hassle and can’t trust me." I swig from the bottle. "Nothing new there."
Col takes the bottle from me and sets it on the table. His expression darkens. "Did they do that to your face? How many Dwellers did you spend time with?"
"No." I jump to their defence—god knows why. "They're okay."
"They're Dwellers, Syv. I've yet to meet one I can trust."
"These three were genuine, as far as I know." I chew on my bottom lip. I'd better not mention the Institute.
"What did you do that caused them to stop trusting you?"
His words turn my stomach. Sure, this had to be my fault because Syv double-crosses for her own ends. Col catches the anger in my expression.
"I apologise. Tell me the story, Syv."
I do. Often, I'll embellish tales to make myself sound better, but I give him a staccato version of events. The warehouse. The Institute. The attacks. I don't mention their quest for the box.
Col sits opposite me, head tipped to one side as he listens, remaining quiet for a few minutes after my story finishes.
"Do you think the Horsemen may want them dead?"
I blink. "No. They wouldn't put me in danger. Demons attacked us—it's insane to think the Horsemen would be connected to that."
"The Horsemen worked with demons before when they had a joint interest. Perhaps they are again. We both know how keen they are to wipe out any Dwellers left over from the Reckoning."
"And I know Ripley is mobilising his Order against the Horsemen again. As do they. Their truce is over, Col. Ripley won't stop his original plans, especially now he has help. So, no, I don't think the Horsemen are siding with demons again."
Col rubs his forehead. "Talk to them. Tell Xander you need their help, or Vee if he won't listen. They owe you, Syv. These other three guys... I think they were using you."
I swallow down the hurt. I'm pissed off I fell for their promises. My mind filled with theories earlier, as my good friend whisky spoke to me.
Subject change necessary.
"I hope you don't mind me crashing your place again. You didn't answer your phone."
"You always have a sanctuary here, you know that." He leans forward and touches my shoulder and a soft buzz takes some pain. "And I left my phone at home."
"As always." I smile weakly.
"Few people call me. Or few I want anything to talk to, anyway." He sighs and his fingers explore the wounds on my face. "You know I can't help with the mark, but I could help a little with this."
I nod. Fae magic. Their school is a world away from the necromancers—well, a realm away, as there's no connection between their worlds. Col's magic can't counteract a school his has never encountered.
Col doesn't heal, but something in his touch can enhance a body's healing process. Luckily, I have enough human in me that he can help, since it's the human that's injured.
"And that will only help the physical wounds." He pushes the bottle out of my reach as I lean forward to pick up my drink. "This numbs you, Syv. You need to learn to deal with your emotions in a different way."
"I'm not emotional. Just pissed off."
He smiles. "But anger is an emotion. Perhaps one day we'll discover what's hidden beneath there." He places a hand on my chest. A warmth spreads through but doesn't touch my re-hardened heart.
I pull his hand away. "Perhaps."
Col sits beside me, hand on my arm, and I rest my head on the back of the sofa as his magic soothes the human aches and pain. I rarely feel at peace unless I obliterate my thoughts with alcohol or sex. The only physical contact I have with men is for that reason. Everybody but Col. Is this how people feel when they’re with someone they care about?
I open an eye and catch him watching me. The concerned pinch to his brow drops and is replaced by a warm smile. One that pushes at my heart. But what’s the point? Col doesn’t feel that way about me. Should I be insulted? He subscribes to my view life is for living, and I’ve never seen him with a partner longer than a couple of weeks. He tells me he doesn’t want to get attached, which makes sense for an immortal. Perhaps there’s an immortal girl out there for him who can take away the loneliness I sense in him sometimes.
Hell, he must be lonely if he lets me invade his sanctuary from the world.
"Better?" he asks in his whispered tones. I nod. "Physically, anyway, right?"
"I always bounce back."
He strokes a bruise on my cheek. "Yes. You do. I think you need to rest and then tomorrow you can explain more about these Dwellers and this mark."
"Do you think you can help?" I ask.
"I don’t know, but I will do everything I can, you know that." He stands and gestures above. "I have things I need to do. Sleep."
I place my fingers on my cheek where his tips just were. "I will. I need to head out. I have something I need to do first."
He nods at the table. "Not finish the bottle, I hope."
I laugh. "No. I’ll save that for when I come home again."
Col eyes me. "Home? You see this as your home?"
"Shit. Sorry. Habit. I call wherever I’m staying ‘home’." I hope he can’t see my hot cheeks.
He chuckles. "I’m always happy for you to call this place home."
With a last smile and nod he leaves the room, his bare feet quiet on the polished wooden floor. I watch after him for a moment and dismiss the desires that grow whenever we’re close. Why do I feel this way? Maybe because Col’s the only guy I’ve spent time with, month after month, without sex as the basis of the relationship
.
Either that, or we need to get the sex situation out of the way. Because whatever charges the air between us when we’re alone grows stronger each time.
I pick up my phone from the table, where I’ve left it screen down for the last few hours. My stomach flips in disappointment when there aren’t any messages from the Dwellers.
Time for a trip to the pub.
22
Before I left Col's, I tied my hair back and swapped my leather jacket for a soft blue hoodie to cover my face. But I don't change everything—a dagger remains in my belt.
Thanks to our trip to the mausoleum, the night grows late. The bar I head to when I stay at Col’s never closes—hence why it’s my favourite. The night is muggy and warm, so my hood over my head looks unusual. I drag it back down again and veer around a couple on the street. On high alert, I walk swiftly across the street toward the bus stop. I hate public transport but can't be arsed hanging around for an Uber.
The half-full bus arrives and as the doors hiss open, I climb aboard. I scan my card and find a vacant seat before resting my head on the window. The cool soothes my still-aching head. Someone approaches and sits beside me, which pisses me off considering there's a row of empty seats in front of me.
"Syv."
I detect him before he speaks, the moment his solid thigh touches mine and his arm rests against my shoulder. He takes up too much room—I'm lucky to have a few inches to myself. I swallow down angry words as his eyes meet mine, and I'm transfixed again by the strangeness of the orange flecks.
And by the weird, primal thing he has going on that stirs things that should remain unstirred.
"Are you stalking me again?" The bus jolts as we move back into the traffic flow.
"I was worried about you." His mouth turns down. "I know you were at the Collector’s but I suspected you’d leave. Maybe for a trip to another pub?"
I shake my head with a wry smile. "Sure. How did you guess?"
He chuckles. "I’ve watched how much you enjoy pubs and bars. I thought I'd watch if somebody else followed you. I waited outside the house."