by A. C. Arthur
With his mind in check once more, Eli took a steadying step toward her. Then another and another, until her breasts rubbed against his lower chest. He waited until she looked up at him, as he knew she would. There was never any backing down from her, never any turning away because things got tough. For a second he wondered if that would be true in any case.
Then he blinked and realized he didn’t give a damn. None of that mattered.
“What I want to trust you to do is be a better guard,” he said sternly. “To take the orders given to you and to protect the ones you’re assigned to. Do you think you can do that, Cannon?”
She swallowed, her lips thinning only slightly before she replied, “I can do that, Preston.”
CHAPTER 9
“He asked about you,” Amina said simply, her voice sounding strained as she spoke over the phone.
The fingers that had been drumming over her steering wheel while Nivea sat outside the barbershop on the corner stilled.
“Why?” she asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I wondered that myself,” her sister told her. “It’s been years since he’s even acknowledged you existed. Then out of the blue he asks, ‘Have you heard from Nivea?’”
“And what did you say?”
“What was I supposed to say? He is my father. And yours too. Whatever falling out you had with them all those years ago was probably silly and should not have kept you all from speaking or seeing each other for all this time.”
This wasn’t the first time Amina had shared her views on what she thought was Nivea’s chosen exile from the Cannon family. It was normally Nivea’s practice to simply ignore her sister, changing the topic and moving on. Today, Eli’s questions from a week ago resonated in her mind. Why was Richard Cannon giving money to the Comastaz Labs?
“It just is, Amina. We’ve been over this before.”
“Right. And before I always let it go because you seemed happy and so did they. But he wanted to know when the last time I saw and talked to you was. He wanted to know where you were, what you were doing and I thought, maybe?”
A car sped past and Nivea looked up and out the side window. She tried to keep her breathing steady and remain alert. The press had been all over what happened at the charity ball. Even with Priya’s statements on behalf of Reynolds & Delgado, LLC, that there was a disagreement arising from hotel guests that were not on the invite list and things quickly escalated, the whispers of “cat people” were circulating once more.
“Maybe what?” she asked her sister, trying to keep her personal life from overlapping with her work, and not 100 percent certain that was going to remain a possibility for much longer.
“Maybe you would like to come home,” she said slowly. “Just for dinner, I mean,” she quickly added.
“No!” Nivea replied just as fast. Going back to New York—not home because that place would never be Nivea’s home again—was not an option.
“But—” Amina started.
Nivea was shaking her head even though she knew her sister couldn’t see her. “But nothing. I’m never going back there. Ever,” she added adamantly. “Look, Amina, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
Nivea immediately took the phone from her ear and ended the call, her fingers shaking as she held it in her hand. Lowering her head until her brow rested on the steering wheel, Nivea closed her eyes and continued to focus on her breathing.
In slowly, out even slower. In and out until her heart rate steadied and her temples ceased throbbing. That’s what the shrink had taught her. Whenever the memories came on hard and swift, to breathe her way through them and to remember, no matter what, that it wasn’t her fault. It was Richard’s.
Still, the weakness each memory provoked was all hers and Nivea hated it, each and every time.
“Dammit!” she whispered vehemently. “Just goddammit!”
Shaking her head slowly as if the motion could actually clear all the dark and degrading memories that lived inside her, she rose up until her spine was straight. Her cat, also rising to its full length, filled her human body until she felt every ounce of its courage and strength pouring through her veins like some sort of intravenous injection.
With pursed lips she thought about Eli’s questions once more. Was Richard Cannon somehow involved with the creation of the hybrids? And if so, how was she going to handle that? She was sure that Rome and the others thought she might not remain loyal to them, even though—to their credit—none of them treated her any differently than they had before.
Leaving the ballroom a few nights ago she’d been able to assist in guarding Rome and Kalina as they’d left. She’d ridden in the truck with them and had seen Kalina back to her private rooms.
“Thank you very much for taking the initiative,” Kalina had said to Nivea before ducking into her room.
Nivea had felt prouder than she had in a very long time because this was what she wanted to do with her life. To protect those that she was loyal to, to uphold the laws of their kind, and to work with the other guards doing the same. She was not a traitor, or a murderer—or anything else that made up the complex composition of Richard Cannon. No matter that his blood ran hot through her veins. She was nothing like him. But she did know him better than probably anyone else on this earth. He’d made it that way the moment he’d pulled his nine-year-old daughter into his adult world with that first inappropriate touch to her bare shoulder and visiting her nightly for the next seven years.
Hence the reason she could never go back.
Unless she really had no other choice.
Nivea prayed she would have another choice, her gaze moving to the door of the barbershop as she stopped fighting the indecision over whether or not to go inside. Eli owned the barbershop and three others just like it throughout the city. He employed men that he’d met over the years, ones that had fallen in some way and needed a helping hand. She’d admired that about Eli, the compassion he had for people. The fact that it seemed to be all people besides her only stung a little. Well, a lot, but she wasn’t about to start with that complaint at the moment.
Instead, she slipped her cell phone into her jacket pocket alongside the keys she’d previously taken out of the ignition. She climbed out of her car and seconds later was opening the door to the barbershop, all while trying not to think about Eli’s reaction to her being there.
They weren’t out on assignment today because Dorian Wilson had seemingly disappeared. After the incident at the cabin they hadn’t seen him at his house and X’s friend at the Bureau had confirmed he hadn’t shown up for work. He wasn’t dead, Eli had seemed certain of that fact when she’d suggested that maybe he’d been shot at the cabin but managed to drive away, thus dying someplace else. But he didn’t seem to be in D.C. either. And after the incident at the charity ball, Rome wanted all shifters focused on training to deal with the hybrids, since it seemed apparent that Crowe wasn’t stopping his development of the species.
Eli had left Havenway hours ago and she’d been—like a stalker—following him around the city. Why? She’d asked herself that question several times today and had only been able to come up with one answer—he was her mate.
Nivea was as sure of this as she was of her name. Especially after their little tryst, no matter how long ago that seemed to be. The shrink said she’d one day be able to love and trust and care for someone the way she was supposed to have been loved and cared for, and she believed it wholeheartedly. Just as she was certain that Eli was the one, if he could ever get past that chip the size of a boulder on his shoulder.
The moment she walked into the shop a couple of things greeted her. The quiet: a barbershop, similar to a beauty salon, was rarely ever quiet. The people: all eight of them were standing at the back of the shop, huddled together, staring toward something behind her. And as she finally turned her head to the left, she saw the knife that was being held to Eli’s neck.
* * *
“Fuck!” Eli murmured the moment h
e saw Cannon walk through the door.
Up until this moment he’d had the situation under control. Or at least he was getting there.
Pedro Rimas—the man currently holding the sharp blade to his neck—had been stopping by the barbershop, leaving messages for Eli for the past two weeks. Malik Drake, Priya’s brother who had been kidnapped two months ago and was still attending outpatient rehab for his decades-long drug addiction, had taken each message and made sure Eli knew about them instantly.
Eli’s first inclination was to ignore the messages. To forget that time in his life, the weeks when he wasn’t sure if he’d be sentenced to human jail for the rest of his life. Or if his cat would overrule the justice system entirely and carry them back to the forest. Nine years ago he’d killed Rimas’s brother, Lonzo, in a pool hall because the bastard had hit Leanne Campbell, Eli’s ex-girlfriend, knocking her unconscious. Rimas had been in jail at the time. Today, now that he was clearly finished serving his time, Rimas had come after Eli for revenge. Eli understood that motivation all too well.
“We don’t do your kind of hair,” Eli managed to say to Cannon, glaring at her from the bent back, headlock position Rimas had him in.
“Shut the hell up!” Rimas yelled, his arm tightening around Eli’s neck, the hand with the knife shaking so that the tip of the blade nipped Eli’s skin.
Blinking, Eli opened his eyes again to see Cannon’s lips moving but no sound coming out. Dammit, she was speaking into her com link, alerting the others that he was in trouble. They’d be here in no time, especially Ezra. He had to diffuse this situation and quickly. It wasn’t as if Rimas was stronger than him, or his cat, for that matter. But Eli had been trying his best to handle this situation differently, to not react the way he had the night he’d killed Rimas’s brother. It had been taking a hell of a lot of his strength but he’d thought he was making progress since the nutcase hadn’t sliced Eli’s neck open as of yet. Then, she showed up.
“I want you all to get out of here,” she said, moving back and opening the door.
She was talking to the barbers and clients that a few minutes before Eli had ordered into the back of the shop.
“Come on, get out now!” she continued, moving her arms to direct them.
She stood with her back to him and Rimas while she waved the people out. Malik had looked at Eli, then to Cannon in question.
“Get moving. I’ve got this,” she told him.
From behind her, Eli nodded, telling Malik it was okay to listen to this unarmed female. Well, Malik would think she was just an unarmed female. Only Eli knew better.
“This doesn’t concern you, bitch!” Rimas yelled at Cannon when everyone else had cleared out of the room.
She turned slowly, refusing to look at Eli.
“He’s right,” Eli said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
A brow arched, the right side of her mouth lifting in a partial smile as she took a step forward. Nobody looked as sexy as she did in that guard’s uniform. Even with her hair pulled back tight in her signature ponytail, she was every bit as alluring as any model on the front page of a fashion magazine. Only better because there was an edge to her along with a bit of poise that he only now admitted had been the first thing to attract him to her.
Now that personality trait might be what got her killed. No, he corrected himself instantly, he’d never let that happen. Not again.
“Looks like we’re having some type of disagreement here,” she said calmly. “And hey, if he overcharged you, I can believe it. He’s a shady character if I’ve ever met one.”
Eli frowned as she talked to Rimas, ignoring him and probably thinking she was helping. Inside his cat growled, ready to strike, needing desperately to shift. His spine tingled, moving beneath his shirt, all too ready to bend and conform to the cat’s will. But he couldn’t. Exposure to this human at this time would be too detrimental for the shifters. Besides that, once the cat was released, Eli would lose all control, just as he had before.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he said tightly. “Get. The. Hell. Out of here!”
She didn’t even look at him as she took that next step, didn’t seem to care what she was walking into.
“We can resolve this without violence,” she told Rimas.
“He’s dying here today. I’m gonna gut him the same way he did my brother and if you don’t get lost I’m gonna do the same to you!” Rimas yelled at her and something inside Eli vibrated, his body shaking with its intensity.
“Are you going to let him get away with that?” she asked Eli, finally looking at him.
Her intention to diffuse this situation was clear in the set of her shoulders and the glare of her eyes. Eli watched with growing trepidation. He stood up straight then, pulling Rimas’s arms with him.
“Keep still, you prick!” Rimas yelled. He was shaking and yet trying to keep his hold on Eli.
It was useless. Eli flexed his back muscles, jerking free of Rimas’s hold, simultaneously elbowing the guy in the gut. All actions he could have taken before. He hadn’t because to do so would have further enraged Rimas and possibly pushed Eli to shift into his cat to take care of the bastard once and for all. That was not a scenario he wished to play out, not here and not now that the shifters had so many other issues going on.
Just as he was patting himself on the back for keeping the worst from happening in front of his staff and customers, Rimas came up quickly, lunging forward, knife held high. Eli leaned to the side to avoid the stick of the knife and punched him again in the jaw. His claws had extended, leaving a long scratch across the man’s face that leaked with blood immediately.
He frowned, trying like hell to bite back all that boiled inside, the anger mixed with the power. Eli took a step back, praying the cat and all the darkness from that stupid shaman treatment kept it together. They had to work together, the three entities to keep the peace, the balance …
There was a movement behind him and the next thing he saw was Cannon lifting a leg to kick at Rimas. The man grabbed her leg quickly, bending it and stepping into her, thrusting the knife deep into her shoulder before Eli could even blink.
But blink he finally did and when his eyes opened again, they were the cat’s. On a deep inhale he picked up the scent of her blood, rich and acidic, and fury darkened his gaze, pumping into every muscle of his body. Eli lunged, cat’s teeth and full claws bared, only his prey in his sights.
He swiped at Rimas from behind, pulling him by the shirt off of Cannon and tossing him into the wall with such force the drywall caved with the outline of his body. Rimas slid to the floor and Eli was on him, swinging and striking, seeing nothing but blood red.
Eli’s vision blurred for a moment as his fists continued to batter the man on the floor. When it cleared there was blood everywhere. It filled the room, ran down the walls onto the dirt floor. Acacia’s body was limp and still they’d attacked. The sting of betrayal had only been the tip of the iceberg. The shaman’s potion laced with damiana had reportedly enhanced the warrior instinct the twin shifters had been born with, turning it into something darker, deeper, more tainted than either of them had foreseen. They’d killed her men too, just before taking Acacia down, so that their bodies were drenched in blood, their chests heaving with the exertion, cats roaring at the conquest.
“Stop, Eli! Stop!”
It was Ezra yelling into his ear, holding onto his arms, and pulling him across the room. The room that was no longer in the Sierra Leone. Eli’s back slammed against the wall, his heart pounding against his rib cage as his vision finally cleared, the curtain of red slipping away so that his brother’s sea-green eyes stared back at him, a grim look on his face.
His cat roared, so loud the sound vibrated throughout Eli’s entire body and he closed his eyes tight to endure the tremors. Then the scent wafted into his nostrils and his eyes shot open. There was blood, again, this time dripping onto the floor from her arm as she stood. She was looking at him and Eli bolted u
p onto his feet. In seconds he was on her, his hands shaking as he took her arm, felt the warmth of the pouring blood, and saw the angry gash at her shoulder.
“She’s going to be okay,” he heard a voice from behind. “Aidan’s on his way with a truck now. He was the closest to us when I headed this way. He’ll take her back to Havenway and Ary will fix her up.”
He knew the voice. His brother, his twin. Alongside the voice was another sound. A heartbeat, Ezra’s maybe? Eli felt totally open, vulnerable to every emotion, every nuance of being a shifter and then some. But it wasn’t Ezra’s heartbeat he heard echoing in his ears. It was Nivea’s, he knew because he was touching her and the sound matched the pulsing at her wrist.
“He hurt you,” Eli said, his forehead furrowing as he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her wound.
“I’m okay,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Just a little cut.”
She was trying to reassure him. It wasn’t working. He turned from her then, his teeth bared, the cat’s roar sounding loudly throughout the room.
“Just hold on,” Ezra said. “Hold the hell on! She’s going to be okay. And he’s alive.”
The latter wasn’t what Eli wanted to hear. He lunged forward, ready to complete the task he’d begun, but Ezra was there, blocking his body with his own, pushing Eli back. This time Eli didn’t fall away so easily. He pushed against his brother’s barrier, trying to get to the bastard that had hurt Nivea. She was bleeding, a lot, and the sight had Eli’s stomach churning, his temples throbbing with the need to retaliate, to kill.
“Take care of her, Eli! Go back to Havenway and take care of her!” Ezra continued to yell into his brother’s face.
Eli roared again, his claws clicking against each other as his fingers clenched and retracted. His chest felt full, like the breath coming through was a terrific struggle. He wanted to yell “no,” to tell Ezra to get the hell out of his way or end up on the floor as well. But he couldn’t. He roared again, this time in disappointment and confusion. He wanted the death, felt the power of it rippling through his veins. Inside him lived a killer—all he had to do was unleash it completely. It would be so simple to let go and move forward, to take the life that had harmed hers. To end it as it had begun, with violence.