"No. Not clear." His jaw visibly tightened and I could see him settling into dickhead-argumentative-Riot mode. I wasn't in the fucking mood.
"Drive safe, Ry." I gave him a sharp nod, slid into my car, and slammed the door on whatever he'd been about to say.
Gunning my engine, I peeled out of the driveway with a screech of tires that I found oddly satisfying, despite it not being very good for Lola.
"Sorry, girl," I murmured to my car, stroking a hand over the Porsche logo on the steering wheel, "I didn't mean to be so rough with you. We just needed a dramatic exit."
Ziff made a little chirping yip at me from the passenger seat, and I flicked a glance at him as I took the corner at roughly twice the legal speed limit. Not that I was concerned with following the law. Things like road rules didn't tend to apply when you worked for a supernatural guild of assassins.
"Don't give me that look, Ziff," I scolded him. "You and I both know it wasn't just a cup of coffee that Riot wanted. We're better off just… cutting ties." I said this with a heavy sigh. The last thing I wanted to do was cut ties with my former life. My former lovers.
But things were different now. Complicated.
It hadn't been a lie when I'd said nothing had happened with Mikhail. It never had. But I wasn't stupid enough to think there wasn't something there, even if it was just crazy unrequited lust on my part. Why I had to play with fire like that, I had no idea. What sort of idiotic fox lusts after the most dangerous vampire alive? Or rather, not alive, but certainly sentient.
"Ziff, I think all this ninth-tail magic is fucking with my head." I groaned in despair and gunned my engine a little harder down the straight stretch of road that would carry me through the outskirts of Denver. "They say it can make you crazy, you know that? Having too much magic before your mind has developed enough. Drives kitsune insane. That's why I need it bound by Trina, that old hag." Ziff yipped back at me, like he understood and sympathized. "Yeah, I dunno, bud. Maybe that is all bullshit. But, no one has ever met a kitsune under a hundred years old with nine tails though, so do I really want to test their bluff?"
Something in my mirror caught my eye, and I frowned, looking closer.
"Mother. Fucker." Creeping up behind me on the deserted street was a gleaming black Range Rover Sport, which I just knew was Riot. That asshole. He just couldn't leave well enough alone!
"Hold on, Ziff," I muttered to my fennec fox companion, and shifted gears as I pressed down harder on the accelerator to outrun Riot.
That bastard must have upgraded his car though, because he held pace with me far too easily. I was still pulling away from him, but not by much. There was a turn coming up soon too, and despite Lola—an '07 Porsche Carrera GT—being the last of the truly untamed supercars, she also had notoriously shit stability.
"Back off, Riot," I muttered under my breath as we hurtled toward the upcoming corner, "back the fuck off, you fucking asshole."
With no time left, I was forced to ease down gently on my brake to slow the tiniest bit, or else risk flipping my car around the bend. Riot was right there behind me though, allowing me no space to taper out my speed.
Screaming obscenities at my ex, I held one hand out to secure Ziff in his seat while I pumped my brakes as hard as I dared to without totally spinning out and losing control of Lola.
When we finally screeched to a stop on the grassy strip alongside the road, my heart was pounding and my palms were awash with sweat.
I wasn't scared, though. Not much frightened me these days, not after all I had seen. No, I was furious.
"You okay, Ziff?" I checked, and he yipped back at me happily. At least one of us enjoyed that brush with death.
Satisfied that my little friend was unharmed, I turned my rage on the fucker responsible. Slamming out of my car, I stomped across the grass toward where Ry’s Rover had stopped some hundred yards or so away from us. My nine tails flowed behind me as I moved, like some sort of superhero cloak, and I could practically feel my rage radiating down each one to the tips.
A high-speed car chase with my ex.
Now that was fun.
Riot climbed out of the car like the pussy he was—that is, all sleek and predatory and lazy, like he didn't give two shits that he'd almost just killed me. Or rather more importantly, that he'd almost killed Ziff.
"What the fuck was that all about?" I snarled, feeling my teeth get sharp. But Riot, his teeth were that much sharper as he smiled languidly back at me and stepped so close that I could tell his confidence, it was all real. His pulse was slow, his heartbeat easy and rhythmic. Meanwhile, mine was racing.
"I told you that if you ran, I would chase." He reached up to touch a strand of loose hair that'd escaped my braid, and I batted his hand away. I'd be fucked if I let my ex tangle me up in his bullshit. As we stood there, my head craned back to look up at him, he snaked his long black tail around my ankle and gave it a squeeze.
With both palms, I shoved hard against his chest. Riot was as strong as I was, probably stronger. But I surprised him enough that he did end up stumbling back, giving me some much needed space.
Ziff chirped at me from the Porsche, but I was too busy staring into Riot's gray gaze, watching as his pupils dilated into big black circles, obscuring the color of his irises. I was furious, my own pulse racing, my heart thundering out of control. I put myself into worse situations, deadlier situations all the time, but for whatever reason, I was stressed all the fuck out right now.
Because of Riot, probably.
My body was reacting to his presence in a way I refused to acknowledge.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
"If you wanted to talk to me, you should've sent an email. Trying to kill me in a car chase doesn't exactly put you into my good graces." I turned away, Riot's hand shooting out and clamping down around my shoulder.
"Fin won't talk to you, so I will. He's miserable without you, Thea. We both are." I shrugged his arm off. Sitting at home in the shadows of a long-forgotten forest, breeding a bunch of kitsune pups … that wasn't the life I wanted. Even if I did still want the men that went with it. That secret whispered in my heart like a tiny flame that I oh-so-carefully snuffed out.
Of course, I never expected to be killing people for a living either, but at least I was out. I was out, and I had my own life, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of me ever going back. I wasn't about to be tied down to one man, not even two. I was meant to do more. And if I had to slay some bad guys on my way to get there, then that's what I was damn well going to do.
"I found an unmated kitsune on a dating site," I said casually, not bothering to look over my shoulder. If I did, maybe Riot would see the sweat on my forehead, the wild fluttering of my pulse. Maybe he'd see that my nipples were rock-hard or that I was clenching my thighs tighter than normal?
The man was as muscular, as sleek, as the big cat he embodied.
And it was far too fucking dangerous for me to be standing out here alone with him.
"I'll let you know if she gets back to me." I started walking away, but I wasn't concerned with Revel Jones responding to my message. No. Unmated kitsune were far too rare. She'd snatch Fin up, and if I was lucky, she'd take Riot, too, and I'd never have to see either of them again.
"This is all bullshit, and you know it," he called out after me, but I was too busy climbing into the Porsche and giving Ziff a pat on the head. "Even if they won't admit it, there are problems back home. The kitsune-tsukai … they made an announcement last night, Thea. There are members in the Earth who can’t shift anymore, the first kitsune cases in the world."
I slammed Lola's door a fuck of a lot harder than I'd meant to, and then patted her dash in apology all the while refusing to acknowledge the frigid chill that'd just crawled down my spine.
The Ancients were made up of old, powerful kitsune, with more tails than even I could ever hope of acquiring; they didn’t share information easily, especially not information like that. Shifting was like bre
athing. Once that was gone, no shifter—whether kitsune, werewolf, or otherwise—lasted very long. I should know; I’d killed my fair share of them, and that was even before they had a chance to degenerate too far. I’d never seen a damaged shifter live past two weeks, wasn’t even sure if I wanted to.
I started the ignition, kicked up dirt and gravel into Riot's face and took off down the road, leaving my problems behind me.
One thing at a time.
I'd deal with Nix Locklear … and then maybe I'd see if I could figure out what was happening to the Vail Valley Earth.
Maybe.
But Thea Hunt, she came first.
Call me a selfish bitch, but that's the way the world worked, and I'd finally figured out how to take advantage of that.
I wasn't giving it up anytime soon.
Mikhail was waiting outside The Shack—the nickname us lowly peons gave the RADOPA Training Facility—with his arms folded over his chest and his sharp gaze locked onto my face. It was overcast, so even though he was a vamp, a pair of sunglasses, a hat, and the shade of the old awning were enough to keep his skin from burning.
"What are you doing at The Shack?" I asked him as I climbed out of Lola, Ziff hanging out on my right shoulder, tiny claws dug into my jacket. I slammed the door and moved onto the sidewalk, realizing that in my anxious frustration at Riot and his bullshit, I'd parked with two wheels on the curb and two wheels off. Also, I’d never gotten any goddamn coffee.
Whatever.
"You know I hate that name," Mikhail said with a slow half-smile, one that said he was already onto my bullshit. To my right, warehouse workers unloaded a massive truck, and underhanded deals for drugs, favors, and black magic exchanged hands. But even lowlifes like those knew not to bother us over here.
"Sorry," I said with a smirk, crossing my arms under my small breasts and trying to pretend that I wasn't up to no good. If Mikhail had any indication that I was planning on going after Nix, he'd lock me in a coffin for the night and I'd lose my chance to prove myself. "The Recruitment And Defense of Personal Assets Training Facility. Can't I just say assassin's guild? It sounds so … fantasy novel-esque."
Mikhail gave the men nearest us a look that I could read even through his sunglasses.
"Please, they're more interested in dealing meth than spying on us."
"You can never be too careful, Thea," he purred, his voice low and dark and threaded with so many emotions that I decided not to even go there. Instead, I reached up and stroked one of Ziff's massive ears, fully aware that I was about to get my ass handed to me during this workout.
"Hey!" a voice called cheerfully, the metal door of The Shack slamming into the brick wall.
I exhaled in violent relief.
It was Rebecca, the only woman in RADOPA—aka the assassin's guild—that I gave two fucks about and actually liked. I had a problem with female intimacy usually, and didn't have many women friends. I blamed my mother for that crap, but maybe I was just too insecure? It was easy to feel like I had my shit together around a bunch of dudes.
"Hey," I said with a genuine smile and a sigh of relief. Bex was a good sparring buddy, but she wouldn't crush my skull into the mat for fun like Mikhail might do. Well, okay, I wasn't sure the man ever had any fun, but he really liked proving 'points'. And showing me that I was too weak without my magic to do shit would probably be one of them. “How's it going, Bex?"
Rebecca Michaels gave me one of those half-hugs where the two participants pat each other's backs but barely touch. I liked that about her. Uncomplicated. No touchy feelings involved.
"I got your text earlier," she said, brushing back hot pink hair from her face and glancing over at Mikhail with a scowl. Bex hated him with a passion that I understood on a primal level. He was a prick, plain and simple. Bossy. Domineering. Know-it-all. Didn't matter that they were both vampires—Bex despised our boss with good reason.
"Get inside before you sear all your skin off," Mikhail demanded with a small scowl, probably disappointed that he wasn't going to get the chance to rip me to shreds in the ring. Rebecca adjusted her big bug-eyed sunglasses and glanced down at her right arm, sticking out of the awning's shadows and into the gray midday glare.
Her flesh was red and starting to crack, like the worst kind of sunburn.
With a small shrug, she retreated back into the shadows and turned toward the door, holding it open for me to head inside. As soon as it closed behind us, she went off on Mikhail.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" she asked, tearing her glasses off her face and flashing eyes that were more pupil than iris. Just like Riot, I thought, and turned my head away, ignoring Ziff as he bit my right earlobe. Little shit. "He has serious daddy issues," she continued, narrowing her black eyes as we passed through a small door with a lazy looking guard in a chair slouched nearby.
I knew better though.
That man could stand up and snap both my neck and Rebecca's before we even knew he'd moved. The Shack wasn't very high tech, but it was draped in magical wards and chock-full of people even I knew better than to mess with.
"Daddy issues?" I asked, turning back to look at the six foot tall woman on my right. She was thin, reedy, and paler than I was, but with arms that rippled with muscle when she reached up to push her hair back. Bex was the only girlfriend I really had, but she wasn't into shopping trips or sharing ice cream over romantic movies. Her favorite pastimes were talking shit about other members of the guild … and killing people.
"He thinks he's everyone's parent," she said as she pushed open another set of doors at the end of the hall, and I slipped through.
"Pretty sure that's not what daddy issues means," I ventured as we split off, and Rebecca headed for the center ring while I veered off toward the locker room. There were a few people in the massive warehouse-turned-gym with us, but mostly, it was quiet.
"Fine, then he's just your regular ol' asshole with control problems," she called back at me, right as the doors opened and Mikhail came into the room. He looked first at Bex and then over at me with a slight scowl on his face, shaking his head and moving over to a pair of men in the far corner.
I ignored him.
He might know we were talking about him, but I could give two craps less. Mikhail did have issues, and he knew it. And maybe he really did like to think of himself as some sort of father figure? That didn’t bode well for the sexual attraction I felt towards him, but I guess it probably made sense based on the age gap.
Shaking my head in an attempt to clear the sordid thoughts, I hurried into the locker room and quickly changed into my workout clothes. Once I was in my spandex shorts and sports bra, I paused with my tank top in hand. It was a hot day—sort of—so it wouldn't be too shocking to leave the tank top off …
Without giving myself another chance to change my mind, I stuffed the shirt back in my bag, made sure Ziff was snuggled up safely in the mound of clothes, then hurried back out to where Bex waited impatiently, bouncing up and down on her toes and shooting glares toward our boss.
Mikhail, for his part, was still chatting with the guys in the corner, but his gaze was locked on me like a tractor beam.
Against my better judgement, a shiver ran through me and I thanked the Fox Father that my bra was padded enough to hide my rock-hard nipples.
"Showing a bit of skin today, huh?" Bex teased as I came close and narrowed my eyes at her.
"It's a hot day," I defended my outfit choice, "and I intend to get a good workout from you."
Bex arched a brow at me and grinned. "Hot? It's November. We'll be lucky if it doesn't start snowing again."
"Drop it," I snarled quietly, hoping Mikhail wasn't listening in on our conversation. Then again, he was a vampire, so chances are, he was. "Are we sparring today or what? Because I have a whole lot of shit to deal with and I really think kicking your ass is going to help."
She snickered, but the distraction worked and she flexed her knuckles. She'd already taped her hands up, and tossed me
the roll to do my own. At a training center for supernatural assassins, we didn't use gloves or pads or any of that wimpy human shit, but we did need to tape our knuckles. In an enclosed space like this, split skin could cause chaos if there were vamps around. Tape simply kept the smell of fresh blood contained until our natural healing could seal it back up. Not saying that prevented all the accidents that’d happened here, but it helped.
I'd barely started winding the sticky black tape around my left hand when a heavy grip clamped over my wrist, halting my motions.
"Gloves," Mikhail ordered, his deep blue eyes flashing with danger as if warning me not to argue. He knew me better than that, though.
"No way," I sneered back at him. "I'm not human, Mik, I'll be just fine. Bex and I spar all the time; we know our limits."
"Have you sparred without your magic before?" he challenged me, his voice low and quiet but I knew Bex had heard by the small gasp she let escape. For a vampire, she was seriously shit at her poker face.
"I'll be fine," I repeated, trying—and failing—to yank my wrist out of his iron grip. In fact, it only served to tighten his hold, and I bit my lip to stifle a whimper of pain. I’d be damned if he’d get that out of me.
"Prove it," he whispered, releasing my wrist without warning.
I gasped at the sudden lack of pressure and held my hand to my chest defensively. "How?"
Mik nodded to the wrist I was protecting. "If those bruises disappear in the next thirty seconds, I'll leave you be."
I tried to glare at him—because I had no comeback for this—but it was fucking impossible to hold his gaze for too long. Vampires, and old ones like Mik in particular, could grab and roll someone's mind with a mere second’s glance. Only the strongest supernaturals could keep their thoughts closed to a vampire of Mikhail's strength, and I was not running the risk of him seeing inside my head or hypnotizing me.
Instead, I just scowled at his perfectly tailored coat lapels. Mik made a good show of pretending he felt temperature like humans by dressing appropriately for the weather. Often, though, he'd forget to adjust when he came indoors. Which was probably why he was still in a charcoal black, woolen coat while I stood there in my bra.
The Nine Page 5