“Like what you see?” His voice echoed in the gym.
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Xander’s mouth to tarnish his perfectly beautiful body. “I’m here to discuss my formal reprimand.” I’d rather eat glass than admit I enjoyed the view.
Xander crossed to a bench and retrieved a towel. Wiping his face and chest, he crossed the gym to the door where I remained leaning in the doorway while trying, at least, to look casual. “Well, since I am the king”—he paused to stretch his legs—“your punishment is mine to give, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’m sorry, Xander. I didn’t realize I’d come here today to give your ego a good, long stroking. If this is my punishment for using your authority without permission, then consider me properly lashed.”
Xander’s molten caramel eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. A silent groan stretched long through my mind. Showcasing his preternatural speed, he moved across the gym in almost a blur, reached to the wall of weapons, and grabbed a wicked-looking cat-o’-nine-tails whip with many dangling cords capped with barbed metal tips. “If you’re looking for a good lashing”—he swung the whip with menace as he made his way back to me—“I could give you one that would leave you begging for me to stop.”
His voice carried a hard edge, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell if the threat was violent or sexual in nature. Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a chickenshit and avoided Raif. Anything would have been better than this.
“My workout isn’t quite over.” The whip hummed as Xander twirled it in a circular pattern. “You beat me, we’ll consider you properly reprimanded. I beat you”—his eyes caressed me from head to toe—“and as punishment for your actions, you return my money and continue working for free.”
Sounded more than fair to me. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like better than wiping the floor with Xander’s pretty face. He was going down! There was no way in hell I was parting with that money. “You’re on.”
I didn’t give him time to react before I launched myself from my perch in the doorway. Shedding my corporeal form—I wasn’t about to play fair—I appeared behind him, using his own technique against him, my elbow striking between his shoulder blades before I swept his legs out from underneath him. He hit the mat with a woof! and I smiled triumphantly. That’s right, Xander, I’m going to fuck your shit up!
Before I’d finished my premature celebration, something snapped at my ankle, and I looked down just in time to see the barbed ends of the whip biting through my pant leg into my flesh. Xander jerked, and I went down—hard, I might add—before I had the presence of mind to try to escape. The tails of the whip held my corporeal form—the sonofabitch must have been anticipating an unfair fight—and I assumed the whip had been made with Lyhtan hair, soul shadows, or both. I’d seen only one Shaede extract the magic shadows from his soul in Xander’s warehouse months ago. I’d watched as Raif exhaled gently over the wide mouth of a bottle, and with his breath, inky black tendrils had pooled in the container. Soul shadows were the one thing that could kill a Lyhtan, no matter what the time of day. That essence of darkness could break bones as if they were nothing but twigs, and I didn’t doubt that Raif had enhanced most of the weapons in this arsenal with his magic.
Before I could bring myself upright, Xander straddled me, securing my wrists with one hand above my head. He smiled and bent low over my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Give up yet?”
“Not a chance,” I said from between clenched teeth. I brought my knee up to his groin, but before I could make purchase on his royal jewels, he rolled away and jumped to his feet, putting a good two or three yards between us.
I’d come to the house unarmed, but I had plenty of weapons at my fingertips. Xander charged at a full run, swinging the whip wildly above his head. I spun away and dissolved, becoming solid at the opposite wall adorned with weapons. I could have grabbed the spiked ball and chain. Or even a dagger. But the point of this fight was not collateral damage, so I took the bokken and gave it a few practice swings before returning to the center of the mat to face the king.
Xander smiled and stretched his neck from side to side. “You’re not going to win,” he said. “And I’ll get you for free.”
“Xander,” I scoffed, “you’ll never get me—period.” Without thinking, I charged, letting my warrior’s instinct and months of Raif’s training guide me. I stabbed forward, but the bokken was deflected with a swipe of the whip. I turned so as not to leave my back undefended, and Xander attacked, swinging his arm toward the wooden sword. The silver barbs of the cat-o’-nine-tails dug into the hard wood and he jerked, the bokken flying through the air along with the discarded whip. Okay, so it was going to be a knock-down, drag-out, hand-to-hand match. Perfect.
Xander had a good seventy pounds and a foot or so of height on me. But I was quicker on my feet and had the advantage of not being confined to corporeality. Our fight came down to a strange mishmash of judo, tae kwon do, and straight-up street brawl. I took a hard left to the ribs and doubled over in pain, disappearing before Xander could land a second blow. He’d broken two of my ribs, but, thanks to my preternatural healing, the damage was repaired before I became my solid self again. I managed to connect my fist to his kidney and followed through with a kick to his knee. He went down, but only for a moment before launching himself at me with renewed vigor and a punch-kick-punch combination that had me retreating rather than fighting back.
“I don’t know about you,” Xander said, his words coming through pants of breath, “but this is turning me on.”
Oh hell no! I almost tapped out of the match, just so I wouldn’t have to think about Xander being aroused. It was a good strategy, though. He’d resorted to messing with my head when he realized I could hold my own in the fight. A thought struck me, and I slowed my assault. We could go on like this for hours, until one of us tired or until someone intervened, not willing to risk an injury to the king. I imagined Anya would be the first one to throw her body in the path of that bullet. But I didn’t have all night to ponder the possibility of taking her down too, so, like Xander, I changed course.
“You’re turned on?” I asked, making my voice sound especially breathy. “Why is that, Xander? Do you like it rough?”
He stumbled, and I used the opportunity to deliver a kick to his gut. Lust sparkled in his eyes, and a smile stretched across his handsome face as he recovered from the kick. I tried to hide my own smile. I had him in my crosshairs, and he was going down. Leave it to Xander to always be thinking with his dick.
“You need to be made love to by a proper man.” He ducked my left swing, and then my right. “Not that sad excuse for a lover you keep at your apartment.”
His slight against Tyler gave me pause, and he used the opportunity to jab me with his elbow. Damn, another broken rib. I groaned, struggling for a deep breath while the bone knitted back together. Asshole. “You think you’re the man to give it to me, Xander? I doubt you could handle it. I’m not some compliant groupie, ready to fall back with my legs spread just because you snap your fingers.”
I blocked Xander’s roundhouse kick and parried a misthrown punch. “I like a challenge,” he said. “I bet you’re very good in bed.”
“I am.” Xander’s attention drifted as his eyes fastened on what cleavage my V-neck shirt revealed. “Wouldn’t you like to know how good?”
Bang! Kill shot. Xander paused, his mouth hanging a little slack. Glazed-over eyes and the whole nine yards; I’d used his psychological ploy against him to great effect. Playing the seductress, I walked rather than charged, letting my eyes drop coyly past his waist. My gaze raked him from lean sculpted torso to broad muscled shoulders, and when I’d made my way back to his face, his eyes burned with passion. Hips swaying, chest rising and falling with my labored breath, mouth parted just enough to allow my tongue to pass over my lips, I should have earned some kind of award for my performance. Now within touching distance, Xander reached out his hands, and I took them gently. He dipp
ed his head to mine, his warm breath caressing my face in heavy pants. His gaze was locked on my lips. I tilted my chin up, pausing at the intensity of his expression. Xander didn’t look so much the arrogant king as his lips moved toward mine. Rather, his expression spoke of longing.
Using my own body for momentum, I fell backward and gripped his hands. I bent my knees, felt my lower back make contact with the mat, and braced my feet against Xander’s stomach. In the blink of an eye, I catapulted him over my head, and the sound of the air leaving his lungs in one painful rush put a smile on my face. I joined the light and reappeared just in time to stomp my foot down on his neck. Raif had had me in the same position my very first night of training. I knew from experience it wasn’t pleasant to be on the receiving end of this particular maneuver.
“Do you yield?” My voice was no longer that of an infatuated girl, but it carried the hard edge of a fighter. I stomped down on his neck a little harder, just so he’d know I meant business.
Xander cursed under his breath, and his face turned a lovely shade of crimson. The desire burning bright in his eyes faded, though it shocked me to see the flame had not gone out entirely. “To you?” he said, his voice a low growl. “I would yield my throne.”
My insides twisted—just a little—at his words. I increased the pressure on his neck for two full seconds before removing my foot. “I win, then. I keep my money, I keep my job, and punishment is considered given.” I turned my back on him and headed for the door.
“It nearly killed him,” Xander called out. “He loved his child. And Illiana? Worshipped her.” I turned around to find Xander sitting upright, an elbow resting on a raised knee, his other hand massaging his throat. “He was right to kill that Oracle for allowing his wife to sacrifice her life. I would have done no less in his situation. Everything he cherished has been ripped from him. When we couldn’t find you for two whole days,” Xander said with a sigh, “that pain replayed itself. I could see it on his face, the worry. He wouldn’t admit it, but I saw it nonetheless. Raif cares for you, Darian. Do not cause him pain again.”
A knife twisted in my gut would have been no less agonizing. I didn’t want to hurt Raif. On the contrary, I longed to help him. I knew in my gut that Delilah wasn’t bullshitting me. She’d have used the Enphigmalé to put an end to Raif if she could have. But since her plan hadn’t quite worked out to her advantage, she’d tried to use her knowledge of Brakae’s whereabouts as a bargaining chip. She had to know her days were numbered. There was no advantage to offering the information if she wasn’t ready to back it up. I just wished Raif could see beyond the hurt of his past to find the truth that I felt in every bone of my body. I could reunite him with Brakae if he’d just stop being so stubborn. His orders to quit looking for her only slowed me up. Sneaking around with someone I felt less than comfortable with would hinder my ability to find her quickly. Instead, I’d had to resort to deception. Raif’s pain would be short-lived, and he’d forgive me the grief I caused him when I reunited him with his daughter.
Xander stood and began to stretch. The king once again, he paid me as much attention as he would a pet. “I’ll find a way to get a rematch out of you,” he said absently. “You won’t win a second time.”
His words were meant to be arrogant, but I knew better. He’d enjoyed himself and would only be looking for another opportunity to play his games. I left the training room as a breath of air, the thrill of my victory buried beneath Raif’s sorrow and Xander’s arrogance. I couldn’t even be proud of myself for kicking Xander’s ass because I knew, somehow, he had let me win.
Raif was waiting for me in the foyer. I became corporeal before I entered the room, though what I’d really wanted was a stealthy escape, or a coward’s exit depending on your point of view. But avoiding him wouldn’t assuage my guilt at having caused him worry, so I straightened my spine and walked up to him, prepared to take whatever he planned to dish out.
“So, you won,” he said.
“You heard?”
“Everyone heard,” he laughed. “Really, Darian, you didn’t expect us all to close our ears and pretend not to listen. It sounded like an exciting match.”
I shrugged. “I think Xander got what he wanted out of it.” Some rough-and-tumble close contact, sweaty bodies and all. “Do you want to add to the torture I just had to endure?”
Raif attempted a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. “I know you think you can take on the world, Darian. But have a care. It would be—unfortunate—if anything happened to you.”
Unfortunate, huh? Well, the words didn’t carry much emotion, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. Xander had told the truth. I’d managed to open some old wounds. I didn’t plan on letting Raif bleed for long, though. “Don’t worry, Raif.” I swung my arm and gave him a solid pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be careful.” Without giving him the opportunity to respond, I left.
My cell buzzed in my pocket as I closed the door behind me. I flipped it open to find a text message from an unknown number:
Midnight. @Seven. East Pike Street. Come alone.
-F
Well, at least he was kind enough to give an initial, though how the bastard got his hands on my number, I had no idea. How would I manage to shake Tyler long enough to meet Fallon? I practically had to apply for a furlough just to come to Xander’s this morning. I would be watched even more closely since my five-minute/two-day field trip. But I couldn’t waste any precious time. I’d find a way to meet him, even if it meant wishing Tyler and half of the Shaede Nation into a stupefied state. If Fallon was ready to help, I was ready to take the leap. He scared the shit out of me, I couldn’t deny that. But I valued Raif’s friendship more than that fear. I just hoped I could keep my unease at bay long enough to hear Fallon out.
Chapter 13
“You look like death warmed over.”
Tyler shrugged as he stuffed his foot into a tennis shoe. “I’ll be fine.”
“What’s wrong with you anyway?” In all the years I’d known Tyler, I’d never seen him sick—not once. Aside from the injuries from his recent attack, and his reaction to the Enphigmalé bites, he’d never had so much as a head cold. Now, he looked haggard, his usual glowing complexion was ashen, and a sheen of sweat was breaking out on his brow. Anxiety twisted my stomach into a pretzel.
Tyler slumped back in his seat, averting my gaze. “Something’s screwing with our bond, I think.”
“Something?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Or someone.”
“I don’t feel anything. Are you sure?”
Tyler’s sad smile clawed at my heart. “You wouldn’t feel anything. The bond flows through you into me. You’re like a conduit. I just need to find out who, or what, is causing this. And why.”
Screw the whos and whys. All I cared about was Ty’s safety. “Can this hurt you?”
“Not really. It’s just thrown me off, messed with my emotions. I feel a little out of whack. But I need to get to the bottom of this. I’ve got a contact that might be able to help. The thing is…”
I held my breath.
“I can’t exactly let you come with me.”
And I exhaled.
“Will you be all right on your own tonight?”
Perfect.
“If not, I can wait—”
“No, Ty. I’ll be fine. Go take care of business, talk to whoever it is you need to talk to. I want to know what’s going on as much as you do. I don’t like to see you like this, whether it’s just making you feel a little off or not.” I couldn’t believe my luck. It was as if someone had handed the night to me on a silver platter. Tyler could work on fixing his problem while I went to meet Fallon.
Too perfect.
Seven wasn’t your run-of-the-mill club. More of a place to engage in unrepentant debauchery. With areas sectioned off and devoted to each of the deadly sins, you could eat, drink, gamble, and screw yourself straight to hell. Of course, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
There wasn’t much you couldn’t get away with inside the walls of Seven, and I wondered at Fallon’s choice of meeting place until I walked through the doors.
An assortment of Seattle’s supernatural partied alongside unsuspecting humans. Curious stares followed me through the club while fingers pointed in my direction. My career as an assassin would be shot to hell if my notoriety didn’t die down soon. I even noticed a few humans tapping shoulders, asking over the music who I was and what all the fuss was about. I’d become pretty popular since I’d returned from the island. It wasn’t every day you came back from a kidnapping a completely different creature than the one you had left as.
The club was made up of a series of rooms more or less. High archways like wooden canopies marked off each area, and at the top of each canopy was a word written in red neon flames. An ambitious partyer could take a tour of hell’s temptations all in one night. Under the Wrath canopy, brawlers swung their fists without fear of being removed from the premises. Within the boundaries of the Greed room, gambling tables enticed many a player to build and lose their fortunes. The Sloth canopy protected the partyers coming down from their highs, strewn about the room like garbage littering the sidewalk. Pride showcased rows of large mirrors, and beautiful creatures showcased their bodily assets. Gluttony provided endless food and drink, and from the center of the club, a raised room ringed with glass provided occupants of Envy with a bird’s-eye view of all the things they coveted.
I spotted Fallon in the area of the club marked Lust. Over the haunting beats of Marilyn Manson’s rendition of “Sweet Dreams” and through the energy of the other inhuman creatures, I could feel him. That inexplicable burst of power stole my breath, and I considered running for the door and never turning back. But I thought of the rushed and fierce hug Raif had given me two nights ago, and I strengthened my resolve. I could grow a pair and deal with my discomfort—for a while.
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