But that day never came. Shortly after they’d made plans, the army discovered that he was a Talent. They came for him the day before he was to bring her back.
His heart ached with what might have been and what he had lost. Had she found someone special? At the very least, he hoped that she’d found happiness.
His head lolled to the side. The IV bag was empty. He was tired. So tired. He just wanted to sleep.
His beautiful Zara had once told him the story of the Pacifican army breaching a portal and coming into her village when she was a child. Many innocent townspeople had been killed that day, including her father, an Iron Guild warrior, who’d been mortally wounded trying to save his family.
Just like his own father.
A tear trickled down the side of his face. Damn drugs. They were making him weepy.
Dr. Dobrynin scowled. “The portal, Vincent. Where is it?”
The doctor had to be lying about Olivia and Vince’s mother. Plus, Zara would be in terrible danger if he revealed the location of the secret portal. And so would their child.
The doctor was looking at Vince with the dead, dark eyes of a vulture.
Vince became fixated on three diagonal liver spots, placed close together, right above the man’s left ear. “Is that…Orion’s Belt?”
“What are you talking about?” the doctor snapped.
The portal? Oh yeah…the portal.
“Suck it, Doc.”
The next injection didn’t hurt. At least not beyond the initial sting.
CHAPTER 2
Several months later…
A string quartet played in the background as crowds of people milled around the museum gallery where jewelry, obsidian carvings, and hand-crafted weaponry were on display in glass cases. Priceless rare artifacts. And every last one of them illegally obtained from raids into Cascadia.
Champagne flute in hand, Zara Kane stood near the far wall and glanced at her watch again. Although she’d been invited to the extravagant event, she didn’t belong here. She was an outsider among the people of New Seattle. A barbarian, to be exact—that is, if she listened to the Pacifican authorities and news vlogs. Not that anyone here knew she was from Cascadia. She kept that little fact to herself.
She fought the urge to double-check the knife holster strapped to her thigh even though she knew it was secure. She’d made sure of that.
Ten more minutes. Then she’d make her move.
“Ms. Kane?”
She turned to see a young man and woman approaching. Tall, thin and pimply, the man wore a tuxedo hemmed to the ankles, red argyle socks, and black and white wingtips. The woman was almost as tall with long, thin arms and sharp, angular features that reminded Zara of a blue heron ready to take flight.
“I thought that was you,” the young man said.
He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him, and she didn’t recall ever crossing paths with his female companion before.
“Uh, hello,” she said, then took a quick sip of champagne to give herself a little more time to figure out who these people were since they clearly knew who she was.
“I can tell you don’t recognize me,” the man said bluntly. Before she had a chance to feel embarrassed, he continued. “I’m Manny, and this is Angela. Last semester, you helped me find some research materials in the library that I needed for my Cascadian antiquities class.”
Ah, yes, the library.
“Of course,” she said, smiling. As a college librarian specializing in Cascadian treasures, she met a lot of students, so it was no wonder she didn’t immediately recognize this particular man. “I hope it was helpful.”
Manny grinned. “Got an A.”
“Isn’t this a magnificent exhibit?” Angela asked, her eyes glittering with excitement. “The craftsmanship on the cormorant pendant in the case over there is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“It’s quite an extensive collection.” If you were into stolen property, that is. Which was why she was here in the first place.
“That dress is divine,” Manny said, looking her up and down. Zara couldn’t tell if that was an honest compliment or not. She didn’t exactly have a thin, model-esque figure. “It’s very Marilyn Monroe. Where did you get it?”
Zara didn’t let on that she had no idea who that was. Having been raised in Cascadia, many pop culture references went completely over her head.
She glanced down at the gown’s pale gray fabric. She’d picked it out because she thought the color matched her eyes. And the price was right. “At a vintage clothing store downtown.”
“No! Are you serious?” Now it was Angela’s turn to gawk. She circled Zara, making her feel like one of the artifacts on display. “I never find anything at those places. You must have an eye for spotting treasures.”
She smiled. “Maybe so.”
But the only treasure she cared about right now was in the storeroom upstairs. She glanced at her watch again. The guards would be changing shifts at any minute. She needed to ditch these two and—
The other woman grabbed her shoulder like they were suddenly best friends. “Is that Birdie Lyons?”
Manny gasped. “Where?”
“Over there. You can’t miss her purple fascinator.” Angela pointed at a crowd of people gathered near one of the glass cases. In the center, as if she were holding court, was a platinum blonde wearing an elaborate headpiece with long tendrils of feathers that flipped and wobbled as she spoke.
Manny put a hand over his heart. “Oh my God. I love her news vlog. Did you see the one she posted last week about those church bombings?”
Angela nodded, not taking her eyes off of the woman. “So powerful. It really opened a lot of people’s eyes to the brutality of the Cascadian barbarians. They’re just so awful, you know?”
Zara ground her teeth and tried not to look as pissed off as she felt. So they thought her people were barbarians, and yet they coveted their beautiful artifacts. If only they knew the truth.
“Nice running into you,” Manny said in a suddenly dismissive tone. Without a backward glance, he and Angela locked elbows like a couple of schoolgirls and disappeared into the crowd.
Zara exhaled slowly, felt her shoulders relax. She could only take so much Cascadia-bashing at one time.
Thank God for Birdie Lyons…whoever she was.
Time to get down to business. Zara guzzled the rest of her champagne and exited the ballroom before anyone else accosted her. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she trotted up the stairs as best she could in her stiletto heels.
The hallway at the top was deserted. Good. According to her calculations, she only had a few minutes left to get inside the locked storeroom, snatch the knife from its case and leave without being detected. Normally, an artifact this precious would be under heavy guard, but museum officials had no idea of its worth.
She turned to the left and had only taken a few steps when a gray-haired security guard came around the corner. Damn. She didn’t want anyone to remember seeing her. Especially not someone on security detail.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
She put her hand on her stomach and grimaced. “Just looking for a restroom.”
The man looked confused. “There are signs downstairs—”
“Please,” she said, twisting her expression into what she hoped was a combination of pain and embarrassment. “I’ve got a stomach ache. A bad one. Too many crab cakes, I guess. I really should’ve known better. I…uh…need a little privacy.”
Gastrointestinal issues were second only to female problems on the list of uncomfortable discussions to have with a stranger. People rarely questioned them. Especially older gentlemen.
With a pinched look on his face, the guard pointed down the hallway. “Second door on the right.”
“Thanks,” she said weakly.
Once inside the ladies’ room, she looked under the stall doors to make sure she was alone, then slipped off her heels. She should’ve worn
flats—they’d have been easier to carry—but the instant she spotted these vintage shoes with the red soles, she’d had to have them. According to the shopkeeper, they were some fancy brand. She just liked how they looked.
She cracked open the door and peered into the hallway. The guard was gone.
Hurray for fake stomach aches.
Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, and almost immediately, a familiar rush of energy enveloped her. It skated along her skin like a warm breeze and all the little hairs on her arms stood on end.
She didn’t have to glance into the mirror to see that her form had disappeared. As a Cloaking-Talent, she could blend into the background, making her virtually invisible to the human eye.
Her body still possessed mass—it wasn’t like she transformed into a wisp of air. She couldn’t travel through objects, and someone could still bump into her. Only a slight ripple in the background revealed her presence. But only if you knew what you were looking for.
Cloaked and clutching her shoes, she tiptoed down the hall. Although she normally would’ve picked the lock, she didn’t need to do that tonight because she’d appropriated a set of keys from another guard earlier. She tried four of them before finding the right one and slipped into the storeroom. After a quick glance around to make sure she was alone, she uncloaked herself. She needed to conserve her strength, because in a few minutes, she’d need all that she could get.
It didn’t take long to find the Gideon knife. The Taghta sisters, a Cascadian religious order dedicated to preserving old relics and retrieving stolen treasures, had located the knife and needed Zara’s help in recovering it.
Holy Fates, it was beautiful, she thought, turning the piece over in her hands. Sure, there were a few stones missing and the cold-forged blade needed polishing, but it wasn’t anything the sisters couldn’t handle. They were experts at restoration. The person who stole this knife and brought it through the portal had to have been iron sick for days…had maybe even died. She’d heard that the Pacifican army sacrificed their own soldiers to get items through a portal. Of course, the sorry new recruit would be ignorant and have no idea about iron sickness until he’d collapsed on the other side of the portal in great pain.
She lifted the hem of her gown and tucked the knife into the holster strapped to her thigh, making sure it was securely fastened. If it accidentally came loose, the connection with her broken, the knife would become visible. And an object appearing out of thin air would not exactly be a good thing.
Closing her eyes, she dug much deeper this time. Cloaking a dense metal object took a lot more energy. When she was ready, she snuck out of the storeroom, closing the door quietly behind her, and tiptoed back downstairs.
Once on the first floor, she kept to the edge of the crowds, taking care not to touch anyone or brush past anything that could move. In the foyer, she waited just beyond the reach of the automatic doors, next to a large potted plant. It wouldn’t look good for the doors to open for no reason. Fortunately, Zara didn’t have to wait long. As soon as a taxi pulled up outside, a couple exited the building, and she was right on their heels.
Cool, salty air blew in from the bay and brushed across her face. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. Even though she remained cloaked, she had to be vigilant and never let her guard down until she was ready.
A Cascadian in Pacifica could never be too careful—a mantra the Taghta sisters had drilled into her when she’d decided to work for them on this side of the portal. Years ago, she’d planned to come over after falling in love with a beautiful Pacifican boy. After he left her, she still wanted to come, so when she got the opportunity, she took it.
Vince.
She felt a gnawing ache in her stomach every time she thought about the boy who’d broken her heart. He was everything she’d ever dreamed about…and then he wasn’t.
She stepped into a nearby alley, uncloaked herself and put on her heels. Then she walked to the curb and hailed a taxi. Not bad for a librarian, she thought, smiling to herself. Now, if only she could get back home in time to tuck Darius into bed.
***
A few days later, Zara glanced at the clock on the wall behind the checkout desk. Mariah, if she was coming for the knife, would be here soon. Zara grabbed the last few reference books from the to-be-shelved pile and placed them on her cart.
“Hey, Christy, if Darius comes looking for me, can you let him know that I’m down in the basement? I’ll be back up in a few minutes.”
She didn’t like to bring her son to work, but her regular sitter had cancelled and it was too late to make other arrangements. At least he was old enough to keep himself occupied for short periods of time. Thank the Fates that the university library hosted a children’s story hour each night.
“I can put those away for you if you want to go home now,” Christy offered. The pretty college student wore her red hair in two knots on the top of her head and had a colorful sleeve tattoo on one arm.
“Thanks, hon, but I’ve got it.”
The elevator groaned and creaked like an old man being forced to stand after a long period of inactivity. When it got to the basement, Zara pushed the cart of books out before the doors snapped shut on her. She detested the elevators, with their unreliable cables and pulleys moving the steel cars up and down. But the fact of the matter was, she hated all small, confined spaces. If she didn’t have the cart with her, she’d have taken the stairs.
Silence rang in her ears as she headed to the first row of books. There were probably a few students scattered among the various study carrels, but she didn’t see anyone. An overhead light flickered and dimmed, casting bizarre shadows among the stacks. The place creeped her out. Not surprising, since the building used to be an old hospital with a morgue in the basement. One of the walls of the storeroom still had little square doors that opened the individual body compartments.
She shivered. Who could study down here?
But this was why she met Mariah here. The place was usually dead.
She moved among the stacks, quickly reshelving the books on the cart. All but one—a big hardcover tome with a compartment inside that held the Gideon Knife. She headed to an alcove near a seldom-used stairway and glanced at her watch. Right on time.
Every night for a week after a heist, Zara would come here and wait for her friend. Sometimes Mariah would show on the first day and sometimes the last. It would certainly be easier to arrange their meetings if Mariah had a cell phone, but the sisterhood didn’t want to take the chance that their conversations might be monitored.
The elevator dinged. She knew it wasn’t Mariah because the woman usually took the stairs too. Heavy footsteps echoed in the quiet. Yeah, definitely not her friend. The woman was as stealthy as a ghost.
Zara moved away from the alcove and pretended to be examining books on a nearby shelf. The overhead light dimmed again, plunging her into shadow. Although she usually loved old things, she cursed the decrepit building with its crappy wiring and angry elevators.
The footsteps got louder before grinding to a halt. She glanced down the row, expecting to see a student trying to find a book. She was going to ask if she could help, but the words caught in her throat like a hard ball of wax, and she choked.
A large figure stood at the end of her row, shoulders spanning the distance between the two shelves, face hidden in shadow. A military stance. And he was looking straight at her.
Panic hollowed out her gut. They must’ve found out about her somehow. But how? She’d covered her tracks well and taken every precaution. She needed to cloak herself and get the hell out of here, but she couldn’t let this man see her Talent in action. Under no circumstances could she ever let anyone know what she could do.
The stairwell. She’d cloak herself there. Even if she didn’t have time to run, when he opened the door, he wouldn’t be able to see her.
She turned and bolted.
He barked out an order for her to stop.
Yeah. Like hell she would.
The metal door to the stairway loomed straight ahead. The elevator dinged again, the sound echoing through the basement.
Good. They had company, which meant a possible distraction. Just what she needed to—
“Mom?” a voice called from around the corner. “You down here?”
Darius!
The roar in her head sounded like a freight train. No, baby, no!
Without a second thought, she took off at a dead run in his direction. Just as she rounded the corner to the elevator banks, the military man stepped out of the stacks. Right in front of Darius.
Adrenaline surged in her veins. Fuck the artifacts. Fuck trying to keep her ability a secret. No one stood between her and her baby.
She dropped the heavy book and tunnel-visioned her son, ignoring the sound of the knife clattering to the floor. All she had to do was touch Darius to make both of them disappear. She’d never told him about her ability. He wasn’t old enough to keep the secret yet. He’d be scared, but that couldn’t be helped.
“Zara?”
That voice—there was a hint of something familiar.
She grabbed Darius’s hand and centered herself. They’d disappear in three, two, one—
“Zara, it’s me. Asher.”
Asher? Her brother? She hadn’t seen or talked to him in years. And never on this side of the portal. Was this a trick?
She whirled around to see the man drop to his knees, and he instantly became less formidable. Some of his dark hair was braided into thin plaits and gathered at his nape. He wore jeans, boots, and a plain black T-shirt.
Tears sprang to her eyes. It really was him. “Asher!”
Before he could reply, Darius wrapped his arms around her waist. “Mom, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Shhh, baby,” she said, stroking his hair. “It’s okay.” Unlike many ten-year-olds, he was still okay with her mommy displays of affection.
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 48