by Kresley Cole
Devyn beamed at him. “You know me too well.”
“And I’m scowling because my plate was already overflowing with excrement. I seriously did not need a second helping with these visions.”
“First, you know I hate when you use big words. Second, you have no reason to complain. I pay my people to clean your plate for you.”
A laugh broke free, which was another surprise. No one, not even Devyn, should have been able to amuse him right now.
“Anyone ever tell you that you should be a life coach?” Dallas asked him.
“Yes. Unfortunately, I’m too busy being a melon felon.” The Targon wiggled his brows, earning another laugh from Dallas. “But you’re right, you know. You are having visions of the future.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “How do you know?”
“Because I’m a master—”
“Bator,” he interjected. “Yeah. I’m aware. What does that have to do with the Schön?”
Devyn snorted. “With me, humor is a man’s most expensive defense. Payment is always collected with my fists.”
As if. No one had ever been more loyal than Devyn. The blessed few he loved, he loved. Nothing held back. There was no line he wouldn’t cross to protect and defend. In fact, he’d taken a bullet for Dallas—and Dallas had no doubt the Targon would do it again if ever he felt it necessary.
“How do you know?” he repeated, as serious as the weapon he’d fired at Trinity.
“As I was saying, I’m a master strategist.”
He waited for Devyn to say more, but silence reigned. “Um. That’s great. Wonderful. But you’ve actually told me nothing.”
A heavy sigh filled the space between them. “I’d heard rumors of Trinity’s return, so I found someone who was once very close to her and . . . asked a few questions.”
“You mean you kidnapped and tortured someone who was once very close to her and demanded answers.”
Devyn waved a dismissive hand. “The torture sessions have been so minor it’s hardly worth mentioning.”
“I’m sure.” Dallas loved the Targon like a brother, but even he had to admit the guy had a cruel streak a mile wide.
There was a slight chance Dallas maybe possibly might have possessed a cruel streak as well. During Devyn’s first—and only—official mission for AIR, they’d bonded as their target screamed in pain.
Dallas had continued to work with the Targon off the books, and his admiration had only grown. Gets the job done, no matter the cost.
Devyn changed the subject, asking about Dallas’s newest “date.”
As the car bumped along the road, Dallas complained about being tossed out of the apartment like garbage. “I’m not just a piece of meat, you know.”
“My wife would disagree. She says I’ve convinced her that we males are only as good as the—and I quote—peen between our legs.”
Dallas deadpanned, “I love how she loves you.”
“I know.” Devyn flattened a hand over his heart. “I’m adored.”
They were still snickering about the mighty peen when the limo finally stopped. Dallas glanced out the window. A history-rich area on the edge of town, located by what had once been a beautiful hidden lake. Devyn’s home.
The king smiled with relish. “Come. I’ll introduce you to my informant.”
“Male? Female?”
“Female.” The door opened, sunlight spilling into the vehicle. Devyn emerged, and Dallas followed.
They stood before a château-inspired mansion, its impressive stone walls rising to four stories. He sniffed and frowned, suddenly overcome by the odd—and far too pleasing—scent of freshly cut roses and aged wood set ablaze in a campfire, though there were no gardens nearby. No plant life of any kind, really. No campfires or fire pits.
Another sniff. The scents seemed to come from the detached garage.
“How long have you had the woman locked away?” he asked.
“Only a few weeks.”
Only. “What’s her connection to Trinity?”
“My wife has begun to remember bits of her past. Not just life in the vampire underground, but her first months topside. Those memories led me to a mostly abandoned shadow lab—the Institute of Otherworld Technology. I broke in and, while there, found information about the Schön disease. I also discovered two females who were living there, a green-skinned otherworlder who escaped, and the woman you’re soon to meet. Her name is Lilica Swan.”
Lilica Swan. A delicate name. Practically a song . . . a lullaby.
“Were the two females part of the staff or were they patients?”
“Lilica hasn’t confirmed or denied either option. No matter my . . . persuasions, she’s remained mute on the subject.”
“Has she told you anything?”
“Not nearly enough. Let’s question her together, shall we?”
2
Lilica Swan sat in the center of her cage. She’d remained like this for weeks . . . or mere days? Though the barred walls were so tall she could stand to her full five-foot-nine-inch height, she preferred this position. She could observe the happenings around her without drawing unwanted attention. A predator’s trick of the trade.
To her right, four armed guards played holocards. They discussed recent conquests in detail and elbowed each other in the ribs. To her left loomed “the table.” Knives of every shape and size were scattered over the surface. The Targon who’d captured her liked to stroke one or six while speaking with her.
Once he’d used the serrated blade on her. He’d held her motionless with a stream of energy and cut shallow lines into her neck, arms, and legs. A painful and humiliating process. Other times, he’d stabbed her outright.
She’d healed, of course, but as weak and malnourished as she was, she’d healed slower than usual. The last wound he’d inflicted had yet to fade.
Memories of her torment sparked flames of rage deep in her chest. Can’t use my powers on him. Not yet, not yet.
When the time came, well, she would ensure he got his.
Though she still couldn’t amph another person’s life force without skin-to-skin contact, her abilities had only grown stronger over the years, her skills more honed. She could amph—and kill—within seconds. The biggest obstacle, currently—she couldn’t amph effectively and use voice voodoo at maximum capacity in the same day. For the best results, she had to choose one or the other and follow through; no changing her mind midway.
“—ordered not to go near her?”
Her ears twitched as the guards brought her into their conversation. Doing her best to appear bored—listen in? what? who? me?—she attended to their next words.
“Why else? Because she’s his sex slave.”
“The greedy bastard doesn’t like to share.”
“Who does?”
“Especially a woman like her.”
Silence fell over the group as all four males studied her with renewed interest. One gaze burned with malevolence while another crackled with lust. Both expressions were familiar to her. Two of the men regarded her with . . . compassion?
She couldn’t be sure, considering she’d so rarely encountered it.
The Targon had commanded the foursome to wait outside every time he’d visited; they had no idea what he actually did to her. She’d assumed he’d wanted no witnesses to his crimes, but now she wondered. . . .
Did he suspect the two with maybe, maybe not compassion in their eyes would try to help her?
“If she keeps her mouth shut, he’ll never know he’s shared her,” Malevolent said.
“Oh, he’ll know,” Lustful replied with a shudder. “He always knows.”
“Believe me when I say you don’t go against the orders of Devyn Targon and live to tell the tale. Just . . . don’t go near her.”
She dubbed him Smart.
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Okay? All right?”
She smiled her coldest smile at Malevolent. Come near me . . . dare you.
Lustful finished off his beer, banged his chest, and belched. “No man is ever as bad as his own legend,” he said, acting brave.
“You’re right. Devyn is worse.”
I’ll call him Smarter.
“The Targon won’t ever know he has reason to strike at me.” Malevolent stroked his chin, thoughtful. “I don’t think the girl even knows how to speak. Or how to move.”
Now a slow grin lifted the corners of Lustful’s mouth. “I bet I could get her to move.”
Crude laughter echoed from the walls.
Suddenly the only set of usable doors opened, light spilling into the building . . . garage? . . . to illuminate the dust motes dancing through the air. The guards leaped to their feet, Lilica forgotten, the pungent odor of lust quickly replaced by the tang of motor oil, fear, and—she sniffed—the surprisingly floral scent she would forever associate with Devyn. Today, there was another scent mixed into the mélange. Something new and incredibly sweet.
Hinges squeaked as the door slammed shut. The light vanished, and from the shadows stepped two imposing males figures. The king and a companion.
While the Targon was as beautiful as ever, her gaze simply grazed over him, snared by the other man. Finally!
She’d found the blue-eyed man Jade had warned her about. The one her sister had claimed she would meet through the Targon. The very reason Lilica had allowed herself to be “abducted” in the first place.
He was the key to finding Trinity.
His dark hair could have used a trim, and yet it provided the perfect frame for his face—a face both rough and gorgeous.
He’s a warrior and a seducer. To her surprise, he took her breath away.
Bronzed skin spoke of a Spanish heritage, but ethereal eyes of arctic blue hinted at alien ancestors. No, not just hinted. Screamed. He was an Arcadian. A strong one, judging by the buzz of power even now reaching out to stroke her, which meant he had to come from one of the more prominent families. But the only other Arcadians she’d encountered possessed fair hair and skin.
Was he, perhaps, a hybrid like her?
She scrutinized the rest of him, and any air she’d managed to return to her lungs was snatched all over again. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew. Strength radiated from him, so much a part of him it was like a second layer of skin.
Her mouth watered, her own body suddenly hungry . . . starved.
Her brow furrowed with confusion. Hungry for what? Him?
His gaze pursued her languidly before lifting and colliding with hers. She gasped as a zing of electricity arced between them.
He missed a step.
Unlike most people, he didn’t look away or stare at her as if she were a circus freak. He eyed her with . . . appreciation?
“Leave us,” the Targon commanded in his smooth voice.
In seconds, the guards beat feet outside.
In front of her cage, the Targon smiled with his customary smugness. “How’s my favorite prisoner?”
Until she knew exactly what these two men could and couldn’t do, and what they did and didn’t plan for her, she had no desire to use voice voodoo, revealing her ace and demolishing her best defense. So she batted her lashes at him and said, “Why don’t you come in here and find out, handsome?”
Arctic Eyes jerked as if he’d been punched. Liked the timbre of her voice, did he? He wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.
The Targon had never reacted to it, and today was no exception. He clenched a fist over his heart, as if wounded. “I know a death threat when I hear one, beauty, and yours might as well have been a dagger through the heart. However shall I recover?”
He called her “beauty” only as a taunt.
The other man said nothing. And never removed his gaze from her. Seconds passed in silence, adrenaline and something else, something she couldn’t name, scorching her veins.
In the whole of her life, she’d had almost nil interaction with anyone other than her sisters, the old farts who’d raised her, and the aliens they’d brought to the lab with orders to boost or kill; she had no idea how to react to the physical sensations this man evoked.
“A dagger through your heart,” she finally said, her gaze returning to Devyn. She sighed wishfully. “A girl can dream.”
“Yes, she can.” He stalked to the table and stroked the hilt of a blade. “But should she?”
How predictable. What he didn’t know? There was nothing he could do to her that she hadn’t already endured. And a thousand times worse!
For a moment she wondered what would have happened if he’d brought her here and pampered her. If he’d simply asked his questions rather than demanded answers. If he’d treated her with kindness.
He would have thrown her for a loop, that was certain. She might have cooperated fully. Perhaps they could have worked together.
When he’d sneaked into the lab, she’d hidden with Jade. Intimately acquainted with every hidden nook and cranny of the building, they couldn’t be found if they didn’t want to be found. But Jade had seen into his mind . . . had caught glimpses of Trinity and her interactions with the arctic-eyed man. . . .
At that point, Lilica would have tied herself up and presented herself to Devyn on a silver platter. Instead, she’d moved to a hiding place he could easily unearth and pretended to be shocked and dismayed when he’d discovered her.
He grinned at his friend. “Did I mention my prisoner is a sasshole?”
Arctic Eyes shook his head, the action clipped.
Well. She’d been called much, much worse. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Targon. I’m metaphorically dying of curiosity. What’s your friend’s name?” Act casual. “Does he get to play with me too?”
Finally the male in question spoke up. “I’m Dallas.”
The coarse resonance of his voice caused her nerve endings to heat. She frowned. People reacted to her; she didn’t react to people. “Like the city in New Texas?”
Silence.
“Like the old TV show,” Devyn answered for him, clearly amused with himself.
“Well, whatever you want to know about me,” she said, “I won’t tell you willingly. You’ll have to beat it out of me.” No more waiting, she decided. Once she got Devyn inside the cell, she would finally amph him, causing his own ability to control her motions to kill him. Then she could deal with Arctic Eyes.
“Beating you.” The Targon tapped a finger against his chin. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”
“You’ve been love-tapping me.” Was goading him a too-obvious tell? Maybe, maybe not. But she had no other recourse at her disposal. “I hate to break it to you, big boy, but acting like a pussy is the leading cause of uterine cancer in men.”
His amber eyes narrowed, while Arctic Eyes barked out a laugh.
That laugh . . . her nerve endings boiled.
“Oh, don’t you worry, beauty. I won’t be a pussy. I’ll be a complete dick, you have my word.” Devyn picked up the serrated blade, the silver metal glinting in the light cast by the single bulb hanging over her cage.
“You’d do that for me? My hero!”
Contrary to his boast, he said, “We’ll start today’s Q and A with something easy. You spent time with the Schön queen, but you aren’t infected with her disease.”
His friend stiffened. Why? When their gazes met a second time, his expression revealed nothing.
She faked a yawn. “I didn’t hear a question.”
Devyn exchanged the serrated blade for one with a hook. “This morning Dallas had a five-star vision of shooting her, and I’d like to do my part, ensuring that vision comes true. So. You’re going to tell us whether you’re immune to the disease, and if so, how you’re immune, how you know Trinity, if she’s contacted you recently, and anyplace you think she might go to hide.”
> A barbed lump grew in Lilica’s throat. Seeing into the future was an Arcadian ability. The same ability Jade possessed. If Dallas had had a vision of shooting Trinity . . . most likely killing her . . .
If he hoped to kill her . . .
He would do so.
No. No! Lilica would die first. He would die first.
Her hands curled into fists.
Metal banged against her cage, making her gasp.
Devyn stood in front of the door, she realized.
“Do I have your undivided attention, beauty?”
He wasn’t inside the cage, but he was within reach. If she could get her hands on him before he gained control of her motions . . .
How would Dallas respond? With violence?
Worth the risk.
He hadn’t moved from his spot, and his expression remained blank, as if he’d completely removed himself from the situation. Except . . . the pulse at the base of his neck beat swiftly, and like hers, his hands had curled into fists, his knuckles white.
“You have my undivided attention,” she said. “Let’s see if I can get yours.”
She dove toward Devyn—
Contact! Her fingers curled around his wrists, her flesh instantly adhering to his.
“Aw. You wanted to hold my hand?” Devyn smiled. “How adorable.”
Silent, she pushed a charge through their link. The charge returned to her. He had defenses she’d never before encountered; they were almost like firewalls in a computer. No matter. She sent another charge, and another, until those firewalls thinned . . . vanished. He didn’t fight her, because she wasn’t hurting him—she was helping him. Or so it seemed. . . .
She sent another charge, this one strong enough to make his body quake.
His eyes widened, and his indulgent smile disappeared. He tried to yank his hand from hers, realized they were stuck together, and yanked harder. Again he proved unsuccessful, allowing her to hit him with yet another bolt of power.
Scowling, he yanked with every bit of power she’d just fed him and finally broke the suction. Agonizing pain ripped through her, and she bellowed, stumbling backward. The scent of old pennies filled the air, and she peered at her hand. She’d removed hunks of his skin, the mutilated tissue dripping crimson onto the cement floor.