by Jaime Rush
“I think your brother has fallen into the same situation. He was sent to dispatch a woman named Violet Castanega.”
“The one who came here yesterday reporting her brother’s death?”
“Exactly the one. She, too, seems to be suffering from schizophrenia and is causing trouble beyond what I can discuss with you. I sent your brother on a mission, the type he has completed successfully many times.”
Her brother was a killer. She knew that, but he never talked about his work as a Vega, and she never asked. “I saw him leaving.”
“Not only has he been vague about why he hasn’t completed the assignment, but apparently he has also taken up with his target. Before I send someone out to remedy the situation, I am giving you a chance to get hold of him and find out what is going on. He’ll be more frank with you, I hope. And you will be frank with me.”
This time denial did rush out. “No, Kade would never take up with a Castanega. He hates them, all of them.” But she remembered the way he’d held Violet’s shoulders and leaned close, real close, and the way the fog in his eyes swirled like she’d never seen before. “Being a Vega means everything to him.”
“I thought so. He worked very hard to regain his status.” He flipped the pen again. “He didn’t tell you that either, I suppose, how I had to demote him because of allegations that he had been promoted due to nepotism. Kade was a different man then. Reckless, thinking he didn’t have to abide by the rules. A good Vega, yes, but a wild card. He worked hard, under a cloud of humility, to become Vega again, and his behavior has been exemplary. Until now.”
She was sad, shocked, and furious all at once. She surged to her feet, unable to sit for another second. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”
If Ferro sent someone else, would Kade be killed like her father was? She willed the panic from her face. “Don’t send someone else.” Realizing she was giving a commander orders, she added, “Please.”
As pissed as she was at Kade, she didn’t want him dead.
Chapter 12
Kade ignored the stabbing burn in his chest as he tried to find a position in the passenger seat that wasn’t as painful. He said nothing as Violet spewed word after word, pouring out her adrenaline and her questions.
“Whoever she is, she hates me. Did you see the way she looked at me, the way she said, ‘You,’ as though I were vermin? Or is that a vermin? Anyway, she wanted me dead. But then she looked at that girl, and you could see she wanted to kill her for no good reason at all. And she was going to enjoy it. What kind of Crescent does that? Would she be considered a Red?”
The car swerved a little with her hand movements, the headlights washing over the yellow line in the center.
“Red Lust makes you crazy,” he managed to say. “I don’t think she was crazy. In fact, it would be better if she were. It’s a lot easier to take out someone in the throes of mindless bloodlust than the ones who just like to kill people.”
He sank into his thoughts. The Carnelian knew about the taser, and not many did. It was a fairly new weapon, conjured by one of the powerful old Deuces on staff after much experimentation. More disturbing, Ferro’s map had a yellow pin where Paul Slade was killed. The yellow pin in the August territory had changed from yellow to red. Target to completion.
Nothing about this situation felt right to him. Ferro had not been willing to explain a damn thing to Kade. If he’d had evidence, a few words would have cleared it up.
Not only was Kade’s career in ruins, but also everything that he was, everything he believed in, was sliding through his fingers like sand on a Miami beach. He glanced at the clock on the dash; it was nearly five in the morning. Soon Ferro was going to grow impatient, pull Kade, and send someone else to finish the assignment. He had to get to the bottom of this before that happened. He glanced over at Violet, who was still working it all through in her mind.
“Ferro had a yellow pin in Slade territory,” she said, echoing what he’d just thought. “Do you have a Seer on staff?”
“There are very few true Seers, and, as far as I know, the Guard doesn’t employ one. Be a lot easier if they did.”
She turned to him. “So how does he— You’re hurt!”
He was way beyond physically hurt. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re wincing like this.” She made a face that almost made him laugh, which would really hurt. She pulled over and turned on the car’s interior light. “Let me see.”
He shifted to reveal a gash on his stomach. “It’s not deep.”
She winced again in sympathetic pain. “Can you heal yourself? I know so little about Deuce magick.”
The Guard knew everything he could do. Few others did.
“My magick can heal me, but it takes time.”
“I can heal you faster, but I don’t know if I can heal a non-Dragon. We…” She had also been trained not to share too much information, no doubt. Crescents, regardless of class, didn’t go advertising their abilities.
“It’s not mortal. I’ll be fine, Violet.”
The pain wracking his soul was much worse. He had deceived her, had at one time intended to kill her. He didn’t deserve her healing. Or her trust. Or…well, anything else. He wasn’t ready to divulge his suspicions yet. If she suspected Ferro was corrupt, she’d lose trust in the Guard, and in him. Right now he couldn’t leave her to deal with this by herself. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into his reasons.
They drove down the long road to her house, a nice change from hoofing it on the sly. They got out, but Violet paused and stared into the darkness of the property to the west.
“What is it?” he asked, instinctively going on alert. His dagger tingled, and his fingers flexed, ready to receive the weapon.
She shook her head. “Sometimes I see a shadow move. It’s probably an animal, maybe a deer. No one’s been over there in years. I wandered over once, just to see. It was creepy, with vines overtaking one of the houses and weeds growing up everywhere. And sad,” she added on a sigh. “We did that to them, obliterated their whole family.”
She rubbed her arms and headed to the house. Kade surveyed the area, uneasy with all the places someone could hide here. She opened the door and stepped in, flicked on the light, and left the door open for him. He remained on the porch, uncertain that he wanted to follow her in.
She returned to the door opening. “What are you doing out there? Come in. I want to heal that gash. You’ll probably want another shower. I sure do.”
He stepped inside. “Oh, but I really liked your hose down,” he said, trying to work up a wry smile. Inside he felt heavy and cold, like his organs had turned into a block of frozen mud.
Her mouth quirked. “Apparently too much. We had better stick to a shower. Separate showers, just to be safe. There’s something about being outside, with a stream of water, that apparently has a strange effect on us.”
“You think that was it?” he challenged. He’d thought her reaction was out of grief, her need for comfort. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Of course.” A light shone in her eyes, one he hadn’t seen before. It tugged at his numb shell. “We fought together. And well. I thought Dragons were the only beautiful fighters, that Deuce magick was boring. Though it was pretty cool when you changed into a tiger that one time. Even if you were using it against us.”
Was she calling his magick beautiful? Another tug. “I have to admit, I’ve never considered a Dragon gorgeous before. But you are.” She had been beautiful, maroon scales glistening in the orb’s light. It had reminded him of the vivid colors of underwater sea life when he went scuba diving.
She bent down to look at his stomach. “I’m going to try to heal you.”
“Let me get cleaned up first.” He’d stopped bleeding at least.
She held his gaze for a moment, and he felt another pull on his emotions. More like a jerk this time, the kind that knocks you off your feet. “I’ll get you a towel,” she said. “You can crash here if you
want. I don’t have a guest bedroom, but you can sleep on the couch. It’s late.”
Too late. He felt lost in her eyes, her soft voice. Get out! Go. Say you’ve got to check in at work and sleep in your car. “All right.”
“I’ll get you some sheets and a pillow, too.”
She turned and walked away from him, his shirt barely covering her ass. Her long legs were scraped up, her feet dirty from walking barefoot through the woods. Beautiful, every inch of her. She opened a door in the hallway and pulled out a towel and washcloth. He felt his body move toward her, his hands reach out to accept them. For the second time within the last few hours, he was showering in her house.
He remained in the shower a while, letting the hot water pound his body. His thoughts twisted inside his head, crushing his chest even more than that damned Dragon had. He had to check in with Ferro soon.
Kade finally emerged, wearing jeans and nothing else. His first glimpse of Violet was a silk-clad behind as she bent over to tuck the sheets over the couch. He watched her for a moment as she set the pillow at the end after fluffing it up.
She turned suddenly. The blue tank top she wore, the same silky material as her shorts, tightened across her chest. “Lie down. You’re still hurt, Kade. I’m going to heal you. No arguing.”
He couldn’t really tell her that the pain suited his mood, that he didn’t deserve her healing, so he submitted. That she was ordering him…flashes of being pinned to the barn wall, under her control, tightened his groin.
Forget that. You’re a mess.
She assessed his injuries. “Between my brothers and the Carnelian bitch, you’re beat to hell.”
He fingered the edges of his wound. Add the gash on his back and several broken ribs, and she’d have her work cut out for her.
She pushed the coffee table several feet away. “I’ll need to Catalyze.” She sat next to him, her hip brushing his thigh. He saw vulnerability in her rich, brown eyes. In the way her long fingers trembled as they tucked her damp hair behind her ear.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded too quickly, dislodging that lock of hair again. “It’s just hitting me now. No one’s ever tried to kill me.” Little did she know. And she wouldn’t know, if he had any say in the matter. She continued. “Not me as Violet, for personal reasons. Our family has had attacks where everyone’s fair game. But she wanted to kill me.”
He shouldn’t reach for that hand, shouldn’t rub his thumb along the back of it. He was a cold killing machine. A man who didn’t know how to connect emotionally to a woman, which was all the better.
“I’m all right,” she said, staring at his thumb as though she’d never had anyone touch her like that.
Maybe she hadn’t. No one to hold her while she grieved or processed what had happened. He didn’t think, just pulled her down so that her cheek rested on his upper chest. Pain rocketed through him as she pressed against his broken ribs, but he held in the hiss.
He’d seen female Vegas deal with adrenaline after an altercation. They processed it differently. Rather than being immersed in it right away, like men did, women held it together in the moment and fell apart later. Most hid it, swallowing back the tears or letting them loose only in the restroom or in their car out in the parking lot. They would never reveal it to their comrades, who wouldn’t offer more than cold comfort anyway. The men showed no emotion. For most of the senior Vegas, any empathy had been conditioned out of them.
Violet’s shoulders shook, and he stroked her back, over the silk and the lace edge to the warmth of her skin. His fingers brushed against the strands of her damp hair.
“I’m supposed to be healing you,” she said, the tears she was holding back thick in her voice.
“Let me comfort you first.”
She shook her head, her mouth brushing against his bare skin. “Castanegas are tough. We don’t cry.”
“I’ve already seen you cry, Vee. I don’t think any less of you for it. You lost your brother. You were almost killed.” Twice. “I’ll never tell.”
A cry gasped out of her, one last attempt to hold it back failing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because no one comforted me when my father died.” They looked at him askance or whispered. Some gave him a sympathetic look while others acted as though he had the plague. “And I didn’t cry either. Because Vegas are tough. We don’t cry.”
She laughed, mixed with a sob, and lifted her face to his. Her eyes were glossy with tears. “Then you can cry, too.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need to cry. But you can.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.
“What do you need, Kade?”
He let his thumb linger against her cheek. You. In my arms, my life. Thank the gods he pulled the words back before they rolled out. “Right now, nothing.”
She buried her face again and cried, but nothing like she’d done earlier when her sobs had ripped out his heart. Her hand lay on his stomach, fingers flexing, nails scraping softly against his skin.
Something he’d never felt before opened inside him, an overwhelming need to protect her, take care of her. Give her warm comfort, hot love…everything.
He would have killed her. The robot he was the day before would have come here, killed her when she was grieving, and then left. He would have gotten a “well done” at work and gone on to the next assignment. The obedient killing machine. And this beautiful, caring woman would be dead.
She sat up. “I’m hurting you, aren’t I? I can hear your breathing coming in short puffs.”
The release of pressure was as painful as when she’d first leaned against him. “It’s okay,” he said, though his voice gave away his pain. “It’s just a broken rib or two.”
“Kade! Why didn’t you say something? Men! ‘It’s fine,’” she mimicked. “‘I’m just wonderful, but don’t mind my gasping in pain.’” With a growl, she stood and swiped at her tears. “Close your eyes.”
He did, and heard the swish of her clothing hit the floor. The Catalyzation process was silent, but her heavy footfalls weren’t. He opened his eyes, looking into her face. The lines of her head were like a fine horse, regal and elegant; her scales glistened in the dim light. Her wings, black with maroon highlights, were tucked against her back. Her eyes were catlike, as were her graceful movements when she planted her hands on the edge of the couch and leaned down.
“I’m going to send my Breath into you,” she said, her voice low and gravelly. “It’s the opposite of when a Dragon Breathes another’s power. Instead of taking your essence, I’m going to send my essence into you. It’ll feel hot, and maybe weird, but shouldn’t hurt. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s worth trying.”
He was staring at her, unable to do more than nod.
“Don’t worry, it won’t bond us like it does Dragon to Dragon. At least I don’t think so.”
Hell, he was already bonded to her in a way he couldn’t understand. “I didn’t know you could bond that way.”
“It’s not a romantic bond, but the healed Dragon will carry the healer’s essence inside them for a while. Close your eyes. Open to me and relax.”
Open to her.
He did, and felt the heat of her breath as she neared him. Her lips were softer than he imagined, though he felt the graze of her fangs. He opened his mouth, and her Breath flowed into him. Not down his throat, but into him. It felt exquisitely exotic. Her magick rushed like water pooling around each injury. He inhaled sharply at the sensation, breathing in the scent of her: like incense, musky and sweet all at once.
He heard her back away, and the magick continued to work its way through him until the heat subsided. When he finally opened his eyes, she was human again in her silky pajamas. She was sitting back, her hands on her thighs, watching him.
“It worked?” she asked, looking hopeful.
He patted his ribs, feeling nothing but a slight bruise. “Yeah. Amazing. We have healing Deuces on the Guard staff. This felt different.” Because
Violet cared. Being treated by someone who cared…the feeling of it tumbled through him. More sensual, definitely hotter. He sat up. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do, after all you’ve done for me.”
For a moment he thought she knew everything, and she was all right with the fact that he’d once been about to kill her. But no, she’d never be all right with that.
Their gazes lingered, and he felt that flash that had hit him at the station. She abruptly stood, running her hands down her pajamas as though to smooth them. “I should get to bed. Let you sleep and continue healing.”
He stood, too. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
They both stood motionless, neither making any move to leave. Then he stepped forward and kissed her. She fell into him, her mouth engaging his. Her hands slid down the sides of his body, around to his back, her fingers digging into him. He rubbed the back of her neck, then moved down the length of her spine. She shifted closer, making a sweet sound deep in her throat.
Crash. The rest of that numb shield fell away. Along with his convictions.
There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He was as lost as she seemed to be. He needed to feel her all over, sliding his hand underneath the back of her top. The action pulled it up in front, too, and he felt the bottom swell of her breasts brush his chest. Holy hell but he wanted to feel every inch of her naked body against his. From that first contact, the smell and taste of her had been burned into his memory.
She pressed closer against him, and her hardened nipples grazed his skin. He pulled her top up, and she lifted her arms in perfect unison. The scrap of silky material fell to the floor.
"Amazing," he uttered on a whisper, trailing his fingers over her curves and between her exquisite breasts. When her breath caught, he cupped them. Firm, yet soft, a perfect fit.
She tilted her head back, which pushed her breasts more fully into his hands. Suddenly feeling her wasn’t enough. He needed to taste her, and so he kissed her, sucking on her tongue, exploring her mouth. Then he tasted every inch of her from her chin down her throat, tracing the edges of the hollow at the base. She tasted of clean female and the faint tang of soap. He wanted to taste more of her.