“Something’s wrong.” Sorren’s expression hardened as he concentrated. Tremors shot his head to one side, then the other. “She’s protecting herself against me getting inside, but it’s more than that. It’s...” He locked his attention on Grayson. “It’s not possible. She’s—” An invisible force slammed Sorren into the opposite wall. Glass, drywall, and tile rained down on top of him as he sank to the floor, unconscious.
“Son of a bitch. Are you alive?” Panic gripped Grayson’s heart. No answer. What the hell was going on? He couldn’t worry about the Arch-angel. He studied the woman in his arms as tension eased from Nika’s body, limb by limb, and she slumped against him. Her inhales evened out, mouth parted. He brushed a strand of hair from her ponytail back into place. No sign of the black veins under her skin now. “Nika, can you hear me?”
“Grayson!” Her eyelids shot open as she fought free of his hold. Locking her against him, he smoothed his hand over her forehead.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Her gaze found his and the darkness knotting inside his chest released. No black tint in her eyes either. He didn’t know what the tremors or black outs meant, but Isabel obviously had something to do with it. What kind of sick game had that damn demon started?
“Why am I soaking wet?” she asked, voice strained.
He reached across her and shut off the showerhead. Lavender filled his system as he pressed their bodies together and he drew in as much as he could handle. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with fevers?”
“Fever?” Confusion clouded her flawless features. A slight vibration hummed through his veins. It resonated high, then low, and high again. Power. Her power. Vdarra had said Nika wasn’t mortal. Now he had the proof. Isabel’s bite would’ve killed a human, but Nika had fought the infection. What did that make her? “I blacked out. I saw...” She shook her head, almost massaging his forearm with the back of her skull. The eyes he’d wished to see one more time steadied on him, strong, confident. “I had a dream about you.”
“You did?” A small flex of his jaw pulled up one corner of his mouth. He liked that idea. Her dreaming about him. The smile broke full force as he lowered his voice. “What were we doing?”
“You were dying. Someone stabbed you. Multiple times.” Anxiety raced through him and he held her tighter. She stared over his shoulder, not focused, not really there as if she could see it playing out in front of her all over again. “I tried to save you, but I couldn’t intervene. I watched you die.” Her eyes widened. “It was all so real.”
Because it had been. He pulled her into him harder. Memories of that night hovered right on the brink of his control. He couldn’t let them out. Couldn’t acknowledge they even existed. Grayson closed his eyes. His jaw ached from the pressure of clenching his teeth. His death played in scenes. The anonymous phone call that pinpointed his suspect’s location. The abandoned warehouse. The bastard’s work in progress lying there on the pallet. He’d gone in without backup. Stupid mistake. And there he was. His suspect. Right where the anonymous caller had claimed. Grayson realized too late the caller was the sick perp himself. It’d all been a set up from the beginning. Moonlight gleamed off the blade in his suspect’s hand—
“Grayson,” Nika said, “who is the man lying in the middle of that disaster zone that used to be my bathroom sink?”
He dropped out of the memory. Pressure released from his spine. Focus. Anxiety clawed up his throat, as if something alive struggled to escape. He focused on her. His instincts raged to hold her closer, to chase back the phantom pain where his suspect’s blade had hit home. He shook his head as though he could dispel the memory from ever existing. She stared up at him, almost doing the job alone. “That’s a long story. Come on, let’s clean you up and get you into some dry clothes.”
“It’s the wound, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s killing me.”
His lips parted with a sharp exhale. He couldn’t answer. She was too damn smart for her own good. It was one of the things he liked about her, but her saying the words, her realizing what was happening, clenched his heart in an undeniable vise that threatened to end him.
“You don’t have to say anything. I can read you like a book.” She dropped her head back against his arm and stared up at the ceiling. More than anything, he wanted her to look at him, but didn’t understand why. “Nearly a decade on the force being shot at, almost run over by fleeing perps multiple times, and assaulted by suspects and my own body is going to kill me.”
No.
“I’m not going to let that happen.” He gripped her jaw between his fingers softly and drowned in her attention as his power bound him to his word. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”
Chapter Ten
She remembered everything.
She’d witnessed the killer place the anonymous tip. Waited in the shadows beside the perp as Grayson, in all his FBI glory, passed right by them inside the empty warehouse. She’d recognized the killer from the news. Her stomach had flipped each time the news anchor from Channel 13 mounted one more victim under the asshole’s belt. The FBI had taken the case from NYPD. Obviously, Grayson had been the agent assigned to track the suspect down. The bright yellow letters across his bureau jacket back reflected from the muted rays of moonlight. She could’ve reached out and touched him he’d been so close. His dark, woodsy scent had filled her system as it did now. But the knife, that was what she remembered better than anything else. Grayson hadn’t even seen the attack coming.
So how was he still alive? Nika scanned over his arms, upper body, and his powerful legs from her position on the bed. No visible scars, but that didn’t mean anything. Clothing and surgery could do wonders. She’d tried warning him inside the dream—nightmare—or whatever the hell it’d been. In vain. Her hand had gone right through the killer’s torso as she’d rushed toward him. So real, yet...not. Because there he sat, slumped into one of her kitchen chairs, arms crossed over his broad chest, asleep. Always watching over her, like he’d sworn to protect her.
Despite the dry clothes, clean bandages, and heavy blanket over her, a shiver washed through her. Was it her subconscious trying to warn her of danger or the fact watching Grayson take his last breath in that hellish nightmare had torn her apart from the inside out? She studied the even rise and fall of his shoulders. Maybe both.
Nausea overwhelmed her insides as her brain reproduced the nightmare. He’d been stabbed. Multiple times. No one could’ve lived through that. But the news had never attributed the death of an FBI agent to the killer’s long list of victims. She closed her eyes. Small inhales, full exhales. As if concentrated breathing would help her forget what she’d seen. It’d been a nightmare. Didn’t happen outside of her head. But that didn’t explain the memory of his scent in her lungs either.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said.
Her eyes shot open.
“Kind of hard to sleep when you know you’re going to die soon.” She’d meant it as a joke, but his falling expression churned her stomach more than she cared to admit. The defeat in his eyes pierced through her. She’d never been an expert with sarcasm, but there’d been no mistake about his reaction. He didn’t like the idea of her death. “Sorry. Poor taste. How’s your angel friend after I...you know, tried to kill him?”
“He’ll live. Arch-angels are the strongest beings in the Afterlife, second only to the Deceiver and the Father. He’s just grateful you didn’t succeed in killing him.” The smile that thinned Grayson’s lips disappeared. He diverted his attention to the floor, but she needed him to look at her again. The tightness running down his neck led down his arms to his hands strangling the chair arms. White knuckles stood out against his semi-tanned skin. She threw the covers off and stood. The thin T-shirt and sweat pants she’d changed into after peeling her soaked clothing off slid across her over-sensitized skin as she closed the distance between them.
“Who are you, really?” she asked.
H
e stared up at her. No sign of confusion. No sign of guilt. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you track down demons for murder and you recruit Arch-angels for help. Normal FBI agents don’t do that. They don’t even know creatures like that exist. Which means you’re not normal,” she said.
“You’re right. I’m not like most people. I guess you could say I’m like you.” He locked his attention on her with something dark and sensual in his eyes. Maybe a little dangerous. Her fingers curled into her palms, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Even under the compulsion he’d ordered her to get away from him as fast as possible. He’d fought to protect her against himself. “I see beings from the Afterlife, same as you, and my drive for justice curves the ‘holy shit’ aspect of that. It’s why I joined the FBI in the first place. Evil takes a lot of forms. Doesn’t matter what they are. The demons I hunt have hurt innocent people and I don’t let them get away with it. Human or not.”
“I understand.” That same drive mirrored her own and had kept her on a path straight to Detective through the NYPD, the need to help those that couldn’t help themselves. Like Rachel. Maybe she and Grayson weren’t so different after all. “You want to help those who can’t help themselves. No matter the cost.” That same drive mirrored her own and had kept her on a path straight to Detective through the NYPD. A pigeon on the ledge caught her attention through the single window behind him. “You know when I was a kid, all I wanted was to be normal. Rachel…well, we both saw things no one else could see, ever since we could remember. She thought it was a gift. I didn’t. And neither did our parents.”
A smile cracked at one corner of her mouth. Her gaze darted to Grayson, but she couldn’t hold his and focused on that damn pigeon. The smile fell from her lips the longer she unburied the nightmares from over the years. “For years, I watched monsters terrorize victims right in front of me, possess people, force bystanders to do things they had no control over. Even commit suicide.” Flashes of one tall apartment building and the shadow of a man on the ledge streaked across her mind, but she shut it down.
“They never had the chance of fighting off what they couldn’t see and the ones who were helping—Rachel called them angels—were so outnumbered it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. That’s why I joined the force. I thought I could help, do some bit of good. I’m not so sure anymore.” Nike inhaled deep, pulling back her shoulders. Finding his attention locked on her, she swiped at her lower lids. Sunlight reflected off the moisture splayed across her hand and she wiped it down her sweats. A nervous laugh reverberated up her throat. Why was she telling him this? She hadn’t told anyone about the things that weren’t really there. “Seeing nightmares come to life isn’t a gift. This…power that was forced on us when we were born drove my sister insane by the time she was ten years old. I couldn’t go through that.”
“So you denied you saw the demons?” His voice lowered, soft. No judgment. No accusations. Just understanding. As though he knew exactly what was on her mind.
She motioned toward her nightstand where two half empty, orange bottles sat bright against the dark wood. “Anti-psychotics helped keep the hallucinations at bay. Until I saw Rachel at the bank.”
Nausea crested and receded as her insides twisted. Sliding her attention to him, she curled her lips between her teeth. A tear streaked down her cheek as she nodded. “I was a coward. Rachel died because I wasn’t strong enough to help her. I’m not even sure I can do this.” She swiped at her face again. “You must think I’m so pathetic. Aren’t cops supposed to keep it together?”
“Not when they’ve been through as much as you have.” Standing, Grayson closed the distance between them one slow step at a time. Wide shoulders blocked out her sightline of the pigeon, but she couldn’t force herself to meet his eyes. Shame did that, took every ounce of confidence and more. Stopping less than a foot from her, he slid his calloused palms from her wrists to her upper arm and squeezed her biceps. Warmth and comfort radiated down through her skin and into her muscles. “And you’re not pathetic. You might not have been strong enough to help Rachel before, but you are strong enough to help those who can’t defend themselves against the evils of this world and you’re strong enough to punish the monster that killed your sister.”
Another laugh burst from her chest as she rolled her injured shoulder forward. “My shoulder begs to differ about that last part.”
“Nika.” A tremor raced up her spine and across her collarbones. How could one simple word from his mouth effect her as though he’d caressed her from the inside? His hand dove under her chin, raising her head to meet his brilliant green gaze. “You stood up against a full-fledged Arch-demon to save your partner’s life. You weren’t worried about your own and you didn’t care about the cost. You’re not a coward. If anything, you’re the strongest and the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
She swallowed hard. The darkening of green around the edges of his pupils said he meant every word. Such confidence from a man whose life might depend on her at one point in this investigation. Unwarranted confidence. Stepping out of his hold, Nika ran a hand through her hair and spun toward the kitchen. “I need a drink.”
And not the kind anatomically made of two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen. She pulled a tall, clear white bottle from the freezer and unscrewed the bottle cap. The weight of his attention on the back of her head helped her tip the Vodka down her throat a little easier. Bravest person he’d every known? Not a chance. The man had recovered missing persons for the FBI, trained with some of the best men and women that worked for the US Government, fought demons for Christ’s sake. She might’ve attacked an Arch-demon to save Reynolds’s life, but her partner had still ended up dead. Where was the bravery in that?
Nika lifted the bottle to take another swallow, but a hand clamped over hers. His hand. Warm, large enough to cover hers and come of the bottle completely, hard-worked. She stared at a small scar that wrapped around the base of Grayson’s thumb as he maneuvered the Vodka out of her hold, one she’d noted through all the blood in her nightmare. Not part of his injuries from the attack in the warehouse. “Interesting scar. Where’d you get it?”
“You really want to play a game of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Grayson set the mouth of the bottle against his mouth and tipped it up, all the while keeping his gaze locked on hers. The bottle came down, his throat tensing and relaxing as he swallowed. A smile curved at one edge of his mouth. “Because that could be a very long game.”
“Oh?” She confiscated the vodka and took another swig without taking her eyes off of him. Visions of his shirt puddled on the floor, her sweatpants discarded played across her mind. Her shoulder hurt like hell, but then again, the damn wound was killing her, right? What was the harm in having some fun before Isabel’s bite reunited her with her sister? Besides, she had a war story that would end this game real fast. “I’ll take that bet.”
A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. “Now we’re betting. Never took you for the gambling type.”
“Guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She leveraged her weight against the cold steel of the fridge. The combination of his body heat at her front and the freezing metal at her back fought for dominance. Crossing one ankle over the other, she took the bottle he offered. “Let’s play.”
“All right. I’ll play.” He stared at her a moment longer then crossed his muscled arms over his chest, a bright, playful glint in his eyes. “The scar around my thumb is from basic training.”
“You were military?” Would explain a lot. His movements, the way he searched for the exits every time he entered a room, his ability to sneak up on her.
“Never made it out of basic.” He shook his head. “The first night I was there, some asshole got handsy with a fellow female trainee. I pulled him off her before he could do something stupid, but I didn’t see the line of wire he’d had against her throat. Jackass came at me with it.” Grayson lifted his hands, palms towards her. “I went to defen
d myself and the wire wrapped around my thumb when he took me down. Hence, the scar.”
“Wow. That’s a much better story than I had imagined. You saved that woman’s life.” Nika straightened, the bottle in her hand freezing her fingers centimeter by centimeter. “What happened to the jackass?”
“We were both thrown out of training.” He took the bottle from her and swallowed another mouthful of alcohol. “I went home to Colorado and the last thing I heard, he was convicted for attacking another woman in Washington. She died from her injuries.” Regret darkened the green of his eyes as Grayson shook his head. “Should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”
Okay… She dropped her chin to her chest. That was unexpected. He was supposed to be a good guy. Good guys didn’t think like that, did they? “You don’t really believe that.”
His stone-like expression told a different story. “Your turn.”
Right. Because they were playing a game. She stared at the bottle in her hand rather than consider another moment of him contemplating murder. Running through a catalogue of scar stories in her head, she settled on the worst thing that’d every happened to her on the force. Go big or go home, right? She’d started this game to win. She lifted her gaze as the vodka worked through her veins and lightened the ache in her muscles.
“All right. I’ve got one for you.” She took another slug from the bottle, liquid burning down her throat. “My first day on the job as a rookie, Reynolds and I were on patrol. Got a call about a domestic disturbance down in Queens and we were close enough to respond within a few minutes. I’m a newbie. I’d only held a gun in the academy so my hands are shaking like crazy.” She held onto the neck of the bottle with her thumb and index finger as she shook her hands. “I have no idea what we’re going to find on the other side of the door. We’re walking up the stairs. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel my chest hitting my bulletproof vest, but we just keep on moving. All I can think about is whether or not the victim is still alive. We break down the door after no one answers and push inside. Our suspect is standing right there at the bottom of the stairs. And then I see it.”
His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2) Page 10