by Keri Arthur
I tucked in to my meal but could barely even taste it. Every sense I had was locked on to the two men who were now moving from table to table, checking everyone’s RFID chips. Thank Rhea I’d taken the time to change my looks and my scent, both in the basement and up in the apartment.
They eventually reached my table. I glanced up and flashed them a warm smile. “Morning, Officers. How can I help you?”
“We’re conducting an RFID check,” one said, his voice gruff, no-nonsense. “Please present.”
I raised my right wrist. The second man no longer watched me; I’d obviously passed the scent test. The scanner was held over my wrist for several seconds and then the guard checked the screen and grunted.
“All good,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your breakfast, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
The two guards checked the remaining patrons, then moved out and on to the next building. I released a long, slow breath and leaned back in my chair. I’d done it. I’d escaped. Rhea was obviously as desperate as the rest of us to rescue those children; it was the only way to explain my near-miraculous escapes of late.
“Everything all right?” the hostess asked, pausing briefly at my table. “Would you like more coffee? Or perhaps some additional toast?”
“Both would be great, thanks.”
I might have healed myself, but I needed to top up the reserves, and the best way of doing that was with food.
It was a good hour later by the time I stepped out of the café. The sun had well and truly risen and there were even more people out on the street, all moving with a serene grace I wished I could echo. I headed for the nearest cross street and walked down to Third. I was in the area, so I might as well familiarize myself with the apartment Nuri had found me.
It was, as she’d said, close to the wall end of Second, not far away from the drawbridge. Like most of the apartment buildings on this street, it was twenty floors high, but extremely thin, and sandwiched by the two buildings on either side of it. The door was print-coded. I hesitated, crossed mental fingers, and then placed my fingers on the scanner. Blue light ran across my hand length, and then the screen beeped and flipped over, revealing a keypad. I typed in the security code Nuri had given me, and after a heartbeat a green light flashed and the door opened.
The foyer beyond, like the building itself, was tiny but plushly decorated in gold and plum tones. There was no guard—a good thing, given I’d supposedly been staying here for weeks. The lift doors opened as I walked toward it and a metallic voice asked for my floor number.
“Seven, please.”
The doors closed and the lift zoomed me up to my destination. I stepped into the carpeted corridor and paused, looking right and left. There were only two apartments here, which I guessed wasn’t surprising, given the width of the place. The one I was after was at the front of the building.
I once again pressed my fingers against the scanner, then punched in the security code. The door slid open, revealing a room that was a combination living and kitchen area. Despite the narrowness of the building, the entire place was bright and spacious—a feeling undoubtedly helped by the mezzanine level stopping well short of the double-height windows, enabling them to flood the room with light. Once again white was the dominant theme in the room, but there were at least splashes of bright color in both the cushions that lined the L-shaped sofa and the sunset pictures that lined the wall.
A circular chrome-and-glass stair was tucked into the corner to my right. I went up and discovered two bedrooms and a bathroom. Neither of them was huge—in fact, there was very little in the way of maneuvering room either side of the bed. I slid open one of the wardrobe doors and discovered an assortment of neatly stacked clothes, all of them silver. I tugged out one of the tunics; it was far too small to fit my new identity, so this room obviously wasn’t mine. I put the tunic back and headed into the other bedroom. It was basically a mirror image of the first, but the silk sheets were a rose rather than silver color, and the clothes in the wardrobe were a range of soft pastels as well as the requisite silver. It made me wonder if Charles preferred his women in items that bore a slight blush of color.
The bathroom was small but perfectly formed, containing not only a shower and a glass sink, but also a hip bath. Water obviously wasn’t so much a concern in this part of Central—or maybe it was simply a matter of the people here being willing to pay the exorbitant prices for a little bit of luxury. I walked back down the stairs, then across to the windows. The view was nowhere near as dramatic as Charles’s, but I did at least have a reasonable view down Third to the drawbridge. It was open, but there was little point of heading back home if the museum was once again filled with people.
I called Cat and Bear, then crossed my arms and leaned a shoulder against the window, enjoying the early-morning warmth. When my two ghosts arrived, they were bursting with news and excitement. Nuri had apparently managed to disengage the wall—not the entire thing, but enough that she, Jonas, and the ghosts could get inside. And while Nuri hadn’t been able to destroy the false rift, she had moved it into the center of the square, away from the resting place of the Carleen ghosts.
Which was a surprising move. While it meant the ghosts would no longer suffer the agony of having their bones stained by the evil that resided within the false rift, there was still the evil of the wall to contend with, and I suspected its unhealthy darkness would do far more damage to the ghosts’ bones than the rift it protected.
“Do you know why she moved it?” Because by doing so, she’d basically informed Sal’s partners there was a witch of some power working in opposition—if they didn’t already know it, that is.
Bear’s energy touched my arm lightly. She said the ghosts had suffered enough. That while she could no longer offer them the choice of moving on, she could at least stop the suffering the rift was causing.
I frowned. Why couldn’t she help the ghosts move on? She’d forced the déchet ghosts in the Broken Mountains bunker to move on, so why not those in Carleen? Why could she move déchet spirits on, and not human? “What are they doing now?”
This time it was Cat who answered. Nuri returns to Chaos to replenish herself. Jonas has gone to the bunker. There are men there again.
“Doing what?”
Deciding whether it is worth the effort of restoring the museum.
Which could be either good or bad news, depending on whether closure meant simply abandoning it or going to the trouble of bulldozing it and then reverting the area to more parkland. Not that they needed more parkland outside the walls. Few people used the current parks, especially these days when the vamps had all but wiped out the wildlife.
“I gather our little ones are keeping an eye on them?”
Amusement spun around me. I had a feeling the engineers were suffering an inordinate number of misplaced tools.
And while Cat and Bear might be oldest of all the children, it was still something of a favorite trick of theirs. Even I wasn’t immune to it, especially when they had nothing else to catch their interest.
I pushed away from the window. Going back to the bunker was now out of the question, so I might as well rest here. It wasn’t like I was going to get a lot of sleep when I met Charles tonight. He might be in his sunset years, he might not have had many lovers of late, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his stamina. “Can you both keep an eye on what is happening on the street? If any corps or guards look set to enter the building, wake me.”
Bear’s energy touched mine briefly. Can we explore the building?
I smiled. “Just don’t forget to keep an eye on the street.”
They spun around me happily, then zoomed off, leaving me wondering if the residents here were also about to suffer an inexplicable number of missing or moved items.
I headed upstairs. My head had barely touched the softer-than-a-cloud pillows when sleep
hit. I woke at sunset—not that it was evident, given the never-ending brightness that was flooding the room. Central’s people feared darkness so much that they didn’t even sleep in it. There’d been no light controls in any of the apartments I’d been in; the lights were simply on twenty-four/seven.
I dressed and headed downstairs. Cat and Bear happily filled me in on everything that had happened over the day. They’d explored the entire building—in between checking the street, they added somewhat hastily—and approved the place as a temporary residence.
“I’m afraid it’s not one you can stay in,” I said. “I need you both at the bunker tonight, just in case another attack comes. But return once the sun is up tomorrow.”
I gave them a hug and sent them on their way. Then I headed out to meet Charles. He gave me a smile when he saw me approaching, but there was little warmth in it, and the kiss he placed on my cheek was also rather functional.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, when he didn’t immediately do anything else.
He started, then scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Yes. I mean no.” He grimaced. “Sorry, it’s work. And I shouldn’t be letting it get in the way of my time with you.”
“If you’d prefer to simply go home, we can do this another—”
“No, no,” he cut in hastily. “The prospect of your company is the only thing that got me through the day.”
“Then perhaps we should retreat somewhere where you can relax rather than continuing on to the restaurant. My place is just down the street. Or we could go back to yours.” I hesitated and touched his arm. Despite the fact that it wasn’t skin-on-skin contact, one word nevertheless leapt into my mind—Daybreaker. Whatever it was, he sure as hell was worried about it if my seeking skills were picking it up on such a fleeting contact through cloth. “And I have been trained as a sexual masseuse.”
“Ah well, that is an invitation I cannot refuse.”
I smiled and tucked my arm into his. “I also have a very well-stocked autocook and a lovely selection of wines. And as a bonus, I have the place to myself for the next two weeks.”
“You share?” He sounded somewhat horrified at the thought.
“Yes.” I shrugged. “Until I decide what I want to do, it is for the best.”
He grunted and lapsed into silence again. I didn’t mind, because my seeking skills were picking up random bits of information. Whatever Daybreaker was, it was sucking up huge amounts of money—too much, in Charles’s opinion. There were also staff troubles, but the images I was receiving on that were rather random and fleeting. To know more, I’d have to wait until he was deep inside.
Once we reached the apartment, I pulled free and stepped toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink before we start?”
He caught my hand, tugged me back into his arms, then kissed me soundly.
“I would rather partake in the promised massage,” he said eventually. “Otherwise I fear I might be poor company tonight.”
I smiled and led him up the stairs. “I’m afraid the bedroom is rather small compared to yours.”
“I’ve slept in smaller,” he said, amusement evident in his tone as he glanced around. “I may be from a wealthy family, but I did my required stint in the corps when younger.”
Surprise rippled through me, though I checked it before it got anywhere near my expression. But it was a reminder of just how little I knew about life in Central—and how careful I would have to be both when I was with Charles and once I got into Winter Halo.
Once we were in the bedroom, I told him to remain still, then slowly began to strip off his clothes. I took my time, exploring his body by taste and touch. By the time his shirt fell to the floor, his chest was heaving and his body was quivering with desire. I kept going, kept teasing, my fingers playing around the waist of his pants but not undoing them. Not releasing him.
When I finally did, his groan was one of sheer relief. His cock jumped free, thick and hard and quivering with expectation. I ran my tongue over its tip and he groaned again, the sound almost desperate.
“God,” he said with a shudder. “If you treat all your clients this well, I can imagine you’d be in high demand.”
“I did start training in the therapeutic area, but the demand for sexual massage was so high I soon switched.”
He grinned. “I’m betting most of your clients pretended to have problems simply to enjoy sessions with you.”
“It would be cheaper and easier to go to one of the approved brothels than come to me.” I rose, brushed my lips across his, then stepped back and motioned to the bed. “Lie on your stomach. I’ll go get the oil.”
His gaze skated down my length. “I do so hope you intend to get naked somewhere along the line.” He paused and ran a finger across the top of my breasts. “Although I am rather liking the corset.”
“Then perhaps I shall leave it on.”
He nodded thoughtfully, though amusement teased the corners of his lips. “I would quite enjoy releasing your bounty later, I think.”
I didn’t comment, just motioned to the bed again. He took a deep, somewhat shaky breath, then climbed onto it. I retrieved the oil from the bathroom, then quickly slipped out of my skirt and sat astride him. His skin quivered where our flesh touched.
When the heat of my hands had warmed the oil enough, I undid the top and dribbled it onto his skin, starting at the base of the spine, then moving upward to his shoulders. Once the bottle was recapped and dumped onto the floor, I moved back to his butt and began to work the oil into his flesh, alternating long sweeping strokes with more circular ones. I kept my hands on his skin, increasing sensations for him as much as snagging information for me. The pieces were fleeting, somewhat insubstantial, but I could examine and connect them all later. I slowly worked my way up his spine, across his shoulders and down each arm, and then repeated the process back down his body. After dribbling more oil onto my hands, I continued on, over rump and down his sinewy legs, concentrating on his feet and toes for a while before moving back up his legs. When my thumbs slipped between his thighs and brushed his balls, he jumped slightly and groaned.
I smiled and did it again. This time his groan was more a growl. “God, this has to be the sweetest form of torture I have ever experienced.”
“And it’s a long way from over yet.” I slid to one side. “Roll over.”
He did. His cock glistened with precum, visible evidence of the desire that rode the air heavily. I sat astride him and repeated the process until his need was so thick and heavy it caressed my skin with its heat and filled every breath. It was more his than mine, but that was okay. I wasn’t here for pleasure. I was here for information.
I leaned forward and said, “How badly do you want me?”
“Very.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not really convinced. Perhaps I should continue—”
With a low growl, he wrapped his arms around my body and quickly flipped our positions. With very little finesse, he thrust inside me, driving deep and then holding still, his body quivering with the effort of restraint and his expression one of utter pleasure. Then he began to move, and as he did, I unleashed my seeker skills. I didn’t have time to sort through the images and try to understand the information—I’d worked him into such a state that he wouldn’t last too long this first time. But that had also been very deliberate. Not only were cat shifters more sensitive to this sort of intrusion, but they also tended to compartmentalize the various bits of their lives—meaning that when it came to sex, that was all they focused on. Everything else—their day, their plans, and often even their emotions—were locked away into neat little boxes that could only be accessed when need was all-consuming.
I became aware of the increasing tempo of his thrusts and carefully withdrew from his energy and aura. As I reimmersed in the sensations flooding my body, I wrapped my legs around him and raise
d my hips to meet his movements. It was his undoing. He came with a roar, his face twisted in sweet ecstasy as his body shuddered and shook. For several seconds after, he didn’t move; then he rolled to one side and gathered me close.
“That,” he said, kissing my forehead lightly, “was a most excellent massage. I did notice, however, that your enjoyment was not as great as mine.”
“We have the rest of the night for that.” I pushed away from him and sat up. “Right now I think some food and wine might be in order.”
“Followed by dessert,” he murmured, one finger lightly tugging at the corset’s drawstring, “which is, of course, the unwrapping of your glorious breasts.”
“Perhaps.” I bounced off the bed.
He followed me down the stairs, and for the rest of the night we shared food, alcohol, small talk, and sex. Each time I gained a little more information about Winter Halo, its financial and staff problems, but there was never much on the project that had him so worried. It was frustrating, but it couldn’t be helped. I’d obviously done my job too well; he was totally and utterly relaxed, and that project was now the last thing on his mind.
Maybe I needed to catch him in the middle of the day, when he had no choice but to go back to work . . .
As dawn began to stir the shadows from the skies—something I felt rather than actually saw in this place of eternal brightness—he reluctantly showered and got dressed.
“So,” he said, catching my hand and tugging me into his embrace. “When will I see you again?”
“What about lunch tomorrow?”
“What about dinner tonight?” His lips moved down my neck.
I smiled. “I’m seeing a friend tonight.”
“Competition?” he said, with a nip on my earlobe.
There was no concern in his voice, just the stirrings of determination. While many shifters were monogamous, the cats weren’t. Like the animal variety that had once roamed this world, female shifters had the final say on who could and couldn’t court them, and it was the males who had to strive for their attention and favor. In the camps, at least during the war, it wasn’t unusual for women to have had many children with different fathers, although those who were not nomadic did tend to stick to the same mate. It was a trait that had, at times, made my task difficult.