Unbound

by Jeaniene Frost

  Nyx sighed. “The answers to that don’t matter to you today. What you need to know right now is that neither you—nor your loved ones—would stand a chance if I asked you to obey me…and no, you may not ask why just now. Put your hands out here where I can see them.”

  When he did so, she nodded placidly as if he’d hadn’t been seconds away from trying to shoot her—and he couldn’t force the questions of how and why from his lips.

  “I can be a great ally. You want to stop Brennan’s drugs. I have reasons to want you to succeed at that,” Nyx said.

  Cillian opened the folder and glanced at the sheets inside. Charts, account numbers, passwords, maps, key codes, names, aliases…it was far more information than he’d seen on Brennan after months of workups and considerably more detailed than anything he’d gathered in the six weeks he’d been in Raleigh.

  Nyx pinched it closed. “You mustn’t tell Evvie that you know me. I’m hiring you as her bodyguard as far as she knows…well, will know.” Nyx’s mouth curved in a wry expression. “Evvie will object. She’ll attempt to evade you. She’ll…be difficult.”

  “I’ll need to talk to my supervisors—”

  “Talk to them, so they can verify the value of that data…but I am an anonymous source.” She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, making her sheer top lift up and expose her bare stomach. This time, though, Cillian wasn’t even slightly tempted.

  “Or what?” he asked.

  She laughed, a husky bedroom sound that made him swallow hard despite his utter distaste. “Or I’ll slaughter everyone who sees this data.”

  He stood and faced her, still holding the folder. It was foolish, but he had to say it: “You’re not human.”

  She put her hand on the folder, pressing it against his chest, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “If you’re interested in my help, take the folder and be here tomorrow at seven sharp to be introduced to my cousin as her new bodyguard. If not, leave the folder and walk away. I’ll give you an out this once.” She kept her hand on the folder, holding it between them as she invaded his space. “If you accept my offer, please do understand that I’m quite serious about the terms of our contract.”

  Then she turned and left.

  Cillian sat silently in the dark for several minutes, debating the consequences of both actions. If he took the folder, he’d have resources the C.D.A. needed, resources that would enable him to do his job better. If he left it behind, he assured his family’s safety; of course, they were only endangered if he couldn’t keep silent. That wasn’t an issue. The things Cillian had learned in his job weren’t things he shared with his family. This was no different. If Nyx was honest, he and his loved ones were endangered only by violating her privacy. If she wasn’t honest, they were already in danger. Either way, taking the folder didn’t change anything critical. All it really meant was that he was becoming personally involved in the world of the Others.

  Which has been inevitable since I took the damn job.

  He’d expected his overt knowledge of the not-humans to come through official routes, but he’d still expected it from the beginning.

  What difference does it make?

  He took the folder and walked away. Now he just needed to figure out what to tell his supervisors—and protect a woman who was some sort of Other, and, if he was lucky, stop Daniel Brennan. All told, he was more excited about his job than he’d been in months.

  4

  Eavan hated family meetings with a passion she reserved for…actually, a passion she reserved for family meetings. She stood in the street, staring at her home and trying not to fall under the sway of the neighborhood. Oakwood was a little bit of heaven—houses that weren’t prefab monstrosities, people who sunk their roots into their city, a community whose collective energy made this part of the city something pure. Her family always lived in such areas. Unlike the subdivisions that cropped up everywhere, Oakwood and its neighboring Mordecai had personalities, histories, and dark whispers. More than a few of those whispers were tied to the women in Eavan’s family. Sometimes an unfaithful husband vanished. Once in a while, a wayward family member returned home meek and eager to be forgiven. Drug traffic never took hold in the several blocks surrounding their home. No one in their immediate area was ever robbed. Of course, no one would speak directly about the belief that Nyx’s influence was what kept them safe in home and family. Secrets were all the more poignant for the fact that they were openly known, but never spoken. It was enough to keep the neighbors from looking too closely at the family.

  If they truly knew, would they still look away?

  The neighbors might murmur about them being “fancy women” and the scandal of women owning strip clubs, but they didn’t pursue their talk beyond the occasional, and quickly silenced, remark. They didn’t speculate aloud at the family’s methods of keeping peace; there were no titillating rumors voiced about the beautiful murderesses who lived inside the modest house.

  Eavan’s family was a clan of true glaistigs: they devoured people. They were many men’s—and a fair number of women’s—darkest fantasy, but sometimes with a steep price. They didn’t kill many, but they did kill. Glaistigs swallowed the last breath of mortals or strangled them, preferably during sex.

  Monsters.

  She walked around to the back of the house. It was part of the routine she’d clung to in order to keep herself from believing the façade. Routines were her anchor, innumerable little tricks to keep from believing in illusions, to create her own illusion of normalcy. Going through the front door, the door for guests, was walking into the illusion. The truth was what kept her from surrendering to the role her family wanted for her.

  This is not what I am.

  Steeling herself for the sensory shock, she pushed open the door.

  She wasn’t but a step inside the room, when Mother Chloe appeared in front of her. Uncharacteristically, her legs were hidden away. There must be guests. Even now, no one in her family seemed able to keep her chest, stomach, or arms covered. Given a choice, they’d roam in lingerie.

  Eavan straightened the sleeves of her suit jacket. I am not like them. She’d worked hard to cultivate a modest streak and had gone a bit overboard lately with being so close to the edge. No one else at the office dressed as conservatively as she did; even the senior marketing consultants looked at her oddly.

  She stood silently for her birthmother’s inspection. They were always like this, greeting her at the threshold and assessing her like a stray dog returned to the pack. Chloe glanced at Eavan’s stocking-covered calves approvingly. She smiled—until she looked up and saw Eavan’s tightly wound bun. “Well, that certainly sets a mood, doesn’t it?”

  “You asked me to let it grow again,” Eavan reminded. She sat her briefcase at the front door and slipped off her pumps.

  “I don’t understand you.” Chloe walked away, her boots striking the tile floor in a regular rhythm, sounding out the familiar cadence, bringing to mind memories of a lifetime of late night music sessions. Chloe insisted on wearing boots that would resonate on the floor as her own cloven feet would. She liked music, even that made of her own movement.

  Despite her irritation, Eavan smiled at the sound. For years when she’d lived in the house, she’d been happy. Things had made sense, but back then, she’d known little of what she’d one day become. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she understood the parties, the musicians, and the strange cries. Her mother-family, glaistigs all, fed on acts of sex and death. It was essential that they feed; it kept them alive. Eavan understood it—but understanding didn’t equate to wanting to be like them.

  Far better to live a mortal lifespan and die naturally than to transform into a monster.

  Chloe paused and stamped her foot. “Evvie! Come now. Your grandmother isn’t feeling patient tonight.”

  “Is she ever?”

  Chloe scowled. “She’s far more patient with you than I would be.”

  “Yes, Mother Chloe. I do r
ealize that.” Eavan followed her mother into the sitting room where the rest of the family would be waiting. Of course, calling it a sitting room was a bit of a kindness. It was something between a bawdy house and the results of a Victorian decorator on acid. Aunt NeNe had her foot propped on an honest-to-goddess stuffed elephant foot that was fashioned into an ottoman. Gold tassels dangled from the cushion atop the atrocity. All around the room, floral patterns clashed with one another; gilt-framed art cluttered walls and shelves. Dressing tables that had no place in a front room were scattered about, like the desks in an untidy classroom. On each table, Eavan could see a jumble of silver hand mirrors, ivory combs, feathered hair barrettes, and crystal bottles of perfume with elaborate atomizers.

  And her family sat—in dishabille—on overly plush divans. In the center, like a queen holding court, was Nyx, Eavan’s grandmother and matriarch, her judge and torturer. Nyx held herself regally, watching with serpent-cold eyes. “Eavan.”

  It wasn’t a warm welcome, but no one there thought Eavan deserved Nyx’s warmth.

  Even me.

  Ever since Eavan had told Nyx she wasn’t moving home after college, things had been more strained. Glaistigs didn’t live away from the clan. It simply wasn’t done. Of course, no other glaistig clan would be foolish enough to challenge Nyx’s decision to violate tradition by allowing Eavan a touch of freedom. The same cruelty that had left scars on Eavan’s back allowed Nyx to defy tradition now: crossing Nyx was painful more often than not.

  Beautiful monsters. My family.

  The three of them looked like sisters, like her sisters. They appeared to be only a couple of years older than Eavan—wrinkle-free, lustrous hair, bodies as sculpted as professional dancers. In high school, her “guardians” had incited equal parts envy and curiosity when they attended school events. In college, people assumed they were her sorority sisters or asked if she was part of a modeling agency. Luckily, they hadn’t visited her en masse at the office yet. Their unchanging nature would eventually elicit too many questions. As will my own. Eavan wasn’t sure when it’d started bothering her, but it irritated her more and more—their immutable nature, her own now-unchanging body.

  For now. Choosing mortality meant Eavan would eventually age and die. She’d age more slowly than mortals, but it would still happen. Glaistigs didn’t. They brought death, but didn’t suffer from it.

  “What are you wearing? It’s so”—NeNe fluttered her hands around as she took in Eavan’s skirt, which reached just below the knee—“opaque.”

  “It’s wool.” Eavan leaned down and kissed her aunt’s cheek. They might be monsters, but they were still her family. “Just like I’ve worn to every other meeting.”

  “I must’ve repressed it.” NeNe sniffed. Like the rest of the women, with her gauzy camisole and thick tumble of hair, NeNe looked as if she were awaiting clientele, not expecting a visit from the girl they’d collectively raised as their daughter.

  “You know, what this place needs is a stripper pole.” The words were out before Eavan could stop herself, but no one flinched. Eavan could say whatever came to mind here. Home wasn’t where Eavan wanted to be, but she couldn’t deny how right it still felt to be there. Glaistigs were clan creatures, and although Eavan was clinging fiercely to her humanity, she was still part of the clan. “A pole would fit right in,” she added. “Just like at your clubs.”

  Grandmother Nyx nodded. “I was just saying that, wasn’t I?”

  Chloe handed Eavan a brush before answering, “She’s joking, Mama.”

  Nyx shrugged, lifting one delicate shoulder in a graceful move that belied her centuries. “It matters little. She’s right for a change.”

  Eavan smothered a laugh; Nyx knew that Eavan had been only partially joking. It would fit in, and they’d enjoy having it here. Sometimes when all the rest was set aside, Eavan suspected that Nyx was the only one who truly understood her. The older glaistig didn’t approve of Eavan’s urge to live as a mortal, but she understood the impulse to forge new rules. Following a path simply because it had always been done that way wouldn’t make sense to Nyx. Of course, neither would chastity.

  Eavan sat on the back of the sofa, perched behind her grandmother, and began unplaiting the woman’s thick rope of hair. The tendrils were like living things in Eavan’s hands, as if night had taken solid form. “You look lovely, Grandmama.”

  “Of course.” Nyx stretched; muscles that shouldn’t exist rippled under her wrinkleless skin. The strength in those muscles would make it a simple thing to crush Eavan’s throat—and no one would stop her. Eavan learned that lesson years ago when she stood up to Nyx the first time.

  And a dozen times since.

  Nyx wasn’t callous, no more so than anyone else in the house, but she was in charge. Forgetting that was unwise.

  “Bring him in,” Nyx said.

  The tension in Eavan’s body rose. She paused a heartbeat longer. “Him? Grandmama, what have you—”

  “You’ve stopped brushing, Eavan. I don’t like that.”

  Dutifully, Eavan resumed the measured strokes, gripping the olivewood handle, pulling the tufts of boar bristles through the thick tresses, keeping her eyes on her task—and not looking at the man who’d entered the room.

  Like a lamb to slaughter.

  “I’ve checked all the windows,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Lovely.” Nyx rolled her shoulders. “Keeping brushing, Eavan.”

  “Yes, Nyx.” Eavan stayed in her increasingly uncomfortable position on the back of the sofa where Nyx was seated. She didn’t look up at him. If Nyx had brought him here, had insisted Eavan meet him, he was dangerous. His voice alone, a deep growling bass, was proof of that.

  Temptation. Eavan knew her family wasn’t above underhanded tricks; treachery was their first instinct. Perhaps it’s not that. She knew better though. Nyx didn’t rule one of the strongest clans of glaistigs by accepting defeat. Ever.

  “The windows aren’t secure at all,” the man added. “A screwdriver and—”

  “Right, so we’ll replace those. NeNe?” Nyx made an imperious motion.

  “Here.” NeNe held out a blank check. “Fix whatever needs fixing.”

  “Our home’s security is very important, Mr. Owens,” Chloe said.

  “It’s Cillian, ma’am,” he corrected.

  Eavan paused at the change in timber of his voice; he also sounded almost as assertive as Nyx. When Eavan looked up, her fears were confirmed: he was perfect, a visual feast, lean, confident, and seemingly unintimidated by the nest of vipers he was in. His instincts should be telling him to flee or to bow before Nyx. He did neither. He stood there as if oblivious to her charm, to all of their allure.

  Eavan couldn’t help but stare, just as Nyx undoubtedly expected. He was fit without being bulky, muscular and toned. If not for his almost pouty lips, his face would be too stern. As it was, he looked just this side of fierce—not easily daunted or foolishly aggressive. It made her want to see what it took to provoke him.

  I am above this. I am stronger than instinct.

  The older glaistig looked back and caught Eavan’s gaze. A guilty blush burned on Eavan’s face.

  Nyx’s posture hadn’t changed, but she had her confirmation: Eavan was intrigued.

  Too much so.

  The man made a note as he said, “I’ll have one of my associates drop by to go over the literature on the different options for replacing the windows.”

  “Whatever. Really, my cousin’s safety is really the difficult thing, Mr. Owens. As I said, that’s why I needed you here today.” Nyx caught Eavan’s hand and tugged so that their clasped hands were resting just over her collarbone. “Eavan doesn’t seem to understand how dangerous refusing to stay with the rest of the family is. A young girl in the difficult world all alone…”

  “Is she in some sort of danger, ma’am?”

  “Inevitably. She’s foolish, you know.” Nyx squeezed Eavan’s hand until tears threatened. “I worry s
o over her. Beautiful. Wealthy…and with the things I see in the news…Did you know there were shootings just up the street from her flat?”

  Eavan blinked the tears away. Her voice was clear, though, as she said, “I’m not moving home. No matter what…happens.”

  “I’ll accept that,” Nyx said mildly. “In fact, I’ve hired Mr. Owens’s firm for that very reason. I’ve taken a lease on the vacant flat across from yours.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Or you can move home.” Nyx looked back at Eavan. “You have choices. Prove to me that you can do as you’re told or return to the fold where I can look after you. I’ll not have you die to prove a point.”

  “Nyx,” Eavan pleaded, “please?”

  Nyx turned away.

  “I want to apologize for making you stay in Eavan’s dismal building, Mr. Owens. How anyone could want a tiny little nest in some ugly modern thing…It’s appalling.” Nyx’s reply couldn’t have held more vitriol. She sighed melodramatically before adding, “NeNe and Chloe will go over the other details with you. Eavan and I have things to discuss in private before you two leave.”

  And with that, Nyx dismissed him, and NeNe and Chloe were at his sides almost instantly to assure that he was removed from the room. Nyx spoke, and the world obeyed.

  Except me.

  “Tell me about your associates, Mr. Owens,” Chloe murmured as she trailed fingertips over his stomach.

  “Chloe.” Nyx curled her mouth into snarl. “Not acceptable.”

  “Yes, Nyx.” Chastened, Chloe ducked her head and hurried the man out of the room.

  Eavan repressed a shiver as everyone left her behind.

  Not that witnesses would matter.

  Eavan stood. Wordless, she walked over to place the brush on one of the vanities.

  Nyx pulled the dark spill of hair over her shoulder, where it coiled into a rope that would’ve made Rapunzel jealous. She turned her gaze to Eavan. “Do you think it’s easy for me to think of you vulnerable to the dangers of the world?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”