That, he could have managed.
But the light in her eyes, the spark of surprise when she sat down with coffee and a plate of hot food rattled him. A few eggs and a bit of cheese hastily thrown together didn’t warrant that unchecked grin of satisfaction. Or that little purr of delight.
The companionship of his own cohort, the safety and ease it afforded, had always been his constant. For years, Rory had cooked enough food to feed a small army whenever they had the time and facilities. Lysippe joked that she’d recruited the rest of the Aegis just to take care of leftovers. Her first question after they’d survived whatever Azrael had dragged them into: what’s for dinner? The responding roll call in the form of favorite foods and outlandish dishes identified each of them. He’d seen the brief flash of relief in her smile enough to know she wasn’t worried about the improbability of such a menu.
That Ana tried to distance herself the first chance she got made sense. Surrounding herself with walls may have been a necessity for survival in Raymond’s court. But they were in this together. She’d helped him bleed off the tension of the previous night’s restraint, never mind fucking him senseless. After a hot shower, he’d gotten better sleep in a few short hours than in the last decade. He wanted to give her the confidence to yield, to be a place safe enough to allow her strength to become softness. He wanted to earn her trust.
Miscalculation? Hell, the sex had been a mistake. One he’d make again the first chance he got.
Chapter Seventeen
“Something Jax said,” Ana said as they pulled into the ferry terminal, “about a burial ground…”
“You think it’s indigenous,” Gregor said. “Or was.”
She liked how his mind followed her own. There was no questioning or second-guessing. “She.”
As they approached the tollbooth, Ana circled her finger to prompt him to roll down the window.
She leaned over his lap, one hand on his thigh. Before, she could have done it without any intention other than to wind him up. Now she was aware of his chest against her shoulder and the lean muscle of his thigh under her palm. His sharp exhale tickled the back of her ear. She fought the temptation to squeeze as she flashed a badge at the clerk and got them on the next ferry to Bainbridge Island.
“There’s a Kwih-dich-chuh-ahtx elder who may be able to tell us something,” Ana said. “She’s agreed to meet with us. Not all stories handed down are put in records or books.”
Gregor pulled forward, going around the line of waiting cars to priority boarding. She released the badge into his questioning fingers.
“Badges?” He exhaled, flipping it open to reveal a flattering head shot and her name. “What’s NSIU?”
She shrugged, embarrassment creeping up before she could stifle it. “Necromancer Special Investigation Unit or something ridiculous.”
Gregor looked almost offended as he echoed her. “Ridiculous.”
“It’s meant to smooth things over with the mortals,” she said, not sure why she was defending it. She’d thought it was idiotic from the moment Raymond suggested it. “They respect badges.”
Gregor grimaced and handed it back. “How Hollywood.”
Ana sighed. “Rathki said she wouldn’t let old wounds heal.”
“He gave her a gift. Immortality?”
Ana nodded. Time had a way of working on the hunger for vengeance, twisting and hardening it into something more formidable and less easily assuaged than a single death.
“Why?” Gregor said. “If only to abandon her.”
The thought unsettled Ana more than she wanted to admit.
She’d been turned out of the house for her failure to prevent Takami’s escape.
“I’ll bring her back.” She’d knelt at her master’s feet, pressing her forehead to the floor in dutiful submission.
“You?” If he had struck her it would have hurt less than the sneer on his face. “And what would I want her back for? She is disgraced. Worthless.”
He’d kicked Ana out with nothing but the clothes on her back, promising her continued survival would be more fitting punishment than any easy way out.
She contemplated the whorehouse—the madams who often filled her begging bowl had offered her a place among them multiple times, praising her exotic looks. But she never forgot the sneer that carved a hole through her heart and into her soul, spreading a stain of doubt. She stole her swords back under the cover of darkness and set out to find Takami and fulfill her giri.
Her investigation had taken her into the poorest sections of the city. A street gang of young toughs cornered her in the shantytown after she questioned the keeper of the boarding house where Takami and her lover had been seen. An old Native man stepped to her defense. She drew her swords when they turned to him instead and ended the confrontation with a pile of bodies.
Her gaze settled hard on him. “I don’t need your help, old man.”
“As you say.” The look in his eyes before he doubled over with coughing held calculating intelligence. He staggered off, spitting a lump of phlegm and blood on the pile of broken bodies.
It had taken her almost two years to track them to the Bitterroot Mountains only to find she was too late and her vow would never be fulfilled. After executing the six men responsible for Takami’s death, she’d prepared to take her life and end her wandering.
“The gods don’t care about your duty.” This time when she saw Raymond, he looked younger and more vital than he had in the shantytown. His proximity and the odd sheen of light in his eyes made the skin on her arms prickle. “Come with me and I’ll show you things beyond this world that don’t require your death.”
By then she was skin and bones and a spent need for vengeance. “I am nothing.”
He huffed a laugh. “Well you could use a bit of flesh. That’s truth. But I could use someone at my back. Someone most won’t expect. Someone who doesn’t flinch when the time comes to settle the bill. The rewards will be multitudinous should you survive.”
He must have tracked her the whole way, yet he’d waited until she’d gotten her revenge before offering his bargain. Had he learned the hard way how persistent the need for vengeance could be?
Dragging her thoughts away from memory, she watched the arrival of the green-and-white ferry. Wind whipped the sky into a flurry of impressionist clouds and capped the water in sprays of white. Sun glimmered through breaks cast shafts of light against the water. It hadn’t rained all day, but by the look of the horizon, it wasn’t far off. The pedestrian passengers huddled on the gangway as the ferry pulled into the dock, wind whipping their coats and scarves.
She tossed the badge into the glove compartment. “Once we cross the water, we’re on Native land. Raymond restored the peninsula when he ascended. Tourists are allowed onto Bainbridge, but no farther without express permission from one of the federated tribes.”
“Permission you have, I assume,” he said, starting the engine as the ferry employee waved them on.
“You saw the badge, didn’t you,” she deadpanned. “I’m the Nightfeather’s fucking Talons.”
He shocked her by laughing, and the reminder of the night before sent tremors through her. She got the impression Gregor was not a man who laughed often or with genuine humor. It was a shame. He had a beautiful laugh. He parked at the front of the boat.
“Now what?”
Cars loaded onto the boat around them, directed into neat lines by boat crew in reflective vests. “Ever been on one of these?”
“A boat?” His brow rose.
“A ferry.” She rolled her eyes, opening the door and snagging her leather jacket from the back seat. “Come on. It’s a singular experience. Don’t want to waste it sitting in the car.”
Gregor seemed prepared to do just that. Ana stepped out, feeling the unusual weight of eyes on her. Before she could activate the geas that would send curious gazes elsewhere, the weight slid away.
Gregor climbed out of the car, the tails of his coat flapping around
his legs like the wings of an avenging angel. Scratch that. There’d never been an angel summoned worthy of matching this man. Demon either. His gaze swept the deck like a wolf too sated with his kill to bother with the surrounding sheep.
Ana inhaled.
He rose to his full height, surveying the deck as if unaware that everything living in the immediate vicinity was holding its breath. Eyes that had watched their car with envy as they cut the line, and curiosity as they waited, fell away, skating tentatively back to him in short bursts.
Gregor met Ana’s eyes. How could she ever have thought the blue was cold? The snap of heat lit a flame in her own chest. A joke shared between them, the consideration setting her apart. The expression on his face spoke clearer than words. Mortals don’t need badges to know what we are.
Ana peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth and managed a nod toward the stairwells to the upper decks. She started shrugging into her jacket to have the collar lifted. How had he come up beside her so fast, and why did the bells going off in her have nothing to do with alarm? When she reached, the left sleeve was waiting. Gregor let go without touching her as soon as the jacket was settled on her shoulders.
A couple of bikers headed toward the same stairwell veered off at the last minute. Before Ana could reach, Gregor held the door open.
“Be careful. I’m going to forget how to do it myself,” she drawled.
He snorted behind her as she jogged up the stairs, aware that the steep staircase put her hips at his chest level. He caught up, slipping past her in the narrow stairwell, so close her hair brushed the lapel of his coat. He opened the door, pacing into the passenger area. By the time she cleared the doorway, a bubble of quiet had formed on the busy ferry as the population endeavored to remain as low profile as possible. Not just humans. She saw a few grace-blooded creatures, though most only strong enough to keep up their human disguises. The ones who recognized her nodded in deference as she passed.
With Gregor lurking at her shoulder and the deferential treatment, the mortals began to let their curiosity win as they snuck longer glances. A pack of teenaged girls hissed envious whispers as their wide eyes took in the pair.
Great gods, she wanted to laugh. Damn Raymond and his obsession with Hollywood and for dragging her into it with his ridiculous—
“Excuse me, miss.” One of the bravest of the group stepped just into her path, coming up short as Gregor’s eyes settled on her. She gaped at him, tore her eyes away, and extended something to Ana in shaking hands. “Could I… Could you sign?”
Ana glanced down at the comic book. Gregor’s expression was a question she chose to ignore as she snatched the permanent marker, scribbled on the cover, and handed it back. Gregor intercepted the girl’s wrist on the return. She jumped as if she couldn’t decide whether to swoon or to scream. He didn’t seem to notice, pausing to study the book for a moment before letting her go.
Ana kept moving before anyone else could speak. Maybe they should have stayed in the car. The lure of the galley pushed her on. Gregor at her shoulder like a shadow cleared a path.
She acquired two pretzels served with cheese without further incident, then headed up to the empty observation deck. They took up a spot on the railing near the bow. She tried to zip her jacket with one hand as she balanced the food with the other. Gregor freed her hands.
“This is an abomination,” he grumbled, gnawing off a chunk.
“It’s tradition.” She sighed, taking hers back. “Can’t ride the ferry without one of these.”
“You need some new traditions.”
“There is one other one I know of,” she said, unable to keep the sly tone out of her voice.
She shouldn’t tease. She’d already warned him off. The right thing to do now would be to limit their interaction beyond the hunt.
“Perhaps we should have stayed in the car then.” He reached over, thumbed a spot on her cheek, and brought it to his mouth. A ripple of awareness shivered through her.
The wind ripped her hair free of the topknot, sending it swirling around her face. He took her pretzel, staring into the small dipping container. “I believe this substance will glow in the dark.”
Still, he took another bite before resting on the railing. His size created a block from the wind. She took the opportunity to attempt to smooth the strands of her hair.
He spoke without looking at her. “It suits you.”
A rush of heat rolled up her face. What in the fuck was happening to her? One round of vicious sex and she’d turned into a moony teenager. She grabbed her snack to keep her hands busy.
“Lady Samurai, eh?”
“Fucking necromancers,” Ana muttered, ripping off a chunk of bread with her teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Gregor said, leaning toward her as if he hadn’t heard. “I missed the connection.”
She sighed, chewing for a moment. “In my youth, the only samurai left were a pampered class of nobles. They kept their swords as signifiers of their titles. And though some women were trained to defend their homes and themselves, corps like the ones that fought at Aizu were no more. I have never been a samurai.”
“And yet.” Gregor chuckled. “Should I start at issue one or can I just jump in at issue… what was that, special collector’s edition volume twelve?”
He tore off another hunk. How he managed to avoid getting a drop of nacho cheese on his suit in spite of the wind and rocking boat was anyone’s guess. Especially when she knew she had his whole attention.
“It’s the same bullshit Raymond’s been running since the old sideshow days. Give them a good story and they’ll overlook the truth.”
His brows rose. “Which is?”
“My mother was a whore, American, or maybe Dutch, come to ply her trade when Hakodate opened to outsiders,” Ana said, bluntly. “My father, the youngest son of an aristocratic line close to the imperial family. He was enchanted with all things Western. His family threatened to disown him after I was born, but he refused to give her up. Tainted though it was, my blood was still theirs, so I was removed from my unfortunate mother and raised as a servant.”
When her father’s new wife found out about her husband’s bastard, the family sent Ana to a rural village to avoid scandal. There Ana learned early it was fight or be treated worse than the dogs. And she was good at it. She’d beaten up half the boys in the village and was constantly covered in bruises from the other half. She’d been sent farther inland, where she caught the eye of an old warrior woman who had once run a prosperous school before being forced into obscurity for insulting the daimyo.
“The woman who trained me was a hermit in the mountains, kind of old school.” Ana laughed. “And probably older than the mountains. Hell, she could have fought at the Battle of Awazu for all I know. But I had an aptitude for brawling and a bad attitude. No one else wanted me.”
“A few of the aristocrats were guarded by men who had once been samurai,” she said. “When my father received a business contract in America, he fell on the novel idea to bring me as a guard and companion for his daughter.”
“Your half sister.”
She made a wordless noise. “I was forbidden to speak of it. They told her I was a distant relation. Low enough birth to be treated a step above the servants, but raised alongside her, a handmaid.”
“Onee-san, hurry,” Takami called as they raced down the hall to watch the traveling Noh troupe arrive from the balcony. Even with only a year between them, Ana seemed decades more mature.
Somehow their father found out about the nickname. He had Ana beaten until she convinced him that she had not revealed her parentage. When Ana limped into their bedroom, Takami had sobbed at the sight of her bruises. Ana snapped and sent her to bed before limping to her own pallet on the floor.
“You must never call me sister again,” Ana whispered over the soft sound of Takami’s weeping in the dark. “It is an insult to your family.”
Ana fixed her eyes on the horizon. “We came to the US
when she was fourteen. Two years later, she eloped with a cowboy. I tracked them down but not before they got themselves killed by robbers. Raymond found me. We’ve been traveling together ever since. That Lady Samurai bit came from the old traveling show. For a time, Lysippe and I had an act—you saw the photo. Wonders of the lost world.”
Spoken aloud, the words prodded at emotions older than the ache of failure. They recalled happiness and a time of contentment that she had buried in an effort to subdue all the rest.
“Lady Samurai and the Last of the Amazons made a good story,” he said.
She hesitated. “How is she?”
Gregor studied her for a moment, and Ana recalled the expression on Azrael’s face when Raymond had asked after Lysippe. Ana wondered what it would have been like to have such powerful males as protective of her well-being.
A hundred years ago, around a campfire, Lysippe passed the sack of sweet biscuits she’d liberated from the provisions locker. “My mothers put the bow and the knife in my hands and the horse beneath me when I was old enough to walk. These men. They are like old people. Always worrying.” The dying light from the cook’s fire lit her smile. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Lys will always be fine,” Gregor said. “It’s who she is. She doesn’t speak much of that time.”
After the takeover, Raymond had taken the “bread and circus” approach to controlling the mortal population. Feed them, amuse them, keep them complacent. But to be turned into a sideshow for their entertainment rankled Ana. It had been the first time she voiced disagreement with any of his decisions. Not that it had done anything but make her resent him for the first time in a hundred years.
“I agreed to the comic book and the novels,” she admitted, pretending it was forgiveness. “But I fought the television show, as much good as it did. The royalties… Well, I have acquired a taste for expensive motorcycles.”
He laughed. Oh, she could get used to that sound. That was not a good thing.
“Usually people don’t…” She plucked the end of the bread and stuck it between her teeth. She wasn’t ready to explain why they didn’t recognize her unless she wanted them to.
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