by Gaja J. Kos
“So what did he do?”
It was kind of hard imagining a gang with standards. Discipline, yes. But what Alin was implying about the men in his association was more than just thugs following orders.
“It’s not as much what he did, more along the lines of how he was. I couldn’t get a read on the asshole. And my boys weren’t impressed by him, either. Alexander made them…skittish. A few of them approached me, requesting that he be reassigned from their crews.”
Demonic shadows snaked from his form as we took the road cleaving the industrial zone in two. They spread over to me, their presence like silk against my skin as they hid me from sight. Automatically, I stepped closer to Alin so that he wouldn’t have to stretch his magic out too thin, but quickly realized my mistake as my arm brushed against his.
The shock from the warehouse must have been wearing off—or maybe it was simply the lack of fabric, the lack of a barrier between us that made everything that much more pronounced. Alin’s skin was warm, almost electric with power, and I jerked away, unsure what bothered me more. That I willingly let my guard down around a demon lord. Or that the brief contact wasn’t nearly unpleasant as my mind wanted to believe.
Luckily, Alin didn’t acknowledge my actions in the slightest. He simply stared at the night stretching before us, his jaw set tight. When he next spoke, we’d already cleared the industrial zone, Maribor once more becoming the town I’d fallen in love with in my late teens.
“Whatever Alexander’s game is, he’s not the kind of individual to play by the rules. Or any godsdamned logic for that matter. There’s something skewed in that man’s mind—a taint driving his instability.”
I pursed my lips and cast a sideways glance at the solemn demon. “So you have no idea why he’d want necromancers dead?”
Alin sliced his head to the side. “None. The only clear link is that he’s one himself.”
The world—and I along with it—stilled as his words registered. Alin stopped by my side, the shadows ensconcing us as our gazes met.
“It’s always worse when it’s one of your own coming after you.”
The slight remorse lining the tone of his rich voice implied he was speaking from experience. Then again, power struggles among demonkind weren’t unheard of. Even if our set of rules made them into rarer occurrences than they would’ve been otherwise.
Slowly, I shook my head, then forced my feet to move forward. “I’d never heard of anyone going by Alexander in our circles. Even among the ones following a darker path.” I frowned. “What’s his base nature?”
While we all carried the necromancy brand, we were hardly the same species. I was a Nightwraith. Mart was human. We even had vampires and werewolves in our dead-raising club, as well as a few water nymphs, though those tended to stick to less urban dwellings.
And yet there was something we all shared—the inability to hide from one another.
Like vamps who could always sense their kind whenever they were in the vicinity, necromancers couldn’t stay ignorant of our kin even if we wanted to. The magic acted almost like a beacon—or perhaps a fragrance—weaving through the world and connecting us like a social networking page. A cryptic mess of a page, but still…
I huffed. At least that explained how the bastard was tracking his victims. And why he wasn’t doing it by himself. If it had been Alexander waiting in my apartment, I would have known before I even opened the damned door.
Alin’s voice cut through the bitterness of my thoughts. “He appears human, though there’s something else in his heritage I hadn’t been able to pinpoint. Perhaps a taint of Vedmak or Vesnin.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if it was.”
Vedmaks and Vesnins were, after all, the scum of the magic wielding society. The sole difference between them was that the former were far more powerful than the latter, even when both tended to lead quite nasty lives.
“So what’s our next step?” I asked.
A hint of a smile touched Alin’s lips. “You are going to rest.”
He motioned to the all-too-familiar street that opened up before us, and I blinked as I spotted my building standing a little down the road. When we’d managed to cross half of Maribor, I had no idea.
Slightly frustrated, I kept on walking by Alin’s side until we reached the entrance, and his gaze fell on me once more. Actually, it fell on my lips.
Unease slid through me, the closeness of his powerful body sending all kinds of conflicting impulses rushing through my flesh. I swallowed, focusing on steadying my treacherous, rapid breaths, and cleared my throat rather audibly.
Alin’s eyes were locked on mine, but the mirth lining his frustratingly sensual lips revealed my reaction didn’t escape the bastard. Damn it.
“You do know that I have a bar to return to?” I forced my voice to be leveled, unaffected. It was anything but, but at least my blush started to recede. “A bar where my purse and apartment keys are…”
“One of my associates dropped by The Hag earlier. He brought your belongings and is currently watching over the apartment. As he will until further notice.”
I bristled. Fantastic. A babysitting thug.
“He won’t invade your privacy,” Alin added, sounding way too smug for my liking. His voice dropped down an octave. “Feel free to do whatever little dirty deeds you desire in the confines of your walls, dear Lana.”
I blushed. And, this time, the onslaught of heat was violent.
He leaned closer, just a little, and his breath caressed my lips in a low whisper. “I look forward to seeing you sweat.”
With that he was gone. Nothing but particles in the air and the echo of a promise that scared me more than any hooded lurker ever could.
Chapter 9
“All right, you can do this,” I said, wincing past the stream of early morning light that filtered through the window and bathed my bedroom in a warm glow.
My voice was lined with determination. My reflection, however, didn’t seem convinced.
I blew out a breath and gave myself a once-over in the floor-length mirror pressed against the wall. I was wearing my usual running outfit: black tights that reached just below the knee, coupled with a form-fitting sleeveless top that kept my breasts from bouncing, a crisscross pattern of straps decorating the back and showing off the rune tattoos resting there. Lightweight sneakers completed the outfit, black, like the rest of it. The only splash of color on me belonged to my electric blue hair. It was pulled into a French braid, a couple of bobby pins keeping those unruly strands from slipping to my face. I did put just a tad of makeup on—a dash of concealer and mascara, if only because I needed the soothing mechanics of dolling myself up to scatter the discomfort I’d felt since the moment I woke up.
Gods, training with Alin…
I hadn’t forgotten the way he looked at me yesterday. Nor did I forget the light tease in his voice as he’d leaned so damned close I could feel his heat play across my lips before he’d vanished into the night.
To say the experience stirred some interesting dreams would be a massive, massive understatement.
I groaned, disgusted with myself. I wasn’t going to swoon over a gang-ruling demon lord, damn it! I’d sworn never to tangle with anyone from the Shadow World, and Alin was double the trouble. But I also couldn’t deny that there was something about him that just…did it for me. I frowned, hating the truth, but even more so, hating the fact that it brought up a side of me I didn’t particularly care for.
Did my unceremoniously long history of bad—and worse—dates push me so far as to actually consider someone like Alin attractive?
All those dates had been after were either my lineage, my power, or just the chance to blab about doing it with a necro. The demon lord didn’t seem to fall in any of those categories, not with his rank or impressive strength of his own.
I shoved the thought away as quickly as it formed. Handsome or not, it didn’t matter. Alin might be shaggable, but he certainly wasn’t dating materia
l. And that was where I drew the line.
Maybe if he were serious…
I gave myself a mental slap. The bastard was only teasing me, of that I was sure, and the single thing all of this madness would lead to was me falling for more of his taunts if I kept letting my guard down. Alin was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less.
Squaring my shoulders, I glared at the mirror one last time, then let all the redundant emotions flow through my pores and get the heck out of my body. Business. This was business, and there was nothing else that counted save for finding Alexander before more necromancers ended up dead. Me included.
I moved away from the mirror and swiped the piece of chalk I’d snagged from Martin off the bedside table. The irony of drawing Alin’s symbol at the foot of my bed didn’t escape me, but this was the only spot in the entire apartment that offered sufficient space on the floor to accommodate the summoning.
No furniture. No carpets. Just a shitload of frustration.
A sigh uncurled from my lips, and I started drawing. The double-lined circle came first, then the flaming triskelion with the skull in the middle. When all that was done, I threw the chalk on my bed and stepped inside.
My feet barely touched the ground when the circle flared blue—not red—and I was whisked away to Alin’s lair, my particles floating down the umbilical cord with such haste, it made me wonder if Alin hadn’t somehow messed with the transportation channel to get me there as soon as possible.
Probably to have one of his thugs beat my ass while he sipped a bloody beer and enjoyed the show.
I reformed, feet landing against solid concrete, my body already tense and ready to fight. But no one came at me.
In fact, there were no thugs in the room at all. Only Alin.
He was standing a few steps away, muscular legs spread wide and arms crossed in front of his chest. Bare chest. I swallowed and, without meaning to, took it all in. The tight, black combat pants that showed off the powerful columns of his thighs, the flat, chiseled abdomen sporting one of the meanest six-packs I’d ever seen, not to mention the broad span of his shoulders and those corded, yet so shapely, arms that sent my hormones swirling in a dance of utter madness.
Demons possess near immortality, but we stop ageing at a certain point, our bodies remaining frozen as centuries whisk by. And Alin, well, to say he hit the sweet spot of someone in his late thirties didn’t even begin to do him justice. He was all raw masculinity and power, but touched by that alluring essence of elegant maturity. Precisely my drug of choice. Shit.
“Where are your flunkies?” I managed to ask, the steadiness riding my voice surprising even me as it ricocheted off the bare walls.
He took a step forward. And another. “I told you you would train with me.”
“Yeah, but I thought that was more in a ‘I’ll oversee your training’ kind of way—not that you would actually be the one doing it.”
“If I had no intention of doing it,” he said pointedly, “I would have made it clear from the start.”
Bluntly ignoring the double entendre, I finally stepped out of the circle and cocked an eyebrow.
“Besides”—the corners of his lips twitched up, that damned emerald gaze going over every inch of me with excruciating slowness—“I wouldn’t be much of a leader if I didn’t protect my assets by any and all means possible.”
“What, you don’t trust your men to train me?”
“Not as well as I can.”
There was a decisiveness in his voice that cut off any further reply on my end. I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, and let Alin lead me across the room and through one of the side doors. Power rippled in his wake, alluring and magnetic unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Even my own magic seemed intrigued by it, bubbling excitedly beneath my skin as it angled for a taste.
But just as I wanted to shut it down, I stepped through the door, and the sight did all the work for me.
A boxing ring.
Alin was taking me to a bloody boxing ring.
I halted on the threshold, watching the demon in question glide over to a long bench and pick up a hair tie. He pulled his thick russet mane back and secured it with the band, all those heavy muscles bunching with the movement. He spun around to face me.
I stared. I honestly stared.
I was never a man-bun kind of girl, but the way Alin’s features became even more pronounced with his hair swept back was… Damn. It was breathtaking, that’s what it was.
Luckily, the somewhat smug smile ruined the sex-god effect. I shook myself mentally and strode over, all the while more than aware of his gaze burning into my flushed cheeks.
“How much do you know about boxing?” he asked as he led the way into the ring.
I followed. “I know how to fight”—Lena had made sure I’d received her sign of approval before she started bounty hunting and slipped from my life—“but I’ve never boxed before.”
Amusement flickered across his face. “You’ll learn.”
I did. Or, rather, my body learned what it meant if I didn’t defend myself fast enough.
While the exercises Lena drilled into my mind and flesh made me light and quick on my feet, my punches were anything but. Much like my blocking.
And it was the latter that we focused on first.
Any inappropriate thoughts I might have had when I’d first seen Alin were long gone by the time he taught me the basics. I was devoted to mirroring his movements with every sliver of my mind, and it was a damned good thing that I was. Because when the time came to actually parry his jabs, the result was far from graceful. I didn’t even want to think how things would have turned out if I hadn’t given it 100 percent. This was ugly enough.
The demon lord, however, wasn’t dissuaded by my slow progress. Instead, he drove on, pushing me into repeating the exercise over and over again until my body was bruised and aching. But despite the less than pleasant jolts of pain shooting through my flesh, by the time he was done, I managed to keep my defense tight. Even against punches thrown with a dash of demonic strength added to them.
“Come on. Once more,” he pressed, gloved hands held high to protect his chin and elbows placed close to his midsection.
I groaned, but did as asked. I threw out two jabs as I closed in, seamlessly transferring my weight from my back leg to the front, then hit him with a cross. Alin parried, naturally, but the glimmer in his eyes told me I hadn’t been that far off the mark this time.
“Try the hook next.”
“I thought you said this was the last one?” I frowned.
“Humor an old man.”
I snorted, but stepped back and gave him what he wanted, figuring I should be grateful he hadn’t demanded an uppercut. Those were a bitch to land. Alin parried the two jabs, as well as the cross, but as I put every last ounce of my strength in that damned hook, I actually managed to graze him.
Point for me.
Well, a point in my book, at least.
“That wasn’t half bad,” Alin said as I retreated and sucked some very much needed air in my lungs. “If you discipline yourself enough to be able to use magic while fighting physically, it’ll be a hard combination to beat.”
Right. The pep talk was nice, but the real question was just how long mastering that particular ability would take. If I ever succeeded, of course.
However, Alin seemed pleased, so I didn’t stomp on his parade. In fact, I was too tired to stomp on anything. All I wanted was to drag my ass to the summoning circle, then collapse in my bed, sweat and blood and all. Maybe even tears, once the pain settled in.
After he crossed on the other side of the rope, Alin extended a hand and helped me climb out of the ring. The calloused touch of his palm practically radiated power, and I just might have let a groan slip from my lips as his other hand came to my waist, steadying my descent. Vehemently, I pinned the sound on the worn state of my body, which, in all honestly, wasn’t even that much of a stretch. But it still remained a lie, and I was gla
d once the heat of his skin retreated. Saved. For now.
I hobbled over to the bench and half drank, half poured water over my face, savoring the sensation. Only once I squeezed out every last drop, did I toss the empty bottle away and face Alin. Those emerald eyes were watching me with intrigue, but there was also a hard edge to his features. I didn’t particularly like what it implied.
“Today was a good start,” he began, confirming my gut’s suspicion, “but we have a fuckload more ground to cover before you can call yourself a fighter.”
This time, I didn’t bluff that my groan had everything to do with him. “And what do you have in mind, Dark Lord?”
If he caught the Star Wars reference, he didn’t let it show. Because the cold smile, that damned cold smile that touched his lips was as edgy as our next mission.
Blades.
I stared at him for a moment longer, pondering whether I wanted to come anywhere near a blade-wielding Alin. Shit, if he’d littered my body with bruises and a few lacerations with fists alone, I didn’t even want to imagine how I would end up walking away from a knife fight with the man.
But it wasn’t as if I had much of a choice. I’d made the deal, and I had to stick with it. Alin might not be the most savory of demon lords, but his word was a bond.
Un-fucking-breakable.
I sighed. If only the same could be said for my bones.
Chapter 10
Aside from a few bruises my magic’s moderate healing properties hadn’t been able to whisk away completely, things were about as normal as they could be. The Night Hag was pleasantly filled with patrons enjoying their evening out, and I only had to keep two zombies active on the floor, which gave my power a bit more time to recover.