Fane stuck out a hand and the cougar fada placed the bottle in it.
While Fane recklessly risked his stomach lining, Adric took a thoughtful bite of shrimp.
Good thing he’d already decided that tonight was the night.
If Marjani suspected something was up, then he had even less time than he thought. Because he was going alone. His sister had a mate now, a chance at real happiness.
No way would he let her risk that.
He’d failed her once, let those river fada get ahold of her. He wasn’t going to fail her again.
Fane got up and took Marjani’s plate, filling it with another helping of étouffée before Adric could.
Something tightened in his chest. He had to admit Fane had turned out to be a good, caring mate. His sister was a lucky woman.
Their brother-sister bond would never be the same…and that was how it should be.
But it was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that it was now Fane she turned to, not him.
By the time Adric left for his den, an icy rain was falling. Cursing under his breath, he headed across town with a ground-eating lope. He didn’t scent Luc or Blaer—or any fae at all—but just in case, he intermittently used his quartz to cloak himself. The energy drain was too great to use it constantly unless absolutely necessary.
He zigzagged through the concrete and granite towers of the business district, circled the Inner Harbor. As he left the harbor behind, the streets emptied, becoming an industrial wasteland of warehouses and parking lots.
To the south was the Seagirt Marine Terminal, its hulking cranes like metal giants backlit against the night. There’d been a time right after he made alpha when the clan had been so poor that some of his men had hired themselves out loading coal at the nearby CSX railyard.
Adric himself had worked for the fae. He was a Gifted tracker. Smart, dogged and with that magical something that meant if he wanted to find you, you couldn’t run far or fast enough. The fae were willing to pay stupid sums for his services. He’d poured the money back into his hungry, impoverished clan, making sure everyone was fed and clothed. The remainder had gone to developing the quartz smartphones.
He could leave for Virginia with a clear conscience, knowing the clan was in a much better place than when he’d taken over as alpha. That his sister was healing.
His only regret was Rosana. He slowed, pressed the heel of his hand to his heart, which literally hurt for her…a constant, low-level ache.
Shaking his head at himself, he shoved the hand in a pocket and picked up his pace again. A few minutes later, he entered a neighborhood of shabby rowhomes with worn marble stoops. A couple more turns and he was on his own street of small detached houses, half of them boarded up with the rest locked up tight for the night.
His neck itched. He rubbed it, looked around, inhaled deeply.
Nothing unusual. Still, that eerie feeling someone was watching tripped up his spine. Luc? Blaer? Or just one of Langdon’s warriors, here to harass Adric?
He peered into the shadows. But if it was a night fae, he or she remained concealed. Just in case, Adric bared his teeth at the darkest corner.
Footsteps sounded behind him. He whipped around, hand going to the switchblade in his pocket.
A wild-eyed human kid aimed a handgun at his head.
Cat’s balls. He really needed to clean up his neighborhood like Jace had.
He let go of his switchblade, raised his palms. “Easy, now.”
“Your wallet.” The kid’s throat worked. He clutched the gun in two shaking hands. “Give me your w-wallet and ph-phone, and you won’t get hurt.”
“I don’t think so.” Adric didn’t bother going clawed, just aimed a booted foot at the fool’s solar plexus.
The kid wheezed and folded in on himself, dropping the gun.
Adric snatched it from the air before it hit the sidewalk. He opened the chamber and shoved the bullets into a pocket.
The human was on the ground, sucking air like a beached fish. Adric shoved his fangs into the would-be robber’s face. The kid’s eyes went flashbulb. Terror scented the air.
“Yeah.” His mouth curved. “You messed with the wrong dude. Next time you rob someone, make sure he’s not a fada. This is my territory, asshole. I see you around here again, and you’re dead. Understand?”
The kid’s head bobbed. He tried to speak, couldn’t.
Adric nodded at the gun. “And I’ll be keeping this.”
The kid’s breath finally whooshed in. “Yes, sir.” Tears filled his eyes. “I…just needed something to eat. I—I’m hungry. P-please don’t hurt me.”
Adric hesitated. The kid didn’t smell of alcohol or drugs. He was just a skinny teenager scared out of his mind. His quilted puffer jacket was a size too large and his sneakers a size too small.
And Adric could scent the truth in his words. The kid was hungry.
He shoved the gun into the pocket of his jacket. “What’s your name?”
“Shawn.”
“Well, Shawn.” Adric picked him up by the scruff of his coat and set him on his feet. “You know Bruce’s Creole Kitchen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell the cook that Lord Adric sent you. He’ll let you work for food. If you’re a hard worker, he might even give you a job.”
The kid’s thin face lit. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re not shitting me?”
Adric growled.
“S-sorry, sir. Okay. I will. Thank you, sir.” The kid bobbed his head several times. Then he gulped. “Lord Adric? Fuck. I’m really sorry. I—”
“Get going,” Adric suggested.
“Yes, sir.” Shawn scurried back the way he’d come. When he reached the corner, he shot a look at Adric over his shoulder and then broke into a run.
Adric continued down the street. He was almost to his house when his nape prickled again. He heaved a breath.
Maybe he should’ve slept at Marjani’s den after all.
Without breaking stride, he scanned the shadows. A human wouldn’t have seen the woman leaning against the side of his house, but his cat detected her just fine. She wore a baggy hoodie and a knit cap pulled low over her forehead. But he’d know that long, curvy body anywhere.
16
Adric’s heart kicked into gear. Hard, slow, and damn it, needy.
Rosana’s back was to the brick wall, one leg bent and her foot on the bricks as if she’d been there a while. A small backpack was on the grass beside her.
What was she doing in Baltimore? And how the hell had she known which house was his? His den was two stories underground and warded against intruders, its location on a need-to-know basis only.
Slipping into an alley, he circled through the neighborhood so that he came out in the backyard behind his. He vaulted the chain link fence, landing behind his shed, and peered around the corner. Rosana had her head turned toward the street.
He gathered his muscles…and leapt.
By the time she swung around, he was on her. He pushed her face-first into the bricks and touched a claw to the soft underside of her jaw.
“What are you doing here?” he growled against her ear.
She turned her head sideways and tried to shove off the wall, but he thrust a thigh between her legs, pinning her in place with his body. Her fingers curled against the bricks, but her answer was as calm as if they were having a friendly cup of coffee.
“Not out here.”
Her ponytail was against his cheek. The fresh meadow scent of it tangled his thoughts. Below, his pelvis pressed against her firm ass, her inner thighs warm around his leg.
The gods knew he was no saint. He couldn’t help reacting to the suggestive position. Her breath hitched, and he knew she felt him hardening against her.
He scowled and increased the pressure of the claw, careful not to break the skin. He’d cut off his own hand before hurting her, but she didn’t need to know that.
“How did you find out where I live?”
Her m
outh twitched. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Don’t mess with me, love.” He pressed her a little harder into the bricks. “I’m not in a good mood. Now, how did you find this house?”
She expelled a breath. “I’m a Seer, remember?”
“You had a vision that showed you where I live?” he asked, incredulous.
A jerk of her chin. “I saw the street name, anyway. And then I followed your scent to this house. I can’t find the entrance to your den, though.”
“It’s protected by a look-away spell.” He let out a breath, thinking. “Does anyone else know you’re here? Your brothers?”
A short laugh. “You think they’d let me come down here alone?”
She had a point. Especially after Dion had gone out of his way to warn him away from her.
“Fine. Swear you won’t give the location of my den to anyone else, and I’ll let you in.”
“I swear it,” she replied without hesitation. “I’m not your enemy, Adric.”
He retracted the claw and released her. She spun around, the sharp point of an iron stiletto aimed at his balls.
He raised a brow, impressed. Not many people could get close enough to pull a weapon on him. “Careful, love. You might damage my junk, and then neither of us will be happy.”
A pissed-off snarl. “Threaten me again, cat, and I’ll make you into a rug.”
A rug?
He let out a startled chuckle—and grabbed her wrist, lightning-quick. He dug his thumb into a pressure point until she opened her fingers and released the knife. They both lunged for it, but he snatched it by the blade just before it hit the grass.
The iron seared his palm and fingers. His breath hissed in. It was like grabbing a hot poker. He quickly transferred the knife to his other hand, this time careful to touch only the mother-of-pearl handle.
He straightened, and they stared at each other.
Rosana’s chest heaved. Blue eyes seared into his.
He forgot about his burned hand. He forgot that a river fada shouldn’t be able to locate his den so easily, Seer or not. He forgot that in the morning he was leaving for Virginia.
And most of all, he forgot that Dion had warned him away from her.
All he knew was that Rosana was here, and he craved her with a hunger that ate at his insides. It felt like it had been two months, not two days, since he’d had her.
His jaw set. Because he did not need a distraction, tonight of all nights.
He shoved the stiletto at her, handle first. “Stay away from my den, and I won’t have to threaten you.”
She snatched it from his hand and slid it into her back pocket. “So.” She reached for her backpack. “Where’s your den?”
“This way.” He closed his fingers around her upper arm and marched her around the back to the small brick hut that concealed his den’s entrance. He’d never actually lived in the house, preferring instead to rent it out to the locals as a smokescreen. No one expected the Baltimore alpha to have a couple of drug dealers living above him.
He muttered an incantation, and the look-away spell lifted, revealing the heavy oak door that led down to his den. As he tapped his quartz to the door lock, Rosana jerked her head at the purple sportbike propped against his shed.
“What about my bike?”
“I’ll put it in the shed.” No one around here would touch it—they knew better, Shawn excepted—but there was no sense advertising she was here. “Don’t move,” he added as he crossed to the bike.
“I asked to come in, remember?”
But she obeyed, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her pretty face, while he locked the sportbike in the shed with his own motorcycle and then opened the heavy steel door to his den.
“After you,” he said with a mocking wave of his hand. He reset the spell and followed her in.
They were on the landing at the top of the steps his dad had cut out of rock. Set into the rise of every other stair were quartz-powered amber lights. As they started down, the tiny lights glowed on, illuminating the carvings that his dad had chiseled into each step—a leaping manticore, a fierce griffin, a soaring dragon. After his dad’s death, Adric had doggedly continued, working the stone with a combination of chisels and magic, until only the bottom few steps were still unadorned.
“Wow.” Rosana shot him a look over her shoulder. “Who’s the artist?”
He shrugged. “Me. And my dad.”
“You’re kidding.” She crouched to trace the raised outline of a phoenix bursting into flames.
“My dad did the first four, and we did the next few together. Then things…changed, and he was always gone. He was a soldier, although he really wanted to be a stoneworker.”
“You must miss him.” Her voice was sympathetic.
He gave a hard swallow. “Yeah.” His father had been one of the first slain, executed by his own brother, Leron, over some trumped-up charge. Adric and Marjani had been forced to watch.
“And your mom, too. I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Not that long. And you never really get over it.”
“No,” he agreed.
They exchanged a look. He recalled that until a few months ago, she hadn’t known herself if her own parents were alive or dead.
And she was right, you never really got over the death of a parent. The wound scabbed over, but it never really healed. You just tried your damnedest to live your life the way they’d have wanted.
“I guess you know how it is.”
She gave a jerky nod. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s even true. It’s hard to believe they’re really alive, since I can’t see or talk to them.”
“It’s true.” He crouched to squeeze her shoulder. “Marjani spoke to your mom herself. She was fine, and so was your dad. They just have to serve out the terms of their geas and then they’ll be home.”
“I know.” She grimaced and touched his arm. “But hey, I know I shouldn’t complain. At least I’ll see them again someday.”
“Yeah.” He glanced away.
She fingered the carving. “These are really beautiful. I don’t know anyone who can work stone like this.” She stood back up, and he rose with her. They were crowded together on the same step. She met his eyes. “You’re not what I expected.”
“It’s just a hobby,” he muttered. He set a hand on her lower back, urging her to continue down the stairs. “Now, get going. I still want to know what the fuck you’re doing here.”
But he’d lost control of the situation, if he’d ever had it.
Rosana acted as if she were an invited guest instead of a not-so-welcome trespasser, exclaiming over each carving as they continued down the two flights to his den. He had to admit, he enjoyed showing his carvings to her. They even discussed possible designs for the last few steps.
And when they entered his apartment she didn’t feel like a trespasser. She felt right. Like she belonged there.
Her eyes widened as the amber sconces in the foyer glowed on. “Those are powered by quartz?”
He nodded.
“Cool.”
He guided her into the living room and tossed his jacket on a chair. The gun clattered to the stone floor. Rosana didn’t even blink, but his cheeks heated.
“It’s not mine.” He set it on the mantelpiece. “I took it off a human kid before he hurt himself.”
“I saw. And I heard you send him to that restaurant for food. That was nice of you.”
“Yeah, I’m a real philanthropist. So. Why are you here?”
A secretive little smile. “Maybe I just couldn’t stay away.”
Setting her backpack on the floor, she peeled off her gloves, then removed her knit hat and hoodie and dropped them on his jacket. She was all in black. No high-heeled boots this time; instead, she wore short moto boots. He couldn’t help noticing how good her ass looked in the tight black jeans. Almost as good as her breasts in the ribbed sweater.
He swallowed. Hard.
>
She turned back and caught him looking. Their gazes snagged. It was her turn to swallow.
“I’m sorry about your hand.” She reached for it and turned it over to view the damage, and for some reason he didn’t shake her off. She clucked her tongue at the blisters forming on his palm and first three fingers. “You should soak it in salt water.”
He pulled his hand from hers. “It’s okay. The blade didn’t even break the skin.” If it had, the iron would already be poisoning his blood.
She rolled her eyes and muttered something about hardheaded men. “Come on. I’ll prepare a salt water soak for you.”
Bemused, he followed her into his kitchen and watched as she prepared a solution of salt and warm water. She set the bowl on the table and ordered him to sit. “Put your hand in the bowl.”
Why not? He shrugged and obeyed, and then sucked in a breath as the salt bit into the wound. But within a few seconds, the pain eased. To help it along, he pulsed some energy from his quartz to the injury. He wasn’t a healer, but he had a minor ability to heal. The blisters began to recede.
“Better?” She took the seat across from his.
He nodded and reluctantly tacked on a thanks. “Now, about why you’re here—”
She gave him a sunny smile. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“Would you like a drink?” he said between his teeth.
“Yes, please. But don’t get up,” she said airily when he started to remove his hand from the bowl. “I can get it.” She opened the quartz-powered cooling unit and peered at the nearly empty shelves. “You don’t entertain much, do you?”
He set his jaw. “I wasn’t expecting company. There should be a couple of beers, though. Or I can make coffee.”
“I’d rather have juice.”
He winced. “I’m not sure how fresh it is.”
She pulled out a carton of orange juice, took a sniff and poured it down the drain. “I’ll stick with water. What about you?”
“Water’s good. The glasses are to the right of the sink.”
She found two mismatched glasses, filled them with tap water and set one on the table before him. But instead of retaking her seat, she moved back into the living room, glass in hand, examining the amber quartz sconces, taking in his thrift-shop furniture. A second-hand couch. A coffee table he’d scavenged from a dumpster and repaired. The only newish item was the soft orange shag rug in front of the fireplace, purchased because his cat liked to warm itself at the fire.
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