| |
I stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over my hair and leaving the chin-length, blue-and-white-streaked black mass sticking out in a wild tumble. Fin and Emerson had gone off to turn in the bounty at the hunter's association, leaving me behind, since I was drenched in blood and starting to stink. Plus, I'm sure they'd both had enough of my attitude today.
I knew I was being extra prickly. But I just couldn't seem to help it.
I was pulling on a clean sports bra and a pair of short boxer briefs when I heard a noise in the kitchen. I felt a hint of magic and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, reacting to the potential threat of whatever the fuck had managed to get past my wards and my locks. Padding across the room on silent feet, I grabbed my knives from where they lay on the nightstand and snuck to the door. I let my shift wash over me—or at least as much of a shift as I had. Short claws tipped my fingers and toes, and my fangs protruded from my mouth, ready to taste blood.
I kicked the bedroom door open and jumped out into the space between the living room and kitchen, crouched low, all my senses braced to take on the threat to my territory.
The smell of cool, salty water and deep magic washed over me before my eyes registered what I was seeing. Son of a motherfucking bitch.
Angel spun from where he was standing at the stove, cooking, for fuck's sake. He'd twisted his waist-length silver hair back into a loose braid, and the sleeves of his pinstriped gray and silver shirt were rolled up to reveal the opal skin of his forearms. He arched his perfectly shaped silver brows at me, his gold eyes going wide then narrow, crinkling at the corners with fond amusement. "Well, hello to you too, Sam," he said in a voice like a caress.
I stood, my knives still firmly gripped in my hands and fangs out. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He shrugged one broad shoulder and turned back to the stove to stir whatever he was sautéing. It smelled like shrimp and pasta, with a delicious hint of butter and ginger. "Cooking," he said easily.
I slammed one knife down on the counter and crossed to the coffee maker to pour myself a cup, one eye still on the fucking siren. Once I was fortified with scalding caffeine, I turned back to him, my knife held loosely in my hand. I was still leaning toward stabbing him. "How did you get in here?"
He laughed, taking out plates and dishing up lunch like he owned the damned place. "Oh, come on, Sam. You know me better than that."
He was right, I did know him. Whatever Angel did, he did it to the absolute best of his ability. When he was a prostitute, he was the most sought-after guy at the establishment—hell, in the entire fucking city. When he decided to use his newfound magical skills for things like stealing and gang work, he became the most dangerous and sought-after tool you could hire. Whatever he did these days, it only seemed to have honed his persuasion skills and sneaking abilities. Or his magic. Probably all of the above.
"I'm going to redo all the wards," I said flatly. "So don't think you'll get away with it another time." He had already snuck in here once to leave me food, for some stupid reason. Probably some psychological game he was playing. I had changed all my locks since then. But it looked like I was going have to bite the bullet and pay for new magical wards too. Damn it.
He sighed and took the plates to the small dining table between the kitchen and the living room. "Be a love and grab some forks?"
I growled at him.
He rolled his shimmering golden eyes and went to get the silverware himself. Then he stood by the table, glancing between it and me expectantly. I didn't budge, just drank my coffee from where I was, in the kitchen.
"I just came to make sure the weapons and devices you got from our mutual employer have been up to your standards," he finally relented.
He picked up the plates again and moved back to the kitchen, sliding one plate onto the counter beside me, then leaning a hip against the small island across from me while he nibbled at his own food. He seemed completely unconcerned that I still had a knife in my hand. One specifically spelled and honed to kill fiends and curs.
"Great," I huffed. "So, it wasn't just one job. You're the human's lackey now?"
Politics wasn't my thing. But I could easily see Angel navigating that world just as smoothly as he did every other endeavor he got caught up in. You know, except for the time he screwed me over and ended up almost being eaten by unicorns. That wasn't his usual style. I supposed everyone had a bad day now and then. Even the perfect and beautiful Angel.
He quirked a brow at me. "A good whore knows how to pick their patron. I notice you seem to have forgotten you work for Theo too."
I huffed. "I don't work for him. I agreed to do a couple jobs. That's it. He doesn't own me."
His expression lost its playful manner and became sharper, more pointed. "But he wants to."
I set my coffee cup aside and crossed my arms, knife still held in one hand, just in case. "What the fuck do you care?"
He set his plate aside and paced closer, his shimmering gold eyes sliding over my nearly naked body, ignoring the blade I pressed just below his breastbone when he got up in my space. "I care, Sam. I always have."
I snorted. "Right. You just show it by using your freaky-assed mind fuck on people and leaving them tied up on the floor like a present for a couple of thugs." The next words were out before I could clamp my lips shut against them. "You show it by pretending to want someone, then using sex as a weapon. Because to you that's all it is. A tool. A means to an end. But for some of us, it fucking hurts, Angel." I finally managed to shut my stupid mouth, hating all the raw pain and bitterness I'd let show.
Angel reached out a hand and brushed my damp hair back from my face. "Is that what you really think? You know me better than that, Sam."
I pressed the knife harder against him, feeling the tip pop through the fabric of his shirt and smelling his blood when I pricked his perfect skin. "Do I? I thought I did. I was stupid enough to believe I might be the one person you actually gave a fuck about. I trusted you. I was wrong. You don't get another chance."
He pressed against the knife blade himself, the sweet smell of his blood intensifying. "If you hate me so much, kill me. Cut out my cold, traitorous heart right now, Sam. You're not one to hesitate over silly things like emotions, right? The hunter association's fearsome Sabertooth killer doesn't have feelings. They just do their job. No matter what. It's all about the bounty, and fuck everyone else."
I bared my teeth and lifted my hand, slicing his shirt open on the way up, pressing the blade under his jaw, ready to slit his fucking throat. "Don't underestimate how much I want to see you bleed," I hissed, my feral saber-toothed cat ready to bite and claw.
He moved like water pouring from a pitcher, all smooth and rippling. The knife nicked his throat and I pulled my arm back slightly in reflex. The wooden bracelets on his wrist clacked—hidden weapons. The kind he preferred. Long fingers cupped the back of my head, threading though my hair and pulling, tilting my head back. "I'm bleeding for you right now," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, his lips brushing my ear. "Is that all you need to make yourself feel better about loving someone as dirty and stained as me?"
I dropped the knife and gripped his hip and shoulder, digging my claws in, drawing more blood. Something in me snapped, and I lost out to my animal nature. Angel was nearly the same height as me, his lean build not much broader than mine. I pulled him to me easily and he tilted his head to the side in acceptance as I licked away the blood welling from his throat in long swipes. My hard dick pressed against his through the thin layers of clothing that separated us. Mine, my inner cat rumbled, mine, mine, mine.
Angel.
A million memories flooded my brain, of all the times the pretty kid had looked out for me. How I'd looked out for him too, in a world where not many people were on our side. When we both knew we were freaks. Outcasts. Of all the times he'd shown me love that my poor, scarred heart just couldn't see or comprehend. He shuddered in my grip, and I understood. He hated himself, just like I did. Hated everything he was. Everything he did just to live, and to keep his mother safe. She was the one other person he loved. And he'd had to choose between her and me when he left me tied up in the whorehouse.
I understood.
I knew he did the best he could with a crap situation. He left me a way to escape. And he knew I'd fix everything in the end. He had complete faith in my abilities.
But that didn't make it hurt any less. Because I'd bared everything to him in a way I never had before. And I still wasn't even sure if that part had been genuine to him, or all just part of his plan. Angel was more dangerous to my wellbeing than any fiend I'd ever fought.
The wounded, feral, life-wary part of me said we couldn't trust him. We would forever question his every motive. He'd hurt us again. Easily. Because he was like an extension of my own body, a piece of my stupid, traitorous, pounding heart.
I pulled away, shoving the animal instincts aside with the brutal force of will that had kept me alive for so long. Planting my hands flat on his smooth chest, ignoring the way his heart thundered beneath my palms, I shoved.
Angel stumbled back, taken by surprise. He wasn't as strong as me, physically. And he'd thought he was winning this game.
His gold eyes were full of something raw and desperate. Then it was gone. He straightened, turning in a slow, unconcerned way to get his leather jacket off the back of a chair. "So, the weapons and the tech worked okay?" he said in his low, melodious voice. He ignored how I'd ruined his shirt. Just zipped up his coat like everything was normal.
"The earpiece needs work," I said, my voice rough. "But Emerson's got it handled. Everything else was fine." I only now registered, and seriously regretted, that I was standing there in nothing but my underwear. My hard nipples and my wilting erection might as well have been on full display.
Angel's gold eyes flitted over me and I couldn't tell what he saw, what he thought. He was lost again in that smooth, sly persona that was all slinky siren seduction. "I'll be sure to tell Theo you're...pleased." He winked.
I wanted to throw my coffee mug at his head. It was heavy enough to do some damage. But then, it was my favorite cup. It would be a shame to ruin it.
"I wouldn't go so far as pleased," I grumbled.
One corner of Angel's mouth twitched upward. "I'll be sure to let him know."
I scoffed as he strode to the door. "Like he gives a fuck."
Angel glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. "I think you'd be surprised. Theo might be...frustrating...sometimes. But we have a lot in common—he knows what he wants, and he does what he has to do to get it." He raised a brow and gave me a significant look that I really didn't like.
"Why are you working for him?" I asked again.
He reached for the door handle, looking away as he opened the door. "Because he seems to have the mistaken belief that I'm important to you."
I stared at the door in complete confusion long after he'd left, my nose still filled with the alluring scent of home, and water, and magic.
Theo was keeping Angel on his payroll...because he thought I actually liked Angel? Because he knew we were childhood friends? What kind of fucking sense did that make?
I stared at the plate of food on the counter. It was probably poisoned or drugged or something. For all I knew, Angel was only here to sneak some magic into my food that would leave me vulnerable and fucked over again.
I sighed, sat down at the table, and ate the best food I'd ever tasted. My chest ached, and my hands shook. But I knew it wasn't because of poison.
At least, not that kind of poison. This poison was completely of my own making, and I choked on it every single fucking day.