Beneath my Skin

by Brea Viragh

  “You bastard,” the sandy-haired man growled, striding over. “You fucked my brother on his wish.”

  The second man was attractive, I decided instantly, although it was neither the time nor the place for those thoughts. Tattoos decorated his arms—why the hell was he wearing a short-sleeved shirt in December?—and two small gold hoops hung from his left ear. He turned, stepped out of my bumper, and pinned me with his gaze.

  His build was rugged, strong, with dark hair trailing below his ears and a five o’clock shadow lining his jaw. He looked exotic. Like a jungle cat.

  Then there were his eyes. Serious. Too serious. And they were green. Green and penetrating. Jungle cat, again.

  “I am so, so, so sorry!” I screeched, pushing out of the car and rushing toward him. “Please, I didn’t see you. Please don’t sue me!”

  “I’m not going to sue you.” He glanced over me. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. Almost like I was an afterthought. “You know he intends to maim me. Yes?”

  I blinked. “M-maim you? In a Target parking lot?”

  His accent surprised me. It sounded like you’d imagine some foreign prince who’d learned English for diplomatic purposes would sound. I was enchanted yet disgusted by said enchantment at the same time. He was the physical embodiment of sin: masculine, arrogant, and sexy enough to have me wanting to rip off his clothes and do crazy, wonderful things with him.

  Where the hell had that come from? What are you doing? Focus! My thoughts snapped back from where they’d wandered as the first guy came closer.

  “Pay attention to me. I said you fucked his wish.” Sandy Hair lifted his arms straight out to shove Green Eyes. His fingers were like overstuffed sausages. “Did you hear me the first time? I shouldn’t have to repeat myself, buddy.”

  Green Eyes flicked his gaze down. “You’re lucky I was sent here to speak to you. I don’t work for you or your brother. He got his wish. What more is there to ask for? What…did he hire you to kill me?” The man stifled a laugh, apparently finding the thought uproariously funny. “Did he really? How wonderful!”

  “He wanted an Apache fucking helicopter!”

  “And he got one.”

  “He got a toy wrapped in plastic from the nearest fucking hobby store. You know what he wanted. What we wanted.” Sandy Hair was adamant. He curled his fist until only his index finger remained pointed at the other man’s chest. “Machine guns, weaponry, the works. You had no right to do what you did, Dax.”

  “As I stated earlier…” Green Eyes—Dax?—took his time lifting the finger from his chest and returning it to its owner. “He wished for an Apache helicopter. Which is what he received. If either of you ever have the rare opportunity to partake of my services in the future, maybe you’ll remember to be explicit when casting your wish.”

  “I’m gonna enjoy killing you. You motherfucker!” Sandy Hair reached behind his back and brought out a large hunting knife.

  I screeched at the sight of it, my knees clacking together. Forget about the weather. I was about to witness a murder. In broad daylight. In a Target parking lot, in case I forgot to mention it earlier.

  Neither one of them looked at me. Instead, Sandy Hair decided to lunge. He swiped right and Dax ducked out of the way. Then he recovered and swiped left to the same end. The blade made a hissing sound when it cut through the air. An instant later, Dax raised a hand and knocked the knife a few feet away. I heard him issue a guttural utterance in a language I couldn’t understand and suddenly the knife disappeared entirely in a brief blaze of smokeless fire.

  “I suggest the next time you try to kill me, do your research first. You think a steel blade is going to do any damage? Do you know how long I’ve been alive?” Dax asked. “I’m a djinn. I’ve seen the birth of nations.” Then he winked at me.

  Come again?

  Sandy Hair stared across the parking lot then back to Dax. “You are nothing but a dick. You know how much that knife cost?”

  “Maybe you can use the hit money to buy yourself a new one.”

  “You’re going to pay for this. We’re not the first people you messed with. There are more of us, and we’re coming for you.”

  “Wonderful,” Dax replied. “I hope you do. I’ll be sure to give the boss your regards.”

  Sandy Hair stormed off across the parking lot. I watched him go, my mouth hanging open.

  “Sorry about that.”

  It took effort to peel my eyes off the other man’s rapidly retreating form. “Huh?” I asked stupidly.

  Dax was staring at me. Staring through me. “I’m apologizing to you. I didn’t mean to give you a scare, and I certainly didn’t mean to materialize near your car.” He turned, flicking his gaze toward the damaged fender and clucking his tongue. It looked like I’d backed into a boulder. “At least it’s only a little dent. My fault entirely.”

  “A little dent? Your fault entirely? Are you crazy?” My lips flapped but I couldn’t find the right words. “You came out of nowhere!”

  He smiled. “I did.”

  “You just—” My eyes went wide, my mouth rounding like a fish. I tried to make a popping sound and failed, the airy garble coming from my lips sounding like someone opened a bag of chips left over from the Cold War.

  “Yes, I did.” His smile, if anything, burned brighter. “And yes, my fault entirely. For the car and for giving you a scare. What you just witnessed was a hit job gone wrong.”

  “A hit job?” The squeaky voice couldn’t belong to me. Could it?

  “I do so apologize for the inconvenience, Miss. I’m Dax Parker.” He swept an arm behind his back and bent low at the waist. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he finished in that lovely lilting tone.

  “Um, sure. I’m Mariella. Nice to meet you…no, wait. Wait a minute!” I was already reaching out to offer my hand when I remembered the damage. “You hit my car. Or something. And that man tried to murder you.” I fumbled and inched in the opposite direction, face warming. Embarrassed heat crept up the back of my neck.

  “No, that wouldn’t have happened. The man was an idiot. He had no chance whatsoever, which is probably why I was dispatched to speak to him in the first place. Honestly, who tries to kill a djinn with a knife?” He said it and immediately chuckled as if the humor was obvious.

  “You’re…a genie?” It seemed ridiculous to repeat, but repeating it helped cement it in my mind. Or tried to. Somehow, I couldn’t get the insinuation to stick.

  “Speaking of genies,” he said, shooting me another easy, dazzling smile, “let me see what kind of magic I can work on your car, shall I? I’m pleased to see you’re not one of those women who faints at the sight of a paranormal being.”

  I’d lived my life with an intimate acquaintance of the paranormal. I could handle a djinn. Couldn’t I?

  Dax took another look at the crushed bumper while I tried to gather my thoughts. “Goodness!”

  His exclamation took me by surprise. “What?”

  “Your poor car. I just noticed the busted back tail lights, too. You must have hit me harder than I thought.”

  Funny guy. How curious. He really did have gorgeous eyes. And gorgeous accent. And gorgeous body. And— Danger, danger! That kind of combination begged for complications. I’d lived my life staying far away from complications. I wasn’t built for them, and it had taken learning it the hard way for me to realize it.

  “Obviously, I’m responsible for any damage. I feel awful about what happened. My aim isn’t quite what I want it to be. I used to be able to materialize on the back of a coin tossed into the air.”

  I struggled with how to best respond. How to hold out against the grin and the intense look on his face. My brain turned to sand. My tongue tied itself in a knot. Cer said nothing. “Why would you materialize right in front of a man trying to kill you?”

  “Good question.” Dax shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight, tight jeans. “I’ll tell you this. The man and I had a business deal where I decided it
was better for all involved parties if I didn’t give him what he wanted. I call it bending the rules.”

  His non-answer was giving me a headache. “The Apache helicopter…”

  “Yes. He’s some sort of retired U.S. Military colonel who wanted to use the machine to launch a mission in Iraq.”

  “And you just decided he didn’t need it?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did.” Dax shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop staring at the car. Of course, I’ll pay to have the bumper repaired and handle any kind of internal damage that may have occurred.” Amusement touched his face. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to deal with insurance companies at Christmas time.”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  “Miss Mariella, I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, but I wonder if I might be allowed to buy you a little something to eat?”

  “Buy…me…” The rest of my brain fizzled and I struggled to keep up. “I don’t understand.”

  Dax tipped his head sideways a little. No more than an inch. Something in his eyes changed and warmed. “Don’t you? Sharing food is a universal symbol of fraternity. It would help appease my guilt.”

  He couldn’t be hitting on me. No way. I wasn’t exactly the type of woman men hit on. Especially not handsome men with wildly attractive accents in a superstore parking lot.

  I remembered the rapidly increasing fall of snow. Shit. “I can’t. I have to get home before…before the weather gets worse.”

  “Ah, yes.” Dax raised his face toward the sky. “The snow is supposed to come down hard this afternoon. It should be gone by tomorrow. If you insist—”

  “I do.” I tried to sound as firm as I didn’t feel.

  “Here. Let me give you my card.” He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a sleek black piece of paper. “Contact me and we’ll get together to talk about paying for the bumper.”

  “I’d rather you give me a check,” I muttered, edging toward the driver’s side door.

  “You want the money now, huh?”

  He studied me, and I shrank back, feeling his gaze on my skin and—I’m embarrassed to say—liking it. Immensely. “Uh, yes. Yes, I would. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s absolutely fine. Please just give me a minute.”

  I tried not to feel embarrassed, crossing my arms over my chest and watching him remove a checkbook. He must have deep pockets.

  “To whom should I make it out?” he asked politely.

  “I told you. It’s Mariella.”

  “Last name too, dear.”

  Double shit. “Revely. Mariella Revely.”

  A shot like a bee sting pinched the skin at my wrist, followed by a string of pain all the way up to my elbow. Wincing, I shifted until my arm was behind my back, legs crossed at the ankles.

  Dax glanced up once, looked back at the check, then snapped his attention up to my face. “Are you all right?”

  The gesture I made with my head was a circle of movement somewhere between a shake and a nod. “I’m…great.”

  “You’re sure? You look like you’re about to explode.”

  I swallowed a groan. Dammit, Cer. “Yes, I’m great. I’m fine. A little stressed.”

  “The holidays will do that to a person.” He stood to his full height, imposing shoulders blocking out the view of the parking lot, then he walked slowly toward me. Pursing his lips to blow on the ink. “Here you are.”

  It took me several tries to take the paper from his fingers. “I really appreciate it.”

  He slid his index finger along the center of my palm. “Anything I can do to help after the trouble I caused. You’d better get going. It’s starting to come down now.”

  My stomach churned when I once again returned my attention to the swirling snow. “Jeez, yeah.” Breath caught in my throat and I struggled to swallow against the pocket of air.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Revely. I hope we can see each other soon and under better circumstances,” he said.

  The polite retort died in my throat as I watched him snap his fingers and disappear in a funnel-cloud of lavender smoke.

  This day was not going the way I’d planned. Not by a long mile.

  The third curse took me by surprise, slicing across my arm with the force of a log splitter the second I slipped into the driver’s seat. Or was it the fourth? I didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know what kind of sage demonic wisdom Cer had to offer at the moment.

  After fighting the good fight for a few seconds and losing abysmally, I shoved my sleeve up and stared at the fresh words crisscrossing the others.

  You’re welcome.

  “And you’re a bitch,” I bit out. My foot went down on the gas pedal and I reversed out of the parking lot, making sure to keep an eye out for any other suicidal men who wanted to pop out of thin air and wreck my car.

  The bumper clanked and sparks flew from the loose piece dragging along the ground. Dax’s card burned a hole in my pocket and I could only hope it wouldn’t ignite the check.

  Whatever sick and twisted game my guardian was playing by putting me at Target that day, I wasn’t sure. With her there was always an ulterior motive, and I stayed ten steps behind. Nothing like falling victim to some cosmic game to make a girl feel stupid.

  I fought the urge to scratch as I drove home, sneaking glances at the gray gloom of the sky. I wondered if I was undergoing some dire neurological event.

  I sighed. Sometimes the universe worked in mysterious ways. I didn’t know God and I didn’t know the Devil. But I knew Cer. And I didn’t think too kindly of her right then.

  CHAPTER 3

  My aunt was in a mood. Big surprise there.

  “I brought you gifts,” I told her.

  “Why?” came her snide retort.

  I groaned, ready for the runaround. The circling conversation where neither one of us ever made it to the point. In this case, she did it because she wasn’t particularly happy to see me and wanted me to get gone. Quick. “Aunt Lynn, I’m trying to be nice. I had a really, really long day.”

  “Doing what?” she pushed back.

  Lynn was a tidy woman, with her carefully styled helmet hairdo and skin-tight flowered leggings. Her face held half an inch of powder, makeup troweled on, and her lips were a solid layer of pale pink lipstick. Her earrings were Christmas balls. She’d stepped out on the front porch in time to watch me walk up, her hands on her hips. Her cheeks were smooth and two bright spots of color blossomed there from the cold. Or it could have been rouge.

  “Doing whatever it is I do,” I bit out. “AKA Internet marketing.”

  It seemed illogical that my aunt would get her back up over a few Christmas presents. Why couldn’t I just accept her thinly veiled dislike of me and call it a day? Drop the presents off on the morning of with a handwritten note explaining my absence?

  I blamed myself.

  Aunt Lynn and her son lived on the poor side of Bridgeport, over the railroad tracks and close enough to them to feel the windows rattle when trains passed. It was the same house I’d grown up in. It sat in perpetual gloom underneath the towering presence of an overgrown oak. Especially depressing given the weather.

  The house was a two-story mess that looked ready for a wrecking ball. Gray paint peeled and flaked to reveal a sickly orange color underneath. It may have fallen into disrepair, but Lynn and Luke never wanted for anything. The money she accumulated from her part-time job with a law office went toward her own physical maintenance and sports equipment for her son, who was a proud member of the Bassick Lions football team.

  That was the way she preferred her life. The two of them as a tight and neat unit. And there I was, the third wheel on a bicycle built for two. For a split second, it felt surreal coming back and seeing her on the porch. Like I’d never really lived with them. I was a stranger, a distant cousin who came to town once every five years for a visit.

  Lynn would be much happier if I stayed away.

  “You walked? Why didn’t you
just drive over?” she asked, staring at the street like my car would magically pop out of thin air.

  Nope, I didn’t want to think about things popping out of thin air. “You know why.” It was our customary greeting, one where neither one of us said hello or asked after the health of the other. “I brought you both something,” I told her, pulling my hat lower and stuffing my hands into the fleece-lined pockets of my jacket, trying to get warm.

  “Yes, I can see,” Lynn answered. “You didn’t even bother to wrap them.”

  What part of “I’ve had a hard day” isn’t getting through to you? “I thought it would be nice to bring some things over now. To take my mind off of…you know.”

  “Do I?”

  I could tell in her voice that she didn’t understand me. She thought I had an underhanded scheme afoot. No, I thought wearily. Plain exhaustion just makes a person do crazy things from time to time.

  “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,” I replied to the silence.

  Lynn glared down at me from the top of the steps. “I guess you can come in. Make sure you take your boots off before you track snow and dirt down the hallway.”

  I knew, of course. I remembered from the twelve years I’d been stuck with her. Though Lynn and my mother were not related by blood, only by the letter of the law when my mother married Lynn’s brother, they’d been friends. Good friends. I think things might have been different for us if my aunt hadn’t seen the writing on my arm.

  Did she think I was personally to blame for the accident?

  Yes. She did.

  I stepped past her and into the house, taking time to kick off my boots and nudge them toward the hall closet. Lynn breezed in behind me and the door banged closed.

  The sigh she heaved was uncharacteristically heavy. “I guess this means you won’t be coming over Christmas morning.”

  “I’m not sure yet. For some reason, I’m not in the holiday spirit this year.”

  “When have you ever been?” she asked dryly. “Luke! Luke, sweetie, come say hi to your cousin. She’s stopped by unexpectedly.”

  Code for annoying interruption. I got the message. When I turned around to adjust the bags on my arm, Lynn was frowning at me.