“Uh, yeah, huge,” Shane replied.
His voice held an air of uncertainty, as if she’d been asking him to comment on whether the jeans she was wearing made her ass look huge, rather than the size of her tomcat. But it wasn’t a trick meant to trap him. Binks really was huge, and no one knew it better than she did.
“Would you like to hold him?” She held Binks toward him like a gargantuan offering.
At first the look on Shane’s face as he stared into Binksy’s narrowed eyes made it appear as if that were the last thing on earth he would ever want to do. But when his eyes caught hers and he saw the joy sparkling in her gaze at the thought of Shane holding her feline baby, he must have decided it was worth the risk of being clawed to death.
He hefted the large cat into his arms. In response, Binks flicked his tail like it was the ultimate death threat and dug his claws into the muscle of Shane’s shoulder. Shane didn’t even flinch. He stroked the angry feline until a moment later, to Vera’s utter shock and amazement, Binks purred. It sounded as if a small motorboat had taken up residence in the Greys’ living room, but the sound of Binks happily being placated by Shane pleased her nonetheless.
“Uh, Vera,” Shane said as he coddled the massive cat, “I’d just like to reiterate that I don’t think Binks is your...”
“Oh, just shut your mouth,” Vera snapped. She held up a hand and looked away from him. “Don’t you dare say Binks isn’t my familiar again or you won’t get a single ounce of help on this case.”
Observing the conversation, Allsún giggled. “Shane, how dare you say there’s not something magical about Binks? He has magical written all over him.” She stepped closer to Shane and rubbed underneath Binksy’s chin, to which Binks responded by purring even louder. Apparently, he’d decided he liked all the attention.
Shane rolled his eyes. “Whatever you two say.”
David stepped forward and clapped Shane on the back. “Better for your mental health not to pick a fight with two intelligent women, my friend. You’ll always lose in the end.”
Shane grumbled, and David only laughed in reply. He and Allsún waved goodbye, signaling their imminent departure.
“Thanks for bringing Allsún by, David. And, Allsún, thank you for hanging out with me and retrieving Binks.”
“My pleasure,” Allsún said.
David gave Vera a single nod. “It was the least I could do after you helped save her.”
Vera almost laughed. David seemed to have conveniently forgotten the part where he and Jace had threatened to detain her for black magic all over again if she refused to help. She would have done it anyway, but that little threat had certainly been added incentive.
At that point David and Allsún repeated their goodbyes and left Shane and Vera alone. Well, save for Grandma Grey fussing around the kitchen.
“David’s going to help the other hunters monitor the gravesites tonight. We’re lucky to have a visiting hunter in town from Detroit so we have enough men.”
Vera’s eyes widened. “D-Detroit?” she stuttered. “A hunter from Detroit?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah, Kellan MacKenzie. He’s a vampire hunter.”
The color drained from Vera’s face in one fell swoop. Allsún had tried to convince her that Shane wouldn’t be hauling her back to the detention center, but now Vera saw that fear coming to life before her eyes. Kellan MacKenzie. She shivered. She didn’t know the man personally, but she sure as hell knew the name. He was the head of the Detroit division of the Execution Underground, the same division responsible for her previous incarceration in the detention center. Kellan might be a vampire hunter, but her father had considered him one of his worst and most formidable enemies. That fact alone was enough to scare Vera shitless.
If she had thought the black magic she’d used in front of Shane would get her in trouble before, she really thought so now. They wouldn’t have called Kellan just to haul her back to the detention center, would they? He hadn’t bothered to remove his gun from its holster, so maybe that was a good sign?
Shane opened his mouth to speak, but Vera cut him off. “I can explain the black magic, just give me a chance.” She glanced up into Shane’s face from where she still sat on the couch. Expecting to see a look of anger in his eyes, she was more than a bit shocked to see nothing but confusion written across his face.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to take Binks back,” he said.
“Oh.” She accepted Binks from Shane’s arms. In response, the cat cried as if she were taking away the last piece of food he would ever see in his nine long lives. “Oh, hush, you. I’m the one who’s fed you and spoiled you ever since you showed up at my doorstep. Show some loyalty.”
Shane chuckled as Vera tucked Binks into her arms. Despite her chastising, Binks continued to cry and stare longingly at Shane. Finally, when he’d seemed to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t going back into the arms of his newfound friend, he spun himself in a circle twice before plopping with a thud onto Vera’s lap.
“That’s more like it,” she said.
Though honestly, she couldn’t blame him. If the chance arose for her to snuggle up in Shane’s arms she would jump at it, too, which only made the fact that he was probably pissed at her for using black magic and about to haul her back into the detention center ten times worse. She opened her mouth to say as much, but her brain nearly shut down completely when Shane muttered, “Thank you.”
Say what? If her life were a movie, the action would have screeched to a halt right then. Had he really just said thank you? He couldn’t possibly be meaning for her spell, could he?
“You saved our asses back there,” he continued, “and it was incredible. You are incredible.”
Yep, she was fairly certain she had officially melted into a pile of goo all over Grandma Grey’s Persian rug. An overwhelming amount of relief washed over her. From the moment she’d realized what she’d done, she’d been so worried he would be angry with her for her turning to black magic that she hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe, after all was said and done, he would appreciate her saving their hind ends from certain destruction. Appreciation shone through his smile like a beacon. Incredible? She was incredible? Had he really used that word? No one had ever called her incredible or anything close to it before.
Rather than say thank-you and be gracious, all she could manage was, “I thought you would be angry.”
He sat down beside her. Her head spun from the closeness of him. If she scooted less than a foot to the right, they would be shoulder to shoulder, snuggling on the couch, and, oh, God, she wanted so much more than that. The look of power and control on his face when he ripped the yoga instructor’s corpse off her had been a thing of beauty. Couple that with the brave, intelligent man she already knew him to be and she might as well tattoo Goner on her forehead.
“I try not to make a habit of being angry with people who save my sorry ass from death. Who knows if I would have gotten that ward finished in time if you hadn’t destroyed the necromancer’s spell single-handed?”
“You mean you didn’t call Kellan to haul me back to the detention center?”
Shane’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Kellan MacKenzie—the leader of the Detroit division, the same division that locked me up in that god-awful detention center. You said he was here, so I figured—”
Shane cut her off. “Kellan isn’t here for you. He’s here to consult with Damon on a vampire case. I didn’t realize he was the hunter who collared you before.”
“He’s not, but since he’s the head of that division...” Vera let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “So you’re not putting me in the detention center for using black magic in front of you?”
Shane stared confusedly at her. “No, why would I lock you up for saving
me?”
She shrugged. “I figured you would be furious that I used black magic. Despite the reason.”
“I think black magic, with its power to control and to kill, is, in general, a vile thing, not so much in itself but because it’s used for evil. I also tend to think guns are a vile thing on most occasions, but when they’re used for good, I support them. I didn’t become a hunter to be some militant supernatural policeman. I became a hunter because I wanted to protect innocent people from forces they can’t see and don’t stand a chance against, to use my skills for good. I can’t fault you for using black magic to destroy other black magic, because if I were a witch, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
“I never really stopped to consider why you became a hunter.”
“Aside from the protecting-the-innocent thing, which really just makes me sound like a bad version of every superhero ever...”
She laughed.
“I really am intrigued by magic, both black and white,” he continued. “Its rituals. Its power. I find it all fascinating, which is why I’m dying to know where you learned a spell that powerful. I knew when I first figured out you were a witch that you were more powerful than some, but I suppose I’m ashamed to admit that it took me by surprise. Where did you learn that?”
For a moment she contemplated not answering him. Did she really want to allow him into her past, into her childhood? She’d never trusted anyone else that far. But somehow the curiosity in his gaze urged her forward, and she found the words coming out of her mouth without even deciding to say them. “I learned it from my father.”
He waited for her to elaborate. She surprised herself when she did.
“He was very powerful,” she elaborated, though she made certain not to mention her father’s name. That could only cause problems for her. “He tried to teach me black magic the way he practiced it, for personal and political gain, but at the time I was more interested in riding the high the magic gave me than worrying about anything beyond that, so I never really perfected a lot of the spells he showed me, though I still remember them. My approach to black magic disgusted my father. He and my mother thought I was nothing more than a worthless junkie.
“What he didn’t see is that he was the one who got me hooked on my drug of choice, who introduced me to that world. Ultimately, we were both slaves to the same magic drug, just in different ways. Who’s to say which was better...?” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the look of disappointment and anger on her father’s face when he kicked her out onto the street, cut her off from her home, her life, the few friends she had, for refusing to be like him, rather than realize he had forced that darkness upon her in the first place.
Did she blame her father for introducing her to the darkness? Absolutely. Had it been irresponsible of him to thrust that life upon his teen daughter and then be surprised when she lost control? Yes. But she didn’t blame her father for her choices. On the contrary, she knew her addiction was hers alone, and that the power to stop it lay only in her. The difficulty came in the fact that she was too weak to say no to the urges. But aside from the very first time, he’d never forced her to make any of the choices she had made, to keep going back for just one more hit. Those decisions had been all her own.
Glancing toward Shane, she half expected him to say something like “What sort of a father would do that?” Hell, she’d been asking that very question for years, but to her surprise his words were completely without judgment.
“You’re not a worthless junkie. You’re worth so much more than you know, Vera.”
God, if only he knew. A lump the size of Manhattan lodged itself in her throat, and tears stung at the edge of her eyes. The treacherous droplets threatened to spill over. If he knew she was still involved in that world, that she had perhaps even aided in the very circle causing the death and destruction he was fighting against, he wouldn’t be so kind. A part of her longed to tell him the truth, to be honest and come clean, but his judgment would kill her, because unlike her father, he was someone she actually respected and admired. The thought of his opinion of her faltering, even if only for a moment, tied her stomach into knots.
“Believe me when I say I’m not as worthy as you think.”
He shook his head. “I refuse to believe that. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes they’re small mistakes. Sometimes they’re big mistakes, at times maybe even catastrophic. Sometimes we even make the same mistakes over and over again, but that’s part of what makes us human. I think what defines a good person isn’t any of their past or current mistakes, but the size of their heart.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “And though I may not know much about you, Vera Sanders, I do know that you have a really big heart. I see it in the way you’re so kind and patient with my grandmother, in the way you love that big lug of a cat, in the fact that you were so worried about offending me with your black magic that you didn’t even bother to commend yourself for saving us. That’s how I know you’re a good person.”
Uh-huh, those were tears running down her face. Damn it. Between his kindness and her relief that she wasn’t being sent back to the detention center, the tears were inevitable. The harder she tried to hold them back, the faster they fell. A terrible cry ripped from her throat. “No one’s ever been that nice to me before,” she sobbed. Damn, she probably looked like a blubbering idiot.
Before she knew what was happening, Binks sprang from her lap in a massive leap as Shane pulled her into his arms. Seconds later she felt the heat of his body pulsing through her until she was certain she would never feel cold again. Instinctively, she buried her head in the crook of his neck. She inhaled, and the smell of him filled her nose. That sweet scent alone was enough to make her want to stop crying. He smelled of spicy aftershave, expensive shampoo and the delicious tang of an old paperback’s pages, no doubt from all the time he spent buried in his books. It was a sexy, intoxicating combination, and she was certain it created just as euphoric a high as black magic.
He slid his fingers through her long hair, and with each stroke the urge to behave more and more like a contented cat and lean into the movement of his hand overcame her. Her body pressed against the side of his, and heat rushed between her legs despite her tears. Instead of crying, she wanted to show her appreciation for his kindness by nibbling up the length of his neck until she reached his mouth. She was certain the taste of his tongue dancing with hers would be succulent perfection.
Finally, Shane spoke again. “If no one’s ever been nice to you before, then the fact that you have such a big heart is even more amazing.”
And there came another round of fresh tears. Man, was she making herself look totally pathetic. Not that it wasn’t true. Her parents had provided well for her, but they had never treated her with love the way most parents did. For them, she was a means to an end, a way of preserving her father’s legacy, and when she’d refused to follow in his footsteps, she’d been of no use to them. Shortly after, she’d ended up in the hands of the Execution Underground, then working as a sexed-up bartender for her sleazebag uncle. In her life, demonstrations of kindness had been few and far between.
“You already know my mother was a drug addict. Of course, that’s a bit different from black magic, but it’s still addiction.”
As much as it killed her to move away from him, she pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his face. She remembered him mentioning it before, but she hadn’t had the heart to pry further into his business.
“I mean, it’s not surprising, really. Half the performers in Vegas were and probably still are hopped up on coke. It may be conducive to putting on a great show night after night, but it certainly doesn’t make for the best mothering skills, you know?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she allowed him to continue.
“She wasn’t a bad mom, per se, but she wasn’t exactly good at it, either. In a way,
I raised myself. She worked hard to supposedly put food on the table, but most of it went to her habit instead of into feeding the two of us.”
“When did you leave?”
He shook his head. “I stayed until I was almost eighteen. Somehow I thought she needed me. I had it in my head that if I left, she’d lose it completely. Eventually my grandmother helped me realize that if I didn’t leave, I’d be the one who was lost completely. I needed to get out of there and live my own life, so I did. Once in a blue moon I get a call from her asking for money and lamenting the fact that I left her. She’s long since aged out of working as a showgirl, and if I’m completely honest, I think she’s making ends meet as a working woman now, if you know what I mean. As much as I would love to have a relationship with her, it’s just not possible with her addiction. I’ve tried to get her to go to rehab. I even would have paid for it, but she refuses to go, so there’s not much more I can do other than send her money that will just fuel her habit.”
“I’m so sorry, Shane,” she repeated. “That must make you think even worse of my own addiction.”
“Actually, it doesn’t. My mother was a good person who had a problem that got the best of her. I saw the way she struggled to fight it throughout most of my childhood, but it was stronger than she was. People talk about quitting drugs or alcohol as if it’s easy, but it’s not. It’s hard, damn hard, because I have to believe that if it was so easy, my mother would’ve done it for me. And I don’t believe she didn’t love me enough to quit. She tried plenty of times, but somehow it always came back to haunt her.”
“What about your father? Was he in the picture?”
He stiffened at her question, and she worried she’d hit a nerve. “My father only decided to be in the picture once it was convenient for him. When I was a child, he had to skate around all my questions, like ‘Why are you never around?’ or ‘Why did you say you would show up for Christmas and then you didn’t?’ And then there was ‘How come you drive a Rolls Royce when Mom and I can barely pay the bills?’ I was a precocious kid, as you can imagine, asking a lot of hard questions of a man who didn’t want to give any answers. Sometimes I think he didn’t know the answers himself. Once I was old enough that I stopped asking, or, more accurately, stopped caring about what the answers were, he came around more. I think the fact that I managed to turn out okay despite all his failings made him feel like everything he’d done was okay, even though it wasn’t. He was a witch hunter, like me, but I didn’t take this career path to follow in his footsteps,” he said. “Though I guess you could say it was in my blood.”
Midnight Hunter (The Execution Underground Book 3) Page 13
