Slade’s damn Legion. Damn you, Slade, whoever you are.
Cain asks, “How did you disarm Lutz Logan?”
“That’s like asking how someone wins a fight. I don’t know how to answer except to give you a lesson in self-defense.”
What I really hate is that he looks at me as if I’m the one who poses the danger. I guess he’s thinking about Parker’s safety. If I beat a guy like Lutz Logan, then I could hurt her, too.
I’m surprised by how frustrated and angry that makes me feel. As if I would hurt her. Or him. Or anyone actually. I never killed anyone who didn’t try to kill me first. Archer Ryan may have had a violent reputation as a boy walking in his father’s footsteps, but the stories and the reality were two different things.
Cain doesn’t know any of that. In fact, he hasn’t mentioned my real name, so I’m guessing he doesn’t know that part yet. All he knows is that he brought a dangerous stranger into his house who has the skills to beat a so-called assassin.
My emotions swing from indignation to anger and back again. Before I can retort, a dangerous grin grows on his face, accentuating the gorgeous angles of his jaw and mouth.
He says, “I’ll take a demonstration.”
Really? Is he spoiling for a fight?
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s well and truly blocking the doorway. If I want to leave, I’m going to have to strong-arm him.
What really gets me is that I don’t want to hurt him. Kindness is rare in my life, and for a few moments he gave it to me.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. Consider this a demonstration.”
I stride toward him. He studies my approach, taking in my gait, the swing of my free arm, the way I’m gripping the book close to my chest. By the time I’m two paces away, his expression has become curious. I haven’t made a move yet, haven’t tried to throw anything, let alone a punch.
Right when he must think I’m not going to do anything more than walk straight at him, I flick the coat upward and outward, causing a visual block between us. I judge my throw perfectly. The book inside the pocket is perfectly placed at his head height. My closed fist darts out, connects with the book, and propels it right at his stunning face.
It would be a perfect hit … if he was still there.
He ducks at lightning speed, snatches the bottom of the coat out of the air, and pulls it with him as he swings and turns. He slams the door closed with his free hand at the same time.
A loud click tells me that it has an automatic lock. There’s no visible handle on this side.
Oh, hell. My situation just got worse.
He’s suddenly behind me.
His hand grazes my arm, the lightest touch tingling through me as I dance out of his reach, spinning to face him again.
He rolls up the coat, the book still inside it, and pegs it at the far wall, the furthest away from me as possible. All without taking his eyes off me. It slaps the wall and lands on the floor, a thud that sinks my heart.
We’ve switched positions. I’m now standing where he was and he is only two paces away. However … to my very great surprise, I spy the knife resting on the table next to me.
His gaze flicks to it, but not in a way that indicates he’s going to make a grab for it.
He wants to make sure I see it.
He deliberately left it behind, but … why? Is he testing me?
I frown at him, trying to figure out his motives.
As much as I could use some calm right now, I don’t pick it up. Instead, I take another swipe at him, this time with my foot so I can keep my distance. I put enough strength behind it to down him in an instant.
He easily evades the strike, his hand snapping around my ankle and pushing it down, pulling me forward as he steps toward me instead of pushing me away. I end up with my knee bent against his stomach, trying to balance on one leg, leaning into him. His arms wrap around my lower back, keeping me on my feet in an almost helpful gesture.
With a gasp I realize how closely our lower halves are pressed against each other, especially with my knee in the air.
He arches an eyebrow at me.
My scowl deepens.
I shove him away, thumping both fists toward his chest, which he evades with an agile twist of his torso. I fall forward, but I was ready for that, tucking my chin and rolling back to my feet. He’s already there. One arm snakes around my waist from behind, but I spin again and his palm brushes all the way around my stomach and lower back as I glide out of his hold. Shivers run to my toes as his fingertips float across my torso.
I step backward, facing him, but now he goes on the offensive, pressing both palms against my shoulders, a firm grip. I let loose a rapid succession of blows with my fists, but he deftly evades all of them with lithe movements and still maintains hold of me. All while I’m stepping backward. It’s the direction he seems to want me to go, which only makes me cranky.
I try again for a kick, even harder this time, but he moves at whirlwind speed, letting go of one of my shoulders, twisting just enough to avoid the blow, hooking his arm under my knee at the same time.
Damn, he’s like liquid. No matter what I do, he rolls with it, and now … I have nowhere to go.
I bump up against the wall, his arm still hooked under my leg, his palm resting against the outside of my thigh. His other hand presses against the top of my ribs, dangerously close to my breast.
My chest heaves, every inward breath narrowing the small gap between us. I count the blows I haven’t landed: too many. In contrast, he’s barely broken a sweat.
His voice is a husky murmur: “I don’t think this is how you disarmed Lutz.”
I make a frustrated noise at him, trying to get my balance back, but I only succeed in bumping my lower half against his in a very indelicate way. My right knee is already resting against his hip and the movement frees it. My leg ends up hooked around his hips, my hands gripping his shoulders and my lady parts smashed up against his…
I freeze.
If I let go I’ll topple over, but this position is sending all the wrong signals through my body. Holy smokes. I fight the burning impulse to tip my head back and arch into him. I resume breathing, far too fast, my heartbeat crashing like crazy inside my chest. This … whatever this is … is unlike anything I’ve felt before.
He makes it worse when he leans in, completely in control, his focus solely on my lips. Despite the slight hitch of his breath, his voice becomes an angry growl, dousing me in cold.
“Do you work for Lady Tirelli?” he demands to know.
My eyes widen. That would explain why he locked the door. Lady Tirelli and her boys are butchers. If he’s worried I work for her, then his fear for Parker is real.
Outrage rushes through me. “I would never work for her. The Tirelli brothers killed my father!”
I gulp.
Damn him, that’s more information than I intended to give. Damn my body right now. Damn his hand softly stroking my thigh. He could ask me anything and I would answer truthfully.
He frowns, remaining close to me, although his gaze becomes distant for a second as if he’s sifting through information in his mind. “I’m familiar with all of their kills. Your name isn’t connected with their victims.”
Of course it isn’t. He thinks I’m Grace Kennedy.
Now I wish I’d picked up the knife when I could have. I need the cold calm right now. I need the strength. I’ve been known to break down doors, rip through walls. With a weapon in my hand, I can get out of this room within moments.
But now I’m sure he left the knife on the table as a test.
If I try to reach it, it will prove to him that I am his enemy.
He was angry about the possibility that I was one of Lady Tirelli’s people, so that tells me he is not her ally. Since I returned to Boston under my current alias, I’ve kept my head down and my ear to the ground, but I’ve stayed away from that life.
I was stupid enough to tell Lutz Logan my name. Word will get out: Archer Ryan
is back.
I am a threat to Lady Tirelli’s operations.
She will come for me.
Like it or not, I’m a target. And if the vehemence in Cain’s voice is any indication, he might be my only ally right now. But the way he’s looking at me … like I’m his worst nightmare…
I thump my fist against his chest, surprising him with the frustrated gesture. “Damn it! Why did you have to be nice to me this morning? You should have left me on the curb. Anyone else would have.”
He appears speechless for the first time, his ferocity turning to puzzlement. For a second he sways closer, his lips a breath away from mine. “Who are you?”
I can’t lie. I squeeze my eyes shut and thump my head against the wall, trying to beat the frustration out of myself. Telling the truth is hard for me, but it turns out that lying to Cain Carter is impossible.
“My real name … is Archer Ryan. I’m Patrick Ryan’s daughter. If you know about Lady Tirelli, then I assume you know who my father was.”
Shock flashes across Cain’s face. His green eyes widen. “Archer Ryan.”
He switches gears so rapidly it makes my head spin. He removes his hand from my side, releases my thigh, and smoothly extricates himself from the circle of my leg in one swift movement.
He relocates himself two quick paces away.
I wait for the inevitable “But you’re a woman,” but it doesn’t come. Maybe he’s in shock or…
I frown at the cool respect in his gaze. He knows my reputation.
He looks at me differently now and … I hate it.
He gives me a nod filled with the wary regard he would hold for a fellow warrior, a combatant, but not a friend. He stands tall, hands at his sides, fingertips lightly curled into loose fists, clearly reassessing everything he thought he knew about me.
I want to go back to being café Grace, a girl who carries books in her pockets and chews her fingernails. A girl who is not a threat and just needed a little help.
Not a woman who could burn down his house.
I smooth down my clothing with a sigh. “So, you see, I would never work for Lady Tirelli. I would never associate with her sons who were responsible for killing my father and turning me into a fugitive.”
His voice is deadpan: “It was never confirmed that the Tirelli brothers killed your father. A friend of mine tried to find out but she had no luck getting that information.”
“Is that the same friend who doesn’t tell you when she’s hurt?”
“Possibly.”
I draw my shoulders back. “I want you to know that I don’t have any intention of harming you or your sister. What happened this morning was a mistake.” I shake my head in frustration. “But I couldn’t stand by and watch Briar die. She’s a nice old lady who clearly doesn’t get enough food and she’s the closest person I have to a friend, even though I barely spoke to her, so that probably tells you a lot about my relationships with other people.”
I try to draw a breath. Information is free-flowing from my mouth and I have to make it stop. I clench my hands and focus on the floor. “I won’t hurt you or your family. All I want is to walk out of here and disappear. You won’t see me again.”
His response is sharp. “I can’t let you do that.”
I frown, looking up at him again. “Why? Because I’m wanted by the police? Because I’m a violent criminal? Because I’ve killed my fair share of assholes?”
He closes the gap and his cold demeanor disappears. The depth of emotion in his voice is unsettling. “Because … I can’t let you die.”
I attempt to laugh. “I’m not going to die simply by walking out of here. Really, I can take care of myself.”
He says, “Believe me, Grace, if you leave my side, you’ll be dead by the end of the day.”
4
I shiver. He sounds so certain that harm is going to come to me.
He is cautious as he asks, “Did Briar say anything to you?”
I frown. “She told me a lot of things that I have trouble believing.”
“Like what?”
“That Lutz Logan is an assassin. That assassins have a code and I broke it by interfering. She told me to go to a bookstore. She said I’d be safe there.”
He nods. “The Tomb.”
I’m surprised. “That’s the one.”
His eyes meet mine. “But you don’t believe any of it.”
I shake my head. “Not remotely. Assassins are a myth.”
A smile plays around his mouth. “So is Archer Ryan.”
I have no comeback for that. I blow out an exhale, fold my arms across my chest, and focus on my dropped coat. “Even if I believe any of it, you don’t owe me anything. Not help, and certainly not protection.”
“Hmm.”
His murmur is ambiguous. I can’t tell if he means “Hmm, you’re right” or “Hmm, you’re wrong,” or maybe “Hmm, there’s no hope for you at all.”
He says, “There’s something I need to show you. I think it will clarify things for you.”
He digs into his pocket and pulls out a thick gold band. It looks like a wedding ring. I guess he’s full of secrets. A secret sister and now a secret wife. I’m not sure why he wants me to see it, but whatever. It’s fine. I study the floor for a moment, trying to squash my unexpected feelings of disappointment and envy. She is a lucky woman.
“Grace?”
I give myself a shake and meet his eyes. “You’re married.”
He frowns, tilting his head as if he missed something, then his expression clears. “No, but it’s important that you understand who I really am.”
He lifts his hand so that I have a clear view of the ring. He slips it onto the forefinger of his left hand, not onto his ring finger.
He says, “I’m about to break a rule, but it’s a small transgression and worth it to prove to you what you’re up against.”
He keeps his hand pressed across his chest so I can’t miss the ring. It glints, as if someone opened a window and the sun hit the metal band.
Then…
He glows at the edges, just like Lutz Logan did. I blink rapidly, trying to stay focused on him, but it’s like trying to stare at a bright spot. I reach out, but his backlit figure recedes. He steps away and…
He disappears.
Just like that, Cain is gone.
I gasp, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest. I turn in circles, trying to locate him. It’s like he stepped into his surroundings, blended into them. It isn’t … possible.
Dad once told me that not everything is as it seems, that there are instruments of magic that humans can use to make themselves stronger and quicker, and that magical beings walk among us. I took his warnings with a grain of salt. Magic is for fairy tales. Fairy tales have no part in my life.
I close my eyes and inhale a calming breath. I know Cain hasn’t left the room, because the door hasn’t opened. He could be leaning up against it, watching me, or he could be a lot closer…
When I fought Lutz, I had a weapon in my hands, a conduit to the strength and calm that otherwise remains inaccessible to me. I need to be calm now, to open my senses. I reacted by instinct to Lutz, so maybe if I allow myself to react instinctively to Cain...
That’s a dangerous thought. My reactions to Cain are like nothing I’ve experienced before. Allowing myself to focus on them means magnifying them.
I shake off my fears and quiet my thoughts, taking deep, slow breaths. Within moments my heart rate calms. Everything becomes silent and still inside me. I focus on the memory of Cain’s hand on my thigh, the way it had both calmed and provoked me.
My senses burn.
Cain.
His presence is like a flame to me, located to my left. I sense a shift in the air, a quiet heartbeat, and … his hand, inches from the side of my face as if he would dare to brush his fingertips across my cheek.
A smile grows on my face despite my best efforts to hide it.
My eyes flash open and my hand snakes out. I la
tch onto his arm, pull and twist. At the same time, I hook my leg behind his and pull, dragging him off balance so fast he has nowhere to go but the floor. He thuds onto it, rolling slightly to absorb the impact. I follow him down, my hand still clamped around his arm, my left knee crashing onto the hard tiles. Ouch.
I ignore the pain, my right leg tangled in his. I’m straddling his hips, pressed low against his chest because he has caught me there, his arms holding me tight. I push one hand against the floor to keep my face above his.
His features are still blurry at the edges, difficult to focus on, but I refuse to look away. He looks stunned, uncertain for the very first time. It’s hard to miss his wide eyes or his quick inhale.
Just like Lutz, he asks, “How did you see…?”
I shake my head, answering honestly: “I have no idea.” Then I exhale, bursting with my own questions. “What is this?”
His edges become rapidly sharp, materializing, fully visible again. He stays very still, making no attempt to remove himself from beneath me.
He says, “I’m an assassin.”
I shoot back, “Assassins don’t exist.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Clearly, I do.”
He certainly does. All hulking six and a half feet of him. His body is warm beneath mine. I’m acutely aware of the way his muscles move, shifting with every breath he takes. I press my lips together, inches away from his.
I’m not often bewildered, but right now I have no idea how to react. If he’s an assassin, then he has killed people, but … so have I. He knows how to fight, but so do I. I can’t judge him in any way that doesn’t bring judgement back on myself.
“Are you human?” I stare down at him, a portion of my hair sliding loose and falling across my face as I hold my breath for his answer.
“Yes.” He tucks my hair behind my ear with the hand on which he wears the ring. “This is an assassin’s ring. It gives me power to do … unusual things.”
The golden band gives off a faint glow, a warmth that both pulls and pushes at me. It gets worse when he curls his fingers softly at the base of my neck, resting them there.
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