One Mark
Blackwell Djinn Series
Nikki Kardnov
Tortoise House Press
Copyright © 2019 Nikki Kardnov
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Epilogue II
Acknowledgments
Also by Nikki Kardnov
About the Author
Chapter 1
THORIN
Thorin had been running through the city streets of Blackwater for over an hour. Running made him feel whole. It made him feel settled in his skin and it kept his demons—figuratively—at bay.
He used to run on the trails on the Blackwell estate, but in the last few weeks, he’d changed his routine for one reason, and one reason only.
And there she was now.
Lola.
She jogged across 8th Street at the crosswalk, dodging easily around the pedestrians making their way to work. She was in black running shorts and a matching bra. Her long blonde hair was plaited into two braids and her eyes were shadowed beneath the brim of a black baseball cap.
At the sight of her, Thorin felt immediately lighter.
She slowed when she came up to him waiting at the entrance to Halle Park.
Chest heaving, she said, “Hey you,” and squinted against the sunlight. “How long you been running today? You run around the world yet? No wait.” She looked him up and down. “Minimal sweat. Even breath. Hmmm. I’d say…you went to New Orleans and back. Did you happen to grab me any beignets?”
Laughing, he held up his hands. “Not today, I’m afraid.”
“What’s the point of having supernatural speed and endurance if you don’t use it to deliver piping hot beignets to your best friend?”
He laughed again. This was why he breathed easier around her. Nothing was ever heavy around Lola. Black clouds did not follow her like they did him.
“Best friend?” He raised a brow. “Is that what we are now?”
She shrugged and started walking. “You’ve seen me in my sweatpants with no make up on. That constitutes best friend status.”
“My apologies. I didn’t know the rules.”
They’d only been hanging out a little over a month, but already it felt like forever.
Thorin had never had a best friend. He had acquaintances. And he had his brothers. That was it. It was always easier that way, considering who and what he was. In the supernatural world, he was djinn and a Blackwell, always held at arm’s length. Djinn rarely commiserated because they were a territorial lot. And in the human world, he was too…well, not human.
But Lola was a bridge he didn’t realize he’d needed.
She was human and therefore (mostly) unaware of the constant push and pull of the supernatural world. But she knew what he was which was extremely freeing. And she had never asked him for a deal. She’d never given him the impression that she spent time with him because of what he could give her.
And then there was the other part of their relationship that he absolutely loved—their boundaries.
Lola had told him their first night that she was in no way interested in an intimate relationship and he had been so relieved, he could have kissed her.
Thorin had sworn off intimacy a long time ago.
Intimacy only brought on trouble.
“Ready?” Lola said to him now. “I bet I can beat you today.”
He laughed out loud. “Improbable,” he started to say, but she was already running ahead. “Cheating is against the rules!”
“Says who!” she yelled back.
He gave her chase through Halle Park. Through the shady woods on the north end, past the ball fields, around the turtle pond and lastly through the North Meadow.
The Centennial Obelisk came into sight as they crested the hill on the other side of the Reservoir. That was their finish line.
The entire race, Thorin had let her stay ahead if only because he liked to keep his eyes on her. And because he enjoyed the way she would steal a glance at him over her shoulder, a smile on her face, a glimmer in her eye.
Sometimes he let her win.
Today was not one of those days.
He surged ahead on the path.
“Hey!” Lola shouted, but she was laughing as she quickened her pace.
He was the first to lay his hand on the obelisk’s base.
Lola came in just two seconds later. “Damn it.” She put her hands on her hips and breathed in deep. “I thought I had you that time. Must have been because I skipped my green smoothie this morning.”
“Must have been.” He tore his sweaty t-shirt from his body and swiped at his forehead. It was the beginning of June and already temperatures were swelling. Five hundred years ago, June used to feel like spring when the air was cool and crisp and the humidity was not so swamp-like.
Global warming was a fairytale?
Bullshit.
Lola gave him a look. “Do you do that on purpose? So everyone within a two-mile radius will ogle you?”
He scanned the surrounding Great Lawn. Picnic blankets dotted the grass like patches on a quilt. It was a weekday, but the park was always packed. “I see no oglers.”
“There’s one right there. And another. And another.”
“Are you trying to oppress my masculinity?” he joked.
She playfully shoved him. “Maybe. I mean, your masculinity practically has its own zip code.”
They left the obelisk and made their way back to the south end of the park.
“Are you ready for the gallery opening tonight?” Thorin asked.
They stepped aside for a mother with a double stroller and a toddler besides. The mother smiled up at him.
“See, ogler,” Lola said and then immediately segued into answering his earlier question. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda nervous about the exhibit. It’s been a few years since I did a fine art series for a gallery opening. My
friend Meg has been helping a ton, though. She’s got an eye for art unlike any other.”
“I keep hearing you talk about this Meg, but I’ve yet to meet her.”
Lola shrugged. “She’s a new friend. Actually, she and I became friends around the same time you and I did. I like her though and I think you’d like her too. She’ll be there tonight. But you’re not allowed to date her!”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t have to worry. I don’t date, remember?”
“Not even for fun?”
Fun was not a word he knew. At least not until recently. Hanging out with Lola was fun.
“Not even for fun.”
“Mmmm.” Her gaze became far away then.
They walked in silence for another mile before coming up on the wrought iron archway that led out to the bustling street.
“You want to come over for brunch?” she asked. “I made a giant batch of honey garlic chicken last night. I have leftovers coming out my ears.”
“That’s not brunch food.”
“Says who?”
Djinn didn’t have to eat much or often in order to survive, but Thorin had always had an unusually large appetite compared to his brothers. And he could pack away the food Lola made. She was a fantastic cook.
“I suppose I could eat,” he said.
“Great.” She gave him a devilish grin. “I’ll race you there.” And then she was off.
Chapter 2
LOLA
Lola was the first to reach her building. “I win!” she yelled and hoisted her arms triumphantly into the air.
Thorin grinned down at her. “So you did.”
She was no fool. She knew he’d let her.
She might be physically fit. She might have been a two-time marathon runner and a former high school track star, but she was no match for an immortal djinn.
Still, she liked gloating over him, if only because he looked so damn adorable when she did. He got this glimmer in his eye like he was happy to take the ribbing.
Sometimes she forgot that he was several hundred years old. That he’d been around during the French Revolution and the rise (and demise) of Elvis Presley.
The fact that he could joke around like they had both been born less than three decades ago and had not a care in the world was both shocking and welcomed.
“Good morning, Ms. St. James,” Francis, the doorman said. He tipped his red hat at Lola. He turned to Thorin next and, voice dropping an octave, said, “Mr. Blackwell.”
Somehow Francis’s entire demeanor changed in that split second shift between Lola and Thorin. Lola owned a loft in the building. She saw Francis almost every day. And yet whenever he encountered Thorin, he acted like the Pope had just arrived.
The more Lola hung out with Thorin, the more she realized this was just how people were around him and his brothers.
They were practically royalty in Blackwater.
Lola had known this before she officially entered the Blackwell estate over a month ago and first met the Blackwells. But knowing it and witnessing it were two different things.
Watching the way people reacted to Thorin gave her a quiet thrill.
She wanted to hook her arm through his whenever women gave him fuck-me eyes and proclaim, “He’s my best friend. Neener neener neener!”
But she didn’t. Because she was a mature young woman, damn it. Well, sorta mature.
“Good morning, Francis,” Lola said as she entered the cooler hush of her building. “You’re looking fabulous today.”
“As are you,” he said.
“And me?” Thorin asked. “Am I looking fabulous as well?”
He was still shirtless. Still impressively imposing especially next to Francis who couldn’t have cleared six feet on his tiptoes.
Francis, flustered, said, “Well…yes…Mr. Blackwell…obviously—”
“I’m only joking, Francis.” Thorin gave the man a pat on the back as he walked in. “But thank you for playing along.”
Francis beamed.
Lola hid her smile behind a discreet hand.
Even men adored her new best friend.
They entered the elevator and Thorin pressed the button for the third floor. The doors slid closed, creating a fuzzy reflection of her and Thorin in the polished stainless steel. It gave her the opportunity to admire Thorin’s physique without blatantly doing it.
He had the most ridiculous abs. The most perfectly smooth perfect chest.
While she was serious about keeping their boundaries intact, she would have to be a nun not to appreciate Thorin’s body.
And it had been a ridiculously long time since she’d gotten laid.
Months by her last count.
It wasn’t that she was aiming for celibacy; she was just too wrapped up in work.
If this new exhibit didn’t make a splash, she was screwed.
Two years ago, she was easily making six figures off her fine art photography. Now she was lucky to make mid-five. And Blackwater was not the kind of city that allowed a person to make five figures and live comfortably. At least not in the neighborhood Lola currently lived in.
And she wasn’t moving to the lower east side damn it.
She would sell her entire wardrobe before she did that. She’d sell an organ even!
Breathe, Lola. Breathe.
You’ve got this.
Once upon a time, positive affirmations had gotten her through some rough patches. Now they just made her inner critic roll her eyes. She’d been at this long enough to know that sometimes there really was no rhyme or reason to an artist’s demise. Why could some creatives go on to make millions while another could make a splash overnight and then poof—gone?
Lola was starting to worry she was the latter. She’d gotten serious about her art right when Instagram was at its infancy and she’d quickly taken the lead on the social media platform. But now fine art photographers were everywhere posting bigger projects, better projects. And they’d made the smart decision to diversify and were teaching workshops all over the globe and selling online classes and other digital tools and Lola was…well…not.
Her father had always told her she was too lazy to make much of herself.
“You’re just like your mother,” he’d said. “Better off looking for a rich husband to take care of you.”
Lola absolutely positively would never be like her mother. For most of Lola’s life, her mother depended on her husband and never bothered to gain a marketable skill. Never bothered to save her own money.
Now, over ten years after their divorce, Samantha St. James was still below poverty level living in a five-story walk-up on the east end of Alcona City. She worked retail by day and waitressed by night. She once drove a Range Rover and now could barely afford public transportation.
Lola would not turn out like her mother.
She would never put her fate in the hands of a man.
But that also meant she had to work twice as hard to keep her independence.
The stress was starting to eat away at her insides. She was having a hard time sleeping lately.
When the elevator bell chimed and the doors slid open, Thorin stepped out first.
Lola’s building was an old textile mill that had been renovated a few years back. She was the first to buy a loft there and chose the one with the best view of the Rine River and Alcona City across it.
Back then, her prints were flying off internet shelves and she’d had the luxury of hand selecting the black soapstone for the kitchen counters, the high-end stainless steel appliances, and the handmade cabinetry that was painted a deep shade of emerald.
For the first time in a long while, Lola was able to say she had a home that was her own that wasn’t borrowed or government-subsidized and God did it feel good. She was proud to invite guests over and for some reason that was especially true with Thorin. Maybe because she knew where he came from and the places he must have visited over the years. Impressing him with a modern loft was a lo
ng shot, but he did seem at ease in her space and that gave her a ridiculous amount of satisfaction like clearly she’d done something right.
Lola was fishing out her key from her shorts pocket when the door across the hall swung open. Her neighbor, Mallory, came rushing out. She looked up at Thorin with mock surprise. “Oh hi!”
Lola stuck her key in the deadbolt and twisted.
“Hi Mallory,” Thorin said because he was obscenely polite even to ravenous harpies.
“You guys just come from the gym?” Mallory’s eyes roamed over Thorin’s body like it was up for sale.
“We went for a run,” Thorin said.
“Indeed you did.” Mallory’s gaze locked on Thorin’s chest.
Lola practically bum rushed her door once the deadbolt was open and then grabbed Thorin by the arm and yanked him inside.
“See you later, Mallory!” she said and then slammed the door in her neighbor’s face.
Thorin was laughing.
“What?” Lola said.
“I don’t know why you dislike her so much. She’s nice.”
“She is not nice.” Lola hung her key on the hook by the door. “Don’t you notice how she’s always conveniently there when you are?”
“And?”
“And? And! I swear Thorin, you are the most oblivious man I know.”
He went to the fridge and pulled open both French doors. The silver glow rimmed him in light. “I’m not oblivious. I see no reason to be cruel to her. Even if she doesn’t have a chance.”
One Mark: Steamy Friends to Lovers Paranormal Romance (Blackwell Djinn) Page 1
