by Laura Kaye
“You would?”
Sometimes she would sneak out and hide on the moors, high above the nearby village, and watch the people go about their normal lives, and dream of being part of that. But that sounded pathetic and for some reason she didn’t want Christian Roth to think her pathetic. “Sometimes I would go out, but mostly I’d stay. It was an odd life, but I didn’t know any different, and I was happy, at least when I was younger. Then six months ago my aunt died.”
The familiar sense of loss washed over her. Her aunt’s death hadn’t been sudden—she’d been ill for a long time—but it had been the end of everything Tara had known.
“And?”
Her hands gripped the edge of the desk in front of her. “And I found everything she had told me was lies.”
“Everything?”
“I don’t think she was even my aunt. I don’t know who she was, or why she brought me up. After she died, I found papers, but there was nothing about her. It was like she never existed.” She glanced at his impassive face. “My whole world was a lie. Everything I was brought up to believe in.” All those stupid rules she had followed for the last twenty-two years.
“So what is it you’d like me to do?”
She frowned. Hadn’t she been clear? “I told you, I want you to find out who I am. Who my aunt was and why she was looking after me.” When he remained silent, she continued, “I have money to pay you. The house was in my name and I have all sorts of investments. I’ve got copies of the paperwork here. I thought it might help.”
She took out the folder containing the meager amount of paperwork she’d been able to find about herself and her aunt and placed it on the desk in front of him. She watched as he flicked through the file, his eyes widening. Hers had almost popped out of her head when she’d seen how much money her aunt had stashed away, all in Tara’s name.
Christian closed the file and sat back. “Why do you want to know?”
It was a good question, and one she’d asked herself many times. She had a life now. She had friends, was going to college, getting real qualifications. She had a chance of that normal life she’d always dreamed of. But while she’d love nothing more than to forget the past, she couldn’t. All the time, in the back of her mind, the questions niggled.
Why had her aunt lied? What was she hiding? What was so bad that Aunt Kathy had concealed them away in that big old house on the moors? And what was it with all the stupid rules? The list of questions was endless and she needed answers.
“My life has been pretty odd until now and I just want to be normal. But what if I’m not?”
“So really, you want me to find proof that you’re normal?”
She smiled; she’d come to the right place after all. “Yes.”
There was a light tap on the door. She glanced over her shoulder as Graham peered inside.
“Christian—”
“What is it?”
“Piers Lamont is in reception.”
“Okay, Graham. We’ve finished here for the moment.”
Graham closed the door behind him and Christian rose to his feet. “Well, Ms. Collins—”
“Please, call me Tara.”
“And you must call me Christian. Well, Tara, I’ll read through the papers and see where we can go from there. Perhaps you can come back in a few days and answer any questions that come up.”
She stood. “Do you think you’ll find anything?”
“I’m sure I will, and don’t worry,” he added. “There will be an explanation.”
Tara searched his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Or was he just trying to placate her, because really he thought she was crazy, and he wanted to get her out of there fast? But his face was bland, impossible to read. Suddenly she felt drained. She’d done it, broken the rules, and now she had to live with whatever they found.
“Tara?”
“Yes?”
“One question before you go. How did you choose me?”
For a moment, she considered lying—after all, she had just said she wanted to be normal. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t choose you. My cat did. He’s called Smokey and I’ve had him all my life.”
He scrutinized her as though wondering what to say next, or perhaps whether to say anything at all. “And just how did…Smokey, choose me.”
“Well, he didn’t pick you personally, just your company. He put his paw right on your advertisement.” Christian regarded her with a strange expression in his eyes, and she hurried on, “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything, but Smokey is actually super bright and I did look you up on the internet afterward.”
“Very…sensible.”
Why did she get the impression that “sensible” was not the word he was thinking of right now? Perhaps it was time to leave.
He must have decided the same, because he strode past her and opened the door. Graham waited on the other side.
By the time she entered the elevator, Tara was grinning like the mad woman Christian no doubt thought her to be. She’d done it—broken Rule Number One—and hadn’t been struck down by a bolt from above. Then again, maybe it was a delayed reaction. Maybe that bolt would hit her as she walked out the door. Her grin faded.
“Are you okay?’
The elevator had stopped, but Graham watched her, a slight frown on his face.
“Sorry?” she said.
“Mr. Roth can be overwhelming when you first meet him.”
“He was very kind. I’m just a little worried about what he’ll find out.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Graham pressed the button and the doors parted. A man stood waiting, and Tara’s mouth fell open.
He looked like a rock star. An enormous rock star. Shoulder length blond hair pulled into a ponytail, blond designer stubble, lots of black leather. She had a brief impression of him smiling at her, before Graham nudged her out of the elevator.
The rock star inhaled deeply as she passed. “Mmm. Sugar and spice.”
Her feet slowed, but Graham somehow maneuvered her, not very gently, across the reception area. She glanced over her shoulder. The rock star was definitely smiling.
The cold air hit her face as Graham escorted her from the building.
“Mr. Roth told me to make another appointment in a couple of days’ time.”
“Friday,” he said. “Seven o’clock.”
“I can take time off, come during the day, if it’s easier.”
“Mr. Roth prefers evening appointments. Seven will be fine.”
He disappeared back into the building. Glancing at the dark alley opposite, Tara took a deep breath and set off down the brightly lit street.
Now for Rule Number Two.
…
Her cat?
Christian Roth stared at the closed door. He’d lived a long time, and very little surprised him these days. But her cat?
He inhaled, catching the lingering scent of her on the air. It was mouthwatering; a sweetness tinged with a sharp, bitter flavor he found intoxicating. He’d spent the entire interview wondering whether she tasted as good as she smelled.
She was also ravishingly pretty, with that bright blond hair and huge green eyes. But that wasn’t usually enough to catch his attention. There was something more, something very different about Tara Collins. He just couldn’t work out what.
Yesterday, someone had left him a very cryptic message, suggesting he should meet her. He’d been undecided. Then earlier this evening, Piers had called and told him there’d been a demon sighting close to his building. Hunting demons wasn’t Christian’s job anymore, but he’d gone as a favor. He’d tracked the demon to the alley opposite and then been totally distracted by a delectable blonde who’d crashed into him and sent his senses reeling.
She’d had the same effect when she walked into his office. For the first time in what seemed like an age, his hunger had risen. Even now, his gums ached with the need to feed. If it hadn’t been for Piers’s imminent arrival, he’d have go
ne hunting tonight with little Tara Collins as his prey.
But Piers was on his way. First the phone call, now a personal visit. Piers was head of the Order of the Shadow Accords, the organization that policed the supernatural world, and whatever he wanted, it was unlikely to be good news. Still, Christian couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement that twisted his guts. He’d made the right decision to leave the Order, but he missed the exhilaration of the chase, the thrill of the kill.
Graham stuck his head around. He had a slightly frazzled look in his eyes, no doubt from the unexpected visitor; Piers tended to have that effect on humans, even ones like Graham, who had spent time around their kind and knew what they were.
“He’s here,” Graham said.
“Send him in.”
“Another thing—Piers saw your new client in reception, and I’m guessing he liked what he saw.”
“Shit.” He’d have to warn Piers off, which was bound to pique his interest.
What was so alluring about Tara Collins?
Piers was dressed in his usual gear, black leather pants and a long black leather coat. Tall, around Christian’s six-foot-four, he was lean and hard, and beneath the coat, he’d be armed with enough firepower to take down an army of demons. He looked exactly what he was—a killer.
He grasped Christian in a huge bear hug, and clapped him on the shoulders. Then his hands fell away, and he stepped back.
“Christian, you look like shit.” A slow grin spread across his face. “In fact, it’s worse than shit—you look like a businessman.”
“I am a businessman.”
“A boring businessman.”
Christian didn’t bother to deny it.
“You also look hungry.”
“I haven’t fed in a few days.”
“Days?”
“Weeks then.” Christian shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”
“Talking of eating, I ran into someone coming out of the elevator. Young, blond.”
“Leave her alone.”
“She smelled delicious.”
“She’s a client. I don’t want you eating my clients. Now, what brings you here?”
Piers shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered across to the windows to stare out at the lights of the city. He appeared outwardly calm but Christian knew him too well. Something was bothering him and Christian had to curb his impatience as he waited.
Piers turned back to face him. “I want you to come back.”
It wasn’t anything he’d expected and he frowned. “Not going to happen. I left the Order twenty years ago—for good.”
“Come on, Christian, you know it’s not that simple.”
“Can’t you cope? You want me to come back and take over?”
“Hell, no,” Piers said. “I like being the boss. We’ll take you on as a consultant.” His eyes drifted down over Christian. “You look like a consultant. Besides, don’t you miss it?” Piers moved behind the desk, sat in the huge leather chair, and spun. “This is fun, but it hardly compares to hunting demons.” He came to a halt facing Christian. “How can you live like this?”
“Easy.”
Piers considered him for a moment, head to one side, weighing his next move. “Gabriel’s dead.”
Impossible.
Shock ripped through Christian. And following close on his disbelief came a wave of regret. The emotion was unexpected, and he turned away to give himself time to think.
Gabriel was the youngest of the Order’s agents, but he’d still been strong. He should have been stronger than anything he came up against.
“We need you back, Christian.”
“Tell me what happened to Gabriel.”
“We don’t know what happened to him. He went out on a call last Friday night—a typical minor demon sighting—and vanished. He never called in. Nothing.”
“So how do you know he’s dead?”
“What else could it be? We haven’t heard from him in five days. Besides, Ella confirmed it. You know she’s never been wrong.”
A ripple of distaste ran through him at the mention of the Order’s tame witch. Ella had long ago given herself over to the dark practices, but she was powerful, so the Order protected her.
“She also believes something big is coming,” Piers said.
“Another war?”
“She couldn’t say. But there’s more. It was Ella who told us to come to you.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed as he processed that piece of information. Not good news. “Why?”
“Again, she couldn’t say, just that you had an important part to play.”
“Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t? Does she know more?”
“I don’t think so, but you know Ella—she has her own agendas.”
“You were fools to keep her on. I told you that when you took over. You should have eliminated her after the last time.”
“She’s useful.”
“She’s evil.”
Piers smiled. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Christian pursed his lips. It was an ongoing argument between them. “Do you really believe we’re evil?”
“Good, evil, who knows? By most peoples’ standards we are. So, are you coming back? Will you help?”
“I need to think about it.”
But it was a lie—he didn’t need to think. Excitement unfurled deep inside him, rising to the surface and mingling with the hunger that already stirred in his blood. He knew he’d go back.
Piers grinned. “You’ll be back. Just don’t take too long.” He got up, nodded, and left the room.
Christian sank into the chair behind his desk and rested his head on the back of the seat, staring into space. So few emotions touched him now, but he recognized sadness. Gabriel had been one of his, the last of his offspring.
Christian had left The Order after the last demon war, sickened by the carnage, but also aware of the darkness rising within himself, of the part of him that reveled in the slaughter, that loved to slake his hunger with demon blood.
So he’d stepped down, pursued a different life, a life among humans.
Now Gabriel was dead, and Christian would have his revenge. He’d hunt down whatever had taken Gabe, kill them, and drain their blood. It was a long time since he’d feasted on immortal blood. Humans were fine, but nothing beat the blood of a demon.
His hunger rose. The office suddenly seemed like a cage. He needed to get out into the night.
Graham glanced up as he entered the outer office. “You have a finance meeting in half an hour,” he said as Christian paused by the desk.
“Cancel it.”
“Where are you going?”
Christian smiled, with a small flash of fang. “I’m going hunting.”
Chapter Two
Rule Number Two: Never drink alcohol.
So what was next?
Tara touched the chain she always wore around her neck, rubbing her fingers over the familiar heart-shaped crystal. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for Rule Number Three yet, but she was meeting Jamie and Chloe at a bar, and planned to have a damned good go at Number Two.
The bar was a trendy place done up like an old-fashioned pub, with wood paneling and horse brasses hanging on the walls. It was popular with the after-work crowd and the steady hum of voices met her as she pushed open the door. It took her a moment to locate her friends in the dim light. They were arguing about something but shut up as she approached. They both smiled brightly.
Tara frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Great,” Chloe said. “And I love your hair.”
“You really think it’s all right?” Tara ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. She’d gone out that morning with it down to her waist. Now it was cut off blunt, level with her shoulders.
“It’s gorgeous. That long fringe is very sexy, makes your eyes look enormous.”
Chloe and Jamie were new friends; Tara didn’t have any old ones. She had literally bumped into Jamie on her first day in the cit
y. Nothing in her life had prepared her for London, and Jamie had helped her from the start. After six months, it was as if she’d known him all her life.
Chloe lived in the apartment below Tara.
“Jamie was just telling me that I’m a bad influence,” Chloe said. “That you’re a nice girl, and I shouldn’t try to change that.”
Tara took off her coat and perched herself on the red leather stool opposite. “I don’t want to be a nice girl.”
“Hah!” Chloe grinned. “I told you so.”
Jamie frowned at her. “She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s obviously still in shock from her aunt’s death.” He stood up. “I’ll go get you a drink. You want a coke?”
“No. I’ll have a…” She didn’t know what to have. Chloe was drinking a pint of something dark and not particularly appetizing.
“Guinness,” Chloe supplied.
“You do not want to drink Guinness,” Jamie said.
“I’m determined to break Rule Number Two tonight. So accept that, or sit down, and I’ll get my own drink.”
“Rule Number Two?” Chloe asked.
“My aunt had all these stupid rules. Rule Number Two was never drink alcohol.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “You mean you’ve never had a drink? Not ever?”
Tara shook her head.
Chloe regarded Tara curiously. “Your aunt sounds like she was crazy. Why did you stay so long?”
“I’d planned to go to college when I was eighteen. But Aunt Kathy got ill, and I couldn’t leave her. I was all she had and, rules or not, I loved her.”
Still, it had given Tara insight on how love could be used against someone, and she never wanted anyone to have that sort of power over her again. An unexpected vision of Christian Roth flashed through her mind, and a wave of heat washed over her.
“What are you thinking?” Chloe asked. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”
“Nothing. You know, I think I’ll have a glass of white wine.”
Jamie didn’t appear happy about it, but he went off to the bar without any more argument.
