by Tes Hilaire
He felt the beast rising, growling at the threat that the man who housed it had perceived. And then a hand landed on his shoulder and the beast was gone. No not just gone, fatigue had stolen it away.
“You need to calm down. Easy now,” Mr. Hasting said. The words may have been worded as advice, but the tone, along with the overwhelming drowsiness, was nothing short of an attack.
Mike lashed out, intent to break Hastings’ hold. He was not going to go down without a fight. Only he did, the squeeze of the man’s arms around him, the lulling repeat of the words, easy now, that seemed to steal his energy from his very pores.
His body went lax, his mind drifting toward oblivion. His last thought was for his little Minx, hidden in the shadows.
He’d led her to this. Him and his damn need to ease some stupid sense of guilt for something that couldn’t be changed.
Run, Kat. Run.
***
Kat’s lungs burned like they were being consumed by the fires of hell. Still she pushed herself, refusing to focus on the cramping of her muscles or the fact that the air had become as painful to draw in as the fires of hell would be. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let them find her. However impossible it was, that woman had been a Paladin. And the man behind her? That was Logan Calhoun. One of the most powerful Paladin to ever live. She was sure of it. The descriptions could place him as no other.
She ran because she had to. Maybe Mike wouldn’t have killed a half-succubus like her without a trial. Being raised without the sort of prejudice disguised as purpose that the other Paladin had might stay his hand when he found out what she was…and who she’d once slept with. But the others?
Should have run before.
She could have, too. Mike had been distracted. Twice, at least, she could have slipped away yet hadn’t, instead watching those opportunities slip by as her gut had wound tighter and tighter. Perhaps she didn’t escape because she had no idea what she might do if she did. She’d put all her eggs in one basket, and they’d all gone humpty dumpty on her. She was in the same place she’d been before meeting Mike, now only worse, because Mike would tell the Paladin about her, they’d put two and two together, and she’d have another enemy snapping at her heels.
Katrina dashed away a tear. Crap, what was she crying about? She didn’t need him. Yeah, it would have been nice to have the help, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to being on her own. Used to fending for herself. Why she’d allowed herself to believe that she could count on anyone but herself was beyond her.
Because when he kissed you, for a moment, you felt like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Impossible. Lies. Wasn’t that the very sort of falsehood her own kind spun when they lay their seductive web? Wasn’t that exactly what she had been trying to do to him?
Maybe at first. But after?
She rubbed her chest, trying to drive away the ache that wanted to settle beneath her sternum. Seducer, seducee. It didn’t really matter. There was no avoiding the fact that they were sworn enemies. She’d been raised on stories of what Paladin did to her kind and death was not the worst of it.
Which is why she had to get out of this end of town. And fast. Mia was counting on her to live.
I’m coming for you, Mia baby.
With that thought fortifying her resolve, she stepped out to the curb on Broadway. It was still early, but this time luck was with her in the form of an unoccupied cab. It was also off duty but… She lifted her arm, making sure to angle her hips just so and… gotcha.
The cab pulled over, the window powering down. She smiled, putting the best sway into her hip as she walked up to dented yellow cab. She might not have a plan. Might not have anything more than the clothes on her back now that she didn’t dare go home, but she’d get by. She’d do what she had to do. Always did.
Chapter Seven
Mike woke slowly from the fog. First awake was his most heightened senses. The scent of musk, sweat, and burning wood, the warm tickle of air upon his exposed face, the heavy feel of a blanket pinning the rest of him down. The beast itched at that thought, but he forced it to remain still and access the situation before opening his eyes and announcing his return to consciousness. That’s right, he’d lost consciousness. The question was how?
God, please tell me it hasn’t happened again.
He drove the thought away. It didn’t fit. Sure the loss of memory part did, but he was too tired, too sore. Nor did he smell any blood.
Always a good sign.
The one and only.
For something else had happened.
He blew out a long breath, pulled another one in on a long inhalation. That’s right. He’d been at the Cloisters, he’d told Katrina to wait behind. He’d moved out into the colonnade surrounding the courtyard and then…then…then what?
“He’s strong. Whatever his powers are they are strong.” A voice, male, broke the silence, pushing Mike’s concerns for the then aside and bringing the now to the forefront. He knew that voice.
“Seems like there are a lot of abilities that we shouldn’t be seeing cropping up in the general public.” Yup. Recognized that one, too.
“Any progress with that?” The first voice. Hastings. That was who that voice belonged to. The lawyer who’d gotten Roland off. The man who was all chummy, chummy with one Mr. Logan Calhoun.
A sigh. A pause.
Hasting spoke again. “You are going to have to do something about that.”
“What? Short of taking the lot of them and knocking all their heads together, I can’t snap my fingers and get rid of the shitload of stubborn that has infected them all.” And that was definitely Logan. Bastard. Mike was going to kill him. As soon as he had the energy to stand up.
“You could call for a vote. The majority would support you.”
“I am not ousting my father.” And okay, this conversation was getting interesting. Mike waited, trying to piece together what had been said before as the pause elongated. Something about abilities cropping up in the general public. Abilities like his perhaps? People being stubborn. Who wasn’t? And then a vote. A vote for what though? And by whom?
“It’s time, Logan,” Hastings said. “Our survival may very well depend on your bravery in this.”
“Damn it.” Sound of something striking the wall. “Goddamn it.”
“Logan,” another voice interrupted the tirade, this one soft, and sounding so much like someone he used to know.
“I’m sorry. I can’t…” Logan’s voice cracked, followed by a deep inhalation of breath. “He’s my father.”
Another voice spoke up. Another man. “Jeez. We’re not asking you to kill him. Just make him step down.”
“You think that won’t kill him? This, us, it’s what he lives for. His mate is dead. The order is all he has left. You take that away from him and you might as well hand him a gun and help him cock it because someone is going to die.”
“Then you better get better at manipulating the rest of the elders. He’ll cave to the majority if the other council members support them.” This from the other man again.
Mike took a risk, cracking his lids. He lay on a cot in a dim room, old lath and plaster, smoke stained ceiling, timber beams, and a cozy fire crackling in the hearth on the wall perpendicular to the one his cot was bunted up against. In the middle of the room sat an ancient scarred, yet stable, table, three men and one woman sitting around it. On the far side sat Hastings and the stranger. This side, with their backs to him, was the man who fitted what he remembered of Logan and the woman he’d heard, her hand linked with the chestnut haired bastard beside her.
Slowly, so as not to make any noise or catch their attention with a sudden movement, Mike twisted his head to the side. The woman…something about the tumble of dark curls, the curve of her bicep peeking out from her workout tee.
Holy fuck, Jessica. The missing part of his memories slammed into him. The courtyard. Jessica had been there, or something that resembled Jessic
a. And Logan, and Hastings… both of whom sat at that table now, along with the other man, this one not as tall as the two others, but definitely as much of a fighter if his chiseled muscles and hardened features said anything. He hadn’t heard him speak, but he’d been there. He’d seen him out of the corner of his eyes as Hasting had done something that had drained the strength right out of him, knocking him unconscious.
Some sort of drug? He hadn’t felt a prick, but really, could there be another explanation?
Hmm, Mike, maybe those Marvel Comic superhero tricks?
Hastings raised his head, his gaze traveling over Jessica’s shoulder towards the cot where Mike lay. Mike quickly closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was asleep still. He knew it was too late, but damn if he didn’t try.
“Welcome to the world of the waking, Detective,” Hastings said.
A chair scrapped back, a padding of soft feet. “Mike?”
Mike cracked his eyes back open, sucking in a breath as he took in the woman standing before him.
Fuck if that still didn’t look like Jessica.
“How?” he asked. The only thing he could do. Fighting obviously didn’t work. Not when they had some sort of weapon that could knock him out so efficiently.
Jessica looked back over her shoulder, her eyes connecting with Logan’s. Mike ground his teeth, anger pulsing through him. This must be some kind of fucked up nightmare that his partner would look at the man who killed her like that. His anger must have short circuited his sense of self-preservation because he found himself airing the thought.
“Don’t fucking look at him that way. He killed you, remember?”
“What? Mike, no.” She did that little shake of the hand thing she did when she blew off a bad theory. “I know it seems impossible. I know how you feel. Trust me, I know.” She chuckled, more of a scoff of her own disbelief than anything. “But it’s me. I really am alive, see?”
She knelt down, reached out and took his hand, pulling it up to her chest. And sure enough, there was a heartbeat there. Only that was fucking impossible. Either that or this Jessica was an imposter.
He pulled his hand away, planting it and its pair on the sides of the cot. If he was going to face this falsehood, he was going to do so from some position other than his back. But damn he was weak. He managed though. And okay, he might not have remained upright if Hasting hadn’t moved in, grabbing his upper arm when he threatened to list to the side. He didn’t even growl at the giant when he did so. At least not much. All his anger was focused on the woman who wore the skin of his former partner.
“Six months. I buried my partner six months ago.” He spat the word partner, letting her know he didn’t believe her to be that person. “If it was all some sort of hoax, then why the hell didn’t you contact me sooner? Or better yet, why didn’t you include me in the planning so I’d know when I buried you that it wasn’t my fucking fault.”
Her eyes narrowed, her sympathy flash evaporated by irritation. Damn, just like his Jessica. “Your fault? Wow. Do all the men I know have inflated egos?”
“Hey, count me out of your generalizations, would ya? I just met you.” This from the fourth man.
Jessica closed her eyes, shaking her head as if she was searching for patience. And wasn’t that just another Jessica move. Whoever or whatever had studied her demeanors must have been watching and practicing for a long time. “Alex, why don’t you and Warren give us a minute.”
Mike watched as Alex looked to Logan for confirmation. It wasn’t until Calhoun nodded that Alex jerked his head at the fourth man, Warren, and they both left the room. Yup, asshole Calhoun definitely had some status in this little cult.
“Want to move to the table?” This came from Logan.
Mike shifted his gaze to the man, noting the tension in his crossed arms. Despite the considerate offer, he looked like he wanted to leap across the room and take Mike out. Well didn’t that make two of them?
“That would be good.” He smiled back at the man. Yup. He could pretend at nice, too. He tried to push up, kinda fucking failed. But then two sets of hands were wrapping around his upper arms helping him up.
And wasn’t this just cozy. The cop tucked up like an invalid between the imposter of his old partner and the man who’d killed her.
He grit his teeth, his legs getting steadier with each step they made towards the table. By the time they’d reached the hefty oak he’d even shucked the assistance from the cop-killing bastard and his con-artist girlfriend and managed to make a somewhat graceful plop into the chair all on his own.
“Okay, talk,” he said, as soon as the pretty pair had seated themselves across the scarred and scratched surface. “You can start with what the hell Hasting did to knock me out.”
Mike honestly didn’t expect either to just give him the information. He expected hedging and evasions and long curving story roads that would all lead to the ultimate con, so it was a bit of a shock when Logan leaned forward, leveling his gaze as he answered simply and, fuck, if his instincts didn’t say honestly.
“Alex can measure a person’s power. Better yet, he can siphon that power off. You were getting a little excited in that courtyard, your energy boiling over, he felt it prudent to, uh, contain you before you could do whatever it is you do.”
“Contain me. You call knocking me out so cold that I can still barely fucking walk containment?”
Logan shrugged. “It seemed better than bloodshed.”
And okay, it was hard to argue with that. Who knew what the fuck his beast would have done if it had managed to break free.
Uh, the alley ring a bell, Mikey?
Crap. Hell. And sugar honey and iced tea. They were right. Not that he was going to thank them for that.
And okay. Moving on. Next question. He turned his gaze to the woman. “Wouldn’t this be better without the bastard here?”
Imposter Jessica’s mouth thinned, her eyes narrowing. “Logan stays.”
“Why? From your own admittance, this man was messing with your emotions. So much so you took yourself off the case, remember?”
Her lips thinned further, but she nodded. “I didn’t understand then—”
Mike cut her off. “What’s to understand? He shows up. Fucks you up. Then you’re attacked. Afterward he returns to the scene of the crime, acting like a friggen stalker. Then there was that damn note and he takes off and then you… well you…”
“Died.”
The silence stretched. Mike shook his head. Did she just confirm that she’d actually died? “So… am I’m hallucinating now or dreaming?”
“Logan is my mate. I did not understand that then. I couldn’t understand why I was inexplicably drawn to him. I didn’t realize until too late what that meant.”
“And what does it mean?”
“We are bound. Heart, body and soul.”
His hands fisted. He forced himself to take ten deep breaths. Totally surreal.
Jessica reached across the table and grabbed Mike’s hands. Mike couldn’t help but notice how Logan’s eyes narrow, though he managed to bite his tongue and not say anything.
“Mike. I know this is hard for you. I get it, trust me. But you actually have an advantage I didn’t have.”
“An advantage?”
She nodded. “I was human. One hundred percent. You aren’t. You have Paladin blood running through your veins. Alex, Roland, and Logan have all said that you were able to sense them somehow.”
Mike’s head jerked back. Roland, the man who’d gotten off Scott free after killing Thomas Rhodes. Not that Rhodes hadn’t deserved it but… “Christ, you’re telling me that asshole Roland is one of these Paladin, too?”
“Trust me, he fits right in.” Her lips quirked up, her eyes sparkling fondly. For a fucking killer.
Mike pulled back, his hand slipping from hers as he studied her. The more he looked at her, the more he realized that she did not look exactly like his Jessica. This woman was both softer and harder at the same time
. She didn’t feel the need for the bravado that his old partner had, yet she carried with her the same sense of competence without the lack of confidence that had occasionally plagued his partner.
He tapped the table, evaluating his options. Not many.
You catch more flies with honey. Or in this case, camaraderie. “Okay, let’s say I was to buy all this. That you were human and that your matey here bonded on you or whatever you called it, but you panicked, and somehow that led to you dying…”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, but I guess that’s the general gist.”
“Then how are you here now?”
He didn’t miss the sidelong look she gave Logan. Didn’t miss the itch that bloomed on his neck. They’re doing something… talking? Or just that much in tune with one another’s thoughts.
Logan’s jaw flexed, but he nodded his head. She twisted in in her chair, Logan pulling her hair over her shoulder as she pulled up her t-shirt.
And, okay, WTF? Was this some sort of funky, seductive, peep show?
Only… his gaze immediately caught on the silvery lines that fed under her sports bra to bisect each shoulder blade. Two perfectly symmetrical lines that almost appeared to glow from beneath the skin. His fingers itched, compelling him to touch them. Before he knew what he was doing he’d leaned forward over the table to trace one of the scars. It shimmered under his touch, his fingers tingling as they traced the raised welts.
“What the hell are those?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes all but shimmering with the same sort of light. “Scars. Wings aren’t exactly commonplace down here. And He wants his warriors to blend in.”
“Whoa…” He jerked his hand away, shaking his head as he plopped back down in his chair. “You’re telling me you’re a fallen angel?”
She laughed, the sound silvery, reminding him of chorale bells. “No, not fallen. I volunteered. Had to. I couldn’t take much more of this one’s moping.”
