by Michele Hauf
He tugged open the fridge and bent to inspect. “Strawberries and tofu?”
Faeries were big into the organic and natural stuff. But seriously? What was tofu? It didn’t resemble anything natural he had seen, unless it was something he'd peeled off the bottom of his boot after a hike through the woods.
The sudden snap of pain across his back plunged Rev forward. He caught himself against the top of the fridge. Reaching inside his coat, he palmed the SIG Sauer he carried, loaded with silver bullets, and swung about. Arm out straight, he aimed at the offender’s head.
A broom handle rallied for another fierce strike. “Who the hell are you? And what the bloody stones are you doing in my home?”
Angling the pistol so the barrel did not block view of his attacker's face, Rev choked back a swallow. “Sabrina?” Sight of her averted his attention from his tense muscles to the sudden tightness in his heart.
Broom handle swinging for another strike, she lifted it high. It was enough to grant her view of his face. “Rev? What are you doing in my fridge?”
“Certainly not eating the tofu.” He dropped the gun to his side and put up a palm. “Put the weapon down, please. We need to talk.”
“Talk? You broke into my home.” She swung the broom handle around, tipping his chin up. “How did you find me? Why did you find me?”
“You look great, Bree.” He lifted his hands near his shoulders to show compliance. “I’m not here to harm you. Gun’s put on safety. I just want to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about. What happened was half a year ago. I don’t think about you much— I thought we were even?”
“We were. We are. You saved my life, I saved yours.”
“Right, so that means you’ll be leaving, and I’ll be shopping for a new door.”
“I’ll pay for a replacement.”
No longer patient, he gripped the broom handle and wrenched it from Bree’s grip. He tossed it over the counter to land on the floor with a clatter. She backed against the counter. Those wide violet eyes looked as fearful as they had in the warehouse months earlier. And just as enticing.
Often, when floating in an ichor haze, he'd fallen into her arms. Soft, sexy, and smelling like a meadow, she'd always catch him, and kiss him, and that word she'd muttered, intended, repeated over and over. He could never stop guessing what it had meant. Intended for what? For her? Him?
“You’ve been informing on the wolves,” he said. “I’ve taken over Fernando Degas’s case. You’ll be working with me now.”
“I don’t work for anyone. And I told Degas I hadn’t more info to give.” She lifted her chin. Wary. “Put the gun on the counter where I can see it.”
“No. A man never leaves his weapon out in the open for anyone to claim. Listen, Bree, this is important. I know the wolves must have got to you. If they’ve threatened you in any way—"
“That’s not it.” She swung out of the kitchen and paced to the center of the flat. “Just leave, Rev. It’s not good you’re here. With me.” She turned to him, a delicate brow lifting. “Is it?”
He sensed the worry in her tone, and knew what she was thinking. The last time they’d seen one another, she had allowed him to drink her ichor. She'd been worried he'd become addicted—for good reason.
“I’m clean, Bree.” He cautiously approached. “No longer a dust freak.”
“But you were?” She stepped away, arms wrapping protectively across her chest. “After we parted?”
He didn’t want to get into this. Talking about it dredged the dark emotions and desperation to the surface.
“You want to know something?” He dared to broach the distance between them. She smelled as he had dreamed, as sweet as a sun-drenched meadow. What he wouldn’t give to stand in a meadow under full sunlight now. The UV sickness had made his eyes ultra-sensitive to sun. “Not a day has passed since that night that I haven’t thought about you.”
Her inhale cautioned him. Rev did not touch her. He wanted to. To reignite the sensation of tenderness contact with her had given him.
“I’ve thought of you, too,” she said in the softest tone.
“You have?”
“Just wondering if you were okay. You know.” She rubbed an arm nervously. “You are okay? You look much better. Not…”
“Crazed?”
“Healthier. Calm. Still…so handsome. Oh, I think you should go. Please. I can’t do this. Not right now. You’re the last person I expected to see again. Much as I wanted to see you…”
She was distraught. He’d get nowhere by forcing information from her. And since he did know her, and had a sort of connection to her, Rev decided he would play this one carefully, gain back her trust, to finally get the information he needed.
“Can we get together?” he tossed out to test her resistance. “Tomorrow night. Just to chat. I won’t bring up business. I want to get to know you better. To talk to the woman who has been on my mind for half a year.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Still thinking she might enchant him against his will. Which she could do—but only if he dropped his guard and tasted her ichor. “Very wise. Just friends, yes? How about Shadows down the street?”
“The restaurant on top of the building?”
“Yes, dinner under the moonlight. Safest place to be when the werewolves are out prowling the countryside, far from the busyness of the city.”
She shrugged. “I could do that. Tomorrow night.” She extended a hand. “Just friends.”
Rev stared at her waiting hand. A peace offering between two who must never again touch. A first hello, how do you do, between two who had already shared so much. And a deadly invitation to a brush with enchantment he could no longer risk.
“Tomorrow,” he said, and shoved his hand in a pocket to avoid further contact.
Chapter Four
Sabrina skipped up the stairs to the rooftop of Shadows. Club music from the dance floor on the lower level thumped in her veins, yet despite an innate urge to groove, she had no desire to dance. Her thoughts were erratic. Cautious.
Rev hadn’t shaken her hand last evening. That meant he was leery.
A vampire couldn’t become enchanted—and thus addicted—to faery dust unless he actually drank the faery’s ichor. Merely touching the faery, which sometimes resulted in rubbing faery dust onto the skin, would do little harm.
Yet if a dust freak were to get dust on his skin it would be like mainlining ichor directly through his pores. A small high, but a high all the same.
Was Rev in denial about his addiction? Why would he risk approaching her if he were? The dude had to be some kind of devoted to his job to do so. Unless he was merely angling for a means to get close to her—and her ichor—by using the job as a front.
Bree discarded the notion. Though she barely knew Rev, she trusted him. He could have killed her at the warehouse, or taken her with him and enslaved her for the dust. He had been honorable at a moment when he had struggled to stay sane.
Besides, he was her Intended. She'd confirmed with her aunt in Faery the sudden pulsing in her heart and being unable to control her wings unfurling. Her sidhe soul had recognized her destined mate.
The universe was definitely playing a joke on her. Try as she might, she'd not been able to come up with a time when she'd put out negative karma, and thus, deserved the karmic backhand of a vampire as her Intended.
But it didn't pay to lament the issue. Now she had to figure if it was worth pursuing. To win her mate, they must bond sexually. But how to do that when her dust drove him mad? And did she really want to bond with a vampire?
She couldn’t deny he was one sexy vampire. The hurt glossing Rev's dark eyes had been more attractive than warning. And what a sensual mouth. If she didn’t recall his lips sucking at her vein, she could entirely go there with the fantasy of kissing him. Besides, fangs didn’t bother her. They were an added thrill when making out.
Rev had already claimed a table near the roof
top corner. The view was spectacular, looking across the west side of St. Paul and Lake Harriet. Stars pinpricked the sky and a dazzling moon stamped the black sky.
As she approached, Bree extended a hand to Rev, but slid it down her hip before he could consider the offer. She wouldn’t force him to make contact. That would be cruel.
“I took the liberty of ordering mead,” he said. “I know it's all the rage with your kind.”
“It is.” She sipped the sweet drink a few in-the-know local restaurants stocked for their paranormal clientele. “This stuff is awesome. You try it?”
“Not bad.” He tilted his goblet to hers. “You look gorgeous, Bree.”
She smoothed a hand over her short green dress, the floaty silk kissing her bare skin sensuously. Everything she owned was risqué due to her former profession as a stripper, and her love for fun and sexy. But she'd vacillated tonight before leaving her apartment: to show some skin, or run out and buy a jacket that covered everything?
“I’m glad you came. Wasn’t sure you would.”
“Let’s skip the small talk and get straight to confession time,” Bree dared. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the vampire who, even in his weakest and most dire time, was kind and honorable toward me. You’ve been on my mind.”
Though she wouldn't bring up the part about him being her Intended. Wasn't necessary when they both knew so little about one another.
“As you’ve been in my thoughts.”
She set the goblet on the table and leaned forward. “Why are we really here, Rev? Please be truthful. Are you looking for a hit?”
He gripped her hand so quickly she knocked the silverware in a clatter. “No.” Then, realizing he’d touched her, he retracted and she noticed he slyly wiped his hand along his pants leg. “Sorry. I’m not an addict, Bree. Trust me.”
“But you said you were?”
He rolled his head on his neck, easing at the tension she could sense without looking for it. His aura reeked of unease. She wanted everything to be right for him because her heart ached to see him like this.
So long as her wings stayed concealed tonight, she felt safe. Them popping out in the warehouse had been a visceral reaction to seeing her Intended for the first time.
“Truth?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He touched her hands, and she turned them upward to clasp within his. It always surprised her vampires were warm and not cold. They weren’t dead, but popular literature tended to distort the truth. “Yes, I can touch you,” he said to her wondering gaze. “But not for too long.”
He lifted her hands and kissed the backs of them. The second kiss he lingered at, and Bree wondered how safe she really was. Rather, how safe he was. She did not fear the desire he aroused in her. Goddess, but she craved intimacy from him.
“I was a dust freak for three months,” he said, setting her hands on the table. "The moment after I left you following our escape I began the search for dust. I succumbed immediately and fell hard and deep.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “I never believed it could happen so quickly or be so devastating. I secluded myself from the world, alone with a constant supply of dust.”
“Live?”
The addict could obtain the dust directly from the vein, via ichor, or from dust dealers, who extracted faery ichor—usually without the faery’s permission—and sold it like crack cocaine in small vials to either be snorted or injected.
“Both,” he said. “Though initially I preferred live for the skin on skin contact. Enhances the high. Eventually it didn’t matter. I just needed the fix.” He looked aside, his gaze fleeing hers. “I didn’t come here to confess like that. I don’t know why I just did.”
“Maybe you feel a connection to me. Thank you.” She reached across the table, but he did not move toward her. “For the truth. I needed that. But you’re clean now?”
“For three months. But it is a daily battle to stay sober. I never expected the informant would be you. If I had known…”
“Would you have turned down the assignment?”
“No. I wanted to see you again, Bree. Those eyes of yours. So trusting. And yes, I do feel a connection to you, though it baffles me why I should from one bite. I needed to know you were all right.”
“I’m fine. A little bite never hurt me.”
Dinner was served and Bree picked at her fruit plate. She was more fascinated with Rev and he answered her questions freely while he ignored the salad he’d ordered for show.
Revin Parker had been vampire for only twenty years, which made him a youngster amongst his breed. He’d been a science teacher at a Minneapolis school for two years when he’d been bitten and forced to alter his mortal dreams and desires. Now he was a member of tribe Nava, unbaptized and not fearful of holy objects, yet he did have a healthy respect for faery dust. He could fall into enchantment in an instant.
The best thing for him would be to walk away from her and never look back. But the unasked question—he’d been true to his word about not discussing work—remained: he needed her to track the blood sport warehouses.
And she needed him in ways she'd yet to comprehend.
Rev had mentioned he and Fernando Degas were friends. She should really warn him about the guy. And yet, Degas's duplicitous truth presented an even bigger risk to Rev's habit. She'd keep that information tucked close until she was sure what to do with it.
“A science teacher, eh?”
He nodded and smiled proudly. “I loved watching young minds muddle over scientific formulas and puzzles. I taught in a small town, but moved to the Twin Cities after I was transformed. Too many people know me in my hometown. I'm not keen on hiding what I’ve become. Too much work. If you adjust to the world as a vampire, the world walks along beside you, never aware of what you really are, and I'm better for it.”
“I can imagine what your classroom was like. All the girls jockeying for the front desks so they could swoon over Mr. Parker.”
If vampires could blush, Rev did. Bree guessed it was probably the neon club lights across the street falling over his face. The divot above his upper lip was firm and deep and she wanted to touch it. Play with his lips. Maybe even kiss him.
“And you?”
She startled from her admiration of his mouth. His smirk indicated he realized she had gotten lost.
“You mean what do I do?” she asked.
“Yes, that is, when you’re not informing on the werewolves.”
“You have to know I’ve always been on good terms with the wolves. At least until, well…”
“Until they kidnapped you and tried to feed you to a hungry vampire?”
“Yeah. Changes things, you know? I quit my job after that. Rearranged my priorities. I used to dance strip at the Goddess.”
That got a lifted brow. Bree liked that she could throw the vampire off his game a bit.
“We faeries are very comfortable with nudity."
"That I do know."
Of course he did. But had all that nudity appealed to him as a lusty man when he'd been in an ichor haze? Probably not. She hoped it hadn't attracted him.
"I like dancing. It worked for me at the time. But since reflecting on the reasons I initially decided to live in the mortal realm, I realized I've been off course. Lately I’ve been working on a new business venture. It’s all about recycling, and home delivery and pickup. I’m calling it Zen Sidhe.”
“So it’s like you then?”
She smiled. “My girlfriend Blu calls me Zen sidhe because I’m always calm in the face of a storm.”
“Or when faced down by an angry, hungry vampire.”
“We got through it together.”
He took her hand and kissed it again. “We did.”
After the bill was paid, Rev offered to walk her home. Bree lived four blocks away and had never felt scared to walk home alone at night. She accepted his offer because walking away from Rev would never again be easy.
She invited him inside her flat, and Rev crossed the threshold without reluctance. How he had initially gotten into her home puzzled him now. Vampires did need the proverbial invitation to enter private places. Standing in this woman’s atmosphere was too much to bear. The presence of her, her very being surrounded him, brushing his skin and whispering at his ears.
He could not take his eyes from Bree’s face. Her wide bright eyes saw all of him—good, bad and ugly. Her full mouth was so expressive when she smiled or smirked or gasped in surprise. He wondered about touching her thick lower lip with his tongue, tracing, testing. Falling into enchantment.
Gorgeous white hair flowed like the sea across her shoulders and down her narrow back. It was unnatural, beyond the mortal realm, and made him wonder how easily she could blend in with humans. But then he knew humans accepted all guises and costume and never really knew when a paranormal passed in their presence.
“I’ve chamomile tea,” she offered.
“No alcohol?”
“I’m not into the hard stuff.”
That ruled out him. Because he was getting hard. Every sniff of her essence, every wonder over her sensual anatomy sent his blood rushing south. And what was wrong with that besides everything?
Danger, Rev, don’t forget that.
But he could touch her; he’d done so in the restaurant without developing the urge to bite her. Hell, he could even kiss her. He had to actually drink her ichor to get a high. Or imbibe in large amounts of dust through skin contact.
Should have worn gloves, tonight, buddy.
“What are you thinking about?” She leaned against the counter, the angle of her hips thrusting her breasts high, and a tilt of her head sweeping her hair across those tempting hard nipples.
“Kissing you,” he offered easily. “I never got to kiss you in the warehouse.”
“You think intimate contact is wise?”
He closed their distance, putting a hand to either side of her on the counter. By some monumental feat, he did not touch her. Yet.
“I wish you’d leave the struggle between wisdom and futility to someone else, Bree. Are you afraid of me?”
