by Various
She often used similar materials to cotton or silk when she fashioned serviceable undergarments for the Warriors. For the women, especially the wives, she used even silkier, decadent fabrics—no human material could compare. It was a hobby of hers, making clothes, and one she enjoyed. She also made sexual toys in her spare time for any Shikar who wanted them, and was well loved for her unique, stimulating designs.
These things she did for fun, for relaxation.
When the time came for seriousness, for business instead of pleasure, she was a Voyeur. It was her greatest pride and her deepest secret. No one in their world of Shikars knew about the Voyeurs—a tongue-in-cheek, but appropriate sobriquet provided by the impish Steffy, another human turned Shikar. No one, that is, except for 143
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the Council and the other Shikar women who comprised the team of a dozen or so members.
Watchers or Voyeurs, whatever their group was called, it didn’t matter. They were information gatherers for the Shikar Council. Spies, to put it bluntly. They kept their eyes on the human world, looking for any sign of Daemon activity so that the Warriors could go into battle on the surface with plenty of warning about the terrain and native people they might encounter.
Where it was the Shikar males’ duty to protect the human world from the Daemon threat, it was in turn the Shikar females’ duty to protect their men from the human world and its pitfalls. If there was a dip in the terrain, a stone, or a building, the Voyeurs noted it and reported it to the Council. The Council saw to it that the men received all the pertinent information. It had been this way for many years, ever since the Daemon Horde had first begun to invade the human world.
Agate was fascinated with humans. She tried not to let it show, she really did, but it was an impossible task. She was enthusiastic to a fault about the things that interested her. Steffy called her “bubbly”.
Agate thought that sounded too much like soap, and while she liked the scent of soap, she didn’t like her personality to be compared to it.
Speaking of the devil…
“I found some dressy shoes that should go with that outfit,” Steffy said, breezing into the room.
Her hair was purple today. “Where did you get these?” Agate asked, holding the smart suit aloft, knowing that they hadn’t procured the garments from the surface world. There hadn’t been time. The email had only arrived the day before.
“Believe it or not, I unearthed them from one of my trunks,” Steffy said, handing over the cute, black half-boots with their dainty heels.
Agate loved all human shoes! She almost snatched them, so eager was she to try them on.
“Along with these,” Steffy waved a beige, diaphanous swatch of material wadded in her hands.
Agate knew that Steffy had over twenty trunks full of clothing—the former human and German DJ was obsessed with clothes. Agate had seen them herself when Steffy first moved in with her mate, Cinder. No one needed that many clothes, but Steffy had been emphatic that she keep each and every scrap of cloth.
“You never know when you might need a pair of vinyl pants,” she’d said with much asperity when Cinder had threatened to burn half her trunks just to avoid having to transport them from her apartment.
And Steffy was right. At least in this instance, it seemed.
“I didn’t know you had normal clothes,” Cady raised an eyebrow dubiously. “I thought everything you owned was either skintight or black and shiny.”
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“Ha, ha.” Steffy stuck her tongue out at Cady and the three women laughed at her comical, childish expression. “Actually, these are really old. I hope the styles aren’t outdated. I wore these when I applied for a job as a bank teller once. That was at least three years ago. Damn,” she mused. “Maybe I should go through those trunks after all.
It’s been ages since I saw what I had stashed away in them.” She shrugged, letting the subject drop as quickly as she’d brought it up. “So, what’s the plan?”
Agate grinned and started to disrobe, uncaring that she had an audience. “I am to finish my toilette, dress in these clothes that you have brought me, and go to find Grimm.”
“I still don’t like to involve Grimm,” Cady pursed her lips. “I like to keep the Voyeurs business between us girls.”
“Well I cannot Travel both ways. I am just not powerful enough. I have only enough strength to go one way, and I think it would be better if I got there with Grimm’s help, so that if I run late I can just come back on my own…”
“You won’t run late,” Cady said emphatically.
“What if she finds a cute guy up there?” Steffy quipped suggestively. “If she took a little longer than normal to strike up a conversation, maybe go back to his place for a drink…”
“She won’t,” Cady sent Steffy a stern glare, “run late.”
“Spoilsport.”
Agate ignored them, putting on her clothes, reveling in the thought of the adventure that loomed ahead of her, even as she slightly dreaded it. She wasn’t used to talking to strangers, especially human male strangers, but tonight she’d have to, at great length. “I will get Grimm to help me. And I will come back,” she eyed her two friends,
“on time. After I record Mr. Aleksandr Fromin’s story, I will ask to see all his photos and documentation. For authentication purposes, I will tell him. And then I shall take his memory of me and anything to do with the Shikars and Daemons so that he remembers nothing that might hold value to any tabloid or newspaper that might find his story of interest. Also, so that he has no bad memories or nightmares because he was unlucky enough to stumble into an aspect of our world.”
“Good. If you run into any problems—” Cady started.
“I won’t,” Agate assured her. She wasn’t a child, for all so many of her friends seemed to treat her like one most of the time. “I do what I must, for the good of Shikars and humans. For the good of Mr. Fromin, too.”
She wondered what he’d be like. She’d never spoken to a human man before.
Unless one counted the…what had Cady called him? Ah, yes. Wino. The wino Agate had spoken to a few months ago had been an interesting fellow, if a bit smelly. He had told her a fascinating story about racing horses and crooked loan sharks. He’d been most grateful when she’d handed him a wad of green paper—American money—but Cady had given her a stern lecture when Agate had told her of the encounter.
Agate hated being treated like a child.
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She was older than Cady anyway. At least fifty years older, for all they looked to be of the same age. Well, Agate had to admit that she did look a little younger than Cady—
Shikars had much longer life spans than humans after all—and she wasn’t happy about it. She wanted to look older, more mature; she thought it was sexier and more respectable.
At least she looked older than Steffy, who was quite a lot younger than either her or Cady. That was something, wasn’t it?
Her mind was wandering again. It did that a lot. Because she was what Steffy called a Gemini. Whatever that meant. Maybe it was a human illness? She hadn’t thought to ask at the time Steffy had told her the word.
“Here, put these on,” Steffy handed her the wad of beige material.
Agate smoothed it out, frowning. “This looks like nearly invisible leggings or something.”
“Pantyhose,” Cady winced. “I’m impressed, Steffy. Your wardrobe is extensive. But are you sure Agate deserves that torture?”
“Here, I’ll show you how to put them on.”
After much labor, Agate finally managed to squeeze into the horribly uncomfortable garment. She didn’t really see the need for such trappings, they were almost undetectable to the eye as they stretched over and around the length of her legs.
“Gorgeous,” Steffy said, then laughed at the uncomfortable expression on Agate’s face. “You’ll get used to them.”
“Not bloody lik
ely,” Cady muttered. “I never could.”
“Me neither,” Steffy admitted. “But it goes well with the suit doesn’t it?”
Agate didn’t think so, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to protest too much, she was afraid that her friends might change their minds about letting her do this thing. Cady already teetered towards doing so, and Agate daren’t chance pushing her further.
“Time to go,” she said breathlessly. More than a little excited now that the time to leave was upon her.
“Are you sure?” This from Steffy.
Agate nodded, smiling in what she hoped was a confident sort of way. “I am.”
“Let’s go find Grimm, then,” Cady said, and Agate was relieved to hear the acceptance in her voice.
She couldn’t wait to meet Mr. Aleksandr Fromin. Maybe he could tell her about these strange crooked shark creatures she’d heard about from the wino—after she wiped his memory clean of Daemons and Shikar and damning photographs, of course.
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Chapter One
Aleksandr—Alek—Fromin felt his stomach do a wild somersault when he first caught sight of the woman.
Her wild red hair was so bright it nearly glowed under the dim lamplight of the Paris street. Alek had never known he was a man partial to redheads—he’d certainly never been before—but he felt himself grow hard just from looking at her long, waving locks.
She was young, a college student she’d said in her emails—though how any college student could afford to fly out here and meet him on such short notice boggled his mind. He’d nearly starved during his own college years, and probably would have if not for his scholarships and grants. Her clothes were neat and smart, quite flattering on her tall, delicate frame. The navy blue messenger bag slung over her shoulder matched the clothes well. But the color, so chic and serious, did nothing to flatter her delicious golden skin.
He hardened further, his cock straining at the fastening of his jeans. Shifting to ease the pressure, he casually lowered the newspaper he’d been perusing into his lap. He didn’t read French all that well anyway.
Her emailed description of herself hadn’t done her justice. She’d mentioned the red hair, of course, and her height. And her weight, a tidbit of information that had surprised and amused him. In his experience, women did just about everything they could to avoid the mere mention of their weight.
She hadn’t said anything about how her full and round her breasts were, or how her legs seemed to stretch for miles and miles in their sheen of silken stockings. He raised his hand in greeting, eager to capture the attention of her dark brown eyes, and wasn’t at all surprised to note that even her hands were lovely, as she returned his gesture.
Agate Jones approached the small round café table where he sat and smiled brightly. “I am Agate,” she said, unnecessarily. “You are Mr. Aleksandr Fromin.”
She had a voice to make any grown man weep with lust.
“Please, call me Alek.” He offered his hand and she looked at it without taking it, frowning slightly.
“Alek,” she said, and his name sounded like thick molasses on her tongue.
A long, uncomfortable silence reigned between them. He was about to withdraw his hand when she seemed to start, shook her head almost imperceptibly, then quickly reached for his hand with her own. She shook it almost violently, smiling even wider.
“I forgot,” she said, and laughed almost giddily.
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Alek wondered if she might be a little drunk. He breathed deeply, fully expecting to catch a whiff of spirits on her breath. Instead it was he who now felt drunk—on her wonderful scent. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before, floral and sweet and spicy all at once, and he liked it very much. He shifted in his seat again. Agate was still shaking his hand and he was forced to disengage from her before she pulled his arm out of its socket. After a brief struggle—she had quite a grip—he had control of his hand again.
“You forgot what?” He prodded her, looking at her strange, ethereal beauty. He wondered what she looked like naked.
She sat down in the seat opposite him. “Nothing.”
“Would you like a coffee?” he offered, at a loss for the first time in recent memory.
He had no idea how to start this conversation with her, how to speak of this strange and unbelievable event that had brought them together. Emailing the details of his encounter to her and her group of fellow students was one thing, mentioning them aloud was quite another.
He was crazy to have come here. And this gorgeous piece of jailbait was just as crazy to have flown all the way out here from the States simply to talk to him. He’d told her to wait, that he was only on assignment here in Paris for a few days, that he would return to New York and tell her everything then. But she had insisted on meeting him, here, tonight.
It was odd. But then these past several days had been odd. This past week or so of wondering and waiting and second-guessing had his usually neat and methodical mind racing in circles of wonder and doubt and denial. His world had gone completely insane all around him.
Alek wondered dispassionately if he had gone insane too.
“Is it good?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. He couldn’t help but notice how intense her eyes were, so focused and alert. Her lashes were long as hell and dark, but tipped with reddish gold. His stiff dick noticed it too, and liked it very much.
Damn. He must be feeling the effects of all this recent stress more than he’d guessed; his libido had never been this out of control.
“I guess, if you like that sort of thing. There’s tea if you’d prefer,” he added.
“Do you like coffee?” The word sounded exotic coming from her somehow, though her accent had no inflection to give him a clue as to where she might originally be from.
And he was something of an expert on accents and the people who possessed them. “Or do you like tea?”
“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d choose the coffee. Black with no sugar.”
“Then I shall have coffee-black-with-no-sugar,” she said the words so fast they nearly hummed together.
He motioned for a passing waiter and ordered for her, eyeing her all the while. She was looking about the place with wonder and awe, drinking in every sight as if to save it for later recollection. And then he knew. Knew why she was acting so strange and so 148
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jittery. She seemed so young to him then, and he felt almost guilty for wanting her as much as he did. Well, no, he didn’t feel guilty at all. She was too damn appealing.
“You’ve never been to Paris,” he said knowingly.
Her eyes were wide on his. “Yes, I have. For a few minutes only, but I have been here.”
“Ah. You changed flights at the airport then?”
The look on her face was a study of puzzlement, consternation, and excitement. He couldn’t read her, not at all, and it unsettled him. He was very good at reading people, he had to be in his line of work as a photojournalist, but he had no idea what the hell was going on behind Agate’s wide, dark eyes.
The arrival of her cup of coffee diverted her attention then. She grabbed the cup in her long, elegant fingers and brought it to her lips. Alek gritted his teeth as he saw her lick her lips in anticipation, before taking a healthy swallow of the brew.
She sprayed the table with it as she promptly spat it back out.
“Ack, by Grimm, what is this vile drink!” She gasped violently, waving her hand before her mouth as if she might faint.
Alek winced, though her voice was beautiful even when she shouted, and watched the waiter hurry back to their table with a feeling of helplessness. Agate was still causing a lot of noise as she sloshed the cup back onto the table and coughed dramatically. Heads turned at every table to look at them.
“What is wrong, Mademoiselle?” The concerned waiter asked in English.
Agat
e surprised both Alek and the waiter when she responded in flawless French.
“This coffee drink is awful. I need some water, please. Do you have water?”
“Oui. Of course we do,” the stiff-backed server scurried off to fetch a glass.
“I think you insulted him,” Alek murmured, studying her. “Most people love French coffee, you know.”
“Do they? I must remember that. And people may love it but I do not. I hate coffee,”
she said with a look of distaste.
“You didn’t have to order it, then.” What was wrong with this strange woman?
Was she a simpleton or something? No, she couldn’t be, she was a college student at a very demanding and academic school—perhaps she was just something of a flake.
But she was a damned sexy flake. He wondered how easy it would be to get her wet and ready in his bed. And he wondered if he could get her that way tonight.
“I wanted to try it,” she sounded forlorn.
Her water arrived, and the waiter thumped it rudely onto the table so that it splashed over the rim of the glass. He was French, and he was miffed, and Alek found the stiff man’s attitude quite amusing.
Agate, apparently, did not. As the waiter turned away, huffing, she caught at his hand.
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“Please do not be insulted, sir,” she pleaded in her perfect, almost textbook French.
“I did not mean to offend. I did not know I would dislike the coffee so and I apologize.”
The man softened at once, and Alek found himself jealous. He’d have given a lot to have Agate look at him that way, her eyes pleading, soft limpid pools of brown light.
The waiter patted Agate’s hand. “Of course Mademoiselle does not like coffee. It is perhaps too strong a drink for one so delicate as you. I am not offended, please don’t apologize on my account.”
Alek rolled his eyes.
“Thank you,” she sighed then pulled away from the waiter, and reached for her water. She took a huge gulp, sighed, then took another.
She was so animated…why couldn’t he read her? It bothered him.
“Do you have your photos with you?” she asked suddenly.
