Ah, if he knew to whom he was talking. Her life was created and coded with lies on top of lies.
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re willing to switch sides and fight Edward because I said he was bad?”
“If you can prove it to me.” He waggled his eyebrows, once again the teasing rogue. “Afraid of a challenge, Alana?”
Fire sparked in her blood, the heat welcome as she raised her chin. “Fuck, no.”
He grimaced. “We really have to do something about your language.”
She made a face at him, mind turning over the idea. Her claws tapped against her thigh. “A fortnight? Won’t Edward get a bug up his butt waiting that long?”
“He’ll believe what I tell him.” Steady.
Sexy.
Damn it. But it was the truth. Another truth? It would be hard as hell to convince a man clamoring for cold evidence to believe in her.
Afraid of a challenge, Alana?
She licked her parched lips, trying to reason out what he was after. It was such a sudden switch, from bad guy to good; it stank of a double cross.
Or was he more like the Cade she remembered than she’d thought?
“Why did you become a merc?” Ana was curious despite herself. Even presented with the evidence, it was difficult to believe.
His face closed down faster than any charity that tried to open its doors in the Maze. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Ana lifted her eyebrows. “Touchy subject?”
“Do we have a bargain?”
She had personal experience with that tone, one that had lectured a fourteen-year-old about the appropriateness of flirting with footmen. Of using garden sculptures for archery practice. Of wearing pants to a banquet. He wasn’t going to budge.
Neither was she. There was more blood she could wrangle out of this stone.
Affecting a nonchalant manner, Ana swung her legs up on the bed in front of her. Crossing them at the ankle, she leaned back on her hands. “I don’t know,” she drawled.
“You don’t know what?” A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“It doesn’t seem a fair enough trade.”
“You know I’m an assassin, right?”
“Big fucking deal.”
He talked over her. “There’s a reason why. I’m death on two legs, pet. Liberty would want me if she knew what I was offering.”
I already do.
Ignoring that glimmer of truth, Ana inched up one shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m an assassin, Cade. So’s the rest of the gang.”
“What do you want, Alana?”
Too much. “What do you have?”
Silence settled between them. Eyes met in challenge, two alphas fighting for a dominance that neither would give easily. Waves of heat rose from them, shimmering in the dim room like a mirage in the desert. It had been such a long dry spell.
“All right.” Cade blinked first. “If you can convince me of these so-called experiments in one week, I’ll give you something Liberty’s sure to be searching for—but she’ll never find.”
“Ooh, I’ve got chills.” Her lip curled up in a sneer, Ana raised her eyebrows. “Liberty can find out anything she wants to. She’s everywhere, merc.”
“Can she find out how to kill Edward?”
Ana’s inner fire combusted in her belly, an explosion of heat and flames that almost drained her reserves. She sat up slowly, fingers tingling. “What?” There was a buzzing in her ears. “What?”
Cade prowled toward her. “If you can prove what you say is true in one week, I’ll tell you his secret.” A feral smile floated over his lips. “How to kill him.”
A definite buzzing.
He gave her a cocky smile. “Do we have a deal, Alana?”
Faer found his quarry in a dive down near the river, in the east quadrant. Constructed out of concrete, the old warehouse formed a wide rectangle that ran along the river’s edge, balanced precariously on paving slabs with tufts of weeds thrusting through the cracks. Its roof was flat and peppered with holes dating to the Kingdom Wars, but strong enough to support the neon sign that glimmered sin to everyone who passed on either street or riverboat. Named simply the Fall, it played host to members of any species who craved privacy, partners and enough whiskey to lose themselves for a night.
Faer rocked back on his heels, hands slung in the pockets of his plas-leather jacket. Spicy music rolled out of windows created from a blackened glass that could block a laser bolt. It beckoned him in, tempting him to lose his troubles, drink away his worry for Ana.
But Trick had sent him looking for something in particular, and it wasn’t the bottom of a glass.
Determination beat through him. Faer strode toward the double steel doors, where a bouncer stood sentry. Giving him a nod, the bouncer stepped aside as Faer drew level, pulling the heavy door open for him.
The noise blasted him, rock and electric punk pulsing through his veins, quickening his heartbeats. Sex hung in the air, the musky scent of arousal and need cloaking him as he began to shoulder his way through the pulsating crowd on the dance floor. His nostrils flared as he bumped into a curvaceous redhead who immediately began to writhe against him until his cock, eager fucker, sprang to attention.
“Sorry, love,” he gritted out, putting the human away from him. Sweat slid down his spine as she pouted pretty pink lips. “I’m taken.”
Even as she moaned her disappointment, Faer was moving on, targeting the long bar that ran from one end of the building to the other. Dozens of different glasses and bottles of alcohol were arranged on shelving made from a dark plas-wood. The shelves sat in front of four separate polished mirrors, ones allegedly able to see your future. Faer didn’t hold with witchcraft, but even he avoided his reflection as he approached the chunky steel bar.
Gesturing with his head to the man who tended bar—a dirty towel slung over one shoulder, his only clothes black combats and a waistcoat, unbuttoned—Faer leaned in so the man could hear him. “Maia,” he shouted over the beating music and deafening shouts. “She in?”
Velvet-brown pupils with an outer ring of gold flicked in the direction of the booths lining the far wall. Faer reached a hand into his pocket, sliding money out and into the incubus’s waiting grasp. With a nod, Faer muscled away from the bar, ignoring the pleas of women as they rubbed his muscles and begged to bite his lips, stroke his horns. Demon groupies. Same in every city.
The booths were a shocking white plas-leather, elevated two feet above the sticky concrete floor. Their dividing walls were painted black and rose high enough to guarantee privacy. A symbol was carved into each wall: squiggles to Faer, but evidence of witchcraft. A soundproofing spell. The booths cost an average human’s wages for the week; those who frequented them demanded privacy.
Faer always thought if you wanted privacy, don’t come to a fucking bar.
The woman he’d been searching for lounged in one of the white booths, a slash of material painting her top half crimson, while her shapely legs were displayed in glittering navy hot pants. Spiked heels the color of blood rested on the booth’s seat, a gold bangle encircling one dainty calf.
Her eyes were silver moonlight, cutting to him as he approached. “Faer,” she greeted him with lips painted a wet red. Her head tipped, deep brown hair sliding off a tanned shoulder to curl over the cleavage displayed. The silver stripe at the left side of her hair glimmered under the strobe lighting.
Faer sat on the opposite side, breaching the soundproofing bubble and leaving the deafening music behind. His ears rang with silence. He curled one hand into his pocket, where he’d cut access to his dagger. “Maia.”
She laughed at him, her arms spreading over the top of the booth. “You’re looking real tasty, Demon.” Material rustled as she angled toward him. “Wanna dance?”
Faer ignored the innuendo. “Cut the shit,
Maia. Save it for your puppy dogs.”
“You pain me, Faer.” Long, seductive lashes fluttered at him.
Even though he knew it was an act, it was a challenge to resist sliding his fingers down that golden skin. Faer’s curse would always be beautiful women. Even ones like the valkry bitch sitting across from him.
When he stayed silent, she rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “Fine.” Her heels dropped to the floor, hand wrapping around the glass of water that sat atop the table. Faer knew she’d ordered it to fit in, pretending it was vodka. One more mystery surrounding the valkry who occasionally helped the Hoods out of tricky spots. She’d proven her loyalty, so he’d never questioned it.
“Trick’s got a job.” Faer’s gaze was direct. “You game?”
“Always.” Though her word was teasing, her focus had sharpened. “What’s the job?”
“Not the usual.” Faer ran his tongue around his teeth, ears alert to anyone approaching the booth. “We need a Liberty.”
Maia didn’t know the real identity; it didn’t matter, as she sipped her glass of water. Silver pupils caught the light with dazzling effect as she cocked her head. Diamonds glittered at her ears. “Yours gone walkabout?”
“You in?”
Her throat was long and elegant when she tipped her head to laugh. Although Faer appreciated the beauty of both her race and the individual, he had a feeling that every movement was purposeful. When she looked back, she was smiling. The curve was dangerous in the strobe lighting. “What’s the job?” she repeated.
Four hours later, a building holding seventeen hostages awaiting experimentation exploded into a dazzling ball of fire. Flames licked the sky, hissed as gutter humans huddled in groups on Pythe Street, staring with fascination at the sight. Seventeen stayed in the shadows.
Fingers pointed; whispers were drowned by the sizzling roar. Whispers that shaped the name Liberty.
Chapter Eleven
Cade slid his sword into its sheath, inwardly counting to ten. “For the last time, you can have your dagger but no bow. Not until I know an arrow isn’t going to end up in my back.”
“You don’t care if I stab you?”
“I’ve been stabbed in the back plenty. It doesn’t faze me.”
He sighed when she shrieked in annoyance, the sound recalling memories of her frustrating thirteenth year. The year Castle Ignis developed new appreciation for soundproofing.
He shook his head. She’d finally informed him, after an hour of what he could only term nagging, that her main evidence was in some hotel out in the northern sector of the Maze. Hidden, naturally. The nagging had been expected; Alana had never been one to accept a bargain at face value. He was fairly certain, though, that now she knew he’d never betray Edward’s secret without serious proof.
She hadn’t taken it well.
“Oh, you’re impossible.” Her eyes thinned to slits. “If we’re partners, a little trust would be nice.”
A snort escaped him as he checked the jagged edge of his backup dagger. The teeth bit into his thumb. “Trust you? Like you do me?”
She made a face at him, one he recollected as being Alana for I-know-you’re-right-but-I-don’t-want-to-admit-it. He watched, under the guise of sliding his dagger away, as her teeth worried her bottom lip. Her breasts rose and fell underneath the thin material of her tank.
A soundless growl vibrated in his throat.
Alana’s hands settled at her hips, fingers wriggling in restless motions. “Fires above, I’m dying to get out.”
“When you sleep in that hovel?” Cade grunted, aware he was baiting her and gaining vicious enjoyment from it. He’d be relieved to be out of the small, enclosed space himself. His animal enjoyed the open, one reason why he’d settled on the Heartlands for his base. The midlands of the Kingdom were famous for their lush country and open spaces.
“That hovel is my home.” She bared her teeth at him, an oddly arousing sight. Her fingers flicked in edgy movements, as if flames should be darting from them. “And a damn sight better than this dump.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
She snorted air out, sounding like an agitated seahorse. “Remind me when you learned to speak like one of them?”
“One of you, you mean.” He shot her a frown. “You’re still a princess, Alana.”
“Who says?” Her eyes flickered with indefinable emotion. “Who says what I am? Maybe I was always meant to end up here.”
I am not going to lose my temper.
“Meant to end up starving to skinny-chic? Running with criminals, killing for a living?” He shook his head in disbelief. He directed his attention to double-checking his dagger was strapped in tight at his ankle.
“You’re such a dick.”
Cade sighed, then raised his head. Her lips were pursed in a mutinous line. Twin red spots colored her cheeks.
Not a harmonious beginning.
Fuck it.
“You’re right. Sorry.”
She blinked, taken aback. Her eyebrows knitted, suspicion lightening the amber to wary gold. “Why?”
“You’re asking me why I’m sorry.” He snorted out a laugh, bracing his arm on his knee as he tugged on his dagger strap. Secure. “You’re deranged.”
Leaving her to wonder at that, he straightened and crossed through to the outer room. He wrinkled his nose at the stink of mildew. He should be used to it, considering how many mildewed rooms he’d been in. The Treaty didn’t exactly pay for premium accommodation, and though he made what most would consider a packet, the bulk of it was directed into various underground charities throughout the Kingdom. However, he’d stayed in worse places when he’d been one of his father’s pack. A frown touched his forehead at the memory.
His brother’s trusting eyes glazing over…
Alana followed him, a welcome distraction, arms folded beneath her bust. The pose unintentionally fluffed up her small breasts, creating a mouthwatering viewing of soft, pale flesh.
Reminding himself of why he was there, Cade hauled his backpack to him and unzipped the front. Drawing out her dagger, he tossed it at her.
She caught it without blinking, surprise crossing her face like a galloping mare. “You actually gave me it,” she said, slow and wondering. A vicious scowl. “Idiot! What kind of merc are you, giving your hostage a weapon? By the holy fires, are you actually a walking corpse?”
His lips quivered as he assumed a bland expression, listening as she continued her lecture.
When she’d run out of steam, he said mildly, “I have eyes in the back of my head. Shade, remember?”
“Eyes in the back of…” she muttered to herself, inspecting her blade. Her thumb polished a piece of the silver. “Fucking idiot.”
Unfamiliar emotions swirled inside Cade as he watched her shine off the blade with the bottom of her tank, exposing part of her navel and that twice-cursed charm. Her anger…it tasted like concern. How long had it been since anyone had cared about his safety?
A brutal lump lodged in his chest, one that made his blood slow and thicken like maple syrup. His jackal brushed against his skin, inhaling Alana’s scent.
Honey and blackberries. His mouth began to water for a forbidden taste.
Unaware, Alana held the dagger away from her and cocked her head. A blink later and it was alight. A mesmerized curve touched her lips as the fire danced in sinuous orange waves, the reflected shadows caressing her features.
When it flickered out three seconds later, her lips flattened. She aimed an accusing frown at him.
“What? What did I do?”
“I’m too cold,” she accused. “The fire can’t burn.”
“Looked like it was burning to me.”
“It won’t hold.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to make a stop.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Oh?”
�
��Stuff your protests, Shade. I’m not roaming these streets for evidence when I’m laid out. That’s how people get killed.”
Cade rummaged through his backpack before closing his fingers around a small, thin box. He chucked it; she plucked it out of the air. “Use these.”
Shock colored her voice. “Where did you get these?” She cradled the matches like a baby.
“Picked them up off a trader the other week. Thought they’d come in handy.”
“But these are top grade. See, the end isn’t split, and the wood is…well, real.”
He supposed she had a right to be impressed; poorer families used plas-wood, which was made out of some laboratory-created material that burned half as well as the real thing. The trees had been wiped out in the Kingdom Wars, and the ones the Treaty had had planted were either reserved for people who had the money to pay, or still growing. Having lived in the Maze for the last decade, Ana had forgotten that she, by right, should have the real thing.
With reverence, Alana lifted the lid of the thumb-sized box and selected a few matches. Putting the box aside, she struck the first match. A blue-gold flame sprang to life, weaving around the small match head with teasing delight.
Cade watched as she closed her hand around the flame and absorbed the fire into her body.
Most people knew about phoenixes. They knew about the sharpened claws, the internal fire phoenixes could control, and the whole reincarnation deal—phoenixes could be resurrected, provided that the weapon remained within the body, though the last was as closely guarded a secret as how to kill Edward. A quirk of their genes, phoenix blood could clot around the weapon and hold the body and soul in a kind of stasis, allowing time to perform the proper procedure for resurrection. If this clotting didn’t occur because of any kind of removal of the weapon, the opportunity to hold a phoenix’s body and soul together disappeared. That was why Alana’s parents had truly died—their killer had planted the dagger next to the bodies. Similarly, a natural death like disease or old age could kill a phoenix as easily as a fae. Nature must have its balance.
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