by Virna DePaul
When he shifted and lightly tested the grip she had on his arm, she shoved him harder against the wall. “Try anything, friend, and you’re dead. Are we clear?”
“Quite,” he murmured.
“Spread your legs.” He did. With her gun still firmly in his side, she slowly released his arm and commanded, “Both hands on the wall.”
He complied readily. “Anything else?” He sounded calm. Magnanimous, even.
“Don’t move. Not an inch.” Swiftly, she began using her free hand to search him, starting with his legs and working up.
“No,” he agreed, sounding amused. “Not an inch. But given where you’re headed, one inch isn’t the problem . . .”
He hissed when she shoved her hand none too gently between his legs.
“Damn it,” he growled, all sound of amusement gone from his voice. “Watch what you’re—”
“Shut up!” She leaned harder into him, moved her hand inside his jacket and found the holstered weapon there. Again, she waited for him to move, to try and take her down.
No way he was going to let her get his weapon, she thought. No way.
But he did. He just stood there while she withdrew the heavy pistol. It was a Luger, as big and sleek and expensive-looking as its owner. Shoving the gun into her front waistband, she finished her search.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly.
“Uh-huh,” she snorted. “What next? You’re going to tell me you come in peace, right?”
“I’m not—”
Grabbing his hair, Wraith slammed his face into the wall, grinding it into the plaster and stone with enough force to make him grunt. “Don’t fuck around with me. You were watching me. Why? Who sent you?”
“Again, a friend,” he gritted.
Wraith cracked him on the side of his head with the butt of her gun, then spoke over his outraged growl. “Try again.”
“Fine.”
Before she could anticipate his movements, he knocked the back of his head into her face. Pain exploded in a profusion of black dots, momentarily blinding her. As she struggled to recover, the man kicked back, slamming her gun out of her hand before turning to tackle her. Instead of trying to break her fall, however, Wraith reached for his gun, which was still tucked into the front of her pants. When she landed, her head knocked against the unforgiving concrete. The pain almost made her black out, but she managed to stay conscious and keep her grip on his gun. Mercilessly, even with him on top of her, she shoved the gun into his crotch.
They stared at each other, his face directly above hers.
“You’ve got three seconds,” she said hoarsely, “to tell me who you are before I shoot your dick off.”
Unbelievably, he lifted himself onto his elbows, glanced down at the gun she held on him, and grinned. He tsked and raised his gaze to hers. “And break hundreds of women’s hearts in the process?”
She narrowed her eyes, the line immediately making her think of Caleb. Like this man, Caleb wielded a playboy’s charm naturally but deliberately, a front for the deadliness that infused every nerve of his body.
She punched the gun harder into the man’s balls. “More like do them a huge favor. Maybe then you’ll think twice before you follow a female around to—”
“Wraith?”
The soft, feminine voice behind her made her stiffen, but she didn’t turn to look. Didn’t take her eyes off the man on top of her. His companion might have a weapon, but she wasn’t worried about that. Because if the woman had wanted Wraith dead, she’d have taken her out already. That she hadn’t already done so meant she cared about the man on top of her. And his package.
“Who is she?” she snapped out.
He raised a brow. “Don’t you know?”
The vague comment snapped her patience. She prepared to fire her gun.
“Wraith. Don’t! Joanna. It’s Joanna.”
Joanna. As soon as the name was uttered, Wraith recognized the voice.
Holy hell. Joanna.
“He’s with you?”
“Yes. He was watching you for me. For an opportunity to talk to you without being noticed.”
Wraith shook her head in disbelief. For an opportunity not to get noticed? Joanna was as naïve as ever, apparently. She glared at the man, then ordered, “Get off me.”
He did. Quite speedily.
Scrambling to her feet, she kept the gun trained on his chest but managed to put some distance between them.
The man rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck to one side, then the other, then raked a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. He jerked his head toward the gun. “Be careful. The safety’s off.”
“No shit.”
Unbelievably, his mouth quirked. As if he was amused with her. “Oh, that’s right. Joanna said you’re a superspy who’s very good with weapons. You just lack something when it comes to family loyalty, apparently.”
“Fuck you,” she muttered automatically, even though her words held little heat. Taking a steadying breath, she turned her body so she could keep him in her sights but also see the female who was standing half in shadow. “Step into the light.”
She did.
Wraith swallowed hard as she took in Joanna’s features. The shock of white hair. The bluish skin that was a perfect match for hers. Of course, Joanna dressed differently. Classier. Less fuck-you-and-get-the-hell-away-from-me. Joanna had always teased Wraith relentlessly about dressing like a poster child for the walking wounded. Wraith, in turn, had teased Joanna about her preference for nun’s attire.
Wraith eyed the man who’d immediately moved to Joanna’s side. He put a hand on her clothed shoulder and squeezed. That small connection, coupled with seeing another one of her kind, someone she’d once considered a friend, had Wraith blinking her eyes furiously.
Damn it. Apparently becoming human enough to die meant getting all the sappy human emotions, too.
Joanna smiled and opened her arms to her. “Wraith. It’s so good to see you. Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”
Wraith was tempted. Touching another wraith didn’t cause pain. It was why many of them turned to each other for sexual release. All wraiths, however, were female. Wraith had never felt a spark of sexual feeling for another wraith, but she’d often craved a hug from one or more of her sisters. When she’d first left Maine, she’d missed that affectionate touch more than anything.
Until she’d begun to crave Caleb’s touch.
Caleb. He had to be back by now. Would probably come looking for her if she didn’t return soon. For some reason, the idea of him finding her gone, or even worse, finding her with Joanna, made panic shudder through her. She made sure her voice reflected none of it.
“What are you doing here, Joanna? How the hell did you get inside the Dome?”
With a frown, Joanna lowered her arms, not bothering to hide the hurt on her face.
Wraith forced herself to shrug the guilt away. “Answer me.”
“I was invited.”
“Bullshit.”
Joanna’s mouth tipped up. “Same old Wraith. Suspicious and foulmouthed. But I was invited. Knox Devereaux wanted to surprise you. To have one of your own kind here. A friend, he requested. I certainly fit the bill. Once.”
Knox’s generosity both touched and infuriated her. “He shouldn’t have bothered. I don’t want you here. None of you. You know that.”
“Yes, you made it quite clear when you left Maine that you didn’t want to be associated with your own kind anymore.”
“That’s not it and you know it.”
“Your turning’s begun.”
Joanna’s abrupt change of subject made Wraith frown. She shrugged. “Our intel is right. As the oldest wraith, it’s my turn. So you know my leaving was better for everyone involved. I’m nothing but a liability to our kind now.”
“A liability, or our only chance of survival.”
“What do you mean?” Wraith asked.
“Wraith, we’ve never had th
e chance to study one of our kind so soon upon her changing, when she still retains her immortality. Maybe . . .”
Bitterness filled Wraith’s mouth. So this wasn’t about being missed. It was about Joanna wanting to study her. That’s all she was good for, being some kind of test subject. It managed to shock her, the fact that Joanna would ask that of her when she knew exactly what Wraith had suffered in the past.
“No,” Wraith said. “We’re freaks. Apparently, dying is what we’re meant to do. I don’t want to be part of prolonging any wraith’s life.”
Joanna looked like she wanted to argue, but then nodded. “Fine. If you won’t do it, we won’t force you. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that, Wraith. We’d never hurt you. We want you back with us where you belong. With people that care about you.”
“I am with people who care about me,” she said instinctively. But when Joanna scoffed, she wished she could retract the words.
“The Para-Ops team? Care for you? You’re deluding yourself, Wraith.”
Was that true? Did she truly believe that her team cared about her? Not because of what she could do for them, but because of who she was? She remembered how furious Caleb had been after she’d blown herself up, regenerated, and made her way back to them. He’d been so out of control that he’d forgotten the need to take care when touching her.
That meant he cared about her, didn’t it? And maybe that meant the others cared for her, as well.
Widening her stance, she tightened her grip on her gun and lifted it again. “I want you both to leave and not come back. Tell the others I refuse to be a freak they can study until I’m of no use to them.”
“Unlike your team, you mean? Do they even know you’re turning, Wraith? What do you think is going to happen when they learn you’re going to start losing your ability to regenerate? Do you think they’re going to care about you then?”
If it was possible, Joanna’s words were both taunting and compassionate. The man beside her, while quiet, was obviously assessing Wraith. Evaluating her. Sizing her up like this was some kind of dog and pony show. It made her feel like the freak she’d verbally rejected, something she’d never wanted to feel like again.
“Who’s he?” she asked, pointing her gun at him.
“I’m hers,” the man said.
Wraith nodded, trying not to feel jealous at the simple statement. “You got a name?”
He hesitated then looked at Joanna, who nodded. “Michel.”
“You’re human, Michel?”
“You could say that.”
“So you know exactly what Joanna is asking for, right? She wants to study me because she wants to remain immortal.”
“It’s not mortality that comes with the turning. Not when every wraith to turn has died before her eleventh year. It’s a death sentence. One I’ll do anything to stop. I’ll even take you down if I have to. Joanna doesn’t want to use force. I’m making no promises.”
“Michel . . .” Joanna said chidingly.
Wraith shook her head. “It’s okay, Joanna. We understand each other. It’s better that way. Now understand me. I’m going back inside. I have something extremely important to do. If you get in the way, I promise I will kill you. Both of you.”
Michel’s eyes flashed furiously, but Joanna just nodded. “We won’t interfere. I’ve said what I wanted. We’re heading back to Maine. I hope you’ll join us there, Wraith. Soon. Come on, Michel.”
Michel didn’t look like he wanted to obey. Joanna tugged on his arm. “Come on!” she snapped, showing some of her natural wraith spunk.
“Yes, Michel. Listen to Joanna like a good little boy, now,” Wraith taunted.
With a growl, he turned away, and they disappeared into the shadows of the trees.
Wraith stayed where she was for several minutes, her gun pointed outward. It was only when she sensed her arm shaking that she lowered and holstered her gun, then moved swiftly back toward the gardens. She took time to gain her composure before going inside, where the party had grown even more raucous. She immediately scanned the room for Caleb.
Her mouth dried up when she saw him.
Eyes on hers, he started walking toward her. A second later, he was waylaid by someone who grabbed his arm, but Wraith barely saw that. Her gaze had focused on his chest and the dark shadow that now pulsed like a giant ink stain.
A death mark.
A death mark that hadn’t been there before.
Terror made her dizzy and her knees weak. Wraiths saw death marks on people’s chests all the time. It identified those with cancer. Or a brain tumor. Even the slow effects of lead poisoning. However, the mark also appeared when sudden death loomed in someone’s near future, the result of events recently set in motion. In those cases, when death was situational rather than a result of illness, it was never guaranteed. Events could change. But not always.
“Wraith,” she heard someone say from behind her.
She shook her head, trying to clear her fuzzy thoughts.
“Wraith.”
She turned. It was Mahone, his expression one of genuine confusion. His face had almost completely healed. A few bruises were still visible, and of course, he’d scarred. But those would fade, just like hers had. “Mahone. What . . . what are you . . . ?”
“Are you okay?” The man was staring at her as if he wasn’t sure what she’d do next.
She wasn’t so certain, either.
Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I’m . . . I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he cleared his throat. “Listen, Wraith. I’m going to brief the team on its next mission, but I need to talk with you first. There’s a situation with the felines. One that just reached crisis proportions. I . . .”
Wraith heard everything he said about the recent rash of rapes against feline females. Blurrily aware, focusing on Caleb’s death stain, she listened as Mahone told her that just a few hours ago, the royal feline princess Morgana had been the latest rape victim and that her mother was sure the perpetrator was human and too evasive to be working alone. She was accusing him of being law enforcement. Connected to the government. Finding the rapist was to be the Para-Ops team’s highest priority, more important than their mission to find out Wraith’s identity. For now, he said, trying to reassure her, but Wraith knew the truth. Her gut twisted.
Mahone’s words echoed through her head as she stared at Caleb. At the death mark that hadn’t been there before she’d offered to be with him. It hadn’t appeared until he’d agreed to it. And until she’d run into Joanna outside.
Defeat was a dark, empty hole inside of her.
She got the message loud and clear.
The mark, coupled with Joanna’s surprise appearance, told her that not only couldn’t she have Caleb, she couldn’t have any of it. Not a night in his arms. Not a purpose to serve. Not even a team to belong to.
She’d been a fool not to disappear when she’d reached her tenth “die day.” She had no business being around others, trying to live any semblance of a life. She was dead, and she was death to anyone who got close to her.
Only she could control her fate and protect the few individuals she’d managed to connect with. By removing herself from all of them. With Joanna’s words about the Para-Ops team using her and Mahone’s description of a new mission, the decision was easy.
She turned back to Mahone, an angry scowl on her face, forcing her words to be hard. Unforgiving. “Forget it, Mahone. I’m not letting you use me again only to blow me off when I need something in return. I’m done.”
SEVEN
Caleb saw the desire on Wraith’s face a second before he saw the fear. He moved toward her, almost cursing when Knox’s parents stepped in front of him. “Having a good time, Mr. O’Flare?”
He hesitated, wanting to get to Wraith fast but not wanting to be rude to the vamp Queen and King, either. “I am, ma’am. Thank you.” He looked up at the tall vamp standing proudly next to Bianca Devereaux. “Sir,” h
e said, bowing his head slightly.
“I’ve heard many things about you, Mr. O’Flare. Not all of them good,” said Jacques Devereaux.
Caleb stiffened but didn’t bother defending himself or offering any explanation. Instead, all he said was, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
Jacques studied him for several seconds, then smiled. “I think you should know, given my peculiar circumstances, I learned a long time ago not to believe everything I hear.”
The vamp stared at Caleb for so long, he almost shuffled his feet like a little boy. Jacques Devereaux, a human when he married the vamp Queen, had been accused of betraying the vamp clan by revealing several vampire secrets during the French Revolution. Everyone close to him believed he’d been beheaded. Only centuries later did his son and wife learn that he’d survived—but only because his wife had managed to begin the process of turning him into a vamp first, risking her own life in the process.
“I believe Wraith is waiting for you,” Bianca said in a knowing tone. “We won’t keep you any longer.”
Caleb couldn’t get to Wraith fast enough, but he paused long enough to say, “Please tell Knox and Felicia, whenever they manage to show up, that we’re very happy for them.”
Bianca smiled. “I will. Now . . .” Bianca frowned when angry words filtered toward them. As one, they glanced over to see Wraith and Mahone in a heated discussion.
“Excuse me,” Caleb said, striding toward them. He was just in time to catch Wraith’s words.
“You can’t argue with me, Mahone. Just fuck off. You’re reneging on our deal to help some . . . some felines that I could care less about.”
The word “felines” rolled off Wraith’s tongue so disdainfully that for a moment Caleb was shocked. Not once during the time they’d been working together had he seen her reveal disdain for any particular race. Suspicion, yes, but not disdain.
In his periphery, Caleb saw Lucy rushing up to them. A quick glance confirmed she feared the worst.
“Wraith,” Mahone plowed on. “The situation that’s come up is critical—”
“Critical to the Para-Ops team, maybe, but not to me.”
Just behind her, Caleb frowned. “What the hell does that mean?” he questioned. “You’re a part of the Para-Ops team.”
