Assassin's Bride (SciFi Alien Romance) (Celestial Mates Book 9)

by C. J. Scarlett

  “What’s going on?” she asked, walking over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. It was fascinating how quickly she could turn from scorned lover to concerned girlfriend. She cared about him too much for her own good sometimes. She squeezed his shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair, ignoring the ick factor of feeling the sweat gathered all across his head. What had he been running from?

  He didn’t answer but he didn’t have to. Her eyes caught sight of something she was probably never supposed to see, but there it was anyway, sitting out in the open, the one piece of evidence that Diego had missed in his cleanup. A beanie sat on the coffee table. It was small and black, but there was a logo on it she vaguely recognized, though she couldn’t quite place it from how far away she sat. She reached for it before he could stop her.

  Shifter Alliance in red and black and that familiar logo was now suddenly so clear to her. She could feel the blood rushing around in her own head, trying to get control of her spinning brain. She turned to look at him and he stared back at her, pale and terrified.

  “It’s not what you think,” was all he got out to say to her as she got up and moved away, attempting to make a run for the door.

  Chapter 2

  Andrea learned a lot that night that she didn’t know only several hours previous. It was the kind of thing that made her grateful she’d managed to down an entire bottle of wine at her disaster of a date night dinner, but also made her wish she had more.

  “How is this not what I think?” she said, standing up with the hat in her hand. “I heard the news broadcast, Diego.”

  “It wasn’t dangerous, nobody was hurt,” he said.

  She didn’t know what she wanted to focus on first: the fact that her boyfriend missed their date because he was busy robbing a store, or the fact that he was somehow involved with the shifter movement. More than involved. He wore the logo of a known terrorist organization, one linked to some of the most violent shifter extremist activities in history. And according to the news, he’d been stealing road flares, flammables.

  “You have three seconds to explain it to me or I call the cops,” she said, reaching for her phone. He dove across the room in a violent launch, grabbing the phone right out of her hands and yanking it in. She let out a yelp and he shushed her, slapping his hand over her mouth, and she recoiled. He’d never touched her before, never so much as laid a hand on her. But now she could feel the tension rippling underneath. If she didn’t watch herself, she thought he might actually deck her, knock her out, remove the threat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, instantly, pulling his hand away. “It’s been a trying day. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m a shifter,” he said. “I think that’s obvious by now. That’s the first secret out in the open.”

  “You mean the first lie,” she said darkly.

  “I never lied. You never asked.”

  “And what about when you said you’d be at the restaurant for dinner?”

  “I thought I would. We got held up.”

  “No, you were holding someone up.”

  She was more than a little proud of that play on words but he looked positively ready to burst with nervous energy. He growled and got to his feet. Taking his frustration out on some old, empty beer bottle instead. It shattered hard against the wall, leaving both a skid mark and a stain from the minuscule amount of beer that had been sitting at the bottom. The pieces fell to the floor, one by one.

  “It wasn’t supposed to go this way,” he said, turning back to her with that pleading voice again.

  “What was the end game, Diego? Were you planning on telling me on our wedding night? When our kids suddenly started sprouting claws or wings or God knows what else?”

  “It’s not like we were engaged,” he said, darkly.

  “I told you I just needed time to think about it; it wasn’t a no,” she said. “And you’re not turning this around on me. You’re wanted for robbery and battery and I’m sure five other things they didn’t say on the news. You didn’t make it to our date. You’ve been lying to me for years—”

  “Okay. I get it. I fucked up.”

  “Do you get it? Do you get how scary this is for me?” It was her turn to stand, her turn to feel powerful. She got to her feet and walked right up to him, making him seem smaller than he’d ever been before. “I was considering marrying you, Diego. And now I’m finding out everything about you was a lie the entire time.”

  “Was considering?” he parroted back with such hopelessness, she thought she might cry just a little bit but held it in.

  “You think that’s the first thing on my mind right at this moment?”

  “If I can explain it all to you, would you let me? If we sit down—it can be somewhere public. You pick the place, you’re not in any danger—and I can just explain to you what’s been going on. Would you listen?” he asked, taking her hands in his shaking ones.

  She looked at him. It was hard not to see the boy she met all those years ago in school, sitting there in front of her. He’d looked just as vulnerable the first time he asked her out and she had to decline because she’d been dating a boy from her English requirement at the time. But he waited for her with that pining look on his face. He never asked twice. She asked him out the next time.

  She remembered their first date, their second date, several dates in between. She knew Diego was a good person. She knew he had a good heart. How could he not? But people could also change, they could become something terrible or different or wrong. Just look at Voldemort for God’s sake. But she owed him the chance to explain. They’d stuck by each other’s sides for so long, she had to see this through.

  “I’ll give you an hour,” she said. “After that, if I want to disappear, you don’t follow me, you don’t look for me.”

  He looked devastated at the mere idea of it but nodded and said okay. He offered to walk her home, but she vehemently declined. Despite how late it was, how dangerous she knew it could be, she needed the time alone and away. She took the long way back to her apartment, going over several residential streets. It wasn’t the smartest thing she ever did but she needed to work out at least some of the energy or she’d never be able to sleep.

  She didn’t like lies. Diego knew that. He’d been by her side the day she’d found out the truth from her father. He’d held her while she cried and promised that as long as she wanted him around, he would be there. Yet there he was, lying to her himself now, and she had no arms to run to. The one person she wanted to comfort her was the exact reason she needed it. How terribly that all worked out. Her boyfriend committed crimes and she was the one left to pick up the pieces of it on her own.

  It might have been the copious amount of wine she drank or how late in the night it was, she’d never been a good decision maker when those two things combined together in her brain. She never cheated on a single partner in her life. It had been the one thing she said would completely break a relationship for her, even if they were ten years deep with a mortgage. But her fingers were already going through her phone; she was already moving through the contact list to find his name.

  She called him. He answered on the second ring. He agreed to come over ten seconds later and her night was spent tossing around naked in her bed with a man who wasn’t her boyfriend, though he had been once, long ago. She pushed the thoughts of Diego’s betrayal out of her mind, humming another man’s name, feeling another man’s skin, and letting another man see all the vulnerability she let run wild in the moment she orgasmed.

  It felt like a fitting punishment. But in the morning, all she wanted was Diego and the clock to reset.

  Chapter 3

  Charles had been her first boyfriend in college. He’d also been the first man she ever slept with. He’d been so kind then, asking her several times if she was okay, if she needed anything, if he was hurting her. Afterwards, he bought her two bouquets
of flowers and a box of chocolates, and walked her to and from class the rest of the week, even on days when he had classes of his own. When Diego first asked her out, there had been no competition there. Charles was all her eyes could see in any direction, even when they were closed.

  But they had been too young for a fairy tale ending. All it took was one summer away from school and back at home for things to come crashing down in the form of a tantalizing ex-girlfriend and Andrea’s apparent “over-focusing” on her career too early. They hadn’t drifted apart; it had been a bombastic breakup. There had been shouting and tears and one would have thought they’d been married for fifteen years with the way they carried on to each other. Her mother said it was a testament to how much she cared looking at how angry someone could make her. She was sure from this fight that she was in love with Charles.

  But she sent him out the door and he gladly followed orders.

  A few months later, Diego was right there and she asked him out on a whim. Charles had started to message her again and she feared what would happen if she gave in. She did give in, once or twice, while she still decided how serious she was about Diego. She hadn’t slept with him in years and it was fascinating how easily he answered, how much they remembered about each other’s bodies, and how easy it was to fall back into the rhythms they’d once known.

  “You break up with Saenz?” he asked when they were both laying on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.

  She didn’t answer. She just got up to use the bathroom, wash herself off, and then walk out into the kitchen where she wouldn’t have to look at Charles or smell what they’d done. He didn’t follow her out, choosing instead to fall asleep in her bed. By the time she got back into the bedroom, he was snoring loudly, face down into the pillow, leaving a familiar spot of drool where his mouth hung open. She almost missed it. But then she caught sight of Diego’s t-shirt hanging over the door knob from the last time he’d been here and the spell of pretending was over.

  Despite the discomfort, she got back into bed with him instead of sleeping on the couch. She refused to be forced onto the couch in her own house by the awkward afterwards of a booty call. She put a fair bit of distance between them. She refused to cuddle. This wasn’t some sentimental night where they’d rediscover their love. She needed someone to leave scratches on, someone to command, some pleasure to receive. And she needed to know it was something that would hurt Diego if he knew. She wanted to make him hurt.

  In the morning, she woke up earlier than Charles as well and went out into the kitchen, making coffee for herself—a sign to him to find his post-coital breakfast elsewhere. She poured out the steaming mug and didn’t add any of her usual almond milk or fake sweetener. She needed a real kick in the pants right now. So she cringed as she swallowed the bitter taste of hot coffee. How did Diego drink this stuff? One year when she’d been over his place for Christmas Eve, his grandmother made hot chocolate the way they had it back in Mexico City. It was bitter and spicy, and it was all Andrea could do not to throw it all up.

  She needed to get Charles out of there. She promised to meet Diego at noon and if she didn’t shower by eleven, she would never make that time. Though she thought he would deserve her showing up a bit late, she just wanted to get this over with at this point. And she wouldn’t delay it because Charles slept like a rock most days.

  She walked into her bedroom, slamming the door, and watched him jump up and out of bed in a confused whirl. He groaned, let out a yawn, and ran his hand violently through his bedhead. He blinked at the sunlight she let stream through the room when she ripped the curtains open.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Time to go, Romeo,” she said. “I have plans.”

  He didn’t say anything at first and she looked over at him, seeing traces of true hurt on his face. She wouldn’t feel bad for him. She wouldn’t let the puppy dog eyes of two men cloud her judgement.

  “I should have known,” he said, getting up and she purposely turned to avoid seeing him naked all over again. “But I pick up the phone anyway.

  He always would pick up the phone too, that was his problem. She could do this to him five times in a row and he would still answer when she called and come running if she asked. He slid on his clothes, slowly and pensively. She wondered if he was truly thinking or just wanted to see what sympathy he could play out of her by moping his way through leaving.

  “Any coffee?”

  “Try Starbucks.”

  “Right.”

  And then he was out the door and she didn’t have time to be overly guilty about it, jumping into the shower and turning it up as hot as it would go to fill the bathroom with steam. She let the mirror fog up so she couldn’t see herself and turned it back down to just short of scalding as she stepped in, watching her skin redden from heat and irritation as she worked the soap over her body, scrubbed the shampoo in her hair, carded her hand through her strands of hair with conditioner all over her fingers. She took her time, giving herself a few moments to think.

  It wasn’t the wine headache that made this morning difficult. She wanted to be swallowed up into a blackhole and never come back out again. She wanted to eat her weight in ice cream and pizza, and watch Netflix for several days. She wanted a lot of things that weren’t a reality right now. She needed to get a grip on a new take on a once familiar world. Things were different this morning than they had been yesterday. That was the way life went sometimes and no matter how long or hot of a shower she took, that wouldn’t change.

  She stepped out of the shower, the bathroom still awash with steam. She wrapped a towel around her and granted herself a few more moments of contemplation by dripping dry a bit on the bathmat before she set to work at really getting her body dry enough to slip on clothes. She walked out into her bedroom and received a rush of cold air in contrast to the cocoon the bathroom had been. It was certainly a wakeup call, but she needed several more of those if she would get through his day.

  She put on the first clean things she could find. There was no use getting dressed up. There was no use trying to impress him or make him feel bad. She’d already slept with another man and kicked him out of her apartment only hours before meeting him. Knowledge that she’d done that would be punishment enough for him. If he got too difficult to deal with, she’d level him with that information and let him wallow in some more self-pity.

  She stepped outside into the mid-morning air, still chilly from the remnants of the evening but warming up as the sun moved to heat the ground. Summer was nearly in full swing now. The time had come to sleep with the window open, allowing a midnight breeze into the room. She often found herself kicking the covers off her body as she slept in nothing but short gym shorts and a tank top. Usually this time of year brought forth some kind of excitement. But all that was sucked out of her. She’d been stood up by her boyfriend less than twenty-four hours ago. She couldn’t exactly get into the carefree summer spirit.

  She elected to walk. The bus was there on the corner, perfectly timed to pick her up as a passenger, but it was a nice day out. She wasn’t exactly itching to get there on time. So, she shoved her hands in her pockets and made her way walking to the Starbucks she’d told him to meet her at. Several people were already out and starting their day. One mom she passed pushed an expensive-looking sporty stroller down the street as she jogged her way down the sidewalk in pastel-colored running gear with the familiar-looking logo.

  There were several dogs just happy to be out and about in the sunny air, and even some children ready to play their day away now that the last remnants of winter were gone completely from their minds.

  She walked on, wishing she could take in the most of this nice weather as they were, but there was so much blocking her mind from seeing the goodness in absolutely anything. Hands in her pockets, shoulders slumped, head down to avoid talking to anyone, she made her way across town and to the place where she was sure she would end up breaking up with her boyf
riend.

  She opened the door to the Starbucks and slipped in. He was already there. Of course he was. He sat at a table in the corner looking just as sleep deprived and crazy in the eyes as he did when she last saw him. He tapped out a rhythm on the table, looking around wildly for anything to occupy his gaze or anywhere to put his attention.

  Then his eyes settled on her. He looked like a kicked puppy. She wouldn’t let that affect her though. She wouldn’t let him win that way. He’d always been good about drawing her pity right out of her and making her feel like she owed him some sort of apology for reacting to absolutely anything he did. But not today.

  “Diego,” she said with measured politeness, like a stranger on a business meeting.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything back. She didn’t want him to be comfortable. She wanted him to know the exact type of pain and awkwardness she’d felt waiting all night for him to never show at an expensive restaurant they’d planned out for weeks. He didn’t get to be the victim here, no matter how sorry for himself he felt.

  “You’ve got five minutes,” she said. “Convince me to stay longer.”

  He took a breath. Then he began. “Okay, so—clearly I’ve not been honest about some parts of me. I’m a shifter. Wolf. I was taught all my life not to tell anyone because shifting in public was illegal and my parents thought I wouldn’t make any friends. I was adopted, you know that part and it’s true. I never met my real parents and my mom and dad were saints for taking in a shifter kid like me. It was like Clark Kent and his Kansas family or something—”

  “Okay, spare me the part where you compare yourself to Superman.”

  “Anyway. I felt alone and scared, and my parents taught me to hide myself. Repress everything, you know? So I did and I never told anyone. Not my best friends, never my girlfriends, not even my family, like cousins and aunts at Christmas. No one knew. So, don’t feel like you were the only one in the dark.”