Te’s lips tightened minutely in response. “I’ve been told the man I speak of is untouched by Niyr or Jinn. I have no knowledge of how he has been able to hide himself for so long. They say his skin is not marked as a sand keeper’s would be. He is a human of no particular consequence, with no lineage that would grant him such skills at evasion. The Niyr would find no consensus in allowing a human outsider to hold that kind of information. They would not entrust its safety to such fragile hands.”
Aziza stopped and turned to face the Niyr, adrenaline rushing through her veins. “Te, did you get me a present? It’s not even my birthday yet.” A human archivist with no loyalties, one who could stay off the Niyr radar? Journals and texts that weren’t daydreams and rambling guesswork? Books. “Tell me where he is and I think I might truly switch sides to Team Te. Does he know about you? About me?” Does he know how to find the bastards who killed my family?
Te hesitated. “My source doesn’t know. And as a result of his protection, not even I have been able to locate him.”
“Well, did your source say anything about where he is? How I could meet him?”
“They believe he is somewhere in London. We are—” Te tilted her head. “Greg is coming. You should put on your robe.”
Aziza reached in exasperation for the silk kimono laying across her bed. “You’re such a prude.”
Greg opened the door without knocking. “Who’s a prude? Oh, Te. Wow, you look great today.”
“Thank you, Gregory.”
Oh dear Lord. The Niyr was sort of blushing again. And though she would probably deny it, she was checking out Greg’s leather pants and faded skull T-shirt. The one that was tight enough around his arms to showcase his hard-won biceps.
“You look…more comfortable than the Fireborne usually does for these excursions.”
Greg looked down at himself and laughed. “Men don’t have to wear corsets and stockings. I guess women don’t either, but you know our girl. When you hang out with Aziza Jane, you have to pack for any and every occasion. Including a fetish club. At least I don’t have to wear rubber to this one.”
Te was fascinated. If she visualized Greg in rubber would her Vulcan head explode? Aziza sighed and snapped her fingers. “Te? The man with the books? ‘Somewhere in London’ isn’t specific enough. What are you going to do to find him? What good is he if we can’t find him?”
“You will know the moment I am informed of his location. Be ready.” Te glanced at Greg again. “Since we are speaking of books, did you read yours again?”
“You mean the one on the buried treasures in the desert?” Greg nodded. “You know me well, Te. I’ve read through it more than a few times. Hasn’t given me any answers yet, but it does make me long for an adventure. Maybe after Aziza stops the Jiniyr and saves our small corner of the world again we could all take a trip together and see what we can dig up.”
“A trip?” Te clenched her hands together. “Perhaps. After. Fireborne, I’m sorry to have disturbed you in the shower. I will be back soon.”
She was gone before Aziza could stop her. “Damn it, Greg.”
“What did I do? And did she say in the shower? What happened? Would I blush?”
“Stop being such a guy.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “You made her all warm and tingly at a very inconvenient time.”
Greg crossed his arms, fighting off a smile. “I can’t help who I make warm and tingly, Aziza Jane. We all have our crosses to bear. Penn has learned to live with it. Te can too.”
Her aunt’s voice floated in from the living room. “I heard that, you big, sexy American. It’s a good thing Hillary isn’t the jealous sort.” She poked her head of blonde curls into the room. “Wait a tick, she is the jealous sort, though not of men, so you may be safe.”
Aziza smiled as the threat of tears stung her eyes. Her family. She wouldn’t be able to live without them. “Why are you still here? I thought you were spending the night at Hill’s so we won’t wake you up when we come home in the wee hours.”
“That can wait, my dear.” Penn walked over and wrapped her arms around Aziza’s waist. “You cannot.”
“I’m fine,” Aziza said quickly, though her chin wobbled.
Greg came up and put his arms around both of them. “Aziza, a woman died in your arms, you and Brandon had the biggest fight of your new romance…and that was only last night. Today, Adam’s things arrived. You can’t possibly be fine.”
When Penn held her tighter, Aziza tried to shake off the violent emotion churning through her. “Okay, yes, I’m mad, but I didn’t know her. I mean, I want to stop them before they can do it again but, and this might make me sound like a bad person, I’m just so thankful it wasn’t either of you.”
If it had been, if she’d had to hold Greg or Penn in her arms and feel their pain as they died, she’d have lost her mind.
She hadn’t told them about the pain. Maybe she never would—it would only make them worry about her more.
Her brother Tarik’s words from that dream, the one where she saw what could happen, the one that haunted her, sprang to mind. “You think you don’t care. Think you can’t. But you’re wrong. You’ll feel it to your bones… Each life that is ended because of your inaction will boil in your blood. Burn up your soul.”
She’d felt the agony that girl had gone through. All of it, as if it were her own. Was that what he’d meant when he talked about her inaction? But she hadn’t known about the victims until one of them had fallen into her lap. She hadn’t known because Brandon hadn’t told her.
She should have known.
“Why didn’t Brandon tell me about the murders? And why am I crying?” She sniffed. “I hate crying.”
Penn and Greg walked her over to the bed and sat down on either side of her. Penn took her hand. “Hill says male werewolves have a difficult time thinking logically when they find…a person they are intensely attracted to. All their urges are primal. Claim. Protect. Defend.”
“The ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ excuse,” Greg intoned. “Very romantic.”
Werewolf urges sounded more romantic than her own Fireborne desires. She pushed down the guilt that came when she thought about her very recent fantasy.
Penn shushed him. “It is though, isn’t it? And he’s suffered for it. Hill tells me the Alpha has been ruthless with Brandon. Dressing him down in front of other Enforcers, calling him in for every assignment—all because he won’t do the two things his father asked him to.”
“What two things?” Aziza wiped her eyes with her free hand and leaned her head on Greg’s shoulder.
“Bring you in for introductions and Ram in for interrogation.”
Bristling, Aziza growled, “I really want to give that Alpha a piece of my mind. I told Brandon I’d meet him whenever he wanted. I also told him Ram has nothing to do with what happened to those girls.”
Penn stilled. “You did? Hillary was with him today and she said Brandon refused on your behalf yet again. Said the Vessel shouldn’t be forced to do anyone’s bidding, then mentioned something about the Enforcers needing your help more than his father needed a publicity stunt.”
Aziza’s eyes widened. Brandon had told her he would take care of it—was that what he’d meant? Damn it, he was still trying to protect her, and since he was supposedly in the grip of primitive werewolf-mating urges, she couldn’t decide whether to kiss him or punch him for it. “Penn, when you see Hillary tonight, tell her to make an appointment for me to meet the Alpha. I want to meet him as soon as possible. I’m ready.”
Penn smiled. “My brave girl.”
“What can it hurt to give the man what he wants? I’ll shake his hand, get the introductions over with and force myself not to poke him in his Alpha eyes.” Aziza stood up, laughing despite her tears. “And I’m not that brave. I don’t think I can open Adam’s box without both of you at my side.”
The two of them sent encouraging expressions as she walked over to the side of the bed, studying the b
ox. Years ago she’d packed it away in the attic without opening it because she hadn’t had the heart after losing so many people she loved. It was a long shot, but since she’d found Tarik’s vial among his personal things, maybe there’d be some clue in Adam’s.
Aziza’s fingers were shaking as she tore at the packing tape and opened the box. Her vision blurred and tears spilled down her cheeks as she picked up the faded leather wallet on top, gripping it tightly in her hands. It struck her again—how could the contents of one small box be all that was left of the man whose energy had always filled a room?
She set the wallet down and reached for Adam’s other things. Keys. An empty minitape recorder. Airplane tickets for the return home that he’d never gotten to use. All of them treasures that reminded her of her smiling brother, with his eyes a lighter blue—more like their mother’s than her own—and the curious mind that always had him looking for the next story. The next puzzle. The next challenge.
Aziza wrapped her fingers around a roll of film. There was no vial of sand. No letter for her taped to anything or hidden at the bottom of the box. Some part of her had known it wouldn’t be that easy. But she’d hoped that part was wrong.
She picked up his wallet again and opened it, knowing exactly what she would find. A faded picture, torn at the corner, of her family. The serious Tarik and the smiling Adam stood behind her and her mother while Joseph leaned into the shot and made a face. It had always been her favorite snapshot. The one that made her family seem normal. Happy. Even her mother had lost her nervous posture, surprised into laughing by the antics of her youngest son.
Joseph had always made her smile.
He was the one Emma Stewart had run away from home for. The one she’d been determined to save, though Razia had let Aziza know they’d never been after Joseph at all. They’d wanted her from the start.
Greg pulled her into his arms and she listened to Penn’s quiet sobs. She didn’t want to spend another moment crying in helpless despair for her brothers. For Adam. Not when she could do something about it.
Aziza knew the person responsible for his death now. She had power now. She didn’t have to wait for Razia to show himself again. She’d play with Ram and do her own investigating with the regulars at Underbridge. She’d make nice with the Alpha and find out what the Enforcers knew that they weren’t sharing and make sure they didn’t punish an innocent Jinn for someone else’s crimes. She’d meet Te’s book collector, if they could find him, and she would learn everything she could, everything her blood had yet to tell her about what she was and why the Jiniyr really wanted her.
Then she would find whoever was responsible for the current killings and make one of them tell her where she could get her hands on the pontificating punk rocker who believed she would thank him for the things he’d done. This time Razia wouldn’t get away.
“We should develop this film.”
“I’ll take it in first thing tomorrow,” Greg murmured. “Aziza Jane, why don’t we stay home tonight? We don’t have to go anywhere, and maybe a night in with your family is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“No.” Handing Greg the roll of film, she slipped out of his arms and put Adam’s things back in the box. “The only cure for what I’m feeling is hidden somewhere in that club. I need to find out the truth before another girl suffers and they hang Ram for it. Besides,” she added, squeezing Penn affectionately, “it’s not all gloom and doom. I have some people who are dying to meet you. A girl, Greg. A real live girl.”
A girl she was oddly excited to meet as well.
Greg groaned. “You are not hooking me up with a dominatrix again.”
“I don’t think so,” she answered playfully. “She didn’t look like a dominatrix. But I only saw her from a distance, so I could be wrong. Don’t judge, buddy. You had fun the last time.”
Penn stood up and shook her head. “Though this is far less terrifying than a discussion about murder victims, I believe it is my cue to leave,” she said on her way out. “I would like to be too old and infirm for this conversation. I regret only that I cannot claim innocence.”
Enjoying the change in subject too much to let it drop, Aziza raised her voice to be heard in the other room. “We know you’re not innocent, Penn, but are you saying Hill hasn’t ever gotten her mitts on a pair of those Enforcer handcuffs? No slap and tickle? Not even once?”
Greg backed away, his hands in the air. “Penn, please don’t answer that question. Let me fill in the blanks later, when I’m alone. For now we should just let this troublemaker get dressed.”
“Good plan,” Aziza said. “Especially since I’ve scheduled a scene with the Persian Prince. What do you think, Greg? ” She held up both hangers. “Disobedient Schoolgirl or Surprisingly Restrained?”
Greg froze. “You’re playing with Ram? Tonight?”
She nodded and lowered her voice. “An undercover operation. Werewolves? Hah.The Fireborne doesn’t need no stinking werewolves. I’m justice, remember? I told you, I plan on doing some investigating of my own.”
“I remember that expression on your face, Aziza Jane, and it usually spells trouble. You’re putting yourself directly in the path of danger. Again. I take it Brandon doesn’t know about this plan?”
When Aziza smiled in response, he shook his head, walking toward the door with a pained sigh of resignation. “Of course he doesn’t. He’d kill Ram the second he touched you. I feel like slugging the jerk myself for letting you do this when you’re so vulnerable.”
She pretended to misunderstand him. “I’m not vulnerable. They want me alive. And if any of them come near me I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t mean that and you know it.” He sighed again. “I can see that I’m not going to be able to talk you out of it, but I wish to hell I could. This is not the best idea you’ve ever had. And it relies 100 percent on Ram no longer affecting you the way he always has, and him not being connected to the violent, knife-happy killers.”
“He’s not, Greg.” She chose not to acknowledge her continued reaction to Ram, just her faith in him.
He paused with his hand on the knob. “Right. Because your Jinn Qarin are known for their reliability and pacifism. Like Shev.”
The door closed behind him and she wove unsteadily on her feet before a strange dizziness brought Aziza to her knees.
Her forehead was burning. She looked down at her hand. She’d forgotten she was still concealed from her visit with Te. What was happening now? What power had she inadvertently called?
Soon more than one will be taken.
“What?” She touched the mark on her head, knowing now it must be in the shape of a feather. But why? She was hearing the voice all the time now. What made this different? The voice was a whisper, like wind blowing through the reeds. “What does that mean?”
Under the bridge, another will be chosen for the bloodletting. Still another will be betrayed, with no power to resist. Both are the Fireborne’s to protect.
Under the bridge had to mean Underbridge. She had a feeling the Enforcers would discover, if they hadn’t already, that the third body had come from there as well. It all led back to Underbridge. She just wasn’t sure why. “I don’t suppose I get to know who is in danger or exactly when I’ll need to do this protecting?”
What the sand conceals it will reveal. But only to you. Soon.
“Nice and cryptic, as usual,” she growled. Two more women. Innocent women. Both were hers to protect.
All she had to do was find out who they were before it was too late.
Chapter Five
Greg was still unhappy but at her side when they headed down the dark staircase that led to the heart of the club. The loud beat of the music pounding in her ears, thrumming through her veins, made it hard to hear anything else. Hard to think.
She loved it.
Underbridge was the best-kept secret in London, a members-only club with a world-famous deejay, a state-of-the-art dungeon and a room for every k
ink you could imagine. It was a two-story underground club beside a busy bridge—its front door giving off the unobtrusive appearance of a public utilities entrance—and it had obviously been designed with that theme in mind. A latticework of steel trusses hung above their heads, and the glass-topped, art-deco, metal garbage-bin tables made it feel as if they really were gathering beneath the London Bridge.
Doing dirty things in the dark.
The music, the scent of lust and sweat in the air, the crowded, excited energy as soon as they hit the last stair and entered the main section of the club—all of it sent adrenaline rushing through her veins. This place did exactly what it was designed to do. Made her want to join the fun. Turned her on.
Especially tonight. Despite her earlier shower session, Aziza felt the need for release. The last few days had been a rollercoaster of emotion. Brandon. The body. Adam’s box. Te’s potential human encyclopedia.
Ram.
She needed to be here, for information and to let off some steam. Aziza absently wished she’d chosen the schoolgirl outfit just to drive Ram crazy. Instead, she’d followed his instructions and dressed more conservatively, wearing a costume barely sexy enough to allow her inside.
She slid her hands self-consciously down her black-PVC skirt, the metal rings and black laced-corset effect of which was mimicked by her waist cincher. A khaki T-shirt emblazoned with a bleeding heart and torn artfully at the shoulders, as well as black knee-high stockings and a pair of combat boots, completed her tame attire.
Definitely restrained.
“There’s an open table away from the dance floor,” Greg shouted in her ear. “We should be able to hear ourselves think over there.”
As he used his height to guide her through the crush, Aziza refrained from expressing her disappointment. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. She wanted to find Ram, forget about everything else and be the wild, reckless Aziza Jane she used to be. The girl who lived like she was dying, instead of the one responsible for other people’s lives.
Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 Page 9
