by N. D. Jones
Then there was the hospice home for children in Allegany County. While recovering, Sanura had caught the six o’clock news, the stoned-faced male reporter barely able to keep his professional composure. All she remembered from the report were words that trampled her mind and gouged at her heart.
Dead child.
Blood.
Beheadings.
Unspeakable crime.
Clicking off the television, she’d added one more word to the list—adze. Sanura and Assefa had yet to talk about the case, but she assumed his division chief, even before the local news crew had made their way out to the sleepy community, interviewing shocked and fearful neighbors, would’ve made him aware. And Sanura couldn’t help but wonder if the adze that had claimed the lives of three people that night had been among the ones Assefa and Mike had killed at Druid Hill Park. Or if that particular murderous adze was still on the loose, adding to Assefa’s sense of guilt, his animal instinct to hunt, kill, and protect clawing at him from the inside out.
“Fine, if it’ll stop you from worrying about me, I won’t mention it again.”
She kept the psychologist in her bottled. For now, the grudging compromise would have to do. She wouldn’t push.
“I have to go.” Anxious. Abrupt. “The suspect is on the move. Call you later.”
The line disconnected before Sanura had a chance to say another word. She slumped against the plush leather seat and closed her eyes, thinking about all the things she and Assefa needed to discuss, the luxurious limousine being one.
Half an hour later, when the limo stopped at a twenty-foot security gate, she stared at the magnificent home and grounds before her, realizing they had a hell of a lot to talk about.
“It’s about damn time you got off that phone,” Special Agent Zareb Osei complained. “You go away on assignment, for less than two months, and come back in love and whipped.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Zareb. I’m not in the mood.” Assefa cautiously drove his black Range Rover onto an icy road two minutes after a four-door sedan left Anchorage’s Northway Mall parking lot.
“I have got to meet the woman who tamed the great, unflappable Assefa Berber.”
Assefa maneuvered around a few cars to keep the burgundy Nissan Altima in sight.
“I should be at home with my fire witch instead of tracking crazy sirens, with daddy issues, across a frozen state.”
Assefa slowed, not wanting to get too close to their prey, alerting her to danger before they pounced.
“Yeah, well, I don’t understand why in the hell the chief gave the two of us this bullshit assignment.”
“Why not?” Not that Assefa’s mind was entirely on the case. His thoughts, of late, were of Sanura. Her taste, her smell, her touch, her fragile, feminine shoulder the adze tried to rip in two. If he could kill the bastard again, he would.
“Are you out of your mind? The chief should’ve sent a couple of the female agents to capture these head cases. Have you seen the file and photos? Have you seen what they do to men once they’ve weakened them with their song? I’m too attached to my johnson to let that happen to me.” As if to emphasize his utter distaste at the thought, the six-and-a-half-foot, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound muscled man crossed his legs.
“Your what?” Assefa asked with feigned seriousness. He wasn’t so far removed from popular full-human culture that Assefa didn’t know their slang, although, admittedly, he hadn’t met a full-human until moving to the United States. But the Sudan imported movies and music from other countries, so Assefa and Zareb knew quite a bit about American slang.
“My johnson. You know, my pogo stick, lightsaber, thrill ride, scream maker. Some full-humans call it a johnson.”
“Why in the hell do they call it that?” he joked, having always thought the term nonsensical.
Zareb shrugged. “Maybe they named it after Earvin ‘Magic’ Johnson. You know, the famous Lakers basketball player.”
“Now your penis is like magic?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag,” Zareb said with a full grin.
“The hell if you don’t. I’ve never known a man to talk so much about his…magic johnson as you.”
They laughed.
Zareb had more women awaiting his pleasure than a sheik with a harem. Tall and dark and broad of nose and shoulder, there was nothing brooding about his partner. He was just a big bear of a man who Assefa trusted and loved like a brother. He would trade his blood brother for Zareb in a shifter moment.
“Hell, I’d hope every man considers his penis capable of performing magic.”
Twisting until he faced Assefa, seat belt straining instead of giving, Zareb said, “So-o-o?” with a devilish tone Assefa had heard since they were boys and discovered that girls weren’t just sweeter-smelling versions of them. Yet Sanura’s scent was the sweetest of them all.
“She’s moving in with me. I think that says it all about what she thinks of my magic.”
“How is she between the shee—”
Assefa growled.
“You’re such a Boy Scout. Come on, give me something. We’re in this frigid ass state. The least you could do is share a pornographic detail or two.”
Assefa surveyed the quiet, austere neighborhood he’d followed the perp to. Scouring local bars and clubs, showing photos of the four siren sisters to any and every one, two nights ago they’d lucked up. One sleepy but sure bartender had recognized one of the women. She’d been in a couple of times, the last only three nights prior when she’d left with a white male in his late thirties. Assefa and Zareb had no way of knowing if the male she’d left with was still alive, which was the only reason they hadn’t pounced when they’d spotted her this afternoon, standing across the street from a strip club, hard gaze on the dancers going in, far too early for customers.
The men would be in much later when the sun went down and people felt more at ease to play, to let loose and feed their inner beast. In that respect, full-humans were no different from preternaturals. But after an hour of casing the club, the siren had walked away, jumping into her car and driving to the nearest mall. So, they’d followed and waited, hoping she would lead them to her sisters or her victim.
“What does she look like? I didn’t get a good look at her when you and the Baltimore detective rushed her into the emergency room. Does she have a figure that makes Assefa Jr. stand and salute when she walks into a room?”
Even with the reminder of one of the worse nights of his life, Assefa couldn’t help but smile. His mind wandered to Sanura in her itsy-bitsy handfasting bathing suit. Assefa Jr. had definitely snapped to attention. His smile grew wider.
Zareb slapped him on the back as if he’d just scored the winning goal of a fútbol match. “Damn, that hot. Yeah, I definitely got to meet this woman.”
Assefa’s eyes narrowed, not liking Zareb’s sudden interest in Sanura. “You keep your playboy charms to yourself when you’re around her.”
“Afraid of a little competition?”
Assefa returned the shoulder slap. “Trust me. My Sanura is way too much witch for you.”
While they talked and caught up, they also scanned the darkness for danger or the inconvenient full-human out when they should be inside where it was warm and safe. Well, relatively safe, because sometimes the monsters knocked and were invited in.
“Okay, okay, but seriously, what about this siren?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure those other agents, who had the misfortune of chasing the sirens all over this country, would disagree. Besides, I’m charged with protecting you.”
“I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself.”
Assefa slowed then parked four houses down from the driveway the siren had just driven into.
“I know, partner, but try telling that to your father. I’m not complaining, mind you. If it weren’t for this assignment, I would be at home like every other Sudanese, ignorant to the beauty and diversity of the world. I’m g
lad to be here with you, as your shield and friend.”
Assefa nodded, not liking when Zareb reminded him of his official duty to the Berber family. Back home, Medja was an honored position, but here, so far away from titles and status, Zareb Osei was a partner and friend. One friend did not serve another.
Assefa watched as the siren opened and exited her car. Maneuvering on impossibly high heels, she made her way up the driveway and to a house. Digging into a silver, sparkling bag, she pulled out a set of keys and let herself into the dwelling.
Assefa pulled out his cell phone, pressed one button and waited.
Three rings later, then a crisp, “Yes, Agent Berber, what can I do for you?”
“I have an address I need you to run for me, Special Agent Huntington.” Assefa rattled off the address to the agent, a wind witch with minimal magical ability. With Huntington’s level of brilliance, especially of forensics and computer systems, she didn’t need much witch magic.
“Give me a few minutes, Berber. I’ll text you the info when I’m done.”
“Thanks. See you when we get back.” Assefa ended the call.
“You have to know,” Zareb began as if they’d been no break in their conversation, “sirens are as crazy as they come. If you want to see that pretty witch of yours again, you had better come up with a damn good plan and quick. Or do you think your Sanura has made you immune to the draw and beauty of other women?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Dammit, Assefa, that was a joke.”
“I know, but I’m deadly serious. Sanura wasn’t afraid of my Mngwa. Hell, she treated him like some fluffy, housebroken cat.” He shook his head, still amazed at how her eyes had gone from shock, to wariness, and then to cautious pleasure, all within a span of seconds. “We can communicate telepathically while I’m in cat form, and she can call me to her through a thunderbolt.”
That had stunned the hell out of him. Even now, after having her pull him from one place and planting him in another, Assefa was unsure how she’d done it. He’d envisioned running to her, seeing through Sanura’s eyes as the adzes raged and pummeled her force field. And he had run, as fast as he could to reach her. Then he was there, in front of the adzes, all claws and fangs and roaring shield for his witch.
“No Sudanese witch can do that, not even Mistress Kemraha, and her magic is the best in the nation.”
“You only think that because you haven’t met Sanura yet,” he said with unabashed pride in his little professor. In spite of her lack of law enforcement training, Sanura had performed admirably. In the midst of chaos and danger, she’d kept her cool, defended herself wisely, and relied on the strength of others. Now she was on her way to his home…our home. Assefa had no clue what had prompted her to change her mind, and he really didn’t care.
“Is she the fire witch of legend?” Zareb asked. “Do you even believe in the prophecy?”
Assefa didn’t want to have this conversation with Zareb before he and Sanura had a chance to talk.
“I don’t know what to believe, anymore. Time will tell.”
“True enough.” Zareb ran a hand over his bald head, eyes suddenly filled with concern. “Have you told her about your father?”
Something else they needed to discuss. The topics were mounting, but hopefully not insurmountable. “No, if it wasn’t for this ridiculous assignment, I would’ve had time to tell her everything. As it is, she’s probably at the estate wondering if she made a mistake entrusting me with her heart.”
“You think she’ll be upset when she learns the truth?”
Assefa shrugged. He wasn’t ready to think about the possibility of losing Sanura so soon after having found her.
“Incoming,” Assefa said when his cell phone dinged, alerting him to a text message. He read it and swore. It was as he’d suspected. In spite of the key she’d used to let herself into the house, the siren wasn’t renting the home. The place belonged to one Mr. Jason Vaughn—a divorced aircraft cargo handling supervisor. And, Assefa thought with growing certainty, the man the siren had left the bar with two nights ago.
He showed Zareb the message, then checked his firearm. Securing the truck keys in his coat pocket, Assefa climbed out of the vehicle, followed by his soundless partner.
“You take point,” Zareb whispered. “Let’s get this man-hating siren and see how well your witch has bonded you to her.”
The limousine driver punched in a code. The towering metal security gate effortlessly drew back, permitting them to enter. They drove up a long, winding driveway, which circled in front of a Georgian Colonial style home. And if Sanura wasn’t mistaken, the Potomac River bordered Assefa’s backyard, a stirringly beautiful but foreboding water element that awakened her fire spirit.
“The private, five-acre estate has a dock, five bedrooms, elevator, an apartment with private entrance and catering kitchen, a pool, and cabana,” the driver informed Sanura, his voice blithe as if most people lived the way Assefa obviously did.
By the time he’d parked the limo in one of seven garages, he’d finished telling Sanura all there was to know about the house, as well as the name of the company Assefa had hired to have her car transported to his home. Apparently, the third garage had been cleared out and assigned for her use. In fact, her car was already parked in the garage with a fresh wash and sparkling shine that Sanura could never get by going through one of those gas station car washes.
The driver, who was lean and of average height with the beginning of gray showing at his temples, finally took a breath, and Sanura couldn’t help but think he sounded like a realtor, telling her stuff she couldn’t care less about. But the man was pleasant, even if verbose, and had kind, fatherly eyes.
She could see why Assefa had sent him—Mr. Siddig—to retrieve her. On the surface, he came off as a happy-go-lucky middle-aged man, friendly in the extreme. But Sanura wasn’t fooled. Her ability to read the strength of auras, full-human and preternatural, gave her a different lens through which to view the driver. And while she had no idea what inner cat he held; she could feel the power of his cat spirit.
When Mr. Siddig let her into the house, Sanura’s mouth dropped. She quickly closed it, but couldn’t keep the awe out of her eyes. The home was even more stunning on the inside. Vaulted ceilings, glossy wooden floors, African artifacts—a beaded, seashell and wooden Kuba mask from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a colorfully patterned Yoruba chair from Nigeria, a small leather Dinka shield from the Sudan. Photographs of the Serengeti and its wildlife, particularly the large cats, led from the foyer and down a long hallway to Oya knew where.
Yes, she and Assefa definitely had a lot to discuss.
“I’ll take your luggage to the master bedroom, Dr. Williams, if that’s fine with you.”
Sanura nodded to Mr. Siddig as she continued to take in her surroundings, wondering if she knew her special agent at all.
“He owns Berber Pharmaceutical International,” Mr. Siddig said by way of answering her unasked question. He shrugged. “He knows a lot about a lot of different things, especially what poor people need.”
Sanura had known from Assefa’s pricey clothing and car that he had more money than he could possibly make working for the government, but she’d never expected all this. He’s a millionaire who works for the FBI. What in the hell?
Too exhausted to think on the strange turn of events, Sanura allowed Mr. Siddig to show her to the room she would share with Assefa. As she’d expected, it was a palatial suite, elegant and formal, like the man to whom it belonged. Grays and blues dominated the color scheme, as did artwork of dark, brooding skies and majestic mountains hidden under layers of untouched snow, the contrast exquisite in its emotional symmetry. Again, like the man himself.
Falling into bed after a late dinner and soothing bath, Sanura snuggled under the insanely soft sheets. She was relaxed, warm, and lonely. A bed the size of this one wasn’t meant for one. No, such a bed was designed with a man like Assefa in mind an
d all the wicked, wonderful ways he could use its expanse to bring a woman endless pleasure.
Sanura grabbed a pillow from the vacant side of the bed, squeezed it to her, and closed her eyes, wishing she was holding Assefa instead. With a needful sigh, Sanura allowed sleep to overtake her.
Startled, the next morning she awoke to running water. It took her a minute to realize the water was coming from the bathroom at the end of the large bedchamber. She grabbed the sheets to cover her partial nudity, wondering who’d entered the room once she went to sleep. Sanura went to grab the phone to call the housekeeper, Ms. Livingston when the bathroom door opened. A burst of steam flooded into the main area, followed by a form she hadn’t seen in two weeks but would recognize anywhere.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Wiping water from his wet hair, Assefa smiled at her, warm and delicious. He walked toward her, stopping when he reached the bed. “Did I surprise you?” He sat on the bed next to her, a knowing twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said, then punched him in the arm.
“Hey, I thought you would be glad to see me. If I’d known I’d be assaulted, I wouldn’t have chartered a flight home, just so I could be here when you awoke.”
He put the damp towel around her neck and drew her to him. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
By the gods, she was. Sanura inhaled his scent. The fragrance of magic, power, and man clung to him in a heady wave of were-cat temptation. “I missed you,” she admitted on a whisper, leaning in to taste those sexy lips of his.
Unrushed and tender, Assefa kissed her back. Rediscovering the feel and taste of him, she held on tight to damp shoulders, openly exploring with tongue and mouth and lips. Yes, she definitely missed her special agent.
Without breaking the kiss, Assefa climbed into the bed with Sanura, reminding her of her wish from last night. He was here and in her arms.
Pulling back from her, Assefa smiled when he realized she wore one of his FBI T-shirts and nothing else. “I see you raided my T-shirt drawer. I have to admit; this look is right up there with your handfasting bikini.”
