by S. L. Gray
Dalton glanced at the foul-toothed man and shook his head. "Sol likes to embellish. If they're here regular, I know them. Other than that, I know a face. Well enough to know I've not seen you before."
"What about Melanie Kendrick?" Kade knocked back the second shot while Dalton's eyebrows rose.
"The Professor?" He paused, then his grin grew even wider. "Is it you she's fancied herself up for then?"
So they’d noticed too? Maybe she’d fooled everyone. No one would expect a professor to have a wilder side. He shook his head. “Pretty sure I don’t have anything to do with her wardrobe. I just wondered if you could point me in her direction.”
Dalton looked disappointed. "Ah, well. Most nights she's here, you'd find her tucked away in a booth with a plain black coffee while Noura tears up the dance floor. Tonight, though.” He shook his head as well, smile gone warm and admiring. "Tonight, she's out there dancing like she's got nothing to lose. She's the one—"
"Incoming," Sol interrupted. He coughed and slouched on the stool, trying too hard to look casual.
Dalton laughed, one short, sharp sound. "So she is,” he confirmed, eyes suddenly dancing. He’d fixed his attention on a spot behind Sol and nodded in that direction, the smile for her, his quiet warning for Kade. “Brace yourself. She’s on the prowl.”
Chapter Four
Melanie felt him the minute he stepped through the door and that should have been a warning. She liked to think of herself as observant, but she rarely noticed men. On those occasions when she did, they were always exceptional. This one shouldn't have stood out from the crowd. He didn't tower above the crowd. He hadn't been loud about his arrival. He was just another guy coming to the pub for a drink.
And yet she'd looked the second he crossed the threshold, as surely as if someone had caught her chin and turned her head. The butterflies in her stomach launched into a swirling tornado of wings and she felt a crazy sense of urgency to look now lest she miss something incredible.
She all but held her breath while he chose a stool at the bar. He talked with Dalton and Sol, and she stood on her toes, straining to make out the shape of his lips, catch a hint of what they said. They'd be nearly impossible to read in this light, but she had to try.
"If he's that good, why don't you just go say something?" Noura nudged with her hip.
Heat flooded Melanie's cheeks. "What? No. I'm just looking. There's nothing wrong with that, right?"
Noura grinned. "Not if that's where you're starting. It's a pity if that's where you stop. Besides, you don't want him to think you're a prairie dog, do you? Popping your head up out of hiding to peek at him across the vast plain of humanity?"
Melanie stopped pretending to dance in favor of staring at her friend. Even for Noura, that was an odd yet almost philosophical thing to say. "You've had entirely too much to drink."
Noura's grin widened. “Or not nearly enough. Go on," she prompted, giving Melanie a little push. "Go say hello."
"I don't know..."
"Fine." Noura squared her shoulders. "I'll do it for you." She stepped around Melanie and aimed for the bar.
Melanie caught her arm. "No! No. I'm going, okay?" She let her friend go, but held up a finger in warning. "I can do this on my own. No help. As a matter of fact, stay here."
Then she turned on her heel and marched toward the bar herself.
He was waiting for her when she got there. He’d swiveled around to watch her approach and his gaze swept her up and down, leaving heat in its wake. She supposed she could have chalked up the sudden rush of warmth to weaving her way between dancers and the heat of so many bodies so close together, but she knew it came from him. She wanted it to be his fault.
She wished she’d had something more clever in mind to say than what came out when she finally got close enough. “Dalton. Sol.” Her gaze never left the stranger. “Who’s your friend?”
Oh God. If the earth opened and she disappeared forever, she might have a hope he wouldn't laugh.
The floor stayed solid beneath her feet.
He smiled, a slow shift of expression as he looked her over again, and the answering warmth blazed into an inferno, the brightest, hottest spot somewhere deep behind her navel. Was she blushing? She had to be blushing. Had she broken into a sweat? Were her knees really melting?
Sol mumbled something Melanie couldn't quite make out over the thundering heartbeat in her ears and slid off his stool. He wobbled off into the crowd, maybe to the bathroom or to get closer to the band. She wasn't watching.
The newcomer offered a hand. Melanie hesitated before meeting his reach, bracing herself against the jolt she somehow knew she'd feel. For a second, nothing happened. She didn’t breathe. Her heart stopped thudding against the roof of her mouth. Then they both kicked in with a ferocity that made her suck in a sharp breath and the room tilt crazily.
His fingers were hot as they slid against her palm and his grip tightened fast enough to promise he wouldn’t let her fall. "Dalton and I just met," he explained. "So I'm an acquaintance, not a friend. Eric Kade."
"Eric." Her fingers tightened on his.
His grin widened and heat blossomed in her cheeks again. This was just silly. It was a name, nothing more than that. Men, handsome or otherwise, had names. "I prefer Kade."
And a voice like he’d been drinking chocolate. Not the kind that choked you up and made it difficult to speak, but smooth, velvety chocolate that coated everything and made it better. "Kade, then," she amended as fluidly as she could on a dry throat. "I'm—"
"Melanie Kendrick, yeah, I know." He let her hand go with an easy shrug. "I saw you outside. I asked Dalton about you."
And just like that, the heat was gone. A shiver raced down her spine. Goosebumps pricked her skin again and she rubbed at her arms. “Saw me,” she echoed. She couldn’t bring herself to take a step back, though the little voice telling her it would be wise was loud and shrill. “Then you were the one I felt watching me."
His eyebrows jerked upward and his grin faded. Had she said the wrong thing? When he looked her over this time, it wasn’t with appreciation, but rather like she was a puzzle he had to solve. "Maybe we should talk about that."
No, she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to go back to flirting with a handsome man. She wanted him to smile at her again, to look at her like he liked what he saw and maybe hoped for more. She wanted the heat back. She wanted to touch him again.
She wanted to keep the conversation as far away from creepy as she possibly could. Most of all, she absolutely didn’t want to hear it confirmed that this gorgeous stranger had been the man on the pier. The one who’d set her nerves jangling in the first place today. The one she hadn’t been able to see, so couldn’t be real.
She summoned a faint, if hopefully reassuring smile, and tried to make her voice sound light and unconcerned. "There’s not really anything to talk about. I get those feelings sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Someone stares too long and you notice and wonder what they’re looking at, you know? I thought maybe my clothes—" She was babbling. "I don't usually dress like this, so I'm a little hypersensitive, maybe."
"Yeah. Maybe," he agreed, but he didn’t look convinced.
Dalton set a bottle of water on the bar and flashed her one of his perfect smiles. "I don't need to have your keys from you, do I? You know how you get when you're hydrated."
Melanie laughed, grateful for the save from a very awkward moment. She picked up the bottle, shaking her head. "Thanks, Dalton. I’ll try not to be embarrassing." She cracked the lid and took a long swallow.
And nearly choked on the mouthful when a warm hand touched her back. As with the first time, heat spread out from the point of contact. It encouraged her to press back against him like a cat might brush against a heater. She hadn't seen Kade move, but she was fully aware of him now. Tall. He was taller than she'd first thought. Of course, he'd been sitting and she was wearing heels. Still not big enough to hulk or loom, but the thought that she could safely hide in his shado
w whispered through her mind again.
"Did you need to get around me?" Open space surrounded them on three sides, so the odds were good he'd moved deliberately, touched her on purpose. Her mind told her to panic. Her body refused. "Or need something else?"
Dalton had drifted down the bar, but glanced back now, an eyebrow twitching upward. She could shout for help if she really needed it. She could beg him to come back and he’d be there in a flash. Instead, she shook her head, a quick little gesture to dismiss him. He nodded and turned away.
Kade lowered his head so his mouth was by her ear, so his breath brushed her skin and brought the goosebumps back again. Made that ember in her stomach spark back to life.
"We need to talk,” he insisted lowly. “But we can do that later.” His thumb stroked her back. "Dance with me."
It was all she could do not to brush her cheek against his. She turned her head instead, studying him without the safety of distance. Faint lines bracketed his mouth. Melanie hadn't noticed them before. Somehow, they made him look friendlier. She wouldn't mind approaching a stranger on the street if he had smile lines like Kade's. They contrasted everything else about him. The width of his shoulders, the steady way he met her gaze, the intensity in gray eyes that almost looked like they swirled with smoke. She wet her lips and his attention dipped to watch her tongue. The ember inside her flared again, spearing heat down to pool between her legs. Her nipples pebbled. She whispered, “What are you doing to me?”
Those laugh lines deepened as he smiled at her again. “Just asking you to dance. Yes or no?”
There was nothing “just” about him, but did she have a choice? She spent another minute looking into his eyes, then allowed herself the faintest smile. “Then yes. Let’s dance.”
She heard him chuckle as she turned around, determined to lead them both through the maze of bodies without incident. This wasn't like her. She wasn't the sort of woman who boldly held hands with strangers. She only seldom considered taking a man back to her place, but she was thinking about it now. She wanted him. That was the strange feeling blazing inside her, heating her up. She wanted him and if he felt the same, she might break her habit of going home alone tonight.
The band, who’d been amazing from the start tonight, hit a sudden sour note and a startled murmur rippled through the dancers. Someone shouted over by the doors and a tug on her hand, like Kade had stopped moving, made her turn back to see what was going on.
For the most part, it was the backs of heads and shoulders. Kade was much closer than she expected and, oddly, he wasn’t facing toward the door like everyone else. He was frowning at the band, whose music slowly stopped, one instrument at a time.
“What—?”
Kade’s attention dropped to her and he tugged her toward him, wrapping his arm around her waist when she all but stood on his toes. “Stay close to me. Trust me.”
Well, that was a weird thing to say. She struggled to twist in his grasp, straining to see what had alarmed him. The ember of attraction she was beginning to anticipate flared to life again, but this time didn’t stop at warming her up. The first few moments were pleasant. Then the pain began.
Something dark darted across the room, fast, like a bat or a bird had gotten trapped inside. Now she understood the faltering music and the shouts and pointing from the audience. Everyone had seen it. The poor thing must be terrified. Shrugging off a cramp, she tried to pry Kade’s arm from around her. Dalton would have a box behind the counter so they could catch it, protect it, and let it go.
Kade’s grip tightened. “You have to stay with me.”
She grimaced as another cramp gripped her, this one stronger than the first, but it disappeared as quickly as it came on. Maybe she’d gotten overheated tucked this close to his body. Distance couldn’t do any harm. She managed an apologetic smile. "Just let go for a second. I just want to see what it is, and I need some air."
"No."
She frowned. No? Wouldn’t it be just her luck to find a guy she liked, only to discover he was a control freak. "Yes," she insisted, lifting her chin. She peeled his arm from her waist this time and took a step away. "I'll be right back.”
He reached for her but she ducked through a gap between the couple in front of them and slipped just beyond his reach. The bird, or whatever it was, had come toward her, back to this side of the room. It zipped in and out of a pool of shadows, flying circles around itself. No, now there were two. Or were there? The dark shapes began to flash, sparks of light at the corners of her eyes. Her chest tightened and the floor dipped again. No, oh no. Not an asthma attack, not now, not here.
She thought she heard Kade shout something behind her. She didn’t want to faint in front of him, but if she had to go down, it would be best to do it at his feet. He’d take care of her. He’d get her help. She turned back for him, tried retracing her steps…
The fluttering shadows changed and grew, shifting and unfolding until they became men.
Not just men. Men with guns. Men who trained them both on her.
"How about sticking with me now?” Kade, warm and solid against her back again, arm once more girded around her waist. His breath on her skin didn’t intoxicate now; it reassured.
Someone by the exit shouted, "The door's locked," and panic spiked through the crowd. They scattered in all directions. Someone climbed on the bar despite Dalton's command to come down. Melanie saw a chair hurled at the front window. It bounced off harmlessly. Was there really no way out?
"If you're going to do something," she said over her shoulder, "could you hurry up? Things are getting ugly over there." Her head was swimming, her vision blurring in and out of focus. If he hadn’t been holding her, she’d have bent double as the cramping twisted tighter.
"I'm waiting for them to make the first move."
"Waiting. Are you crazy?" Her two opponents stood a few paces apart in identical poses. They still had their guns at the ready. Kade's fingers curled as if he'd like to draw, like an old-fashioned gunslinger. Except as far as she knew, he didn't have a gun.
"Not crazy," he answered. "Stop moving."
Definitely crazy. If they stood still much longer, they’d get trampled when the terrified crowd looked for a different way out. In truth, though, she didn’t think she could stand on her own, so she left her balance in his hands and sucked in breath enough to shout. "Hey! If you just tell us what you want—”
Neither figure answered. One of them fired. She wasn't sure which. It hardly mattered. She heard the crack, heard Kade's shout as he yanked her backward. Her shoulders hit his chest so hard that she lost all that gathered breath.
She felt the bullet pass through her body, a white-hot fire that speared through the knot of sickness.
And disappeared.
The world snapped into fast-forward motion. Kade whirled with her and she found herself abruptly pressed against the bar.
"You stay here," he ordered, expression dark. "And you don't move. Until I come for you, you're a shadow. Don't talk. Don't think. Just. Stay."
Close. This is too damned close, Kade scolded himself as he rolled up his sleeves. There were too many bystanders for his taste, innocent or otherwise, but the battle had erupted here. He didn't have it in him to give ground.
"Here," he called as he stepped forward. The phantoms scanned the room, still looking for Melanie. They knew they hadn't finished the job and as long as avenues to get it done existed, they'd keep searching. For now, Kade served as a distraction. Both figures turned his way.
Their disguises were well thought out, neither one too remarkable, neither standing out in memorable ways. When the panic in the crowd wore off, the buzz of adrenaline would muddle recollection. None of the observers would remember details.
Kade didn't need them. He didn't care about the color of their eyes. All that mattered was stopping them, here and now.
Despite the earlier flurry of movement, phantoms slowed down once they crossed fully into the world. In their normal stat
e, they could and often did react at the speed of command. They were the flickers at the edge of sight as a person fell asleep. The shadowy figures lurking in the corner of a room that disappeared when the victim looked at them directly. Impossible to corner or cage, they had no thoughts of their own, serving only as puppets for a master who could be blocks, or miles, away.
But unleashed in man's everyday world, they were bound by the rules governing everything else and hampered by a lag between the master's thought and reflex speed. That lag explained Kade's fingers closing on a throat that yielded like living flesh. When he lifted the thing off its feet, it kicked and gagged like a human might.
There were gasps and murmurs in the crowd, of course, but those too would fade away when the action was over. No one would remember Kade's impossible feat of strength.
"Spare me," Kade snarled as the man — thing — twitched. "We both know what you are. The act's not going to work."
"We both know what you are as well, shadowborn." The phantom followed his command, no longer struggling in his grip.
No matter how many times Kade had seen their eyes go flat, no matter how often he'd fought creatures that could dissolve and reform in an instant, it still sent a wave of revulsion shuddering through his bones. Nature of the beast.
It curled its fingers around his wrist and then, obeying its master once more, it smiled, a thin, humorless shift of expression, and stabbed its fingers through his skin until they curled around bone.
Someone screamed. Kade saw her point in his direction. The pain distracted him and broke his focus. The interruption gave the other phantom time to act.
Kade should have disarmed it. It was too late by the time he heard the sound of the cocking gun. He wheeled, the phantom he held still trying to separate Kade's hand from his body. It didn't feel the bullet that slammed into it from behind when its counterpart pulled the trigger. It had no defense against the fierce word Kade hissed between his teeth. It blew apart, shattering its shell of a body into a fine dark grit, like someone had set off a bomb inside a ceramic doll.
