by S. L. Gray
Kade didn't apologize for the vulgar display of power. He did what had to be done. Inevitably someone in the crowd would want to play hero, determined to put himself in harm's way if Kade delayed too long.
So he dove for the remaining phantom, catching it around the waist. They crashed to the floor and skidded some distance, polished wood doing little to slow them down. Neither of them were concerned with the splinters of wood embedding themselves in the phantom's back or the chairs that toppled in their wake.
It had already begun to fade, its body softening and thinning beneath Kade's weight as they thumped to a halt. It spread out beneath him, dark tendrils of smoke-like shadow sinking through the spaces where the floorboards met.
But the fight had not bled out of it yet. It freed a hand from the knot of Kade's shirt and caught him across the cheek. Pain blazed as skin split, spilling blood that smelled sharp even to Kade's nose. Inhuman, alien. A reminder of what he wasn't and his duties to protect those who were.
The phantom swung again, this time aiming for Kade's throat. Kade caught it at the wrist and slammed its hand back to the floor.
Though exploding phantoms looked dramatic and satisfied the goal of getting rid of them, a strong enough master could reassemble the pieces and send his servants back to finish the mission, their resolve sharpened by a need for revenge. Those twice or three-times formed got progressively harder to fight.
The solution was to make resurrection impossible.
The words of the spell came easily to mind. Kade had an opening, since the puppet master had begun to call his creation home. He'd be concentrating more on that than defending the soulless thing he'd made. Kade pinned its other hand and kicked its legs apart. He met the depthless gaze and smirked. "Not tonight."
"Kade, what are you doing?" Melanie's voice, too close for her to be safe. He glanced up and found her standing at his shoulder, a hand pressed against her stomach as though the bullet that had passed through her had left a real wound. Lines of tension showed on her forehead and her lips were a shade paler than they should have been. "We need to get out of here. Stop playing around."
Not now.
"I told you to stay," he said as the phantom beneath him solidified. It regained strength and tested Kade's grip, trying to close the distance to Melanie.
"I don't follow orders barked at me by someone I just met. They've got one of the doors open," she said. "Can we leave? We should leave." Decision made, she stepped away.
Kade couldn't afford to let go. "No! Melanie. Melanie, wait. Look at me. Please look at me?" He craned his neck to keep an eye on her, willing her to turn around. "I need you to stay here." He wet his lips. "Please."
His attention had to be divided between watching her decide and wrestling the phantom down again. Each time Kade looked over his shoulder, the phantom strained upward, determined to buck him off if it couldn't work its way free.
"I need you," he blurted, truth tangled up in almost-embarrassing desperation. "I need your help. Please."
Now she slowed, stopped and turned. She'd given him a moment. So what if she was still in harm's way? She'd listened. If he could see her, he could help her. If she ran...
One thing at a time. "What can I do? What are you doing? You never answered me."
"Taking care of a mutual problem." He focusing on the struggling thing beneath him again. "I need you to repeat the words you hear me say. Every syllable, in the same order. You can't miss one. Can you do that for me?"
"Not when it's this hard to hear." She moved closer without prompting. Too close, the voice at the back of Kade's mind warned again. She knelt before he could tell her to back away. Her shoulder brushed his and the smell of her perfume, or maybe just her shampoo, surrounded him. She tucked her hair behind an ear. "Better," she announced. "Okay, now tell me what to say."
The phantom fought desperately, gnashing its teeth, corded muscle standing out in its neck. Having its intended target so close and yet untouchable must have been torture. Something like pity stirred for one brief moment in Kade's heart. He set his jaw and snuffed it out.
It wasn't a language that Melanie had ever heard before, and she'd studied some of the oldest and most obscure. Not ancient Sanskrit or Arabic or even Aramaic, though it could have been a cousin. At least in the same family.
Just like always, she was thinking too hard. Repeat the words, he'd told her, syllable for syllable, missing none. Hard to do with people shouting. Harder still when the man Kade held down began to scream.
The night could not have gotten any more bizarre if she'd taken drugs. First her sudden forwardness with Kade, a man she didn't know at all. And then the attack, or whatever this was. A close call and pure luck, she decided. The cramps had made her see things. She couldn't possibly have dodged a bullet. Even more impossible, it couldn't have simply passed through as if she was a ghost. The gunman missed. That was the only explanation.
Nothing explained how a man dissolved.
And yet, while she watched and echoed Kade's nearly unpronounceable words, his captive did just that, writhing and moaning and howling with pain. It made her stumble over the unfamiliar syllables. It made Kade curse and start again.
And then, when she thought that neither she nor her ears could take any more, it ended. The man on the floor gave one last, desperate heave, then went still as stone and faded away. He left no trace. He left no clothes. He simply drifted apart like so much smoke blown by a breeze.
Melanie blinked a few times at the place where he'd been, then gathered the shreds of her sanity and climbed to her feet. "I think," she told Kade's shoulders and the top of his head, "that I'd like to go home now. It's been...an interesting night."
"It's been a mess," he countered, unfolding as he stood as well. He shoved a hand through his hair, mussing its already-careless style. "Home sounds like a good plan. Let's go."
Another portion of her peace of mind shattered, not unlike the gunman. She closed her eyes briefly, determined to stop that comparison before it went too far. Her eyebrows lifted as she looked at Kade again. "Let's? Let us? As in we?"
Kade summoned something closer to a smirk than a smile. "Yeah," he said, reaching for her elbow. "Us as in we."
Melanie backed just out of reach. "I don't recall inviting you." The seduction she’d been planning suddenly seemed like the worst idea she’d had in a decade. At least.
"I didn't ask." He stepped forward, taking up the space she'd retreated. When he reached again, there was no avoiding him.
But caught didn't mean complacent. She tugged against his grip. "I'm more than capable of getting home on my own. I'll call a cab if that will make you let go of me."
"Room for two in a cab."
She'd hardly noticed that he had her moving, but now the cool air sweeping through the pub door that listed on its hinges grazed her cheek. It distracted her with the promise of freedom. Outside, in the middle of the milling crowd, maybe she could shake him off, lose him between bodies.
She might as well have announced her plans out loud. As they crossed the threshold, Kade slid closer, his arm banded around her yet again. He tucked her against his side in a way that made it clear there'd be no shaking him off as he steered her down the street toward home. He murmured apologies as he shouldered past bystanders. They shifted out of his way without complaint.
"My friend," Melanie tried. "I met somebody here."
"You can call her in the morning." He kept her moving as if she stood on a conveyor belt. She felt like she could dig her heels in, leave gouges in the concrete, and she'd still end up where he wanted her to go.
And a small, traitorous part of her thrilled at the notion. That bit didn't want to leave his side. He'd protected her. He'd fought off whoever — whatever — those men were. She'd be a fool to send him away. Didn't she feel better now that they were leaving?
She frowned at herself, forced to admit she did. The aches that had plagued her had faded almost to nothing. She prodded at her abdomen d
iscreetly, seeking out the places that had doubled her with pain. No sore spots, no tenderness. How could that be?
"You have a couch?"
The question jarred her out of her inspection. When she looked up again, her apartment building was clearly in view. How fast were they walking? How long had she been staring at her navel? She glanced over her shoulder and saw no hint of the crowd they'd left behind. "What? Yes, of course I do." She stumbled on the next step. He kept her upright, bearing up her weight. They kept moving forward. "Why?"
"So I have somewhere to sleep that isn't the floor."
"What? Wait." This time when she put her foot down, he let her jerk them to a halt. She slipped away from the curve of his arm and felt like she could breathe for the first time in hours. She leveled a finger at him when he moved toward her again. "You are not moving in with me. You're not even staying the night."
He stepped forward again and she backed away, teetering on the edge of the curb. He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her, but he stayed where he'd stopped that time. Melanie let out the shallow breath she’d been holding and nodded in relief. He'd have to free his hands if he wanted to grab her. That second of distraction might give her more of a fighting chance.
"Someone tried to kill you tonight." He pitched his voice so low that the rumble of his words turned her skin to gooseflesh, as if each letter had a palpable weight. "You don't have to like me but I'm not going away."
And there was the problem: she did like him. What she knew of him, which admittedly was next to nothing, and really should have had her examining the inside of her head. Yes, he had some brutish qualities. Yes, barking orders and inviting himself home was annoying, but if he hadn’t been there tonight, would she be alive?
She had to clear her throat and wet her lips to speak. The expression she read in his eyes promised she'd have a fight on her hands if she thought she could dismiss him. And if she listened to the voices in her head, she'd confess she still didn't want to be alone.
"Nobody stays in my apartment but me. It's private space. Sacred, you understand."
An eyebrow lifted. "Warded?"
"What?"
Kade snorted. "Never mind." Her plan to distract him backfired. He tugged a hand free of a pocket, caught her wrist and pulled her toward the building's stairs. "You've got a new roommate. You should be glad I don't snore."
She jogged up the stairs behind him as he took them two at a time. He let her go when they stood outside her door, watching as she rummaged the keys from her purse. She slid one into the lock and felt the tumbler snap open. Then she paused, head bowed and gaze on her hands. Was she really going to let him in? Had she lost her mind?
She didn’t believe in magic, but something he'd done melted the threat away. She briefly considered the idea that this had all been an elaborate performance, meant to convince Melanie to take home the handsome hero for a one-night stand. Noura had been trying to set her up for months, but not even she would go far enough to get Melanie shot.
Oh God. Someone had shot her!
She looked up and found him studying her intently. Heat threatened but didn't make it all the way to her cheeks. "I could call the cops." The warning held no weight.
Kade's shoulders rose and fell. "Could," he agreed. "If you really wanted to get rid of me. But." He braced his hand against the doorjamb just above her head. Not stopping her. Not trapping her. He leaned into her bubble of personal space but they didn't, quite, touch. "They'll just send someone else."
She was abruptly too aware of the shape of his mouth, the breath tickling her cheek again, the shadow of stubble on his chin. The inappropriate throb of desire. She swallowed hard and pried her gaze away. "Who's they?"
He cracked a faint, one-sided grin. "Invite me in. Pour me a drink. We'll pretend we're friends. I'll answer your questions." He paused, then added, "Please."
Melanie pushed the door open. When he said, "Ladies first," she stepped in. Please, her thoughts echoed. Don't let this be a mistake.
Chapter Five
Melanie didn't entertain in her apartment often. Make that ever. These rooms were her sanctuary, an escape from life at the office and the bustle of San Francisco's streets. She wasn't used to having anyone else take up her space and breathe her air.
Certainly no one like Kade.
The living room seemed smaller with him in it, somehow. When she'd found the place, she agreed with the landlord that it was a bargain. She'd seen too many postage-stamp-sized apartments and choked at the rent they asked for supposed luxury. Here, though, she had room to move. The walls didn't feel too close or cramped.
The architect had clearly never met Eric Kade.
Melanie edged around him as he took stock of her belongings, a faint frown painting shadows between his eyebrows. She used the sofa as a barrier between them and cleared her throat.
"Something wrong?"
"I don't know," she answered, curling her fingers into the top of a couch cushion. "You're frowning."
"Thinking." He paused and amended, "Surprised. It's not what I expected."
Melanie's gaze traveled the room. What could possibly be so shocking that he had to comment? The few pieces of art hung straight on the walls. She'd dusted the ceiling fan just yesterday. "What are you seeing that I'm not?"
"You." He sounded — looked — confused.
All right. So maybe their styles were colliding. He probably decorated with milk crates and build-it-yourself furniture. She liked the sleek, uncluttered lines of a modern look. She liked brushed leather and warm wood. He probably favored plaids and antlers on the wall.
"It is my place. Shouldn't it suit me?"
"Yeah. I just expected it to be more buttoned down."
Noura had complained that the place looked antiseptic when she came to visit unexpectedly a few months back. Nothing personal, she said. No character. Melanie had been working on that ever since. Apparently it had worked. Apparently it wasn't as boring as she seemed to be.
"I choose to take that as a compliment."
"It was," he agreed. "You're welcome."
She'd take that too, rough edge and all. He didn't seem the sort to flatter easily. Given the night she'd had, she could use every reassurance that she hadn't gone crazy. That things would be okay. That some part of the world was still normal. Home was about as normal as it got.
He stepped toward the coffee table. Suddenly the sofa barrier didn't seem like enough. He held her gaze while he moved, then sat on the couch, settling beneath her as if she'd invited him to get comfortable. As if they weren't strangers and he hadn't muscled his way into her home. As if she hadn't let him like some kind of fool.
"About this staying thing."
"You won't know I'm here."
Oh yes, she would. "I'm not a roommate kind of person, and if you take over my living room, I promise you, I'll notice." If he was sleeping there when she got up to make coffee, she'd have to be quiet. She'd have to tiptoe in her own home.
And he didn't have luggage, so would he sleep in his clothes? Or in his shorts? Or in nothing at all? She might be able to find reasons not to object to that, but she'd have to let him stick around to be sure. That was harder.
Then again, he had been right beside her for the weirdest experience of her life. He'd been trying to help.
He got one night. One. After that, she'd kick him out. She pursed her lips and straightened to march down the short hall leading to the sole bedroom. She stopped at the linen closet, jerking the door open a little harder than strictly necessary.
"The sofa doesn't fold out. You'll have to make it work the way it is. It may be too short," she warned with a touch of vindictive glee as she wandered back to the living room, a bundle of sheets and one blanket the shield she carried against her chest.
"My knees bend." He'd stretched an arm along the back of the couch, completely taking over. She stopped at the edge of the room, staring. When the silence went on too long, his expression warmed, faint amuseme
nt kindling in his eyes. "Want some help with that?"
Melanie's stomach gave a rebellious hop of recognition. She saw interest in his gaze among other things. Curiosity. Determination. A hint of the heat that had nearly overwhelmed her and had her craving dark corners before all hell broke loose in the bar.
And that reminded her. She still didn't know exactly what was going on. "I'm fine, thank you," she said, sounding prim even to her own ears. "You're enjoying this far too much." She dropped the bedclothes beside him and refolded her arms. "So."
"So?" He twisted on the couch to face her.
"So," she repeated, eyebrow rising. "You were going to tell me about that nonsense in the pub."
The humor bled out of his eyes. For a moment, Melanie wished she could take the words back. She liked the hinted-at smile barely lifting the corners of his mouth, no matter that she'd seen it mostly when he fought not to laugh at her. Amusement made him seem approachable, not the hard-jawed and imposing defender who sat on her couch now.
"You can call it nonsense, if you want. I call it saving your life."
Irritation had changed to worry. Now worry became confusion. Melanie sat on the bundle of blankets beside him, wanting honesty now most of all. "Then they really were trying to shoot me."
Kade shook his head. "Shot you. Would have, anyway."
"If it wasn't for you." Her hand dropped to her abdomen, covering the spot that had cramped so painfully. When she closed her eyes, she remembered the crack of the shot being fired and the sensation of the bullet passing through her. Of his hand pressed hard against her ribs. Her eyes snapped open. "What did you do to me?"
Kade studied her a moment, then rubbed a hand over his face and sat forward, elbows braced on his knees. "It's complicated."
"Be that as it may, I think I have the right to know. Especially since it's a matter of life and could have been my death."
"Nobody's going to die," he said. The words were edged and dangerous. They had the weight of a promise.
"How did you know to be there? How did you find me? You said you saw me earlier, but how did you know? I don't go out often enough to be predictable. Dalton's is a favorite place," she allowed, "but we're there at best every other week. If someone's stalking me—"
