by Patti O'Shea
“Quit playing games,” he demanded.
“This is no game.” She reached out and ran her hand fleetingly along the length of his arm. “I won’t let you die, and I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
He huffed out a long, slow breath. “You don’t get to make my decisions.”
“No. Not when…” She trailed off. It was probably stupid to remind him, but she was suddenly curious. “If you want to go outside and play so badly, why don’t you freeze my powers like you did the night we met?”
With a grimace, he looked away.
“You can’t,” she realized. “You can prevent me from wielding them, but once they’re in use, you can’t make them disappear! I’m right, aren’t I?” When he made no response, she added, “Do you have to touch me to keep me powerless, or can you do it from a distance?”
McCabe turned to her, his eyes burning. “Stop whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”
Reaching up, she fingered the ends of her hair and weighed a few factors. Finally, canting her hip slightly, she posed to accentuate her curves. “Sorry, but you’re stuck here until I decide otherwise,” she said.
His hands clenched and released at his sides as he struggled to rein in his fury. “Do as I say. Move aside.”
She rolled her eyes at his order. “Is there anything more predictable than a demon male’s response to being thwarted?” It was strictly a rhetorical question, but she knew it would make him angrier. She wanted him pissed off at her and not going outside.
It worked. She could almost see clouds of power amassing around him. A muscle jumped in his jaw. If he’d complained before about his Kiverian side pulling at the leash, it must be about ready to snap the rope by now. He was livid.
“Open the fucking door,” he said. Each word was bitten out.
With a smile, she arched her back and said, “I will, after the assassin is gone. But if you want it sooner, why don’t you come over here and make me?”
Conor moved so fast that she didn’t have time to blink. Suddenly he had her across the room and sitting atop the table. But as he stood between her parted legs, she wrapped them around him and drew him closer. McCabe looked stunned.
“You did this deliberately,” he accused.
“Ya think?”
He tried to pull away, but Mika didn’t let him. She noticed that he didn’t put much effort into a second attempt, and they both knew that if he really wanted to put distance between them he’d easily be able to break her hold. As she watched, some of the anger drained from his gaze.
“You’re trouble,” he repeated.
“Always.” She leaned forward and kissed him. At first, Conor didn’t respond, but she didn’t stop. Then the tension seeped from his body and he took control.
“Bad for me,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Maybe,” she agreed between kisses, “but at least you’re alive for a bit longer.”
McCabe’s hands found her hips and he tugged her even more firmly against him. When he had her anchored, one hand moved under her tank top and cupped her left breast. He used his thumb to tease her nipple. With a gasp of surprise, of pleasure, she sank deeper into arousal.
“Mika.” His voice was low, husky. Seductive.
“Hmm?” She dropped her head back to give him more room to nuzzle her throat.
“Open the door.”
It took a minute, maybe two, for his request to register. As soon as it did, it popped her bubble of excitement. Mika pushed him back—not far, but she wanted to see his face. “Unfair,” she complained, but there was no heat in her voice.
He raised an eyebrow. “This again?” McCabe ignored the virtuous look she donned. “You think I don’t realize when you use our attraction to divert me? You know exactly what you’re doing when you position yourself a certain way.” Conor lightly caressed her breast.
When he removed his hand, she smiled, pleased that he knew her so well. “It worked, didn’t it? Our watcher left while you were trying to persuade me to unblock the doors.”
“What?” McCabe separated from her, faced the direction of the assassin and ran a quick scan. The watcher was gone. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, directing a glare at her.
Mika fluttered her lashes at him. “Can I help it if he didn’t hang around?”
Conor shook his head and walked to the sink. With a laugh, Mika hopped off the table and went to him. This was the second time he’d used their attraction to try to manipulate her, and she didn’t mind—well, not too much. It was a standard demonic ploy, one she’d used on him, and she thought it was encouraging that his self-command had slipped so far.
When she reached him, she hugged him from behind, snuggling her breasts into his back, and slid her hands from his waist down the front of his jeans. He caught her before she could touch him.
“Don’t start,” he warned.
“I was only going to make you more comfortable,” she said. “That zipper has to be digging into some pretty sensitive flesh.”
He cursed then laughed, and Mika smiled. The emotional warmth his nearness caused inside her expanded, filling her body till she felt as if she’d burst. “I love the sound of your laugh,” she said, and nipped his shoulder blade through his T-shirt. “I want to hear it more often.”
Immediately, Conor went still. He looked pained.
“No.” Mika gripped him harder as he tried to pull away. She sensed his struggle. “I’m not going to push. I just want to say one thing, okay?” Conor didn’t reply, but he didn’t break away, either. Mika took that as a yes. “You’re too serious most of the time. You need to cut that out. I think I can help. Hell, if anyone knows how to have fun, it’s me. My family, the others in Orcus, they all…” Suddenly uncomfortable, Mika trailed off and broke free.
McCabe caught her before she could escape. “You wouldn’t let me get away, why do you think I’ll let you leave?” he asked.
She shrugged and tried to evade his eyes. Conor didn’t allow that, either. His palm cupped her jaw and tilted her face up until their gazes met. She couldn’t read his expression.
“They all what?”
Mika started to give some flip answer, but stopped herself. She’d made a promise that she’d be honest with Conor, and she wouldn’t hedge on the truth no matter how uncomfortable it made her, or how vulnerable she felt. Still, she wasn’t precisely sure how to respond.
After a few seconds she said, “They don’t need me. Don’t ask how I know that, either. Maybe it’s because my departures have never caused much of a ripple. My returns either. Whenever I crossed the veil…Oh, I know my human family missed me when I lived in Orcus, and my demon family missed me when I wasn’t with them, but it wasn’t like my presence was…necessary.” She shrugged a third time, not certain she’d explained herself.
McCabe gave her an inscrutable look. “And now you think you’re necessary to me?”
“I know I am.” On that point, Mika was positive. “You might not like it, but it’s true.”
Just as she needed him. She’d begun to recognize it. Balance. Yin and yang. Light and dark. Male and female.
Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach. Things were so black and white for McCabe that it terrified her. What would he say when he discovered her lies? With a tremulous hand, she pushed his damp hair off his forehead.
She was in trouble.
Mika felt like a criminal when she left Conor’s house. The only thing that kept her from turning around and going back inside was picturing the Council’s reaction if she didn’t meet with their designee. She’d been able to enjoy a burger, and her freedom from house arrest, but the guilt would come roaring back when she saw McCabe again.
Using a wad of paper towels, Mika wiped up the excess water splashed on the periwinkle counter around the sink. The restroom of the restaurant was empty, but then the diner was sparsely occupied. She was here at an off time, the supper crowd was gone and the evening movie-goers were still wat
ching their shows.
Mika put her purse on the dried area and, after pushing the sleeves of her fuchsia knit T-shirt from her wrists to her elbows, pulled a comb and a barrette from her bag. The shirt was comfortable, and her jeans loose and soft from repeated washing, giving her freedom of movement—something she’d need if things fell apart during the meeting. She didn’t trust human minions.
No, contrary to human legends she’d read, they weren’t controlled by demons, nor were they possessed. Which meant they could be unpredictable. And they were generally of questionable character. When a human worked for a demon, there was always something in it for them. The Council obviously believed this minion would be trustworthy—as important as this mission was, they wouldn’t use someone who hadn’t proved himself—but she felt uneasy, anyway.
When she made her rendezvous tonight, she’d be prepared for betrayal. It was the only smart thing to do.
With a grimace, Mika used the comb to gather her hair at the back of her head. When her locks were smooth, she exchanged the comb for the clip and twisted her mane into place. The ends of her hair spiked up and out. It was a fun kind of style, and she stared at it for a moment with a smile.
It made her appear more youthful and innocent—two things that might help with the Council lackey. Of course, looking young might bring about a different kind of trouble with this guy.
Mika shrugged. She could handle a human.
She put her comb away and slung her purse strap over her head. Her money, driver’s license and comm unit were tucked into her pockets where they’d be safer, but she carried the small leather bag anyway. It, too, should add to the impression of youth. The shocking pink leather and tiny size were pure teenager.
Or Mahsei demon.
Mika laughed silently. She could easily visualize her mother using something in this style and color, and while her mom looked almost as young as Mika, she was nearly eighty. Of course, for a demon, that wasn’t even middleaged.
With one last primp in front of the mirror, Mika returned to her seat outside. The diner was ringed with booths and she’d grabbed one in the corner. Red vinyl banquettes complemented silver-and-white Formica tables, giving the place a retro feel. She liked it. More tables dotted the open floor, the red-and-chrome chairs brightening the off-white linoleum, and vintage advertising prints decorated the walls.
Mika sighed in contentment. Eating out had been a treat, but one she deserved. After being confined to Mc-Cabe’s house for days, she’d been going stir-crazy. What with the searching she’d done and the time dealing with Conor and their vishtau, she was ready for a break. Tonight she was going to relax.
“More coffee?”
Mika looked up at the waitress and said, “Yes, please.”
The woman’s uniform was as retro as the diner. She even wore a plastic pin with her name on it—Rachel. As she filled Mika’s mug, Rachel took in Mika’s changed appearance and said, “Good thing this isn’t a bar. With your new ’do, I’d have to card you.”
The waitress grinned and Mika smiled back. “Trust me, if I planned to bar-hop, you wouldn’t question my age.”
All evening Rachel had chatted with the people at her tables, and Mika found her entertaining. The woman had to be around forty, but she was full of energy and seemed to honestly enjoy people.
“Can I get you something to go with your coffee?” she asked.
Since it was her night to do as she wished—at least until her rendezvous—Mika ordered a slice of French silk pie. She lifted the mug and took a sip as the waitress left. In about half an hour or so, she’d head out. First thing to do would be calling Conor’s comm unit to leave her message. With luck, he hadn’t noticed his battery was down and she’d get voicemail. If he had realized and switched out power packs, she’d have to do some fast talking.
“I was trying to restrain my curiosity,” Rachel said as she returned and slid a pie plate onto the table, “but I have to ask. Why the change in hairstyle?”
“My lover is a little kinky.” Mika’s lips curved as she imagined Conor’s response to that statement. The man was remarkably prudish, considering he was half-Kiverian.
“He likes young girls?”
Mika heard the waitress’s disapproval and quickly said, “No, he likes to role-play. A few nights ago, I was a gold medalist in women’s wrestling.”
Rachel gave a bark of laughter. Leaning forward and lowering her voice, she said, “And now you’re doing the ‘schoolgirl.’ Well, you need the right clothes for this kind of thing. Think of his reaction if you were wearing a uniform. You know, a short plaid skirt, a white blouse and thigh-high stockings. He’ll go wild.”
The idea delighted Mika. Just the thought of how shocked Conor would be, the look on his face that she imagined, was enough to make glee bubble inside her. “Do you know where I’d find something like that?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” The waitress pulled her order pad out of her apron pocket—another old-fashioned touch—and with a pencil jotted something down. “Check this place out,” she said, handing the paper to Mika. “They have all kinds of costumes there, not just schoolgirl uniforms. You could be a maid, cheerleader or a nurse—to name a few.”
“Thanks. I’ll take a look.” Mika decided not to ask how she knew about the store. Some things were better left alone, and she had a feeling this was one of them.
As she slowly ate her dessert, Mika put aside her amusement and considered the upcoming meeting. She needed to be wary, but she couldn’t risk offending the minion either. She couldn’t do anything that could be construed as distrust of the Council, which would not be well-received if the minion were angered enough to report her. She hated the maneuvering that went hand-in-hand with politics.
With a silent sigh, Mika finished the last of her coffee. Adding a generous tip, she ran her card through the reader and paid for her meal. No more time to delay. The waitress called out, thanking her and inviting her to come again, and Mika must have made the right responses, but her mind was far away. With a wave, she walked to the door and outside.
Full night had fallen while she’d been inside, and as she stepped out into the darkness around the Moondance Diner, she let it enfold her as much as she could, given the artificial city lights and the stupid skywriters projecting ads everywhere. She ignored those as she crossed the restaurant parking lot.
She climbed in her car at the back row of the lot, shutting out the noise by closing the door. There couldn’t be any sounds in the background for this call, not with Conor’s excellent hearing. This was the part she was dreading, but she had no choice.
Mika put her purse on the passenger seat, pulled her comm unit out of her pocket and punched in McCabe’s comm. Exactly as she’d planned, she was connected to his voicemail. Adding just the right amount of frantic worry, she said, “Conor, it’s Mika. I had a call from my cousin, and she needs help. She’s with some guy who’s been drinking, and she doesn’t know anyone else at this party. I’m going to pick her up and get her back home.” She added the location of the meeting with the minion for authenticity’s sake, then disconnected. His unit would record the time, and her alibi would be solid if he started investigating.
Okay, relatively solid. Leaving the house early was one wrench in her story, but unless Conor quizzed his nosy neighbor, Mika figured she was safe.
Her bases covered, she should have felt better than she did, but as she tucked her comm in her pocket, Mika fought nausea. She’d lied again to Conor. “I’m sorry, Mc-Cabe,” she whispered almost soundlessly. But strapping herself in, she started the car. She couldn’t allow guilt to bog her down.
Mika drove the speed limit and parked a few blocks away from the rendezvous point; she’d walk the rest of the distance. Just in case.
She was in a business district, and this late at night, the area was deserted. It was eerie, like walking through a ghost town. Most of the office buildings were low-rise—maybe seven or eight stories—and the mirrored windows c
overing many added to the spookiness. Mika felt unsettled enough to cloak herself from human eyes.
A slight breeze played with the ends of her hair atop her head, and she tipped back her face to feel it. Wind was her ally, and it soothed her nerves—a bit. After a moment, she continued on. The street lamps glowed gently, but they didn’t remove the strangeness.
She spotted a park a couple of blocks down, and realized it was the place mentioned by the minion. The small oasis of green tucked inside the steel-and-glass maze of Crimson City seemed oddly comforting, and Mika nearly laughed at herself. Why was she making such a production out of this?
The streetlight at the entrance was out; she noticed half a block closer and drew to a halt. Something made her shiver. Mika had been telepathically scanning since she’d parked, but now she probed the area carefully, deeply. She wasn’t very early; the minion should be close…but she sensed nothing. It was as if some void blocked her abilities.
She stayed in the shadows of one of the buildings, unwilling to move forward until she sensed her rendezvous. Something felt wrong. Way wrong. The hair on her nape prickled. Mika probed more, but didn’t pick up anyone—or anything. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she turned.
A figure was strolling toward her. He had waist-length blond hair, and on the sides of his face were two thin braids that he used to tie it back in a ponytail. One of the braids had something metallic threaded through it—Mika caught glints of light. The man was criminally gorgeous, with a face that would make any woman stop and look twice—maybe even three or four times.
If she didn’t know what he was.
He hadn’t cloaked completely. Mika couldn’t sense his presence, couldn’t hear him, but she saw him clearly. And only the Dark Ones wore their hair like that. Mika backed up a step and he smiled. Though it made him even prettier, the expression sent a shiver down her spine. She edged farther back.
The Dark One stopped maybe twenty feet away and dropped his cloaking. As Mika watched, he started to lift his hand. Her adrenaline surged and she looked around almost wildly. Flight or fight.
