Almost six weeks ago, that golden ticket landed into Maude’s hands in the form of one Ms. Natalie Bennett. Natalie’s father was the current city mayor with the odds of becoming the next state governor in his favor. White House no doubt a future aspiration. Maude—with my subtle help—matched Natalie with her now fiancé, and then Maude had wiggled herself into the role of psychic consultant for Natalie’s big day. The end game being that as national attention grew on the Bennett family, Maude Taggart would become a household name for being the clairvoyant who spoke to the spirits and found Natalie’s perfectly doting soulmate. The absolute love match of the up and coming politician daughter’s life would grace the pages of every major newspaper. The perfect feel-good story to be pushed by one conniving campaign manager.
It was the engagement dinner, not even the wedding itself, that had Maude currently showing signs of perspiration for the first time in her life. By the time the actual ceremony date arrived, I’d probably need to keep an emergency stash of oxygen on hand, along with a bar stocked full of hard liquor.
“You will do this.”
Wait—what? Did Maude say what I thought she had? My question hadn’t been asked aloud, Mouth had been too busy gaping, so I stuttered into my voice. “Wh-what did you say?”
“You are planning this entire event, and it will be perfect.” Maude pivoted on the toe of one patent leather heel and marched back toward her office. “Engagement dinner is in two weeks. Invitations are late.”
The slam of her door was the final nail in my coffin. Well, hell. Why couldn’t my job as a Praedator pay me in cold hard cash? Checking Account liked money for nice splurges such as rent and groceries. Limited electricity, especially when the weather outside was cold. The Maude money well would dry up as soon as this disaster in the making went nuclear.
“Invitations late?” Muscles turned into jelly and my body sank down onto the seat of my desk chair. “Shit.”
It wasn’t the invitations that were my concern. More like the stress stemmed from the fact that a location for the event wasn’t even scheduled since an event planner had never been hired. Two freakin’ weeks. Head found its way into the crook of my arms, and I wondered where a ghost was when I needed one. Usually either HG or Miss Prim was around. Often at the same time. Even Margaret had decided she liked the vibe of the place and had started making scheduled appearances.
Thoughts had no more formed when Miss Prim walked in. Walked. Like through the door. Literally, because that dead thing she had going on didn’t require her use of any doorknob.
“Kiara,” she hissed. Her eyes were saucer wide. “He’s here.”
“Who…” I stood up from my chair.
There was only one person of late who could put fear on that ghost’s deathly pale face. My stalking Warlock.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I worked to think… plan—not panic. There would be no horror flick dumb blond being chased by a chainsaw killer through the woods, stupidly tripping over a fallen log thanks to her high-pitched screaming and hysterical crying that replaced common sense, for me. My hair was pitch black. Not a single strand of blond highlighted it, yet at that precise moment, I had to question my intelligence. Hyperventilation appeared to be in my immediate future, and I didn’t need a vision to inform me of that.
Damon Reed was the reason my gaze frantically darted around the room, searching for a place to hide. Anyplace would do. Except the lobby contained none. Hiding places, that was. Maude wouldn’t appreciate me locking myself in her office. Especially since she was currently residing there.
My day of reckoning walked through the entrance door to Fated Match before even the slightest whimper at Miss Prim’s unappreciated news could escape my lips. For almost two weeks, I’d managed to avoid the man. It started with a no-show date I’d wiggled out of by pulling the female card. Women problems—even fake ones—put a damper on date night. My excuse, conveyed via my gossiping aunt, worked—well, that and me texting him a sorry to bail minutes before our scheduled meeting time. It was hard to meet up when one-half of the couple failed to show.
Thanks to Damon’s busy business schedule that, at times, required traveling, he hadn’t yet made an appearance either here, at my job, or at my apartment door. Until now. Knowledge that the number of missed calls I’d received during the last several days had only been a delay for our next rendezvous left a bitter taste in my mouth. My Sorry I missed your call. Talk later? text messages had probably been more antagonizing than placating. Hindsight, of course.
“Kiara, you haven’t returned my call,” Damon said. Yup, it was all about the phone calls. His voice had hardened in anger, yet a flash of uncertainty changed his muddy green eyes into a color of hazel. “I left a voicemail thirty minutes ago.”
Here’s the deal. The evil warlock thought he had me under a compulsion spell, not knowing that my brain was wired incorrectly and didn’t allow me to fall for his compelling charms. I was an anomaly, which was confusing the hell out of him. There arose his suspicions. The size of his ego, believing no human couldn’t be under his enchantment, was the only thing I had going in my favor. Therefore, me and my bad acting skills were getting a frustrated pass. If he were to figure it out… well, I’d begun understanding his power—which, unfortunately, was greater than mine.
For being this chosen one, I’d gotten the short end of the magical abilities stick. The best I could do was watch myself become a screaming pile of mutilated flesh after pissing off the wrong witch five seconds in advance. My well-being was in my uppermost thoughts as carefully chosen words poured out of my mouth.
“You did?” I glanced down at the cell phone lying on top of my desk. “Oh, oops. My cell’s turned off.”
An incoming email beeped from the phone. The traitorous bastard.
Silence stretched in the room. Damon continued staring. At me. Eyebrows were drawn, and I considered that to not be a very good sign. Shit. Would I have to use my sword before the man turned his evil voodoo against me? Murder. Saliva went dry inside my mouth at the thought. I couldn’t kill. It’d been more than a week since my sword had pierced the chest of another human being. Never mind that the now-dead guy had been attempting to kill me at the time, and my actions fell very much within the scope of self-defense. The memory left me cold. Panicked. Sickened at the remembrance of light fading from human eyes because of me. The man hadn’t been a ghost. He’d been alive. Self-defense or no, I wasn’t certain I could do it again.
“Lunch,” Damon said.
“What?”
“It’s time for lunch.”
A hot, nagging sensation developed in the pit of my stomach. My heads-up that Damon was once again playing his mind control games. Or attempting to, at least. But since I wanted him to be the last in the know of his failure, I conjured up memories of Aunt Kate and tried my best imitation of her reactions to Phillip, the asshat who’d been working a hex on my dear, not-always-sweet, aunt.
Nodding, I prayed my facial expression was that of dazed. “Yes, lunch is perfect.”
“Good, then…” He turned, casting a brief glance behind him before facing me. “Do you see something?”
Only Miss Prim, who’d raised a heavy white vase to bash the creep on the back of the skull. My apparently not-so-subtle shake of the head had her setting the intended weapon back onto its rightful place of residence—aka decorative table—right before an evil Warlock spotting could commence.
“No.” I stared Damon straight in the eye. “I do not see anything.”
“Kiara?” Maude stepped out of her office. Her gaze halted on the man standing in front of my desk, her eyes scanning him up and down. “And you are?”
“This is Damon Reed,” I answered. “We were about to leave for lunch.”
“Oh.” Maude’s look of interest froze into a mask of annoyance. Potential new clients were allowed. Dates weren’t. “I need the Anderson report in twenty minutes.”
Lunches were slipped into my work contract only on occasion, and
secretly I smiled. Maude to the rescue it was. Although, helping out her lowly receptionist was probably the last thing on her mind.
“Ms. Taggart.” Damon stepped toward her with a charismatic smile. “I’ve read so much about you.”
“Really?” Maude’s shoulders straightened.
“My friend, Evan Winters, commented the other day that it was time for him to find a wife.” Damon paused. Maude’s eyes widened as her hands gripped together in excitement. “But, of course, a woman with your abilities would already know that. Might I give him your card?”
“Of course.” The no-longer-annoyed-wannabe-psychic snapped her fingers at me, and I dutifully produced a business card before she continued, “Evan Winters of Winters Enterprises? The man who owns the Baytower Hotels and Resorts?”
“One and the same.”
“Yes, yes… I’d sensed he was searching. There’s a lot of chatter going on in the spirit world at the moment. Please send him my way, and I’ll find him the woman of his dreams.”
“Will do.” Damon held out his arm to me before turning back to Maude. “Kiara will be out for a two hour—”
Two hours?
“—lunch. She will wish to not be disturbed.”
Gut informed that Damon was using a compelling spell once again, but it wasn’t required with my boss. He’d had her at the first name-drop.
“Of course, I wouldn’t wish to disturb Kiara’s lunch,” Maude said, glancing at me. “In fact, dear, why don’t you take the remainder of the day off? My treat. You work so hard.”
As I was led from the lobby, there was only one thought in my mind. What. The. Hell?
A town car was parked by the curb outside the building where Fated Match rented a suite. A rigid chauffeur awaited by the rear of the vehicle, back door within his reach. Crisp, dark suit. Driving cap perched straight on the top of white hair. Smile waiting for him at the next destination based on the current hard line of his lips. And there was no way in hell I was climbing into the vehicle.
Feet stumbled. They screeched to a halt, actually. Damon appeared rather perturbed by my sudden lack of mobility, and I tried maintaining an expression of dazed and confused.
“I have lunch reservations at Le Vingt-Cinq in ten minutes,” Damon said.
Figured. More private club than restaurant, Maude had been trying to score a spot on their coveted guest list for the last six months. That Damon Reed apparently had easy access wasn’t surprising based on what I knew about him. Letting the smile falter on my lips, I gazed adoringly up into his eyes. “That… sounds lovely.”
Damon’s mouth tightened as he first looked up at his driver, and then back down to me. “Where would you like to eat?”
“BeetTopia,” I said, throwing as much eagerness into my voice as possible. “It’s new. They opened last month, around the corner. We can walk.”
Hard to miss the tick in the evil bastard’s right eyelid whenever he was less than pleased. My up-close and personal view witnessed it moving rapidly. The strain in Damon’s voice didn’t surprise me when he finally spoke. “If it will make you happy, we can eat at…”
“BeetTopia,” I squealed. “Thank you!”
He gave his driver a quick nod, and then we walked. Not being shut up inside a car with Damon so he could drag me to who-knew-where was merely half the battle. The other half was obvious to only my keen eyes as we approached the restaurant.
“This is vegan?” Damon paused, blocking the entrance as he awaited my answer. Apparently, nothing about the joint’s name had previously clued him in on that fact.
“According to Yelp, they serve the best beet burgers in the city.”
The man looked positively green at the news, and he hadn’t yet gotten a visual of the cuisine.
Take that, two-hour lunch.
“This is where you wish to eat?” Damon asked.
Not really. I beamed. “Yup.”
By the time we were seated, I had realized the flaw in my plan. Beets ranked alongside pot roast in my food choice preferences. Which was, never to be touched. Then there was the fact that I was very much a steak and potatoes kind of girl—emphasis on steak. Not soggy meat or root vegetables in funky colors. The menu held in my hands had listings of burgers that contained no ounces of beef. None. Which was rather the entire point for having arrived at this establishment. Except… to keep up the charade, I would be forced to digest every last freakin’ bite. There was something seriously wrong with this half-assed plan of mine. I was going to suffer right along with Mr. Evil.
A waitress took our order. A beet burger and some kind of juice containing berry and ginger was my selection. Beet burger and iced green tea, Damon’s. There weren’t a lot of options going for us other than a burger made out of beets.
It seemed only seconds had passed before our server was back with our drinks. Her face was flushed from exertion, and her hair attempted to cave to gravity as it pulled from a clip. Despite it being the noon hour, and despite the only truthful part of my tale to Damon being that the restaurant was newly opened, patrons filled only half of the space. Apparently, management was cutting back on overhead costs by employing only one waitress at a time, and that left her running. Poor girl.
“Kiara,” Damon said once the server had departed. “Tell me about your family ancestors from Ireland.”
Wow. I was going to vomit, and the food had yet to arrive. An evil Warlock questioning my Irish ancestry when a hunt had begun for the Fáithsine could only lead to trouble. Mine. But a small—okay, large— part of me had expected this day to come. Couldn’t the date delay until sometime after Armageddon?
“Not much to tell,” I said. “My grandparents moved to America shortly before my mother was born.”
“How did you become a Praedator?”
“Inherited the job.”
“You’re not a cambion,” Damon said. “You don’t have a parent who is a full-blooded demon.”
Do tell. The situation was about to become tricky. I knew by the darkening of Damon’s green eyes, he was working his mojo on me once again. The man obviously thought he was going to magically pry the truth out of my desperate-to-save-my-ass lips. Damn. When speaking with candor, there was no way to explain my demon heritage without my head becoming served on a silver platter.
I had no way of knowing what all Aunt Kate had previously told Phillip. Grateful was I that particular Warlock wasn’t here to compare notes with what I was about to say. Today, however, would only be a reprieve. Still, I had only one goal at that precise moment: walk out of the restaurant alive.
“A Scottish succubus,” I said.
“A what?”
“A Scottish succubus drank way too much Guinness in Dublin one night and seduced my great-grandfather.”
“Is this a joke?”
Staring him in the eyes, trying to look I’m-under-your-thrall best, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I have it backward. It was my great-grandfather who’d had too much beer. Then the succubus seduced him.”
Damon stared. His eyelids did a slow blink. The minutes stretched. Finally, he shifted back in his chair. Another wave of hot churning made a home inside my stomach. Another futile attempt to make me tell-all to its castor.
“You’re the descendant of a cambion?”
I nodded, picking up my glass and swirling the prune-colored liquid. “My grandmother. Dropped off on my great-grandfather’s doorstep right after she was born, much to the displeasure of my great-grandfather’s wife. Divorce and scandal followed. That was the reason why my grandmother left Ireland before her children were born. Aunt Kate and my mother are one-quarter demons. I’m only a sixteenth—barely qualify.”
Clues were missing in action for where I was going with this story, but going with it I was.
“Kate doesn’t have demon blood.” Damon’s voice resonated with steel.
“Yes, she does. My mother does, so why… Oh my gosh, it’s true.” I set my glass down hard. A little too hard. It shattered, and I d
idn’t have to draw from my crappy acting skills to appear surprised as purple juice rushed across the table.
The haggard server was at my side. A scrap of linen pulled from the deep pocket of a black apron tied low around her waist.
“I’ll take care of that.” Damon snatched the cloth from the woman’s loose grip. Nodding to send her off, he turned back to me. “What’s true?”
“Aunt Kate’s adopted.”
The staring thing he’d already proven himself to excel at, started again. I took the silence as encouragement to keep speaking. Common sense dictated that I ought to know better, but Mouth wouldn’t shut up.
“I’d heard family rumors that my grandmother couldn’t have children after my mother,” I said. “Complications of childbirth and all that.”
Damon remained mute. I practiced looking earnest and sincere, but the inside of me was shaking. This man was capable of frying those very parts into a burnt crisp, and that type of power scared the shit out of me.
Our food arrived. Another glass of juice came with it. Neither was wanted, but I couldn’t allow my distress to be shown. Honestly answering his questions without any fear or remorse was what the spell should have allowed. At least, based on what behavior I’d seen Aunt Kate exhibit around Phillip.
Picking up my burger, I took a bite. And froze. The term for the matter—as in, molecules taking up space—sitting inside my mouth only loosely fit the definition of food. Then I recalled that Aunt Kate often seemed so enthralled with Phillip, her appetite was paltry at best.
Oh, thank God.
There was an excuse for me to not eat after all. Every ounce of control I had was being used to not spit out my meal. Beets, I did not like them.
Pecking at the food commenced while my dining companion remained silent. That was, until half his meal had been eaten. Then communication once again became desired. Which was good. Nerves couldn’t take much more wondering about how much of my story was bought. I did, at least, have the compelled to speak truthfully thing going in my favor.
“Kiara, give me her money.”
Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Page 4
