by Jenna Black
I finished my glass of wine and immediately poured another.
Emma’s threat was a declaration of war.
For now, she was content to bully me, but as long as she misguidedly saw me as a rival for Anderson’s affections, she was going to hate me. And I had no illusions that her hatred wouldn’t turn into an all-out campaign to get me kicked out of the house. And hell, if that didn’t work for her, I had no doubt the threats would escalate. Steph was an obvious, easy target, and I was under no illusion that Emma would hesitate to hurt an innocent bystander. And that meant it was time to start planning for the worst.
From the beginning, I’d told myself that my stay at Anderson’s mansion was temporary. When he’d first offered me shelter, I’d figured my choices were to move in—thereby obtaining protection not only for myself but also for my adoptive family—or to leave everything I knew and loved behind and go into hiding in hopes the Olympians would leave my family alone as long as I wasn’t around. I hadn’t wanted to lose my job, my home, my family, or my way of life, so I’d chosen to accept Anderson’s protection.
Finding Emma was supposed to have cemented my position within Anderson’s Liberi. It was supposed to be the proof of my sincerity, the proof that I was not a secret Olympian spy.
And it might ultimately turn out to be my downfall instead.
Grim reality was staring me right in the face. I was never meant to be part of Anderson’s team, not for the long haul. Believing he and the rest of his Liberi could give me the home and the sense of belonging I’d lacked all my life had been a nice fantasy, but it was time to wake up. I would stand on the sidelines and let Kerner continue his reign of terror against the Olympians, and that would keep Emma out of my hair for a while. When Konstantin was dead, I would resume my hunt in earnest, and I would stop Kerner from ever killing again.
But the only way to protect Steph in the long run was for me to get out of her life.
I doubted the Olympians would pick on her if I was gone, but even if they did … I felt sure Anderson and his people would look out for her. Especially Blake, who I thought really did care about her.
To make her safe, I had to give up everything that was important in my life, including her, including my parents … and including the Liberi, the only people in the world I would not outlive. I would be alone, in the most fundamental of ways, always keeping secrets, always on the run. At least, when I’d been bouncing around between foster homes, I’d been able to hope for the future, for the day when I would be an adult with the power to control my own destiny and create my own home. If I fled from the Liberi, there would be no hope to cling to.
But Emma was a threat I couldn’t protect Steph from. Not when Anderson refused to see her for what she really was. A threat from the outside I might have had a chance against, but not this. I owed Steph and her parents way too much to reward them by subjecting them to this kind of risk. So no matter how much it hurt, no matter how terrifying my future might be, I had to leave.
SIXTEEN
My resolve to let Kerner have his way with the Olympians lasted almost forty-eight hours. Right up to the time I found out he’d abandoned his once-a-week schedule and made another kill already.
I’d spent most of my time since Emma had confronted me sitting at my computer in my room, avoiding all human contact. I didn’t want to get any more attached to Anderson’s Liberi than I already was, not when I was planning my escape. Instead of trying to make any progress on finding Kerner, I’d been working on picking a new home and planning the new identity I was going to have to adopt. My work as a P.I. had given me plenty of experience finding people who didn’t want to be found, so I knew what traps to avoid, but it was still going to be damned hard. I was going to have to swallow my scruples and dip into my trust fund, because I was going to need the cash. I would have to find a new job—there was only so long the cash would hold me unless I wanted to carry suitcases of it—and it would have to be one where I could get paid under the table. And I’d have to find somewhere to live, with a landlord who wouldn’t start asking questions when I paid my rent in cash. All in all, it was a daunting, depressing prospect.
It wasn’t until after dinner that I decided to check up on the day’s news to give myself a break from all of the questions and anxieties that pinged back and forth in my brain. The first screaming headline I read rocked me back in my chair: CAPITAL MAULER STRIKES AGAIN.
I wondered when the press had started referring to Kerner as the Capital Mauler. Perhaps as soon as the police had admitted that the killings were not the result of wild dogs.
A prominent lobbyist had been mauled in his home sometime after midnight, along with his wife and their live-in maid. Police were called to the scene after neighbors were awakened by the screams, but no one saw anything. They wouldn’t, of course, since Kerner could make himself and his jackals invisible.
I was willing to bet that both the lobbyist and his wife had been Olympians. However, the maid couldn’t have been, because there was no way in hell an Olympian would be willing to do menial labor. The poor woman must have gotten in the way.
Goddammit. I wanted to punch my computer screen. So much for Kerner’s vow that he wouldn’t target civilians anymore. Though perhaps from his point of view, he was keeping his promise. It was possible the maid would have lived if she hadn’t somehow gotten in Kerner’s way, that he hadn’t actively targeted her.
Not that the distinction meant squat to the maid, or her family, or me. Yet another innocent bystander was dead. Maybe I couldn’t have prevented last night’s attack—after all, I’d had no reason to think the next attack would come so soon—but if I spent any more time wringing my hands and worrying about Emma, then the next death definitely would be on me. And I couldn’t have that.
Trying to contain my rage, I stomped out of my room and headed for Anderson’s office. The door was open when I arrived, but he wasn’t inside. Which was probably just as well, because I didn’t know what to say.
No matter what, I had to stay on Anderson’s good side, or I’d never be able to stop Kerner. I might be able to find the crazy son of a bitch on my own, but I didn’t think I could single-handedly defeat him. Which meant I needed Anderson to keep trusting me, something he likely wouldn’t do if I starting slinging accusations at his wife. Especially not after she started slinging her own back.
Crap. I couldn’t bring Anderson in on this. The moment I started flapping my gums, Emma would bring out her accusations. And if I got lucky and Anderson didn’t believe her, then I would have to worry that she’d retaliate against me by hurting Steph.
No, whatever I ended up doing, I was going to have to keep Anderson out of it. I might have hoped that Emma would take pity on the maid who’d died and change her mind about stopping Kerner, but I didn’t bother trying to fool myself. As long as Kerner was a deadly weapon aimed at Konstantin, she wouldn’t care who else got hurt along the way.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, then left Anderson’s office. I’d felt fairly muddled until the moment I learned of the maid’s death, but now everything was coming clear in my mind.
I couldn’t let Kerner run free, no matter what horrendous threats both he and Emma had made. And I couldn’t take Kerner down alone, no matter how much simpler it would have been if I could. Which meant I needed an ally. Someone who would understand my dilemma and be willing to go behind Anderson’s back to help me.
My first thought was Maggie. She was my best friend among Anderson’s Liberi, and her super-strength might come in handy. Asking Maggie would have felt safe and comfortable, but it took only a moment’s thought for me to realize it would be anything but.
I hadn’t known her—or anyone in this house—for all that long, but I knew she was not a rule breaker. She regarded Anderson’s word as law, and if I brought this to her, she would insist we tell Anderson everything. Maybe there was an off chance I could persuade her not to spill the beans once I shot my mouth off, but there was no wa
y she’d risk Anderson’s wrath by helping me.
In the end, there was only one person I believed might see things my way and might be willing and able to help me. If I was wrong about this, I was massively screwed. So I crossed my fingers and prayed that I wasn’t wrong.
Jamaal wasn’t in his suite. Or if he was in, he wasn’t answering the door. The next most logical place to look for him was on the front porch, but he wasn’t there, either.
Somehow the whole day had slipped away from me, and the sun had gone down. The temperature had dropped, and I went back inside to grab a jacket. It wasn’t until I was slipping the jacket on that I wondered why I was going back outside when Jamaal clearly wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen him since he’d stormed off after kissing me. For all I knew, he’d never come back to the house.
I decided to treat my impulse to put on a coat as if it were one of my hunches and headed out to the garage to see if Jamaal’s car was there. Sure enough, the black Saab was inside.
If he were anyone else, I would have checked inside the house first, maybe looked in the kitchen or the den, but my instincts were telling me he wasn’t there. I let those instincts guide me and wandered around to the back of the house.
There was a nicely manicured lawn in the back, but Jamaal wasn’t there. From the lawn, I could look through the kitchen windows and confirm my hunch that he wasn’t inside.
Shivering and wishing I’d gone with a heavier jacket, I crossed the lawn and headed into the woods. The last time I’d been out this way at night, I’d been carrying a lantern to light the path, but tonight I had to rely on the moonlight. Luckily, the night was clear, the moon just past full, and I could see well enough to pick my way through the trees toward the clearing about a hundred yards from the woods’ edge.
It was in that clearing that Jamaal had twice been executed, once by beheading and once by hanging. It was also in that clearing that he’d voluntarily allowed himself to be tied to a stake with kindling at his feet, willing to suffer the torment of burning if that was what it took to convince Anderson of his commitment to controlling himself.
Anderson had never ordered the fire lit, had been satisfied that Jamaal was willing to do whatever it took to avoid being kicked out. Logically, the clearing should be the last place I expected to find Jamaal. If I’d been in his shoes, I would have forever associated the clearing with pain and death. But Jamaal was not me.
I kept going until I finally broke through the trees and into the clearing.
The silver-blue moonlight revealed Jamaal’s tall, imposing form as he stood in the center of the clearing. He was facing me, but his eyes were closed, his face a picture of concentration. His muscles were taut with tension, and despite the cold, there was a faint sheen of perspiration on his brow.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing and just watched him stand there, fighting whatever personal demons were troubling him. If he was in the process of trying to curb his death magic, I had a feeling it would be a very bad idea to interrupt him.
On the other hand, I felt like a voyeur for standing there and watching him like that. Especially when I couldn’t resist drinking in his masculine beauty. As long as his eyes were closed, I could finally drink my fill without worrying about the consequences.
Moonlight and shadows accentuated his high cheekbones and sensuous mouth, and his stark white T-shirt fit tightly across his muscled chest. If I’d been wearing a top that light, I’d have been freezing, but he showed no sign of being cold. His breath frosted the night, but the sweat on his brow shone in defiance.
As I watched, Jamaal began trembling with strain, and I bit my lip in worry.
I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but I suspected the trembling and sweating was not a good sign. I took a careful step backward, thinking that now might be a good time to make myself scarce. I’d seen Jamaal out of control before, and I never wanted to see it again.
I should have retreated, but something inside me held me rooted in place. Jamaal’s trembling increased, his chest heaving with heavy pants. Then his legs seemed to give out under him, and he dropped to his knees.
“Jamaal!” I cried in alarm, and I found myself running toward him instead of away.
Even on his knees, he was swaying, and he propped himself up with his hands, his head bowed to his chest. I scrambled to a stop beside him, my body working on autopilot as I knelt and put a hand on his shoulder.
Heat seemed to radiate from his body, and I almost snatched my hand away in surprise. He was burning up.
“Jamaal, are you okay?” I asked, wondering if I should be running back to the house to get help. “What’s happening?”
He made no effort to jerk away from my touch, and I took that as a bad sign. Or maybe I should have considered it a good sign, in that he wasn’t going berserk and attacking me, which was what I might have expected him to do if he’d just lost a battle against his death magic. I moved even closer to him, sliding my arm around his shoulders in hopes that I could help keep him upright. If he collapsed, I wouldn’t be able to get him back up again.
Sweat soaked his thin cotton T, but even in the few moments I’d been by his side, the intense heat of his body had begun to recede. He was still breathing hard, and his muscles quivered beneath my touch, but I hoped his cooling off meant that whatever it was had passed.
“Do you need me to get help?” I asked, and he shook his head. It was the first sign he’d given that he even knew I was there. His teeth started chattering. I hastily unzipped my jacket and threw it over his shoulders. It was probably too small to be much help.
Jamaal had recovered enough to give me a withering look at the gesture, but I ignored it. As long as I didn’t know what was wrong with him, I thought the chances were good he needed the warmth more than I did.
“What happened?” I asked again.
He took a shaky breath and raised his head. The sweat had cooled on his brow, but his eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into his head, and he looked exhausted. He glanced at me quickly, then looked away. I thought that meant he wasn’t going to talk, but he surprised me. In more ways than one.
“You were right,” he said, with a grimace that said it physically pained him to admit it. “What you said the other day about channeling the death magic.”
My feet were falling asleep, so I shifted so that I was sitting on the ground instead of kneeling on it. I gave Jamaal a slight smile. “I know I was right. But which point are you conceding? I think I made a bunch of them.”
Jamaal didn’t smile back. But then, his sense of humor never had been exactly well honed.
“Take it easy,” I said, still smiling despite the chill of his stare. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” He seemed to be inching his way back toward normal, and I couldn’t see that as anything but a positive sign. “Tell me what happened.” Third time was the charm, right?
“I just tried to channel the death magic. Tried to make it manifest like Kerner does. Only I have no idea how to do it.”
Considering how violently he’d rejected the idea when I’d suggested it, I was pretty surprised he’d even tried it.
“Well, something happened,” I said. “Aside from the fact that you collapsed, you were burning up when I first touched you. Is that normal for you when you use death magic?” I remembered how he’d collapsed after killing Kerner’s last human victim. Obviously, the death magic had some serious side effects.
Jamaal slipped my jacket off his shoulders and dumped it in my lap.
“I’m not cold anymore,” he said when I opened my mouth to protest. “And to answer your question, no, that isn’t normal. It exhausts me when I unleash it, but that feels different.” He touched his chest, then made a face and pulled the damp cotton away from his skin. “It doesn’t make me sweat like this.”
And it probably didn’t make him into a human radiator, either.
“So maybe that’s a sign that you’re on the right track,” I suggested. “If it were an exercise in
futility, it probably wouldn’t have had any effect on you at all, right?”
Jamaal might not be cold anymore—though I suspected that was a bit of alpha-male posturing—but I sure was, so I slipped my jacket back on. It was still warm from his body, and I hugged it around me to chase off the lingering chill.
Jamaal shrugged. “That’s one way of looking at it.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his tin of cigarettes and a book of matches. His hands shook slightly as he flipped the tin open and selected a half-smoked joint.
“But I’m guessing from the fact that you’re skipping the cloves and going straight to the pot that it didn’t relieve the pressure at all.”
Jamaal lit up and drew in a deep drag, closing his eyes as he allowed the smoke to linger in his lungs. He blew it out slowly, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Nope,” he said, offering the joint to me.
I declined with a shake of my head, and he took another drag.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I had something more productive to say.
“I’ll try it again later, when I don’t feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. You’re right that something happened.” He met my eyes, and for the first time since he’d snapped out of it, his gaze held. “I’ve never tried to use the death magic before. It’s always been something to fight against, something to suppress. Even when Emmitt and I were venting, it was more like I was letting the magic go than I was actually trying to use it.”
He was scared of it, I realized, though I was smart enough not to say it. No one else I knew, except for Anderson, had so destructive a power. If I could kill someone without even touching them, and I didn’t know exactly how my power worked, you can bet I wouldn’t go around experimenting with it, either. It would be like going into a nuclear submarine and pressing a random button just to see what it did.
