by D. D. Miers
I slammed the bottle down on the counter. "No. I've told you a thousand times, and I'll tell you a thousand more. This is my responsibility. I'm not dragging you two into it."
"You can't protect us forever," Jade said. "Someday, you're going to wish you'd let us help you.”
Violet slid onto the counter to comfort our baby sister. “What about when you run into somebody stronger than you? Someone more powerful? Someone with dark magic?"
I laughed. If they only knew what stirred within me, their doubts would be pacified.
"That's not going to happen."
“How can you be so sure?” Jade asked.
“Because I’m bigger, badder, and meaner than anything else out there.” And if anyone messes with me, they’re going to have hell to pay—literally.
Chapter 3
Dante
Another day, another blood-soaked dollar.
Chatter and smoke filled the brightly illuminated casino. A muggy, unpleasant film coated my expensive aviators in a filthy residue, but I didn’t remove them. The sunglasses were a vain attempt to conceal my identity. Not like I could. A man with my kind of power can’t remain hidden for long.
I lifted my glass and tossed back the rich amber liquid. I winced as it burned a trail of fire down my throat. The liquor tasted harsher than its name alluded: whisper. Like a fly to a hot summer's picnic, a pretty young thing wearing a black mini and low-cut top approached my empty glass.
"What can I get ya', sugar?" she asked.
“Macallan, neat. And make it a double."
“Sure thing.” She offered me a more-than-friendly smile and sauntered off, swaying her hips for my pleasure.
Of all the things that pissed me off most about my legacy, and there were plenty, my ability to drink endlessly without so much as a buzz secured a spot at the top of the list. Human grain alcohol lacked the strength to give me a little push. If I wanted to experience any effects I had to seek out Faewine, which could only be obtained in under-the-radar bars. Unfortunately, due to recent events, I wasn't welcome at most of those dives.
Some might call me a vigilante. In reality, I do the dirty work for various shady people and organizations, both human and not. My last contract was a total shit-show, and it had cost me years of reputation-building. A human—one of those wealthy, upper-class Wall Street types—needed his boss out of the picture in order to move up the ranks. My moral compass doesn't always point true north, but there are some evils I cannot sit back and ignore. When I discovered his boss was the owner and operator of a huge sex trafficking ring, he became fair game.
Never kill without doing your due diligence.
In the process of destroying the asshole, I’d broken an unspoken code and exposed his Fae daughter-in-law. In this world, you never show your cards. Once the Light Court got wind of it, my hard-earned status took a turn. Now I’m persona non grata.
Here I am, forced to endure the endless chatter and stench of this casino. It didn’t smell bad per se, but my keen senses couldn’t ignore the thick odor of sweaty flesh and desperation. I pushed a blue chip across the roulette table with the tip of my index finger, eyeing the almost depleted stack. With every rotation of the yellow marble, my money—as soaked in blood as my hands—vanished before me.
The perky waitress returned, setting my drink atop a crisp white napkin. Squares of ice clinked against the glass as I brought it to my lips and inhaled. At least they got the double part right. I sipped slowly and pushed my chips to a spot on the board. As the marble loosened onto the wheel, a ruckus erupted to my right. My senses heightened, and a command called upon my demon to be on alert.
In the center of the hysterics stood Jacoby Peters. The squirrely piece-of-shit was Samil’s errand boy. And if he was here, it meant Samil had found me.
I wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit. I returned my focus to the table, flipping my collar in an attempt to conceal myself from those beady, empty blots of ink. Futile, of course. Jacoby strode toward me with his long, unnatural gait—a trademark of the darker Fae society. His tiny head bobbed with each step.
"Well, well. It's my ol' pal, Danny Argyris." He leaned against the roulette table, cigar in one hand and a Mai Tai in the other.
I could never respect a man, immortal or not, who chose synthetic sugar over an aged liquor.
“What do you want, Jacoby?"
He took a puff of the cigar, filling up his fat, greasy cheeks and blowing a half-assed ring from his lips. I smirked. The Fae had no clue how ridiculous he looked.
He scratched his slicked-back hair and fixed his beady, lifeless eyes on me. It was like staring into the depths of a great white shark and finding nothing but bleak emptiness.
"Boss ain't happy. If the big man ain't happy, ain't none of us happy. If ain't none of us happy, well . . . I think you get the picture."
"I don't work for him. Not anymore." I took a sip and stared straight ahead.
Our croupier pretended not to notice the disruption, continuing to collect bets and spinning the roulette wheel.
Jacoby sucked in a breath and smacked his lips together, creating a resounding pop. "No, no, now, see where you’ve gone wrong . . . Danny. You don't quit working for Samil. Not till Samil says you quit. He ain't too pleased with what happened in Reno. Far as he sees it, you still have a job to do."
I clenched my fists. He knew how much I hated it when he called me Danny.
Old rage and my savage monster within rushed to the surface. Samil’s idiots never knew when to keep their mouths shut. All of Vegas didn’t need to know the business dealings of their most esteemed senator. Samil wasn’t the name he went by in the mortal world. But you leave enough breadcrumbs and someone will find their way.
"As I said, I don’t work for Samil and I’m not running” I paused, choosing my next words carefully, “false relics . . . across the border. If he’s got a problem, he can come see me himself.”
My desire for discretion had nothing to do with protecting Samil and more to do with my own interests. Last I’d heard, Samil was looking for my replacement. Someone who’d be willing to transport his slaves across the border, through Tucson and on to Reno. I don’t work with animals of such nature. Heartless dicks who traded in human flesh. Samil was the king of heartless. He made humans into prisoners, forcing them to run all of his illegal business and other bullshit. Not my game.
So, I’d said no and we parted ways. Apparently, our amicable business dissolution wasn’t so harmonious.
Jacoby laughed and slammed his stubby hand onto the roulette table. The move sent chips bouncing as he doubled over. "You have no clue what's really going on, do you?”
I had every idea, but I wasn’t about to broadcast it.
"Find someone else.”
He crossed his sausage arms over his protruding belly. "Find someone else? Are you outta your bloody mind, mate?”
I gripped the scotch glass a little too tight. Small cracks like spider webs formed on its smooth surface.
"You need to get your ass back in line before things get nasty." Jacoby lifted the tail of his jacket only slightly—just enough to allow the light to bounce off the curved blade at his waist. It was more than your average sharp knife: it was a branding device. Infused with the magic of the wielder, whoever had the misfortune of being sliced by the fine blade would forever be in servitude to its owner. Highly illegal in the Fae community and extremely rare. How the hell does this dickbag have one?
"I know what you're thinking," Jacoby said.
"Do you?"
He snickered, stepped closer, and lowered his voice so only I could hear. "You think you can outrun me, boy? You think you can keep on hiding from the boss? We’re everywhere. Watching your every move.” He nudged his bladed hip toward me. “I’m not the only one with one of these sexy-ass pieces, I can assure you. So, go on. Try to run. I like a good chase. But just know, my slaves eat shit and sleep with their hands tied above their heads. Every. Single. Night."
; His breath reminded me of a stale cheesesteak with onions.
"Get. Back."
Before I realized it, the tumbler of scotch and its contents shattered across the roulette table and onto the floor. Shards of glass flew across the aisle to the next station and landed on some poor drunken sod. The tattoos inscribed along my chest and back flamed to life, demanding retribution. Sacrifice. I needed to calm down before I lost control and some innocent bystander paid the price.
Jacoby's eyes widened, and he stepped back. His threatening pose from only a moment ago long gone, like my double scotch on the rocks. With his hands raised, he backed away and blended once again into the sea of humans and shadow creatures.
The waitress from earlier rushed toward me, a white towel outstretched in her hands. “Are you all right?”
She wrapped the cloth around the nonexistent wound, cradling my palm in hers. What she didn’t realize was it hadn’t broken my skin. Couldn’t break my skin. I kept my fist closed and the towel mostly obscured from view to secure the illusion. Crystal-blue eyes gazed into mine as a sultry smile lifted one side of her lips. I knew what she wanted. I could have her in my room and naked in less than ten minutes.
"I’ve got this, sweetheart. You run along now.”
She didn’t. Instead, she scooted closer. "It’s no bother, really. I have first responder training."
Humans are naturally drawn to the supernatural. Something to do with their genetic makeup and instincts. Place a demon in front of a human and they can’t help but throw themselves at it. Right now, this sweet little blonde looked as ripe as a summer peach.
She watched the desire rise in my eyes, setting my fire-like embers to life. Her breath hitched. and she placed her palm on my chest.
I looked down at the foreign hand as it shook slightly. Underneath her desire, she was nervous. Uneasy. I reached out and wrapped my hand around her wrist. Her soul opened to my magic as tiny jolts of thoughts and emotions surged forward. I couldn't get a clear readout on the girl, but I knew one thing—she was desperate. And who better to ploy than a wealthy man who has had one too many drinks over the course of a few games.
I pulled out my wallet and removed a wad of cash. “Take it.”
“What are you—”
I grabbed her jaw in my hand. “You’re better than this. Better than serving yourself, your dignity, to the highest bidder.” I stuffed the cash into her hand. “Now get the hell out of here.” I gently shoved her several feet from me.
She hesitated but thought better of it and turned to go, tucking the money into her bra on her way.
Damn humans; they’d sell their souls—or more—for a solution to mortal problems. They had no idea how much it was truly worth.
I removed the unsoiled towel and tossed it onto the nearest trash. Before I could drift into the new Scotch placed before me and self-deprecation, my eyes fell on the most exquisite beauty I had ever seen.
She walked down the center aisle of blackjack tables and baccarat to the whirring slot machines. Her simple clothes couldn’t hide how remarkable she was. I could taste it in the air. It surrounded her. An energy, pulsing with a heartbeat. Strong and fierce.
Silky, onyx hair begged to be touched. I wanted to run my hands through it as she lay naked in my bed. Her clothes, although casual, allowed me to admire the curves of her feminine body. She was gorgeous. No, damnit. She was something else entirely, and I didn’t have a single word to describe it.
Her dark eyes found mine, and for an instant, a charge ripped through me, turning the markings along my skin to lava. I’d wanted women before, immortal or human, but not like this. It pulled me to her. An invisible magnet.
The spell broke as she looked away, taking a seat at one of the glossy, LED-lit slot machines. Thirty seconds in her presence, and I was mental.
An alarm fired off in the back of my mind, warning me to be cautious. After 200 years, there were few things in this world surprised me anymore. When I found something did, I couldn’t just walk away.
Chapter 4
Ivy
After the long, tedious day, my body hummed with anxious energy, like a kid on Christmas Eve, eagerly awaiting the moment when my presents would be revealed. The prolonged absence of freedom had clearly begun to mess with my head.
I’d rehearsed the plan a few times since I’d left Shelton, but now, faced with the real thing, the real man, everything went out the window. There was absolutely no mistaking him. He sat at an empty roulette table, his short dark hair tipping over the sunglasses he wore.
Bastian didn't let me bring the picture, but he didn't need to. I'd been studying every line and shadow of Dante's face behind closed eyes for hours. I could pick the man out of a crowd of hundreds—maybe thousands. As if my thoughts had drawn his attention, he slowly turned and scanned the casino. His gaze shifted past me at first, then stopped and froze. For only seconds, there was just the two of us. Even through the glasses, his piercing eyes held me captive.
For fuck’s sake. Keep it together, Ivy.
I played it cool, mindlessly toying with the slot machine while keeping him in my periphery. I was sure he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, but just in case, I didn't want to lose him after getting so lucky.
Drink in hand, he rose to his full height. I grabbed my purse off the top of the machine, preparing to follow in case he strayed too far.
Except he wasn't going anywhere—he was coming.
Toward me.
Shit. I focused hard on the brightly colored screen, pretending not to notice the moment of his arrival. He stopped a few feet away from me, but the vigor of his magic reached out, practically kissing my skin. As difficult as it was, I kept my composure, poking idly at the glowing buttons until he cleared his throat.
I turned, letting my eyes steadily drift up his body. Not too slowly, but just enough to let him know he'd struck gold. I leaned onto my elbow, the angle a perfect view down my dress. “Hi.”
“Evening.” His voice was a low, seductive rumble.
“I didn’t hear you walk up.”
"Most people don't."
He leaned against the slot machine, caging me in with his body. I still had an open route of escape just behind me. But it certainly didn't feel like it with him this close.
Of all the times I'd casually used my glamour on bar patrons or angry assholes in line at the gas station, I had never once seduced a man I was actually attracted to.
And boy was I. There was no use denying it. Six-foot-four lean muscle, built like an actual god, with a chiseled jaw and just the right amount of I-don't-give-a-fuck stubble. He ought to have looked like a cliché in his worn-out jeans and leather duster, but instead, he looked like a man you never wanted to cross.
"I saw you walk in," he continued. His voice seemed a little rough with disuse, like he wasn't accustomed to talking much. His body dipped toward me. "You know this is no place for a pretty girl to hang out all alone."
"Well, luckily, I've got a knight in shining armor." I smirked up at him. "Or . . . a knight in tattered denim, as the case may be." I twisted the faux-diamond stud on my left ear. “Maybe not a knight at all?”
“Maybe not.” He smiled. "But you're not exactly what you seem to be, either. Are you?"
Bastian’s warning repeated in the back of my head. Don't try to fool him; he'll know you're not entirely human. Don't give him a reason to distrust you right off the bat.
"What do I seem to be?"
He chuckled into his glass. "Besides a sexy hellcat hiding beneath demure clothing?"
Damn. I liked him.
"I'm like you," I told him, frankly. "If you're wondering."
"There's nobody like me."
I let out a soft, enticing laugh. "You might be surprised."
"For once in my life, I'd love to be proven wrong." He glanced at the untouched juice in my hand. "I see you've got a drink already, but will you sit at the bar with me until it's time to buy you another?"
"Sure.”
I shrugged. “Why not?"
I squared my shoulders and walked toward the bar, conscious I wasn't just trying to come across as a sex object. This was a man who needed to see his own strength reflected back, something truly remarkable, if I wanted to catch him off his guard. I wasn't just prey—but predator, too.
Luckily, that part was true to life.
I slid my hands across the bar top, rubbing the glossy mahogany beneath my fingertips as I sent out the first few tendrils of my influence. As long as he was distracted, he wouldn't suspect me, and my dress was framing my cleavage just right.
I watched carefully for a reaction. Dante wasn't like one of those dullard barflies I could work like a puppet. He was a seasoned veteran. He'd probably been seduced by at least one succubus before, just not one as powerful as me.
At first, he stiffened, but a moment later, he relaxed and eased his elbow onto the bar. I could actually sense it, as if I was rubbing his shoulder and had just worked out a stubborn knot. He was opening up to me.
A hint of guilt crept up, but the heady excitement soon swallowed it. I was seducing a powerful half-blooded gun for hire, and he had no idea what was happening to him. Of course, this was only Step One. Things got significantly more complicated from here. The trick, for now, was to keep it a light touch.
“I’m Ivy, by the way.” I reached my hand out toward him and his enormous palm swallowed mine. Rough, warm hands radiating strength and cloaked power.
“Dante.”
“So,” I swirled the thin black straw in my glass. “What brings a man like you to Reno? Business or pleasure?”
He stiffened just a fraction. Not on the outside, but his energy pulled back and shifted like a wall had risen, only briefly, before falling again.
“A bit of both. What about you?”
“Just visiting.”
“I didn’t know anyone chose to visit Reno.”
I laughed. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, but not entirely out of choice.” He took a sip from his glass and smiled.
