Chapter 9
What the hell was Violet doing to him?
Kade tried and failed to process his reaction to this enigmatic woman while she prepared dinner. If someone had told him at the onset of the day that he’d find himself in her kitchen, he would’ve called them ten kinds of crazy.
The scent of lemon cream sauce and sautéing chicken filled the dining area where Kade sat at the table.
She had shooed him out of her kitchen, telling him she was a control freak when it came to cooking.
Since they had to wait until it got dark before prowling the woods, she’d offered to make them a hearty dinner.
He stared at the text his boss had sent: status.
It wasn’t a question but a demand for an answer.
in position. waiting.
A few seconds later: what’s the problem?
family together in mourning. not alone.
Kade knew he’d only be able to put off his boss for a limited time before he was pulled from the assignment. He had to find the truth before that happened.
The family wasn’t together, which was odd. Deuces weren’t particularly close, but Dragon clans were. But then again, Violet had ostracized herself by taking up with him.
So to speak.
She was on the phone now. “Ma, I’m okay…
No, you don’t have to come over right now.
Unless you need some company—of course not…
I didn’t tell you about Kade because”—she shot him a look—”well, I think that’s obvious.
” She turned back to her preparation. “Right now we’re looking into what’s going on around the Fringe.
Kade’s helping me on his own time…yes, because he thinks he loves me. ”
Her brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, swished back and forth with her movements, with the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she cooked.
She had a long waist with all the right proportions.
But it wasn’t her willowy figure that had him going against everything that was important to him.
It wouldn’t matter if she had the wrong proportions and frizzy hair. Killing her was wrong.
The words about sacrifice had rolled out of his mouth, but they’d come from a deep place within him. Violet was nothing like he’d assumed. Educated, classy, and more like him than he’d ever imagined. A kindred soul. He’d lost himself out there, falling into the charade of being her lover.
Which is the real charade? Look at yourself, working hard to be the stalwart Vega. He’d never told anyone how he felt, the ache of losing a part of his soul. Why the hell had he told her?
Thankfully she’d said how wrong he was for her, bringing him back to his senses. He was wrong in so many ways.
The dog lay sprawled on the tile floor looking at him with a curious and slightly suspicious expression.
He’d given up having pets, too. He loved dogs, their loyalty and affection, the way they greeted their owner as though he were the most important person in the world.
But he never knew when he’d be gone for days or even weeks at a time, and that wasn’t fair to a dog.
“Gotta go, Ma,” Violet said, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“The fettuccine’s ready…chicken Francois…
no, it doesn’t mean anything. I make it for myself all the time.
Bye.” She hung up, pulling the colander out of the big cooking pot, letting the water drain, and pouring it into a bowl.
He watched her arrange piles of fettuccine on two plates with tongs, place the pieces of chicken on top, and then pour the sauce over it all.
“This looks and smells amazing,” he said as she brought the plates to the table.
She sat down and waved off the compliment. “It’s nothing. Ma makes these wonderful meals, and we’re all too lazy after a long day to go home and cook when we can go to the main house and get fed. But I’m trying to become more independent.”
He twirled several strands of pasta on his fork and took a bite. “Tastes as good as something I’d get at a nice restaurant.” He nodded to the collection of cookbooks on a shelf in her island. “You like ethnic foods.”
“Love them. It’s one of my indulgences when I get out of the Fringe. I haven’t had time to travel to all those places, but I love Greek food, Italian, Indian, Cuban.”
He didn’t want to think about her other indulgence when she went out of town, and yet, the words “Tell me more about these weekends of yours” came rolling off his tongue anyway.
Sheesh. At her raised eyebrows, he added, “Since we met during one of them, I figure I should know. Do you usually meet the same person more than once?” She hadn’t answered that question before.
“No, they’re usually from out of town, outside the Crescent world. I take their number but never call.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You hook up with Mundanes?”
“It’s less complicated. Okay, more boring, but there’s no temptation to keep things going, romantic relationships with them being forbidden and all. I’m not looking for a soul mate. Sometimes I just need…a connection. I gave up on finding someone permanent a long time ago.”
“After Bren?”
She started to say no but released a breath.
“Yeah, pretty much. Marrying into my family, well, you see how welcome someone outside the Fringe would be. An outsider will always be an outsider. But dating a Fringer brings all kinds of history and family complications.” She twirled a piece of pasta on her fork and stuck it in her mouth, regarding him while she chewed.
“You said you sacrificed your personal life for your career.”
“Having a loved one is a vulnerability. If someone’s after me, for revenge or whatever reason, he’ll have a hard time getting me. Grab my wife or my kid, and I’m putty.”
“You, putty? You seem all soldier to me.”
“I’d do anything to protect someone I cared about.”
She nodded and shivered. “Is it that much of a war out there? We’re so insulated here, busy with our own problems.”
“It can be. Magick corrupts some Crescents, and it’s my job to take care of those who present a danger to society.”
She ran the tines of her fork through the sauce on her plate, drawing lines through it, then sticking it in her mouth. “So, we’d be a perfect weekend matchup.” Her eyes widened. “In theory. For the charade.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her quick back steps. “In theory.” He also couldn’t help the stirring in his blood.
She dove into her meal, her cheeks a bit pinker than they were moments before.
It wasn’t just the thought of hooking up with her that tightened his chest…
and his groin. Or the way she sucked in her last strand of pasta or even the way she dragged her finger through the sauce on her plate and stuck it in her mouth with a little sound of pleasure.
The different sides of her intrigued him: the feisty side that had given him a black eye; the soft, vulnerable one that cried when she thought no one was looking; and the sexy one he witnessed when he’d been blindfolded.
He liked this woman. Liked the feel of her skin, the glow of her smile.
The shy way she avoided his gaze sometimes, and the hungry way she watched him other times.
“I’m afraid of whatever you’re thinking about,” she said, and he realized she was watching him ruminate. No doubt the mist in his eyes was swirling like crazy.
“You should be.”
She stood and took her plate to the sink, walking faster than she normally did. “I never thought about how hard it was to be you. I mean, having to live up to the Guard’s rep.”
She was going to change the subject, eh? “I thought it’d be easy to live down to a Fringe rep, but I can see how that might be hard. We both suffer from others’ prejudices.”
She made a snorting sound. “Yeah, but you’ve got it easier. People respect you as instantly and mindlessly as they denigrate me.”
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her. “And they assume you’re as uneducated and undisciplined as the rest of the Fringers. For example, I’ll bet most of them don’t use words like denigrate. Then again, Murphy used the word reprehensible right along with ain’t.”
For a moment she looked conflicted. “Society makes assumptions about us, and quite honestly, there are Fringers who perpetuate those prejudices. I simply choose not to. My mother homeschooled me and did a good job. I read a lot, and if I don’t understand a word, I look it up.”
How many people had denigrated Violet in her life? He hated the thought of it. He picked up his plate and joined her at the sink. She rinsed it, then put it in the dishwasher.
“Thanks for dinner. It was incredible.”
She shrugged. “We had to eat.”
They’d decided to stake out the Slade property given the pattern they’d seen in the red tacks: the inciting murders usually occurred near the property line.
Unfortunately, they’d have to monitor the line between the Slades and the Stramaglias, the most vicious of the Fringe clans.
Getting caught by either, with tensions already running high, would mean an attack first, questions later.
She looked down, then back at him. “What you said to me out there about sacrificing your nature for your career.”
“Never mind that.”
“And every time you did, bits and pieces of your soul were cut away. So how much of your soul, your true nature, is left?”
“I didn’t think there was much left. But I’m here, aren’t I?” The wild part of him tugged at the edges. “And I did tell you my fantasies, after all.”
“Mmm, that you did.”
“I’ve never told anyone my fantasies about being under a woman’s control.”
She looked surprised. “I’m sure you have women at your beck and call. Surely one would indulge you.”
He had to quell his grin. Was she fishing? “Sure, but the thing is, if I tell a woman about it, I’m essentially asking her to indulge me. She’s following my request.”
“I can see your…I guess you’d call it a dilemma. I thought you were making those fantasies up, just to rile me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”
She met his look with one of her own. “I would never be riled by a Vega.”