Chapter 8
It was as I packed that I noticed the new tattoo on my hand, not etched in black ink but rather silvery white.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled as I stared at my palm. The same one that had gripped the necklace. Not bad enough I’d been scarred mentally, my flesh bore a mark too. A fucking butterfly.
Figured my first tattoo would be of my biggest nightmare.
I kind of wished now I’d gone ahead with the one of Hello Kitty that Charlie dared me to get.
At the time, I’d been drunk, too drunk to apparently consent according to the artist who refused to ink me.
I should have returned the next day once I sobered up, but there was a sale at Lululemon and given the choice between dropping a few hundred bucks on body art or some new leggings and a top… Fashion won.
Speaking of which, I shoved said outfit into a duffel, along with some heavy socks, a few sweaters, and my toiletries.
From what I knew of Russia, it would be cold, meaning I’d need my parka, hat, and gloves too.
At least the late-fall Ottawa weather meant I could get away with wearing my goose-down jacket and insulated hiking boots, saving myself luggage space, which I used to add a few sexy pieces of lingerie and a clingy dress that always got me free drinks in the club.
Misha might not be a fan of me—or me of him—but there would likely be other Russian men on this trip, and I wanted to be prepared. Never knew when you’d meet the one.
I emerged from my bedroom to find Misha and Cedric with their heads bent close together, whispering. They ceased speaking the moment they detected my presence.
Talking shit about me? Most likely. Cedric tolerated me, but he’d made it clear he didn’t think me as smart as him.
As for Misha, if he could rip the spirit from me, he would have likely already done it by now.
I couldn’t wait to show them both I was more than a pretty face with a really nice ass—kept firm with a daily regime of squats and lunges.
“You guys plotting against me?” I asked suspicious that they’d already become chummy.
“More like discussing how we’re going to keep you safe. It won’t be easy,” Cedric stated with a shake of his head.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked with more enthusiasm than I felt.
“We will head to the airport.” Misha declared.
“I figured that. I assume you have a way to bypass the lack of passport.”
“I do.”
“Are we flying on a private jet?” I’d always wanted to see how the rich travelled.
“No.”
I snapped my fingers as a mental light bulb illuminated. “Holy shit, I guess it doesn’t matter if I have ID or not because you’ll probably whammy the security guys into thinking I do and letting me pass.”
“Whammy?” Misha repeated.
“You know, when you do the Jedi mind-trick thing and plant thoughts into people’s heads.”
His brow creased. “That is not something I can do, nor anyone else for that matter. Free will is too strong.”
Probably best to not mention Charlie’s new hubby had that ability. “Then how are you planning to get me past security?”
“I’ll figure something out,” Misha muttered. “Are you ready to leave?”
I glanced at Cedric. “Are we?”
“I am.”
Then despite Misha standing there, I added, “Is this the right thing to do?”
Cedric canted his furry head. “I don’t think we have a choice but to ally ourselves with Misha. With him around, you might not die as quickly.”
Just the words I wanted to hear.
Not!
The man had no interest in helping or protecting me.
He wanted the ghost that chose to inhabit my body.
A ghost I didn’t feel but that didn’t mean shit.
Cedric claimed my aura glowed with power.
Did that mean I now had magic I could wield?
Could I wiggle my fingers or twitch my noise and throw balls of fire?
Would a shimmy of my hips cause the earth to move?
They had been known to bring grown men to their knees begging for a chance—and not getting it because, hello, I preferred men who knew how to take.
We exited the house, and while I sauntered for the Corolla, the males—one big and burly, the other sleek and feline—paused on the front step.
“I thought you were in a rush,” I stated, my hand on the driver-side door.
“It’s coming.” An ominous statement form Misha.
I might have said something dumb like “what’s coming,” only it suddenly dropped out of the sky, and I got a good look—to my chagrin.
The streetlights illuminated the monster that reminded me of the demon imp but bigger, much bigger, with emerald glowing eyes, leathery-looking skin of pale gray, and crazy-long claws extended and ready to rip.
Oh, and let’s not forget the jaw that dropped open to show great big fangs!
And guess who it aimed for?
The girl who dropped her duffel and took off running down the street.
Brilliant, I know. Nothing screams prey like panicking and bolting. Did I really believe I could outrun it? No, but tell that to my pumping legs.
“Get down!” Misha yelled.
Having seen enough movies where the idiot who didn’t drop got mauled from behind, I hit the pavement, harder than I would have liked, but I’d heal from scrapes and bruises.
The bang of a gun going off had me jolting, but I didn’t feel any pain—likely because the bullet hit the creature chasing me, or so I assumed given the high-pitched squeal and the fact it hit the pavement right beside me.
We stared at each other, me in shock, it with malevolence.
It began twitching and inching in my direction before my sense of self-preservation kicked in—aided by Misha yelling, “Don’t just lie there. Move!”
I popped to my feet and pivoted back in the direction I’d just bolted from because that way had a man with a gun.
A grim-faced fighter stalking for the creature while firing into its body. Probably the sexiest thing I’d ever seen and not just because he’d saved my life.
I slowed my run and pivoted to watch as Misha stood over the monster emptying his clip. The monster twitched and lay still before turning into smoke that evaporated on the evening breeze.
“You killed it!” I clapped my hands.
“Hardly. It is a magical construct. I’ve simply disrupted its corporeal form for a moment. It will soon regenerate. We should depart before that happens.”
“You mean it can’t die?” That couldn’t be good for me, its target.
“It can be destroyed but only with magic.”
I glanced at Cedric sitting on the hood of my car. “You have magic. Why didn’t you lob a fireball and drop it out of the sky?”
“Because dryads can’t cause harm.” Cedric didn’t sound happy about this limitation.
“Well, that sucks.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered even if he could have,” Misha stated. “It takes a special kind of magic to dismantle a construct.”
I glanced at my hand with the tattoo. “Let me guess, the magic inside me. Does that mean I could zap it?”
“I wouldn’t try. You’re more likely to blow yourself up,” Misha stated as he returned.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I were. You could level a city with the power you hold,” Misha’s serious reply.
I held my hand away from me, wondering if I should put it in a lead-lined glove. What if I accidentally zinged myself wiping after I peed?
Misha glanced at my car. “This is your vehicle?”
“Yup. Not much to look at, but she’s tough.” I’d inherited the Corolla from Charlie. We often joked it would outlast us both.
“We’ll take my rental.” Misha stalked—apparently his preferred mode of walking—to a slick navy-blue Tahoe across the street.
I would have argued, but it had all the bells and whistles. Heated seats—which my butt loved—electronic controls for everything—that led to Misha growling as I pressed every single one—and Car Play.
We drove to the airport listening to my favorite Sabrina Carpenter hits. The scowl Misha wore the entire way there? So worth it.
But the bastard got me back. Turned out we wouldn’t be riding in first, business. or even economy. Oh no. His plan to get me on a plane without a passport? Stowed away as cargo.