Chapter 8 #3
Metal tinkled. She squinted and listened hard, wishing she had the enhanced hearing of a shifter. A doorknob jiggled. More metal—the lock. The person was picking the lock.
She pulled back, her gaze darting around the street, picking up the businesses. Placing her whereabouts. Searching her memory.
I’ll be damned. Got you!
A series of emotions raced through the connection—blasts, pulses, like some sort of Morse code. Edgar’s hand gripped her shoulder again. He gently pulled, indicating she should retreat. He knew what the communication meant.
She nodded and did so, backing up quietly. She closed her eyes, feeling his hand, feeling his urgent energy, following his lead. It was always like this in battles. She’d become attuned to it before she’d ever known what she could really do.
At the back of the building, he let go and turned. She snapped her eyes open, turned with him, and followed.
He slowly loped in that strange way he did, meaning he wanted to get somewhere in kind of a hurry but not a serious hurry.
He had this uncanny sense of timing, and right now, it didn’t at all match the energy around them.
The opposite, in fact. This trait was something else entirely, probably developed from many a long year hiding from vampire-hunting parties.
He turned right, then left, and finally headed to the top of the street. The intruder was in the middle, nearly halfway down.
“Natasha!”
She froze. Tristan’s voice boomed down the street from the other end.
“This way, Shadow,” Edgar urged. “I’ll get you to your prince.”
“Natasha! I know you’re here somewhere. I saw you come this way. C’mon, baby, it didn’t mean anything. She’s a shifter. She just wanted to know what flying was like. It was over in a minute. Come out, baby, please!”
“And the award for best actor goes to…” Edgar said in a whisper, before nudging Nessa forward. “Get the intruder to leave. That’s the goal.”
“Natasha!” Tristan yelled, staggering up the street like he was drunk. “Natasha, baby, answer me. I’m going to find you. We need to talk about this. Please!”
She grinned at his antics, and if this were real, she’d have an absolute field day making him suffer.
She strutted out into the street, wobbling a little. “Leave me alone. I’m done with…whatever this is.”
“Babe, come on.” He staggered up the street, interrupted by a car driving the other way. He put up his hands, motioning them on, heading for the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Was that by design?
She waited on the side of the intruder, thinking of ways this could look natural.
She was a mage, and he was the gargoyle beta—instead of them welcoming alpha shifter guests, they just happened to be on a deserted, out-of-the-way street at the same time as an invisible enemy mage.
If they didn’t sell this, the enemy mage or their superiors would easily make the connection.
“Just…go,” she yelled, crossing the street and walking away.
“Wait, please just wait.” Tristan nearly fell off the curb as he staggered back into the street. “C’mon, talk to me. Please, just let me explain. That’s all I want— Where are you even going?” He stopped, stock-still. His voice dropped an octave, turning dangerous. “Are you going to his house?”
Nice. They were on the same page.
She stopped with a deep sigh, put her hands on her hips, and then popped out one hip. She didn’t turn to face him. “So what if I am? You’re busy, right? You need to entertain guests. So go be busy. Spend all night with her. I’ve got plans now.”
“Natasha,” he growled, “I just flew her around, that’s all. What you’re about to do—”
“I told you,” she called back, starting to walk again. The night swallowed her. “It’s over!”
She heard his feet scrape the ground, and then a curse.
It sounded like he’d fallen, a good reason to stay on the street and not run after her.
Turning back, she saw Edgar still standing on the other side of the street, pushed back from the corner.
He gave her a thumbs-up, followed by a stop gesture. She shouldn’t return.
Tristan called her name, tortured and angry and desperate. Shivers crawled up her spine and, strangely, heat blazed through her core.
Her connection to Jessie lit up with more emotions. Commands of some kind, pushing and pulling. She had no idea what any of it meant.
Across the street, Edgar motioned her away. Keep walking.
She glanced back at the nearest corner, longing filling her, not wanting to leave Tristan like that.
It was acting, make-believe—she was supposed to have been wronged—but still she wanted to return to him.
To help him up and bask in his show of desperate possessiveness.
She wanted it to be real. She wanted the green light to slice up anyone who dared touch her man, like she’d done in the cairn.
But it was all just acting. Now, and in the cairn—believable acting. In the end, she was still isolating herself. She didn’t know how to cross the bridge. She didn’t know how to emotionally reach for happiness.
She took a deep breath, trusted in her team, and turned away. They had it handled.