Chapter 15
Iwasn’t surprised to find Cirrian in my house.
Instead of sitting on his preferred section of the sofa, he stood at my console, admiring the trinkets William had given me.
His hair was slightly mussed, and he’d changed into matte black, the shirt and pants molded to his form.
Cirrian’s alluring scent of cedar and musk wafted through the room.
He looked from the keepsake in his hand to me, cradling the backpack to my chest.
“Let me see your wolf,” I demanded, tossing the bag of wolfsbane on the sofa.
Cirrian’s head snapped in my direction. His brows rose, and a miscreant grin coasted over his lips.
“My wolf? Your methods of flirting are becoming increasingly creative,” he said in a husky rasp that rekindled the image of him looking at me at Diehle’s when I removed my shirt.
A moment of immodesty that I thought would give me control had left me at a disadvantage.
His hooded amber eyes undressed me. Dropping my eyes to his hand, I wondered what his fingers would feel like against my skin.
“What a provocative and strange way to ask to see my dick,” he quipped, drawing my attention back to him. His voice dropped to a low, sensual purr. “I’m assuming you’ve given up all pretenses of saving Amelia.”
Closing the distance between us, his eyes dragged over my body as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, giving me a peek of the ink crawling from his upper back and inching over his chest. “I’m assuming this situation is reciprocal. I show you mine and you’ll show me yours?”
The way his clothes clung to his physique, I’d expected an exceptional body, but I was still surprised by the cords of muscle and definition and had to force my thoughts to stay on the task at hand.
The sultry look in his eyes called to me, reminding me of the allure of his darkness.
How it held me captive. Heat swept over my body as I recalled the masterful way he’d caressed my skin, igniting a longing stronger than I thought possible.
Death, darkness, and sex entwined in a seductive package that was hard to ignore, even with the knowledge that they couldn’t be enjoyed individually.
Digging my fingers into my palm, I jolted my thoughts from enchantment. “What?” I spluttered. “I wasn’t asking about your dick. How did you come to that conclusion from my question?” I snapped, motioning for him to stop undressing. “And I wasn’t flirting.”
Ripping my eyes from his, I let them land on the backpack to serve as a reminder of my peculiar wolf protector and the curse I needed to remove.
When my gaze drifted back to him, he looked unconvinced. The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to pull away from it.
He is death, I reminded myself. The very embodiment of it. Even if he wasn’t, Cirrian was powerful and dangerous and didn’t mind exploiting it.
“I encountered a wolf today who was determined to protect me. I thought it was you.”
He reeled back slightly, brows drawn together. “I told you I can’t change into a wolf.” Was I mistaken, or had I heard a tinge of sorrow in his voice? Or was it longing?
“You’ve told me a lot of things that weren’t necessarily true.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Kara.”
“Not directly. You lie by omission and enjoy leaving out pertinent details.”
“Similar to what you are doing with your employers,” he shot back.
“My little minx, how would your sentinel react to discovering your ability to end vampire immorality, like that?” He snapped his fingers as if magic could come to me so easily.
Without access to magic, nothing was a snap away.
Once I had it, I’d have to learn to properly wield it.
I wasn’t under any illusion that it would be simple.
“Any information withheld from them was for survival. Until I met you, I didn’t know what I was—so how could I tell them? And why would I tell them now when I don’t fully understand it?” I challenged.
Maybe my guilty conscience was getting the better of me, but his throaty scoff sounded like judgment rather than understanding.
“Do you wish you could shift into a wolf?” I asked, in desperate need of a subject change.
“No.”
“Did you once possess the ability to do it?” It seemed like a rational question despite the look he’d given me that showed he thought otherwise. From the aggrieved look that eclipsed him, I wasn’t too far off.
He smiled. “You are a paradox of inconsistencies and enigmas. The vampires see you as a pet rather than the threat that you are. And wolves, who are known for only caring for their own, seek to protect you.”
Not wolves, just one wolf. Then Terran’s odd snuggling of my neck for comfort flashed in my mind.
Scrutinizing Cirrian with the same intensity he’d leveled at me, I wanted to get inside his head. Find out what caused the sudden scowl and grim look of reproach. Like the pieces of a puzzle, they were there, but the picture was incomplete.
He gestured to his invisible watch. “Since there won’t be a show and tell, shouldn’t you be dedicating your time to persuading a vampire to risk their immortality to save your friend?”
“You make it very difficult to like you,” I said.
The heat in his eyes did something to me I wanted to ignore. Needed to ignore. “Do you want to like me?”
He leaned down, his lips coasting over my jaw before they made it to my ear.
“I like you, too. But I can’t allow emotion to deter me from my objective.
Kara, you are a means to an end. A tool.
I’m not opposed to us enjoying each other in every possible way.
If we do, don’t see it for anything more than us satisfying our primal urges. ”
I scoffed. “One of us is a tool and it’s not me.”
“Come on, Kara, I felt it, too,” he whispered.
My nipples hardened so much even my bra couldn’t hide them as they pressed against my t-shirt.
“And I feel it now. I think you do, too. Or are you just responding to my unnecessary esthetics?” he teased, reminding me of the comment I’d made about him being needlessly handsome.
Cirrian allowed me to shove him away with a pointed finger into his chest. He stopped several feet away. We simultaneously turned at the violent pounding at the door. I snatched up my baton before answering.
“Yes?” I said to the image through the peephole of a bowed head displaying a shock of platinum-blond hair.
Several beats of silence passed. “Open the door,” the deep, refined voice commanded with the authority of someone who is rarely denied. “I need to see Cirrian,” he added.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Cirrian sighing heavily while squeezing his eyes shut.
Opening the door, I saw a man with a dusky-beige complexion towering over me by at least six inches.
His sharp-angled molten brown eyes dissected me in the same manner I did him as I took in his well-defined winged cheeks.
The chiseled contours of his face were offset by a dramatic point at his chin.
Chin-length blond hair was his most striking feature.
His wide mouth dragged down into a stringent frown, detracting from his stoic elegant look.
Possessing the same enigmatic aura as Cirrian, he stared at me for a moment. “Who are you?”
“You’re at my house. I should be asking you that question.”
“Cirrian, where is he?” He started past me, but his attention snagged on the baton in my hand. A smile replaced his frown. “May I?”
Before I could respond, he’d wrenched it from my hand and stormed past me. Cirrian managed to get out an exasperated “Brother” before the new arrival launched the baton at him like a javelin. Cirrian ducked in time to keep it from hitting him. It stabbed into my wall.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He landed a sharp jab on Cirrian’s right jaw, following up with a right hook that caught him on the other side of his face. Cirrian grabbed his hand. “Larkin, why are you here?”
“Why am I here? You killed Diehle and disengaged your seon so no one could find you. Reduced me to looking for you at your last locations.” His lips furled as he took another swing at his brother the moment Cirrian released his hand.
Cirrian tossed him to the ground, landing several punches before Larkin rolled out of reach.
Swiping Cirrian’s leg, he crashed to the ground.
Larkin, in a flash of movement, dislodged the baton and turned to find Cirrian standing several feet away, glaring.
Larkin charged his brother with the baton a whirl of black as he attacked.
The weapon smashed into Cirrian’s arm as he blocked Larkin from landing the blows on his face.
I cringed, expecting the sound of bone snapping.
Nothing. Their violent exchange was flashes of movement: leg swipes, dodging of the baton, strikes connecting with head, face, and stomach.
Hip tosses and kicks that landed them several feet from each other.
Larkin took the upper hand and reached for the baton Cirrian had wrangled from him, then tossed him across the room.
Larkin quickly rolled into a stand, baton at the ready.
They had magic but limited their exchange to brutal fighting.
Violent contact seemed to be the only way they could rid themselves of their raw anger.
Tossing the baton aside, Larkin lunged at Cirrian, grabbing his shirt and delivering a hip toss that send Cirrian across the room, then charged at him just as he recovered and followed up with an exchange of kicks and strikes. I had front row seats for an MMA match.
Larkin stopped abruptly. His hand darted out, catching Cirrian’s hand that was about to connect with his cheek.
With the violent exchange, I expected bruises, blood, and signs of the battle.
Except for their disheveled clothing, there were no signs.
Used to the fast healing of supernatural beings, I was still impressed by theirs.
The violence continued, and my screams for them to stop went ignored.