Chapter Six
“Anger is fuel, use it.” Brodie Buchanan strode back and forth in front of her self-defence class.
Giving them one of her helpful Valkyrie pep talks.
“You are the sword of vengeance. Your wrath is mighty. You will slay your enemies with one strike. Your head is cool, calculating. But your heart, let it burn with the righteous fury of your slain ancestors. Who will party in the afterlife, raising toasts in your honour after you have obliterated those who would seek to oppose you.” Brodie’s stern expression shifted into a wide grin as she clapped her hands together.
“Good class today, Ladies. Great use of your scarf as a makeshift garrot, Daphne. And Gigi, excellent knee work at the punching bag. I think those visualisation exercises you’ve been working on have really begun to pay off. ”
She’d been tossing and turning all night. How dare he! Relegating Gigi to the baby pool in this partnership. As if she were incompetent. Making it sound like she was nothing but a burden. Grrr, he was such an irritating, arrogant, butthole.
Taking one last look at herself in the mirror in the changerooms, Gigi nodded her approval. She looked cool and calm. But inside she was the sword of, what was is again? Oh, right, vengeance. Or at the very least the sword of righteous female fury.
Nico wanted her to run at the first sign of danger? Just because she was a woman? What century was the man living in?
Gigi was skilled, deadly, capable, and in no way squeamish.
She would be Nico’s equal in this partnership that had been forced upon them by supernatural circumstances, or they could part ways.
And tackle whatever was coming individually.
Gigi had two bodies in her freezer that declared how serious she was.
From the sound of it, Nico only had one. Which meant she was winning, right?
Making her way to the Transportal, Gigi checked her watch. The bar had only been open for half an hour or so. It was the perfect time to confront Nico. It would be quiet. Few people about. And she could be assured of his undivided attention.
Stepping out of the Transportal, Gigi paused.
Had she gotten the time wrong? Or was there some early morning social club event occurring that she was unaware of?
Except the vibe was off for a social event.
No one seemed particularly friendly. Those standing four deep at the bar kept elbowing, jostling and snarking at one another.
Whilst those who had drinks already appeared to be fighting over who got to sit at the tables located closest to the bar.
Weirder still. There were two barmen on duty this morning but every customer present only wanted to be served by one of them. Nico Yanez. Even as she watched, Digby approached a customer to request if he could help them but was unceremoniously rebuffed.
The other important thing that was glaringly strange, was that every single customer present was female.
Hold on, there was Shelby. What was she doing here? Why had she missed self-defence class to come here this morning? And Tamara!
A no nonsense police woman, Tamara normally dressed in practical clothes, and sensibly plaited her hair back. Today she was rocking an almost sheer pink dress and her hair was tumbling in soft curls down to her shoulders.
What, in the name of all the Heavens, was going on?
Had Nico Yanez accidently been sprayed with some of Great-Uncle Gard’s rather too successful pheromone perfume?
Surely not. The local hazmat team swore they’d disposed of all of it.
A screech of anger pulled Gigi’s attention off to the right.
Riordan, who took food orders and delivered the meals, was arguing loudly with three seated customers.
Who appeared to be arguing right back. One of them banging her plate of clearly frozen solid food against the table top for emphasis.
It was like bizzarro world. Dazed and confused, Gigi took a few steps further into the bar. She should notify the Enforcers and perhaps the hazmat team to bring the mobile decontamination showers just in case.
And another thing, was there something wrong with the lights in here?
Why was Nico Yanez glowing golden? She took another step.
And with a blink of an eye he was back to normal.
Stranger still, the moment she’d taken that last step, Nico’s head shot up, his gaze pinning Gigi in place.
As if she’d done or said something to get his attention, which she certainly hadn’t.
The harried irritation on his face shifting abruptly to relief?
He strode up to the empty end of the bar, where Digby stood, too quick for any of the clamouring women to follow.
With a graceful leap, Nico jumped up and slid across the bar like an action hero.
Hitting the polished wood floors with a thump, he moved with determination and speed.
Heading right for Gigi. Ignoring everyone else in the bar as if they didn’t exist.
Gulp.
The fiercely intent expression upon Nico’s face freezing Gigi in place.
His eyes, simmering pools of burning amber.
That look should have unsettled her. Instead, an uncomfortable spark of heat ignited low in her body.
Dressed in black trousers, boots and an olive coloured shirt, he reminded her too much of a pirate striding across the deck of a ship.
Looking very much like he was about to sweep the heroine of the story into his arms. Which was so ridiculous.
Except suddenly Nico’s arms were around Gigi’s waist, pulling her in close, his body pressing against her entire length, his lips abruptly covering hers.
Goddess. It was like that time she tasted her first spoonful of ganache made with French butter.
Shocking. Heady. Addictive. Unconsciously, one of her hands grabbed a fistful of Nico’s shirt, trying to pull him closer.
Which was impossible, as they were plastered together so tightly you’d need a spatula to separate them.
Grrrr. Why did the most irritating man in the world have to kiss like he won awards for it?
Perhaps Gigi would have pushed him away, or at the very least tried to, if it wasn’t for the underlying sense of desperation that radiated from him.
Here was a man drowning, and Gigi was his lifeline.
And it didn’t hurt that Nico tasted like sinful dark chocolate and aged whiskey with a hint of butterscotch.
The kiss felt like it lasted eons, but perhaps had only been a minute or two. Breaking apart finally, gazes locked, the two of them breathing hard.
Gigi waited several seconds. Surely Nico would explain. No. His lips clamped together tightly. Still clutching her in as closely as possible. But to be fair, she didn’t feel quite ready to let go of him either just yet.
The kiss made no sense. But then none of the past five minutes had. The early morning crowd of women at the bar, treating Nico like he was some sort of rockstar. Fighting over him. Acting against type, like Tamara, for the chance to catch his attention. None of it made any sense.
Unless. Sweet Lady, it was Arthur Conan Doyle who propositioned that once you had eliminated the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable, was the answer.
Those simmering pools of amber beguilement of his only inches away.
Yet there was something more in those inviting depths than just fierce intentness, there was an alien vulnerability that made Gigi’s gut churn in dread.
Oh, no. There was no other explanation. She prayed that he would laugh.
Mock her. Push her away, call her Cookie and tell her to get back in her cupcake lane.
Gigi’s question barely a whisper. “Are you dying?”
Those talented lips of his quirked upwards in a rueful smile as Nico huffed out a short breath, causing wisps of her short hair to bob in the sudden breeze. His voice just as whisper soft as hers. “Maybe, probably.”
* * *
“You’re dying?”
“Maybe.”
“You said probably. Probably dying is a lot more definite than maybe.”
“Juice?”
“Don’t change the subject. And yes, please.
” Her gaze locked on Nico as he moved about the small kitchen, fetching glasses, pouring them both a drink.
Seated at the kitchen bench on a barstool, Gigi searched for signs of fatigue or illness.
She saw none. He looked annoyingly virile, healthy and hot.
Nico had led the way to the upstairs apartment the moment she released her hold on his shirt following his shocking revelation.
All around them the mania or spell appeared to have been broken.
A large number of women leaving, looking a little bewildered and confused.
Whilst several focused upon finishing drinks or food they’d ordered.
Looking a little too embarrassed to make a hasty exit just yet now that Nico’s hold over them had been broken.
A few of them, Gigi noted, continued to look at Nico as if he was the last truffle in the box.
Except for Riordan, whose icy glare appeared to be focused more upon Gigi.
Before she could work out why her young cousin would be sending her filthy looks so early in the day, Nico was ushering Gigi upstairs, to the private apartment, where he said they could talk.
So here they were, talking. Drinking juice. Nico suddenly prevaricating.
“You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not. I think I’ve been cursed.” Shooting a look Gigi’s way, trying to gauge her reaction.
But of course this was the Southern Sanctuary, Gigi didn’t look surprised.
“When I killed the guy who broke into the bar ten days ago, I went through his belt bag, and besides the syringe, he had this on him.” Fetching the tiny silver dove ring he’d wrapped in a tissue and tucked away in the cutlery drawer took barely a few seconds.
Pulling apart the tissue so Gigi could get a good look. “Don’t touch it.”