Chevalier (Ondine Quartet #2.2) (3 page)

She raised her brow. "What do you need?"

I gestured to the building's doorman. Mid to late twenties, tall, blonde curls, no ring. Charismatic and impeccably polite as most of them were in this area. Renee's dark, smoldering looks would work perfectly.

"He's pretty cute," she murmured.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "A guy just walked in there a few minutes ago."

"The one dressed in that suit? Caught him on my phone."

"Really?"

"Got curious when I saw you two watching him so I snapped a quick pic." She crossed her legs and gave me a knowing look. "You want to find out who he's visiting."

Her similarities with Kendra grew more apparent by the minute.

I filled her in on the basics. "Think you can do it in ten?"

"Please." She stood and gave me a disparaging look. "Five. And I'm also getting cute guy's number."

"You're on."

She crossed the street, her expression shifting from tough New York artist to the cool, elegant mask of a Marquisa's daughter.

A careless confidence, tempered by a touch of feminine awareness, marked her stride. Hips swung gently, chin tilted, silky hair accentuated the delicate curve of her back.

She was good.

I knew the moment she made eye contact.

A wide grin spread on his face and he stepped out of the entryway to talk to her. Human males usually fell hard for an ondine's natural allure.

I kept an eye on my watch. Even if she was as good as Kendra, I highly doubted five minutes would be enough.

Exactly four minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Renee strolled away with a highly satisfied expression.

She headed down a block and turned east. The call came five seconds later.

"Three hundred."

I started walking back to the museum. "For four minutes of work?"

"I got a date with him for tonight. I want some cash to have fun."

I sighed. "Fine. What'd you find out?"

"Your guy is visiting the penthouse apartment. According to my scrumptious doorman, he visits a few times a week. Tenant's name is Mark Cross. Some kind of Wall Street billionaire."

"How'd you manage to get all that?"

She laughed. "Told him Barry was my friend's husband and she was worried he was cheating on her. I followed him to see if he had a girl on the side."

Dumbfounded, I asked, "And he still asked you out? Even after he knew you were the type to check?"

"Julian," she purred. "You underestimate me."

I vowed never to do that again.

"So you think whoever's in that penthouse is the Manhattan lieutenant?" she prodded.

"No." Given what Barry insinuated about his lieutenant's importance last night, I doubted he'd be so accessible. Someone that high up would likely be well-hidden.

"But I think Mark Cross is who Barry reports to."

It was possible he went to speak about his meeting with me last night. The image of a drunk girl with bright red hair flashed and my stomach twisted.

Had she been for Mark?

"Are you going to check out the place?"

Searching his apartment would't accomplish anything. Not yet, at least. We first needed to find out who he was. Then figure out how to get to the demon who had information on the Shadow.

I climbed the large, stone steps leading to the museum entrance. "Not right now."

A statuesque girl with bright, flaxen hair approached from the opposite direction.

"Anything else I can do to help?" Renee asked.

As soon as the girl noticed me, a ferocious scowl took over her rounded face.

I smiled. Those eyes were always the same.

"No. We're fine."

FIVE

She was not fine.

Eyes blazed like emerald fire, spitting sparks of dissatisfaction.

I pulled her off the mat. "How many times are you going to make that mistake?"

"Let's do it again," she snapped.

From the moment we first worked together, she'd displayed exemplary technique and a remarkable natural agility. Like a predator, she had a keen sense of timing and knew how to use size and weight to her advantage.

But she was distracted today. It wasn't only because she couldn't obtain information on Barry at the Met.

Something else was going on.

The air shifted, heat building between us. Her Virtue drew inward, pulling in a controlled surge of energy.

Projection reacted, the magic in my blood stirring as if it sensed its counterpart.

She held my gaze. Knees bent, arms loose.

I waited.

The faintest flicker of eye movement toward my upper left arm.

By the time her leg moved, I'd pivoted in the opposite direction, landing my fist in her lower back.

She hissed, whipping around with a reckless punch that completely missed its mark.

Her concentration was off.

I easily evaded another kick and caught sight of her gym bag at the edge of the mat. A textbook rested next to it, one of the many she used for her sessions with Marquisa Bessette.

Understanding dawned as I read the title on the spine.

A History of the Selkie Kingdom, Volume 25
.

She was thinking about him.

Something helpless and furious suddenly lodged in my throat.

A sharp blow connected to the back of my knee.

"That all you got?" I taunted.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her chest rising and falling with each quickened breath.

I could see it in her eyes. It didn't matter that he'd left for six months. It didn't matter that he was on the other side of the continent. It didn't matter that he was a selkie.

Tiny shards of ice dug into my chest. "Your reputation as
sondaleur
is going to shit with that kind of performance."

Her jaw tightened. "There's nothing wrong with my performance."

I suddenly needed her to give me everything. The wild storm of all that energy and power.

I wanted to be the only one she saw.

"Bring it."

Her mouth curved.

Leg arced, torso twisting through the air.

I stayed still. An unyielding mountain against a tempest.

Hands and feet snapped in a lightening fast assault.

Ribs. Shoulder blade. Stomach. Upper arm. Ankle.

Pain rushed through my body, nerve endings burning through the numbness.

Enough.

I grabbed her wrists and flipped her over my leg. She landed on her back, breath expelling in a whoosh.

Her skin was soft. "Better."

Wincing, she stood. "Why did you let me get those hits in?"

"Wanted to see what you could do."

Our eyes met. I wondered if she'd ever look at me the way she looked at him.

"Did I hurt you?"

"What?"

"You —" She waved her hand. Embarrassed? "Nothing. Just sensed…something."

I stepped closer. "Worried?"

She didn't move. A lock of hair escaped her ponytail, framing suddenly solemn eyes.

"Of course I worry about my friends."

I turned away first.

We walked up the stairs leading out of the basement workout room in silence. During the day, the brownstone bustled with activity. Elementals from Rivelleu frequented the library and utilized the meeting spaces on the first floor.

Now, with the encroaching darkness, it was just us.

Our living area for the month consisted of two spacious suites that led off a large common area on the third floor. Tired, sweaty body gratefully climbed into the large shower.

Wet heat streamed over my shoulders, massaging my sore back. Leaning forward, I rested my forearm on the wall and listened to my breath. The steady pulse of water against the tiles.

The faint sounds of the other shower.

I suppressed a groan, mind already picturing the water caressing her. With each passing day, it was more difficult to stay away.

I stepped out, grabbed a towel, and rubbed my head and chest. A hazy shroud of memories wrapped around me like the steam fogging the mirror.

"There's something odd about him, Patrice. You must see that."

Marquisa Rosamund had started her usual barrage of complaints at my parents' annual summer soiree. My biggest critic, she'd found fault with nearly everything I did.

But what I remembered the most about that day were my mother's hands. The way they'd twisted and fluttered as if futilely trying to grab ahold of something.

I was only six, but even then I knew those weren't the hands of someone confident in her only child.

They were the hands of someone embarrassed and ashamed. Someone who wanted to hide me.

"Yes, we know. But we have hope he'll turn out to be a late bloomer."

I'd spent that night at Nexa's with an emptiness that would soon become familiar. Wishing for something to fill that void, a power that would keep me from being helpless ever again.

As helpless as I'd felt tonight.

My phone rang in the empty common room. She was still in the shower.

Screen showed no caller ID.

I altered my voice to Jack the Aquidae and answered. "Yeah?"

"He wants to see you now."

****

Soft light gently spilled through the third floor windows.

Before I stepped out, I'd reached into her suite with my Virtue and cast a light glamour dimming her aura. The wards around the brownstone would also keep her safe.

I slid into the backseat of the cab. "Fifth and Eighty-Seventh."

The glittering lights of Amsterdam Avenue pierced through the car window in a vibrant mess of red, yellow, and orange.

The city was the ultimate stimulant, a heart beating the rich rhythm of life into my blood. A year ago, I'd even considered moving here.

Until a certain ondine showed up and made things interesting.

The cab headed east on Eighty-Sixth, cutting across Central Park. Bare trees lined the street, patches of moonlight trapped in the empty spaces between branches.

Other than her, I was no longer sure what Haverleau held for me.

The chevaliers were broken. Marcella had an important figurehead role as our leader's precious muse. The Redavi who hadn't been like a Redavi.

But after what happened, Gabe had essentially left and I was supposed to pick up the pieces.

I just wasn't sure if that was what I wanted.

"Hey, buddy." The cab stopped. "Here all right?"

"Thanks."

I paid, adding a generous tip, and stepped out. The afternoon doorman was gone, probably having the time of his life with Renee.

A heavy-set man, with snow white hair and a florid, ruddy face now examined me. Petty suspicion gleamed in his pale, squinty eyes. He was the kind of person who'd kick your ass just for looking at him.

"Evening," I said politely.

"Jack." Barry waited in the lobby. Putting away his cell, he stood and made a dismissive gesture. "It's all right, Donny. He's with me."

"Of course, Mr. Lewison."

Bastard still continued to give me the side-eye.

I followed Barry into the elevator. Nerves tingled, risk feeding the exhilaration coursing through my system.

My interactions with Aquidae were usually limited to stories and gossip shared over a drink. This was the first time I was invited to meet a higher-up.

He inserted a key into the elevator panel and pressed the button for the penthouse.

Interesting security.

"Who am I meeting?"

"Mark, my supervisor. Said he might have some work for you."

So Manhattan's lieutenant did prefer to remain hidden.

"Anything I should keep in mind?"

"Don't piss him off."

Fantastic.

With each floor, my pulse accelerated. Cold sweat trickled down my back and the sharp, coppery taste of adrenaline emerged on my tongue.

I felt alive.

With a soft ping, the doors directly opened to the apartment.

An enormous, sunken living room stretched before us with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of Fifth Avenue and Central Park.

Everything was white. Marble floors, leather sofas, lacquered shelves, artwork, cushions, rugs.

Even the cage.

Located in the corner, its painted bars were as thick as my arm and large enough to hold a cheetah or jaguar.

Except there was no animal.

Only a crumpled lump, the bright red hair a shock of color in the sea of white.

She was completely naked, mottled bruises covering her pale skin. Her arm lay limp, twisted and broken by her side.

She was either unconscious or dead. I wasn't close enough to see if she was still breathing.

Nausea and revulsion welled up. Fuck.

Barry didn't even look in her direction. "Hey."

Two Aquidae approached us, one muscular and blonde, the other slim and dark-haired. Their stoic expressions revealed more about this apartment's tenant.

Mark kept his people well-trained. No outbursts or uncontrolled surges of violence.

Which meant what happened to that girl had been done deliberately and with precise intent.

The blonde spoke. "He's in the garden."

We followed them down the hallway through an open kitchen and spacious dining area. Sliding glass doors led out to a garden occupying half the building's roof.

It snowed two nights ago and hardened patches still glittered between hardy shrubs and small trees.

The irony of a flourishing garden tended by a homicidal demon wasn't lost on me.

On the northeastern corner, a thin man sat at an outdoor table with his back to us.

"Barry tells me you come from Lyondale."

His voice was smooth and cultured, the sound of someone who went to the opera and spoke delicately of literature over aged brandy.

"Yes."

"And were you there the night of the auction?"

"Yes."

"How did you escape?"

Pulse tripped.

"We were told no one got out alive," he continued. "That the combination of Warrior Prince and
sondaleur
had even brought down Callan."

"I slipped out before the worst of it happened."

He stood to face me and I understood why no one dared disobey him.