Chosen by Fate (8 page)

And even if he could, she didn’t want to be saved. She’d walked the earth as the living dead long enough. She was tired. So tired. Maybe tonight she could have more, but eventually . . . soon...

“Tonight isn’t going to be more than a roll in the sack. Know that now, before things go further.”

“Is that right?” he said with a mocking smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Listen, O’Flare—”

“You’d best brace yourself, Wraith,” he said softly, a hint of Irish and sex sneaking into his voice.

She did.

Her eyes widened.

Her muscles tensed.

Then he kissed her.

Sort of. Truth was, he hardly touched her because, as always, he didn’t want to hurt her. She wanted to weep at that knowledge.

Such a good man, she thought again.

His lips barely brushed hers, but their breath mingled and their gazes locked.

For long moments, he stood close to her, grazing her mouth with whisper-soft sips and the occasional slick glide of his tongue. Raising her arms, she threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at the soft, silky texture. He pulled his head back to stare into the dark lenses of her sunglasses, and she wished he could see past them—see past the cloudy haze that covered her eyes. She wished he could see the color of her eyes and watch her pupils dilate with the evidence of her desire, the way a normal human’s pupils would.

But she knew what he’d see if he removed her glasses. Blankness. Eyes foggy and seemingly unaffected, when so much of her was churning with a restless energy she could barely contain.

He pulled away, and she barely stopped herself from grabbing for him. “I need to talk to someone,” he said.

She tried to fight off a pang of jealousy. The cat. “You certain you want to do that?” she whispered, hoping she sounded seductive.

“Yes, but I won’t be long. You changing your mind?”

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t changing her mind. She might be a fool. She might not know what this evening was going to bring her, but she wanted to find out. She wanted him.

“Don’t move and don’t jerk me around, Wraith. If I find out—”

She shook her head. “I’m not. I won’t. Tonight, I just want . . . I just want to forget . . . to rest . . .”

“So I’m going to be used as a sleeping pill?” he teased, his face lightening with a smile.

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping, O’Flare.”

His smile vanished as he sucked in a breath, eyes flashing hot with desire. Without another word, he turned around.

Holy shit. For a second there, he’d looked like he wanted to eat her alive. Suck her up and swallow her down.

She licked her lips, thinking that’s exactly what she wanted to do to him.

Before she could let her doubts get the better of her, she turned around to scan the crowd. Her brows furrowed when she saw Lucy by the bar, sipping on a drink.

Had Lucy seen her and Caleb kissing? Would she be hurt when she saw them leave together? She knew the little mage had a crush on him, and for an instant, guilt made her pause. But Wraith wasn’t selfless as a general rule, and that counted double when it came to her limited choices in bed partners. She liked Lucy, but not enough to give up a chance like this.

Still . . . What if sex with Caleb was addictive? What if after tonight she wanted more? She couldn’t have more. She knew that. And they still had to work together.

Sensing she was close to bolting, Wraith pushed her concerns out of her head. It was too loud in here. Too . . . happy. She needed to get outside. To be alone so she could think clearly for a moment.

Desperately, she searched the room until she saw the doors leading outside. She strode toward the exit, and toward what she hoped would be clarity. Lord knows, she’d need it.

 

Convincing Natia that he didn’t want to get back together or have sex with her had taken far longer than Caleb thought it would. Finally, he gave up trying to part on good terms.

He barely shut the door to Natia’s room before the vase she’d been hefting crashed against the other side. The were standing guard next to the door looked at him from the corner of his eye, and although the burly creature’s expression didn’t change, Caleb could sense the amusement radiating from him.

That had gone as badly as he’d thought it would, with Natia accusing him of fucking Wraith just to get back at her and her family. Then she’d started railing about her mother being right, that Caleb must have had something to do with Elijah’s death since he clearly had no respect for the feline race as a whole . . .

Caleb sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t mind a little spirit or outright bitchiness in a female. In fact, he preferred it. The attitude certainly made life more interesting. Even so, Natia’s little temper tantrum should have had him reconsidering Wraith’s offer.

It didn’t. Not at all.

Natia didn’t hold a candle to Wraith in the bitch category. In all their years together, despite all the fights and hysterics, Natia had never pulled a gun on him. Wraith had already done it once, and she’d probably do it a few more times before things were settled between them. He didn’t care. Wraith had finally let down her guard. Admitted she needed something from him, something even more than sexual relief. She needed contact. Caring. Intimacy. And he was the man who was going to give her what she wanted. What she needed.

He started the walk from the guest quarters back to the reception area. On the way, he thought of the vamp Wraith had been dancing with. There had been a familiarity between them that indicated a past physical intimacy, whether it had been actual intercourse or not. Hell, despite Wraith’s implication that she’d been fucked by a squadron of males, he didn’t even know if wraiths could have intercourse. That was one of the things he was going to demand from her tonight—information. He didn’t want just physical or sexual contact from her—he wanted emotional contact, as well. He wanted to know more about her, more than he’d been given in the team’s personnel files. He wanted to know what she was capable of taking and what she wasn’t.

He’d already figured out his healing powers were worthless with her.

Both in Korea and on the dance floor tonight, he’d tried to trance himself when he was kissing her. His healing powers had saved men whose insides had been blasted in four different directions, so why couldn’t they prevent the pain Wraith felt at being touched? Only it hadn’t worked.

It wasn’t completely unheard of. Usually, his powers worked best when the person he was trying to heal was so far gone, their body so damaged that there was no natural mental barrier to block him. Healthy individuals, whether they knew it or not, had the power to protect themselves from the probings of the Otherworld, even when it was done for their own good. That’s why possession by dead spirits was such a rare thing. It was only when people were extremely weak, their natural defenses down, that their minds would let another in.

That was also why wraiths in particular were feared by his people. They were thought to be the walking hosts of evil spirits from the Otherworld.

Caleb didn’t buy it. The instant he’d met Wraith, he’d known there was nothing evil about her. She was lost and damaged, but she had goodness in her, too.

She’d proven that time and again.

The fact that he couldn’t help her—heal her—rubbed him raw.

He wanted to give her more tonight than forgetfulness. Assuming he could even give her that.

W
raith stepped out into a garden. Despite the fact she saw only bare branches, she knew they were actually blooming with roses, magnolias, and camellias. She’d heard other guests commenting on their beauty, and if she concentrated, she could almost smell their distinct sweetness in the air. She stumbled slightly when she felt a warm breeze against her skin, one that actually invaded her body and stayed awhile. The warmth was gone in just a few seconds but to a being who was perpetually cold, the sensation had been a small slice of heaven. Fleeting, yes, but still something that might comfort her in the end.

Shaking her head, she stepped farther into the garden. Lucky vamps. Even though it was an early evening smack-dab in the middle of spring, the Dome would maintain this same pleasant weather—neither too hot nor too cold, whether day or night—when the rest of the state sweltered in the summer or froze in the winter. No wonder she wasn’t alone. There were several individuals wandering the manicured paths, so she immediately headed around the side of the house to what looked like a delivery dock and service area. A door to what she assumed was the kitchen was closed. To her right, a dense grove of trees shaded a grass-covered knoll, the perfect spot for picnicking or playing, but also for watching the comings and goings of Knox’s staff in order to gain entry into his home.

She’d have to talk to the vamp about—

Wraith’s senses went on alert when she spotted movement in the trees. Although her muscles tightened, she immediately loosened them and kept walking so as to appear unconcerned. It could just be an adventurous guest who, like her, was simply looking for a little escape from the merriment inside.

That’s what she’d told herself earlier, too.

Upon first arriving, she’d also felt like she was being watched. Tracked. Then, when she’d encountered Colt inside the grand house, the feeling had gone away, and she’d assumed it had been him looking for her. She no longer believed that. Wraith didn’t have this kind of feeling more than once without reason.

Just to confirm it was actually her and not the house her observer was interested in, however, Wraith turned and headed back toward the gardens. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter. Taking her time, she strolled the gardens and pretended to indulge in the champagne. She even smiled as she passed a few of the guests, couples clearly immersed in each other rather than their surroundings. She stifled her instinctive disdain for their carelessness, then thought of Caleb. Had he returned? Was he looking for her?

She wanted to go to him, but she couldn’t let this feeling of being watched go unexplored. It was more intense now. She felt someone’s gaze pressing on her body. Idly, she glanced around and noticed a big, well-dressed male just behind her and to her right. He averted his gaze.

Bingo.

Putting her glass down on a stone pedestal, she made her way back toward the service area, moving behind a high retaining wall that led to an alley with a refuse area.

A few seconds later, the male stepped into view. Wraith grabbed his arm, yanked him around, and shoved him face-first into the wall. With her other hand, she shoved her pistol into his side. Hard. Although she expected him to grab at her with his other arm, he didn’t. Instead, his body remained slack and he rested the palm of his free hand flat against the wall. He didn’t gasp, didn’t groan. He barely even seemed to breathe.

“Who are you?” she snapped.

“A friend,” was his only response.

Wraith laughed. “I don’t have friends. No family. No one. You wanna try again?”

“You have friends, Wraith. You’ve just forgotten them.”

His softly spoken words and his use of her name—somehow she knew it was being used properly and not generically—gave her pause. What did he mean? Could he be referring to her past? Did this man know something about who she’d been?

For a second, she felt her guard lower, then caught herself. She shook herself mentally. Staring at his profile, she told herself to be smart. Ruthless.

Vigilant.

He had an arresting face, all sharp angles and jutting strength, and a subtle British accent that matched the simple but expensive lines of his clothes. Everything about him—from the way he moved and talked—screamed thinly disguised danger. He was trained. Deadly.

When he shifted and lightly tested the grip she had on his arm, she shoved him harder against the wall. “Try anything,
friend
, and you’re dead. Are we clear?”

“Quite,” he murmured.

“Spread your legs.” He did. With her gun still firmly in his side, she slowly released his arm and commanded, “Both hands on the wall.”

He complied readily. “Anything else?” He sounded calm. Magnanimous, even.

“Don’t move. Not an inch.” Swiftly, she began using her free hand to search him, starting with his legs and working up.

“No,” he agreed, sounding amused. “Not an inch. But given where you’re headed, one inch isn’t the problem . . .”

He hissed when she shoved her hand none too gently between his legs.

“Damn it,” he growled, all sound of amusement gone from his voice. “Watch what you’re—”

“Shut up!” She leaned harder into him, moved her hand inside his jacket and found the holstered weapon there. Again, she waited for him to move, to try and take her down.

No way he was going to let her get his weapon, she thought.
No way
.

But he did. He just stood there while she withdrew the heavy pistol. It was a Luger, as big and sleek and expensive-looking as its owner. Shoving the gun into her front waistband, she finished her search.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly.

“Uh-huh,” she snorted. “What next? You’re going to tell me you come in peace, right?”

“I’m not—”

Grabbing his hair, Wraith slammed his face into the wall, grinding it into the plaster and stone with enough force to make him grunt. “Don’t fuck around with me. You were watching me. Why? Who sent you?”

“Again, a friend,” he gritted.

Wraith cracked him on the side of his head with the butt of her gun, then spoke over his outraged growl. “Try again.”

“Fine.”

Before she could anticipate his movements, he knocked the back of his head into her face. Pain exploded in a profusion of black dots, momentarily blinding her. As she struggled to recover, the man kicked back, slamming her gun out of her hand before turning to tackle her. Instead of trying to break her fall, however, Wraith reached for his gun, which was still tucked into the front of her pants. When she landed, her head knocked against the unforgiving concrete. The pain almost made her black out, but she managed to stay conscious
and
keep her grip on his gun. Mercilessly, even with him on top of her, she shoved the gun into his crotch.