Embrace The Night (11 page)

Loosening his jaw, Quent realized he was being a bloody knob-end. There were other women, several of whom had made their interest very clear since he’d arrived in Envy. He and his companions were heroes for saving the teens, and as such had attracted more than their fair share of attention.

Besides, he liked variety. It was the spice of life. And variety meant no complications. No expectations.

And tonight the pints and wine would be flowing freely. Everyone would be in a celebratory mood. He’d have no trouble finding a soft, warm companion.

He never had before.

Simon ran.

It was different from when he ran before—on the streets of L.A. or Hollywood, on a track, round and round and round, on a treadmill.

This was wide-open infinity, overgrown and natural. Ghost towns. Wilderness.

He realized he could keep going, leave the dark, awkward walls of Envy behind him forever. He could no longer be found by anyone or any
thing
if he didn’t want to be found. A miracle.

Too bad it hadn’t been this way when he worked for Mancusi. How many times had he wanted to sink into the shadows, dissolve into nothing? Become transparent.

Escape.

Freedom.

He ran and ran, keeping his mind empty, pushing his body for hours. The sun rose to its zenith, then began to descend. He ran till he puked, and half choked on it when he remembered the irony of Sage doing the same. Then he puked some more.

And ran hard again. For hours.

In the end, he returned to Envy, shaky and weak, just as unnoticed as when he had left. And not just because it was pushing dusk.

He still had to think about it, concentrate, to turn himself invisible. He couldn’t hold the transparency for very long—five minutes maybe. Although it was getting easier.

And thank the Holy Mother of God, because apparently,
apparently
, he could turn someone else invisible. As long as he was touching them.

Curled around them. Enveloping them.

Her.

Simon scrubbed away the grime and sweat and kept his mind from temptation by counting the tiles on the shower walls—three hundred sixty-seven. Twelve were cracked. Three had chipped corners.

Then he checked to see if he needed to shave.

Not yet. Still no stubble sprouting on his chin, though Fence’s baldness wasn’t as smooth as it had been. And Wyatt and Elliott had each shaved once.

The Waxnickis were sure it would come in time, and since something similar had happened to Theo, Simon didn’t doubt them.

He delayed as long as he could, but in the end his empty belly won out and Simon left his room. At that moment, Quent came down the hall, walking quickly, exuding determination…and something else. Something a little wild in his eyes.

“Any news about the flash drive?” Simon asked when they fell into step toward the elevator.

“It’s Truth’s for certain. But the files are encrypted. Theo and Lou are competing to see who can get in first.”

So Dragon Boy was going to miss the big celebration? Didn’t that just sound like a computer geek.

Though it pissed him off to ask, he had to. “Sage working on it with them?”

“No.”

“Heard Dred was gonna take a look at her.”

“Right. He healed her.”

So she probably was going to be at the festival. And Theo wouldn’t.

“Did you see anyone in the hall?” Quent asked suddenly. “Just now? Or recently?”

“Like who?”

“A woman. Messy dark hair, tall. Darkish skin…Hot.”

Simon glanced sidewise at him. So that explained the underlying tension. “You expecting someone?”

“No.”

When they got to the elevator, Quent gestured at the buttons. “Right, then. Do you mind?”

Simon pushed the down button so his friend didn’t have to be invaded by the images and memories held by the wall. Sometimes he wore gloves, but apparently tonight he’d decided not to.

As they stepped into the elevator, Simon thought about the fact that he’d chosen to hide his unique ability while Quent and Dred had not. Of course, the fact that Quent could hardly touch anything without being bombarded had something to do with it—sometimes it was enough to knock him on his ass. And it was sort of obvious when Dred healed someone—or at least diagnosed them.

It was a lot easier to hide invisibility than those other talents.

But for the first time, Simon wondered about his reticence. If he should keep it a secret.

The elevator doors opened and Simon followed Quent out. The sounds of partying in full swing reached his ears and already he wanted to turn around and head back to his sanctuary.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he and Quent found Elliott, Fence, and Wyatt in the Pub, already jovial and loose from a healthy number of draft beers.

“Man, if I ever seen two men on the hunt, I’m seein’ ’em now.” Fence rumbled a low, knowing laugh as they sat. He was a big fucking guy, linebacker size, with a ready smile and a mind that was always in the gutter. Yet, charm rolled off him in waves and the women seemed to gravitate to him like flies on shit. Fence shoved an empty glass at Quent and filled it with dark beer from a pitcher without asking.

Simon held up a hand to forestall any movement in his direction and instead beckoned for one of the servers. When she came over—a cute blonde named Dayna—he ordered his single whiskey, neat, and broiled snapper, fresh from the Pacific right down the street.

They sat for a while, shooting the shit—at least, Fence and Elliott were. Wyatt slouched, quiet and brooding, making his way steadily through the beer in front of him. Simon knew that Wyatt, Quent, and Elliott were longtime friends. They’d been on a caving expedition led by a hired guide, Fence, when the Change occurred—which made Simon the outsider.

Maybe that was why he’d kept his strange new ability to himself.

Yet, they’d accepted Simon as one of them, no questions asked. And the four of them, even the brutally honest, harsh Wyatt, had become his friends.

Something Simon hadn’t ever truly experienced before.

Music from the stage beyond drew Simon’s attention, and he was glad to have something to focus on, other than the lowball that sat, untouched, in front of him…and the entrance to the Pub.

Beneath the lights, Jade sang deep and throaty about being almost blue, and Simon allowed himself one sip from the hot, burning whiskey.

After a while, Quent got up. The next thing Simon knew, the Brit had his hands on the hips of a fine-looking woman, slow dancing at the dark end of the crowded room. She was blond and tiny. Definitely not the woman Quent had been looking for in the hall, but apparently a worthy substitute.

Wyatt had disappeared with his arm around a brunette. Silently approving, Simon took another sip of whiskey.

At that moment, Elliott brushed against his arm, nonchalantly leaning closer. “Heads up. See the guy in the dark green shirt, unbuttoned, by the bar?”

Simon slid his gaze in that direction. Guy about their age stood there, holding a drink, watching the stage. Dark blond hair, cropped short. Slavic sort of appearance with high cheekbones and a strong, square chin. If he didn’t know it was impossible, Simon would peg the guy as a cop or Fed.

Or someone like himself.

“That’s Ian Marck.”

Simon met Elliott’s eyes without moving the rest of his body, and understood the disquiet there. Ian Marck was the son of Raul Marck, the bounty hunter who’d taken Jade and brought her back to the Strangers. Elliott and Theo had rescued her, and although there was no longer a threat to her safety, that didn’t mean the Marcks didn’t have some other plans in mind.

“You got unfinished business?”

“I don’t know.” Elliott’s mouth was a flat line and his eyes had turned hard. “I thought we were square. But I don’t like it.”

“Stay with Jade. I’ll take care of it.” Simon pushed his chair back and stood, bringing the drink with him. He walked casually around the perimeter of the Pub, adrenaline beginning to surge.

A sense of déjà vu filtered over him as he made his roundabout way to Marck.

I’ll take care of him.

How many times had he said those words, and then proceeded to do just that? His stomach soured for a moment and he almost took another drink to settle it. Then decided not to.

Then he came around the corner, glancing automatically beyond the Pub entrance into the shadows beyond, and saw them. Simon faltered.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d expected it. Known it was going to happen.

Hell, he’d practically initiated it by telling Dragon Boy that Sage had been injured and letting him know, without so many words, that he’d better step up.

Apparently he had, if the way they were kissing was any indication.

Simon pulled his eyes away and allowed himself another sip. And he walked on past, angling through the crowded Pub, to stand next to Ian Marck.

“I hope you’re not planning to make any trouble,” Simon said without even looking at the man.

Marck didn’t move. Just took his time, raised his glass of clear iced liquid, and took a sip. “Friend of the doctor’s?”

Simon nodded once.

Jade finished her song, accepted the applause, and started into another.

“Doctor did me a favor, I did him one back. That’s it.”

“You planning to renege on the balance, you’re going to find yourself more than a little uncomfortable.”

Marck still didn’t look at him, but his lips moved in a sort of half-smile. “Point taken. You can assure the doctor that Jade is of no interest to me.”

“And your father?” Simon relished the feel of balled-up energy waiting beneath the surface of his calm exterior.

“My father is…no longer interested as well.”

Despite the overlay of music, Simon caught the odd inflection in the other man’s voice. “Is he dead?” He remembered Elliott saying that Marck’s father had hung his son out to dry, and that Ian had planned to “take care of him.”

Marck didn’t respond except to turn and order another vodka.

Simon remained silent for a long moment. Then, following a little urge from his gut, he said, “Remington Truth. Know anything about him?”

This got Marck’s attention and he glanced briefly at Simon. “You know about Truth?”

Simon shrugged. “I know the Strangers are desperate to find him.”

“They’re not the only ones.” Marck turned back to watch Jade, who was now singing something from an old eighties movie Simon couldn’t remember.

“If not for Jade, then why are you here?” he asked the other man.

“Same as you. Celebrating. Relaxing. Looking for a good lay.” Ian Marck turned to look fully at him at last. He had cold blue eyes. “So fuck off.”

Simon didn’t bother to reply. He believed the man, but he was going to stick around him for a bit.

He didn’t want to go back to the table quite yet, for Sage and Theo had just appeared and settled next to Elliott.

It looked a little too crowded.

Quent had his hands full of lush curves and his nose buried in sleek hair. The music and Jade’s bedroom voice, combined with the pints he’d knocked back, left him feeling easy and sultry. Ready.

Very ready.

Nadine had caught his eye the other day when he’d been at dinner, and tonight she’d made her interest very clear. And Quent, a bit buggered by it all, had seen no reason to be reticent. Beautiful, tiny, blond…curvaceous. He had no complaints, and apparently neither did she.

She pressed herself against him just enough to let him know she was interested. Though he wasn’t a fan of overt displays, he slid his hands to pat her ass and bent to taste her mouth.

As he was kissing Nadine, Quent looked up…and that was when he saw her.

Leaning arrogantly against the wall, she was mostly in shadow but for a swatch of light over her face. Arms crossed over her belly, beneath small, tight, high breasts. Perfect, warm handfuls.

She wasn’t looking in his direction. Thank God.

Quent retrieved his tongue smoothly, aware that his heart was racing and it had nothing to do with the willing woman in his arms.

And then Zoë was looking at him, and he realized with a sudden body-wide heatwave that she
had
been watching. He looked straight back at her, feeling her eyes burn into him, dark and hot as their gazes met across a room filled with hundreds of other people.

He couldn’t look away. Blood rushed through him, everywhere.

This was the first time he’d seen her, really seen her, in full light.

And bloody hell, she was stunning. Exotic, with her Bollywood actress coloring—stylelessly chopped blue-black hair, cinnamon skin, almond eyes, and lush, wide lips. A small pointed chin. A long, lean, athletic body, honed from what must be years of climbing through buildings and hunting
gangas
.

She wasn’t in those thigh-high boots he’d pictured—that fantasy came roaring back to the front of his mind—but in low-riding many-pocketed pants and a skinny tank top. She wore a fisherman’s vest open over it, but he knew very well what lay beneath.

Quent hadn’t stopped dancing, nor did he release Nadine. Yet, even as he swayed and held another woman, he looked at Zoë. And told her exactly what he wanted.

She stared back, lifting her nose regally in a clear reference to his compromised position. He glared back, blatantly communicating his displeasure at her sneaking into his room and stealing the arrows.

Her mouth curled in haughty annoyance, then slid into a provocative smile.

Quent’s belly dropped, his palms went damp, and he stepped on Nadine’s tiny foot in an effort to keep from turning and breaking eye contact with Zoë. His partner gasped and looked up at him, drawing his attention from Zoë as the dance continued and they shifted away.

When he looked back, Zoë was gone.

Quent finished the dance and deposited Nadine back at the table with her friends. He didn’t rush it, but he didn’t waste time either. He wasn’t about to go running off just because Zoë appeared and crooked her little finger.

The cute blonde seemed confused by his sudden change of heart, and he extricated himself from that awkward position carefully, leaving himself a back door. He was an expert at that, after all—hadn’t he been found with Marley Huvane the same night he’d escorted Frankie Delaney to an event? Despite that, he’d taken Frankie home, spent the night, and escaped early the next morning.