Frozen Desires (Asylums for Magical Threats) (8 page)

The large ensemble was playing some of kind of upbeat Mexican folk song. People were even dancing

in the square. A man had asked her to dance, but she’d turned him down. Even if she didn’t have to avoid

drawing attention to herself, Cam had a reputation to uphold. The only dancing she did was in her kitchen.

For now, she simply swayed and enjoyed the music guilt-free. After finding people to help translate bits

of the message she’d found at Chichen Itza—split into sections for security reasons—she’d discovered that

she couldn’t do anything for her mission until tomorrow at the Sunday market near this plaza. She’d also

inquired about the shadow-shifter, but no one had spotted him since that first day. She’d decided that if she stayed in the crowds and well-lit areas, she’d be fine, so she had gone out.

The song finished, and she clapped. She could stay for one or two more songs before heading back.

The market started bright and early tomorrow morning, and she wanted to double-check her strategy with

Jacek and Zalika before going to sleep.

As another song began, two hands circled her waist, and while she should’ve tensed at the contact, the

touch felt familiar. She glanced down without moving her head, and noticed that the hands were a rich

mahogany color. That ruled out her ex, but not Marco.

She frowned. She knew of his reputation, but honestly, she’d expected better of him in public.

Since she was in the middle of a crowded area full of humans, all Cam could do was lay her hand on

the man’s arm with her nails close to the skin, ready to skewer him at the first sign of trouble.

One of the fingers around her waist began gently stroking her lower ribcage. The heat and touch was similar to what she’d felt when she’d been pressed up against Marco’s side back at the observatory. Cam

tried to turn and break away so she could see if it was him or not, but the man’s hands didn’t budge.

Her options were limited in this crowded area, but maybe she could stomp on his foot with her shoe

and disappear into the crowd. She could easily play it as discouraging a drunken man’s unwanted attention.

As she tried to determine the best way to cause maximum pain, the man shifted behind her, his breath

warm against her ear. “Gotcha.”

Cam narrowed her eyes and decided she’d find a way to make him pay for his manhandling, later when

he least expected it. “Marco.” She pressed her nails harder against his skin, but not quite breaking it. “You found me.”

He snorted. “Wasn’t that the point?” He kept one hand on her waist, and while never trying to disengage

from her grip on his forearm, he sidled to her side. “What were you translating today?”

She looked askance at him. “Who told you that?”

“Only about five different people.” He tugged at her braid with his free hand. “Between your scars and

this braid, you’re too memorable. You need a better disguise.”

She had never been a vain person. But people often commented on how women weren’t supposed to

have scars on their face, as if she’d had any choice in the matter.

She tried to step away, but Marco’s grip was like steel. She clenched her teeth, hating the reminder that

Marco would always be physically stronger than she would simply because he was a man.

He tsked. “I saved your ass, yet you repaid me by ditching me in the jungle. You owe me. The least you

could do is tell me what you were translating today.”

He held her gaze, confidence oozing from every pore. No doubt, he expected her to answer him.

She wanted to wipe that look away just to spite him, but she knew that was childish. Despite how much

she wished to forget it, he had helped her back at Chichen Itza. Also, he’d passed her second test, proving he was also a skilled tracker. If that wasn’t enough in his favor, his ability to find out information in this neck of the woods was a skill she desperately needed to run a better team.

While she would make him understand that touching her freely in public wasn’t an option, she was

smart enough to see the value of Marco becoming one of her assets.

To ensure his cooperation in the future, there was no harm in telling him the gist of the message she’d

found, especially since she was the only one who knew the entire contents of the message.

She looked around, but everyone in the surrounding crowd was focused on either the dancers or the

band. She leaned in toward him and said, “There was a message in the ruins, written in the old
Feiru

language. I don’t know enough of the old language to translate it, so I had to get some help.”

He pulled her close enough that she could smell the mixture of aftershave and male. She took a deep

whiff, but then realized what she was doing and dug her nails a little deeper into his arm.

Before she could think of another way to put distance back between them, Marco whispered into her

ear, “Beauty, if you’d bothered to ask, you would’ve found out that I speak more than just Spanish and

English.” He tipped up her chin with his finger, his eyes lowering to half-mast. “I have a very talented

tongue.”

Already relaxed by the music, Cam revised her plans to make him a eunuch and snorted. He was hitting

on her or at least attempting to. “Does that line actually work on people?”

Marco blinked. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, confused and not quite sure what to do.

“Usually, yes.”

She shook her head and dislodged his grip on her chin. “Pick-up lines don’t work on me, so don’t even

try.” Aware that she’d let her guard down temporarily, she leaned away from him to help her focus. For

some reason, his nearness always seemed to unsettle her.

After a quick sweep with her eyes to ensure no one was listening to their conversation, she asked,

“Where did you learn the old language?”

The band struck up a new song. Marco regained his composure and gave her a lazy smile. “Dance with me and I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t dance in public.”

He released his grip on her waist and put out a hand. “I was watching you before, and I know you want

to. I can lead you through the steps.”

Trying not to think about how he’d snuck up on her a second time—she was going to have to figure out

how he did that—Cam tilted her head. “Weren’t you saying I’m too memorable and that I needed to blend

in more?”

“Then do this.” He grabbed her braid, tore off the hair-tie, and tossed it over his shoulder.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is it with you and invading personal boundaries? What if someone

comes along and I need to protect myself? I can’t have my hair flying into my face. You know that, it’s

Battle Tactics 101.”

He gave a half-shrug. “We’re in the middle of a crowded square, full of witnesses. If someone were

going to attack, they’d wait until we left.”

He had a point, but she still didn’t like how he’d just assumed he knew what was best. It’d probably

worked for him in the past with other women who’d wanted a dominant male, but not this time. Cam was a

high-ranking DEFEND soldier for a reason.

Just as she moved to turn away, Marco grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the square. Cam just

barely kept from tripping. “I never said yes.”

“But you never said no.” He swung around, taking both of her hands in his. “Count to four if it helps,

but watch my feet at first until you get a feel for the steps. It’s a little fast, so try to keep up.”

He started moving, and it took all of her concentration to mimic his steps. There were too many eyes on

them, and she needed to avoid drawing any extra attention to her or Marco.

She wouldn’t let him make a fool out of her. The next time they were alone, however, she would take

him to task.

Once she found the beat and had the hang of it, she looked back up at Marco. He had forced her to

dance, but he was trapped with her as much as she was with him. She was determined to get some

information out of him. “Now, tell me where you learned the old language.”

Chapter Nine

Despite her protests, Cam was a quick learner. As she moved to the basic steps of the cumbia, her hair

slipped out of her braid and fell into soft waves down to her waist. Between her casual clothes and free-

flowing hair, she looked like just another young woman on vacation in Mexico. No one watching them

would suspect her of having claws and a way with weapons most soldiers would envy.

Marco could almost like the non-overkill side of Camilla Melini.

She soon looked up with triumph in her eyes at mastering the steps, and he nearly sucked in a breath.

Her whole face changed with a smile.

But when she asked about where he’d learned the old language, he remembered that he wasn’t here to

notice Cam as a woman. His secrets were too dangerous to share with anyone, no matter how much he

yearned to be free of the burden.

No, he’d do what he was best at—deflecting.

He tightened his grip on Cam’s hands and stuck as close to the truth as he could. “I learned the

language, and many other things, from my maternal grandfather. Back in his day, in rural Colombia, it was

easier to learn the language and not get caught.” Marco added a bit more flair to their dancing. “But what I want to know is why you’re out here alone despite my warnings about the shifter.”

Cam dug her claws into the back of his hand. “I don’t need you to protect me. Unless the shifter is

mentally unstable, no one would dare show their abilities in a crowded place like this.” She was silent a

second, but he knew to hold his tongue. He was rewarded when she added, “I’d thought that since you’d

seen me in action in the jungle, you wouldn’t second-guess my abilities or skills like every other man I’ve met, apart from Jacek. But I guess I was wrong.”

He tightened his grip on Cam’s waist. “How do you know he’s not mentally unstable? More and more

people have been committing violent acts these days, especially toward our people or the first-borns in

general. First, a shifter followed you back in the States, and then another one shows up here. I have a

feeling someone wants either you or something you know, and they must want it desperately.”

Marco continued the dance steps as he and Cam stared at each other. He couldn’t tell what she was

thinking, and it pissed him off. The stubborn woman and her pride.

Cam eventually tried to pull away, but he tightened his arm about her waist and never broke eye contact.

She had a habit of not wanting to talk, and he wasn’t having it.

He wanted some answers.

She tugged again, to try to get away, but Marco didn’t let go. Her tone was steel when she said, “I need

to get back to my team.”

“Why are you so defensive, Camilla? The more you tell me, the more I can ask around for additional

information. Whatever you think of me, you know I’m good at tapping contacts.”

He nearly stumbled when he felt the heat of her hand under his shirt. When her claws pieced his skin,

Marco merely raised an eyebrow. As long as she continued to avoid having a real conversation with him, he

was going to make it his mission to irritate her until she started talking.

She seemed to let her guard down whenever he made her uncomfortable, so if that was the game he

needed play, so be it. He gave her one of his sexy-eyed stares and said in a low voice, “Using your claws on me, huh?” He leaned in. “You should know that I like it a little rough, beauty.”

Cam blinked, and as the band finished their song, he used the split second distraction to tug her off the

dance area to behind one of the posts of the veranda. When she opened her mouth he held her lips together

with his fingers and said, “Were the shadow-shifters a coincidence or something else? Do we really need to keep playing these games, Camilla, or will you just tell me if someone is looking for you or not?”

She went utterly still, putting Marco on his guard. He’d been keeping an eye on his surroundings while

dancing, but he hadn’t seen anything unusual. “What is it?”

She kneed him in the balls and he doubled over at the pain radiating from his groin. After hissing a few

breaths through his teeth, he managed to look up and squeak, “What the fuck, Camilla?”

She looked down her nose at him. “Just so we’re clear, this is my operation. I’m not one of your

floozies, so stop trying to undermine my authority. I don’t answer to you, and I never will.”

He watched her walked away, and while he admired her for standing up for herself, for some fucked up

reason his pride wanted to follow her and issue another challenge.

Millie Ward shoveled another forkful of tinned tuna into her mouth and grimaced. Unless it was

covered in batter and deep-fried, she didn’t like fish. But after what had happened to her drink back in

Edinburgh, she wasn’t about to eat anything given to her that could be tampered with. That left her with

canned vegetables and meats to keep up her strength.

As she rinsed away the taste with a bottle of unsweetened green tea—also impervious to tampering—

Millie looked out of the kitchen window to check on her guard. The red-haired man who’d entered her

room yesterday had said no more than a handful of sentences to her since then. He went by Mr. Larsen,

which in Norway was about the same thing as calling him Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith. It wasn’t his real name,

but she hadn’t expected him to give it.

But he did know hers.

Larsen had pretty much left her to her own devices and spent his time sitting and reading in front of the

house. The only time he left the premises was early in the morning, a few hours after dawn. Checking the