Phoenix Broken (18 page)

Scott disguised a laugh as a cough. His baby girl was as whip sharp as her mama.

“Plus, she doesn’t get all goofy like Miss Des.” Toby grinned.

“Miss Des was goofy?” He ushered the twins out of the bathroom and down the hall to their room, a hand on each small head. For once, Toby allowed the casual touch.

“Oh yeah.” This from Tish who started giggling. “She tried on tons of masks from people, even one guy’s monster mask. She stomped around like Frankenstein, growling, ‘Fire!’”

A snort from Toby as he got into bed. “She said she’d never done Halloween before, isn’t that super weird?”

“I don’t think it’s weird, I think it’s sad." Tish frowned at her brother. "And don't call her weird. It's just rude."

Toby stuck his tongue out at his sister. "She doesn't mind being weird, she told me so."

"Okay, my little monsters," Scott's head was starting to pound. "Covers up."

He did his round of kisses and shut off the light. Just as Scott was closing the door, Toby's voice came to him, so low he nearly missed it.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Tobe?"

"Miss Des told me a bad man killed her mama, too. Did you know that?"

Scott froze, staring out into the bright hallway, at the rows of pictures lining the hall. For a moment he couldn't move.
They got to her mother last year…
He hadn't thought of Miles' words since that night. Not once.

How goddamn selfish of him.

Scott closed his eyes briefly, before opening them and turning back around.

"Yeah, Tobe. I guess I did know that." Tish, stiff as a board under her covers, was looking at her brother with wide eyes. Toby was sat up, shivering in his Captain America PJ's.

"It wasn't the
same
bad man…was it, Daddy?"

Scott moved across the room fast enough the edges blurred at the fear in his son's voice. He knelt in front of Toby, who wouldn't look at him as he rocked back and forth, his little fingers tight in the bedspread.

He cupped his son's small face in both hands.
"No.
No, Tobe, it wasn't. I promise you that."

"
I hate him."
Those sweet dark eyes had turned so cold and black, Scott shivered.

"I know you do, Tobe. I told you, I'm gonna get the man who hurt your mama. No matter how long it takes. He'll pay for what he did."

Toby shook his head, finally turning to meet Scott's gaze. "Grownups say that, but it's dumb. How can he
pay
for taking Mama away, Daddy? There isn't enough money in the world to do that."

It took Scott a moment to form a coherent sentence. "You're right, Tobe. You're absolutely right. We just say it because…" he swallowed. "It's the best we've got."

Toby nodded. "You're gonna kill him, right, Daddy?"

Scott hesitated, far less disturbed about Toby's question than about making a promise he could only deliver if he got to Cross first. "I'm gonna try. But it might have to be prison."

"Prison would be okay," Toby said slowly, laying back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling dotted with glow in the dark stars. "I
guess
. Prison
is pretty scary… but I think for him… dead's better."

Me, too, Tobe.
Me fucking too.
But Scott kept his mouth shut as he tucked the covers back around his son carefully. Tish made a soft noise.

"You okay, princess?"

She sat up. "I'm okay, Daddy. I just want to sleep with Toby tonight, okay?"

He nodded, too shaken to refuse her anything right now.

Turning down his son's covers, he watched Tish slip under them, tucking herself into her brother's body. Toby threw an arm around her. Their foreheads touched. Two peas in a pod. His heart tightened painfully, then knotted even harder when his sweet princess looked up at him, her eyes just as fierce as her brother's.

"I know you'll get the bad man, Daddy. But Toby's right. Dead's better."

As a parent, Scott realized he should probably make an effort to temper such stark desire for revenge in his children.

He couldn't, though. Because he wholeheartedly agreed. For some crimes, dead
was
better.

Scott kissed Tish's forehead silently and then bent over Toby. For once his son didn't turn away immediately, but allowed himself to be kissed before he looked up at Scott again, a question in his eyes.

"Is anyone ever gonna get the bad man that hurt Miss Des' mama, Daddy?"

"I don't know, Tobe."

"Someone should." His son's tone was adamant.

"You're right. I'll… look into it, okay?"

"Promise, Daddy?" Toby seemed to catch his hesitation, one hand curling into Scott's shirt to stop him from pulling away. He met his son's gaze.

"I promise, Tobe."

Satisfied, Toby floored Scott by pulling him down for a quick, fierce hug before curling up on his side and throwing the covers over his and his sister's heads.

Scott left the door cracked behind him. In a daze, he stood in the hall. That was the longest conversation he'd had with his children in over a year that didn't have to do with school or chores.

Fannie's face smiled out at him from a dozen pictures. Walking up to his favorite, Scott stared into it. It still shocked him that someone so vital could just be …
gone.
That Fan wasn't going to come out of that empty bedroom any minute with a laugh and a toss of those dark curls, calling out
'What's taking you so long, Magic Man?'

She wasn't, though. He'd never hear that laugh or that voice again.

Or see her smile.

That
smile.

In the picture, they were dancing together. Someone had caught Fannie's expression just as he dipped her, her wild curls brushing the dance floor. She was smiling up at him like he was the only man worth seeing in the whole world.

With the tip of his forefinger, he traced the face that he missed so much. Scott closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose before heading to bed.

But as he fell asleep, it was another smile entirely that haunted his dreams.

As soon as they got home, Des went straight to her room. Mags seemed to understand her need for space at the moment.
Oh, who am I kidding?

I live with a fucking
telepath.

With a groan, and a fierce desire for some
real
privacy, Des grabbed her emergency pack of cigarettes. She opened her window and threw a leg over, slipping down into the fenced and gated backyard. It'd sure turned freaking cold. Her fingers shook as she tried to light her cigarette. But, if she was being honest, it wasn't the chill making her tremble.
Nope.

Memories and a certain blond asshole
were responsible for that. It'd hurt, what Scott had said. Mostly, though, it'd slapped home the impossibility of what she'd begun to suspect. Even worse, that she'd pathetically
hoped
for.

A mate. Someone that was hers. Truly and completely. Someone to trust in a way she trusted no one—not even Guido.

Someone to
love.

Des gave up on lighting the cigarette, letting it dangle from her fingers. Staring up at the sky, she let the cold grey glow that was Chicago's version of a starry night press against her stinging eyeballs.
Stupid human weakness.

Her father had tried to train it out of her, and to a lesser degree, so had Guido. They'd both failed. She was what she was, and what she was wanted Scott.

The way he'd held her tonight—even after he'd hurt her so deeply—his touch had made her feel so safe and protected. What she really needed protection from, though, was him.

Des had known Scott was different, right from the start, but hadn't wanted to admit it. Just like Guido had said.
Fear.
She'd been overwhelmed, craving him so badly that her control had gone right out the fucking window. She'd responded to his blatant need blindly, desperate to do anything to ease his pain. And now she was pretty sure she knew why.

Mate.

Surely not. Fate couldn't be so cruel, could it?

But she knew that it could.
Oh yes, it could.
Whatever had happened to the mother of his children had destroyed something inside of that man. Scott was broken. Because of that he'd never return her feelings, even if she managed to accept that he was hers. He—

A whisper in the grass was her only warning. The man seemed to materialize behind her out of nowhere. He was very tall, she caught a glimpse of a half-familiar profile before long hands wrapped around her throat, turning her away from him.
The man in the demon mask from the park.

His thin leather gloves were warm even in the freezing night air. Almost hot against her skin as he squeezed ruthlessly, cutting off her air in seconds. The cigarette fell from her fingertips.
So strong, fingers like steel clamping down…

Dimly, Des heard Mags call out for her. The man stiffened.

No!

She threw her head back, but only succeeded in gaining a white hot burst of pain as her skull struck a rock hard chest. He was too tall, and far too strong. Neon lights danced and swooped over her vision like mad fireflies.

Reaching deep, Des released a massive surge of her power, the greatest she'd ever tried for. Something inside her seemed to tear, hot and wet, like an invisible knife had sliced her open. There was a sharp inhale from behind her, but the grip on her throat didn't ease.

"Tha' doesna work right on me, love. But thanks for playing." Was there a whisper of regret in that voice? Surely not. And the accent, so distinct.
Irish?

It didn't matter. Des started to slide down the man's body, the lack of oxygen and the drain on her power pulling her under. Her eyes fluttered.

"Say good night, pretty little one."

"Goodnight,
asshole."
Mags' voice.

The death grip slackened. Des sucked in air, unable to believe how sweet oxygen could
taste.
So sweet, but burning like fire. Her vision cleared, the fireflies flying away.

She fell to her knees, retching. Mags was a slender silhouette behind the man, holding a gun to the back of his head with both hands.

Des was looking up, right into the would-be assassin's masked face. She saw the faint tell-tale shift in his eyes as he clearly started to wonder the same thing she was—w
hy didn't Mags fire?

She tried to get enough air to scream, but he was too fast. Otherworldly fast. Whirling, he slapped the gun from Mags' hand. It went off at last, the bullet flying harmlessly into the air. His fist smacked into the telepath's temple, knocking her sprawling over the brick patio. Something silver winked in his hand as he stepped toward the dazed woman.
A knife?

"Mags! No." Des' voice was raw, hoarse and barely audible, but her attacker seemed inexplicably to falter. Intense blue eyes caught the light from the kitchen, shifting from Mags to Des and back again.

"You came for
me
, you bastard," she coughed out the words, her eyes watering. She was so weak she could barely keep from sinking face first into the earth. "Leave Mags alone. You got a knife. Use it. On
me.
Just leave my friend alone." His gloved hands clenched as Des lifted her chin.

She could see the leather flex over those long fingers that'd so recently been choking the life out of her. In the hazy moonlight the blade shone as they stared at each other, then his eyes flickered back to the crumpled form of her roommate. Finally, that gaze returned to Des. He took a step toward her. Another.

This is it
. The assassin loomed over her, impossibly tall, his shadow thin and wavering against the night. She half expected to hear the whistle of a wraith's blade, but there was only the faint sounds of the city, then the click of a knife being retracted.

Turning abruptly on his heel, the man took three long strides before vaulting over the back fence as if it were a child's seesaw, instead of a barrier eight-feet high. Numb with shock and relief, Des slid face first into the grass, staring at where he'd been, breathing deep of earth and dry leaves, amazed she was still alive.

"He was the guy from that fair today. The one in the demon mask. You remember, Mags?"

Mags stared blankly ahead.

A half hour had passed since the assassin had disappeared. Nolan and a security team from Phoenix had been swarming all over their place less than two minutes after he'd jumped over that fence. The kitchen blazed with so many lights it felt like midday instead of almost two in the morning.

"Mags."
Nolan didn't seem the type to snap, but he was obviously beyond frustrated as he glared down at her friend. "Do you agree with Desdemona? Was this some guy you all saw earlier or not?"

"Yes.
No.
I don’t know." The telepath appeared shaken. Mags had always appeared tough as nails, yet she seemed far more rattled than Des by the attack.

Of course, Des was somewhat used to this crap.

Or as used to having someone try to kill you as anyone could ever get. Which was to say—
not fucking very.

Des rubbed her throat as she watched the two
paras
. Being part demon meant she'd already started to heal. The ache inside had faded to a dull burn. In the round series of mirrors over the table; like champagne bubbles exploding over the bright wall of the kitchen, she could see ugly mottled yellow and greenish bruises leaving a broken trail down her throat, almost to her collarbone. They'd been deep purple fifteen minutes ago. While they didn't hurt anymore on the outside, it looked damn nasty. Des wasn't worried about her physical appearance. She was just terrified of what she knew happened next. She'd completely drained her powers. Fucking completely. She shuddered, her nails biting into her palms. Fear tightened her throat as if the wanna-be assassin were still squeezing it. As if on cue, Nolan spoke.

"Didn't either of you use your powers on him? Or try to fight, or
anything?"

"Of course." Des straightened, annoyed with the big man for the first time. "I tried before Mags showed up. I freaking blasted him with everything I have. He should have been a blubbering mess on the ground, licking my feet. He did kinda of…shake for a second, so I know he felt
something.
But then he just brushed it off. He said something like
, '…that doesn’t work on me...'

"No," Des corrected herself, thinking back to that smoothly cold voice in her ear, "he said, 'that doesn’t work
right
on me.'"
What the hell could that mean?

Nolan frowned, as if thinking the same thing. "Is there any race who doesn't respond normally to succubae?"

"Sure," Des nodded. "Vamps don't at all. Neither do wraiths. Shifters, on the other hand, are highly susceptible, particularly werewolves. This guy was human. I know he was. Right, Mags?"

Slowly, her roommate nodded. "Definitely."

"He also sounded Irish to me. Something like that anyway, he had a clear accent. And I don't remember him having one when we talked at the park."

Nolan frowned. "That just means he's a professional, which we already know. He hid the accent earlier, when he was scouting you and you approached him. I bet he never intended to make contact, but he was quick enough to conceal the accent when you talked. Tonight, when he thought it was all over, he wasn't concerned about hiding it. So…at least that tells us it's likely his true accent." The big man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then shifted his attention back to Mags.

"Maybe he's a
para."
Nolan put his hand on the telepath's knee. "What do you think? You've got some insane mental blasts, Mags. I've felt them in training. Didn't
you
try to scramble him? To at least get a bead on him?"

"Sure, I did. It didn’t fucking
work
, Nolan. He was shielded. Utterly. Completely. I've never felt anything like it. It was like trying to get a bead on nothing. A fucking vacuum.
But…"

"But
what,
damnit?" Nolan's easy-going nature had taken a hit tonight. Apparently, all the high-tech monitoring Phoenix had installed on Mag's place had just
stopped
working, minutes before the attack occurred.

All the scans they'd ran showed no malfunction, no glitch, and nothing had been sent to command at Phoenix to alert them to the blackout. For exactly ten whole minutes, they hadn't existed in the system.

Ten minutes. Then security had been notified the system was offline. From what Nolan had said, over and over…and
over,
that wasn't possible.

As head of security he seemed to be taking it all a bit…personally. Des could feel the man's concern for both of them coming off of him in waves so strong it threatened to bowl her over. It made his testy attitude easier to bear. Marginally.

"For a minute, he felt…I don't know. Familiar." Mags' voice was soft, puzzled.
Scared.

Nolan dropped to his knees, his hands swallowing hers. "Focus, Mags! Familiar, how? You mean you recognized him, too? Maybe from somewhere like the Space Park?"

"No. Not like Des. He could be the guy from the park…I don't know about that. I'm talking about…his mind. It was locked so fucking tight, but I know him. Or I used to. I just can't quite…grasp it. Or like something won't
let
me grasp it."

Is that why you didn't shoot him immediately?
Des wanted to ask it, but didn't. Mags hadn't mentioned she'd choked with the gun, so Des hadn't either. She did, however, feel the need to mention something else.

"He acted weird when I said your name." Nolan's head whipped around at Des' words.

"Explain."

A door slammed somewhere, making both Des and Mags jump. Seconds later, Scott stood in the kitchen. Somehow, he seemed to take up more space than the rest of them put together—even Nolan. Scott was breathing fast, his golden hair sticking up in all directions. He looked like hell, but damn, if hell didn't look good on him. It was ridiculous, but something inside her settled at the sight of him.

He glowered at each one of them in turn, before settling on Des. "What the fuck happened here?"

His eyes tracked over the marks on her throat. Des sucked in a breath at the look in his eyes. She'd never seen such rage in a human before. Demons, sure. But she hadn't known humans could bottle that kind of venom. Outside the line of trees that formed a windbreak on the north side of the house started to scrape against the fence. Like wooden nails dragging over nature's chalkboard. Goosebumps prickled the back of her arms.

"Looks like an assassin. Meant for her, obviously." Nolan jerked his chin at Des, still kneeling in front of Mags. As head of Phoenix Inc. security, Nolan was one of the few people who knew all about Des and her 'issues'. "I'll catch you up, Scott, but first, Des, I need you to explain what you meant about the guy reacting to Mags' name."