Zoey Rogue (12 page)

“I have never doubted you,” was the gracious response. “Your family has always served honorably, Declan.”

Declan heard the silent message for the second time that day. He didn’t want to acknowledge it earlier, but seeing his soul-mate’s unconscious body and knowing the Professor could no longer protect her, he admitted he had to go through with the rite.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he promised the Professor. “I’ve got to … warn my father. If you’ll keep her safe a little while longer?”

“Of course. Would you like me to call my car?” the Professor asked.

Declan glanced out at the steadily falling rain then down at his clothes. They were already ruined. After the recent events, he needed a bit of alone time before he faced his father.

“No, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Do you need help getting her inside?”

“The punishment for stupidity is sleeping on the porch.”

Declan chuckled. “I’ll remember that. Take care, Professor.”

“You, too, Declan.”

The Enforcer walked into the rain. The farther he went from her, the worse his mood got and the stronger her draw became. He didn’t like it one bit. It was his duty to claim the soul-mate destined for him. He postponed it for three years, perhaps thinking it would be postponed forever. Tonight, though, he was forced to admit he wasn’t able to avoid his fate much longer.

Playtime was over. He extended it successfully but had to face the fact: his father and brothers were right.

Declan was resolved to doing what he must by the time he made it back to his apartment. Changing clothes, he checked his phone twice to make sure the Professor hadn’t needed anything. His magic was almost too agitated to control, and the air around him sizzled as he made his way through the apartment building to the top floor, his father’s private apartments.

The elevator required a thumb print and retinal scan before it opened to reveal the foyer of his father’s opulent penthouse suite. The single most powerful Incubus in the universe stood in his kitchen, making pasta.

“I made enough for you.” His father looked him over briefly with the same whiskey-hued eyes Declan and two other brothers inherited. Declan had his chiseled looks as well, though he had his mother’s lighter hair and complexion.

His father always knew when one of his sons was troubled. Declan sat at the breakfast bar, the rich scents of tomato sauce and Italian spices reminding him of when he was young enough to help.

“I recognize that anger,” his father said as the silence stretched on. “Liam was the last to show it, Tommy before him. I had a feeling you were fighting it. Who is she?”

“Trouble.” Declan rubbed his face. “She has more disciplinary citations than the entirety of my brothers combined.”

“She strong enough for you?”

“I don’t know yet.” Judging by the pull, he knew she was. She was driving him crazy.

“A challenge. You love those.” His father smiled.

“Not in my personal life. We’ve got enough to deal with.”

“More than enough,” his father agreed. “You’ll be better able to handle it, with her to ground you.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll stop harassing Liam about you. I’ve been concerned. I’d rather you find her now and have time to work it out, before we pass the point of no return.”

“Wise, as always,” Declan replied. “I know it is a duty, but no part of me wants this.”

“The definition of duty. Something we must do but don’t want to.”

Declan snorted. “I love the rest of my duties.”

His father glanced up from stirring the sauce.

“Tomorrow, I’ll start it officially,” Declan answered the unasked inquiry. “Liam and Wes took months to reel theirs in. I’m not so confident the rite will be complete by the time our plan begins.”

“You are also twice as strong as any of my sons,” his father pointed out. “It took four days for your mother and me to complete the rite. I thought I’d go mad.”

Declan laughed. He couldn’t picture the powerful man before him falling under the spell of any woman.

“It is not a pleasant thing to go through,” his father warned. “Knock it out as fast as possible.”

“We’ll see,” Declan said again.

“Onto business. Liam called. I guess he had to take out four more Hunters, these under the age of twenty.”

“Olivia is getting sloppy in her recruiting,” Declan said. “Because she’s ramping up for something, possibly?”

“I think that’s accurate. There’s no telling with that woman. It concerns me when I’m focused on wiping out the Cambion leadership. I can’t have a blind spot.”

“You’re considering her offer of a truce.”

“Temporarily,” his father said, pensive.

“You have an alternate plan. I can see it.”

“It’s not a pretty one. Keep Olivia happy then knock her out of the picture before she can act.”

“Wes agree?” Declan raised an eyebrow. The most thoughtful and patient of all the Incubus Enforcers, the third-born, Wes, had provided the calming force after the death of the family matriarch ten years before.

“More or less.”

Declan laughed.

“He’s too much like your mother,” his father complained gruffly. “It’s probably a good thing.” He prepared two plates of dinner and set one before Declan. “I need you focused, Declan. This soul-mate thing is gonna be hell on you. If she’s anything like your mother, she’ll be a handful starting out. If you need to step away from our plan to take care of it, let me know.”

“I’ll deal with the rite, Dad. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.”

They ate in quiet, Declan’s body humming with restless energy that made him want to live in the gym, until he was able to shake it off. He welcomed change, though he wished it was metered out instead of happening all at once.

At least the worst would be over with quickly. The revolution would begin, and he’d claim his mate, all within a span of a couple months.

Chapter Seven: Zoey Cornered

“You are like a siren, washed up on my front porch.”

Zoey heard the voice through the haze of pain, dark and cold. She was freezing! Someone touched her, and warmth filled her, along with a desire so sharp, it made her eyes snap open. She sat.

“That usually works.” The Professor was seated in a chair beside her, smiling.

“What the f…” she drifted off at his raised eyebrow. “fudge.” Her head pulsed, and her skin was too cold to feel.

“Didn’t I tell you not to drink?”

“I had two at the club.”

“I took the liberty of reading-“ he started.

“Okay! And a few shots of vodka before we left. But that’s virtually not drinking for me,” she told him and clutched her head. She was on his porch, on the swing where she ended up more than once during her acquaintance with the Professor. “Can I come in?”

“Did you do anything I asked last night?” he asked in disapproval. He moved towards the front door.

Zoey pulled off her heels and checked herself. She was alive. No blood. No wounds. No missing weapons. Vikki must’ve dumped her off, knowing she had no Eric to go home to anymore.

The Professor was still talking. She stood, wobbled then walked into his house, trailing him to the study. He sat in one of the comfortable arm chairs before a blazing hearth. She sat at the other. There was a tray of tea waiting. With hands as steady as the branches they resembled, he poured them cups of tea. He took no sugar or cream in his while she heaped both into hers.

“Oh, god, Professor.” She leaned forward, headache making her nauseous.

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you drink poison in your alcohol.”

“What?”

He gave her the unhappy look again. “You’ve been to how many clubs and bars? You should know better than to drink something you didn’t see mixed together.”

“You’re saying someone tried to kill me?” she asked. The idea made her headache worse. “Pleeeeeeeease?” She held out a shaking hand to him.

“I ought to let you suffer.” The words were meant to be firm, but he smiled. He took her hand.

Fire shot through her, making her skin so sensitive, the tightness of her dress hurt. Her breasts and core ached at the sex energy. But it cured her head. She pulled away, aroused and pissed.

“Who would want to kill me?”

“Every Cambion out there. You’re now the number one killer of Cambions,” he said proudly. “Why don’t you have tattoos marking the kills like the others?”

“Eric …”
doesn’t like tattoos
. she stopped. “Anyway, it’s too many to mark now. I’d spend all day at the tattoo parlor. Oh, Eric! He thought I was at the library. I’ve gotta go!” She rose too fast, and her head spun. Zoey tumbled back into the chair and rested her head against the back.

“We need to put you in finishing school,” the Professor said at her unladylike sprawl across from him.

“I need to go! Can you hit me again?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Eric called this morning. Said he’d send your things here or to Vikki’s. I told him here.”

She lifted her head. “What?”

“I think you should go over there and face reality,” the Professor said, sipping his tea. “I’ll see what I can learn about the poisoning in the meantime. Then, when Eric kicks you out, you can come right back here and stay with me.”

“Why does that make you happy?” she demanded.

“He’s not your type.”

“This coming from a man who seduces women for a living?” She rose again, this time more carefully. “What exactly is my type?”

“Someone who can calm that fire of yours. Someone who you’d actually trust,” he replied. “You need someone who can balance you out and wring that sex energy out of you, or you’ll burn out soon.”

Zoey stared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my sex life. It’s normal. And I trust Eric. He’s normal, too.”

“But you are not. You will have to stop pretending one day.” He spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather for the next week.

There was too much truth to his words. She didn’t want to admit it. She wanted to be normal. She’d dreaded Eric proposing to her. Now that he’d decided to kick her out, she was frantic to regain what stability she’d had. Any thought of being poisoned disappeared as the sense of loss grew within her. She had to get to Eric.

Zoey made it to the hallway before the Professor spoke again.

“You want a ride? Or will you do the … what do you call it? The walk of shame? The morning after a –“

“A ride, old man!” she barked.

He chuckled.

Distraught, she waited at the door for his car to be pulled around. The chauffeur held open the back door, and she vaulted into it. The mile ride back to her home seemed like a hundred.

He pulled up to the apartment building finally, and she launched out of the car.

“Shall I wait?” the chauffeur called.

“No, I think …” There were boxes on the landing outside her apartment. With a heavy heart, she began to think the Professor was right. “I’ll be fine.”

Tired, Zoey trotted up the stairs to the door and hesitated. She thought about knocking then strode in. Eric was in the center of the living room, taping up another box. He’d made the effort to fold all her clothing into neat, crisp stacks awaiting their own box. He straightened.

“Hi,” she said.

“You’re letting the cold air in.”