Born of the Night (9 page)

spending days together, weeks, and I for— "

"Fine," he snapped, cutting her off.

Kiara hid her triumphant smile behind her knee, but she was sure her eyes glowed in

mischief.

Nykyrian sat back and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "If it will solace your mind, I will allow you to ask eight questions about me. After that, you'll never again ask

me another thing about my past, or my friends, and you'll remain quiet and let me finish

what I'm doing."

The sharp, clipped words irked her. She stared at him, trying to think of things that would give her some advantage over him. "Okay," she said, as she thought of the first one.

"What's your surname?"

"One, Quiakides."

Surprise widened her eyes. "As in the universally famed and acclaimed Commander

Huwin Quiakides of the Intergalactic League of Peacekeepers?"

He sighed. "Two, yes."

"Was he your father?"

She thought she noticed his teeth clench before he answered, "Three, yes."

Kiara gave an unladylike snort. "That doesn't count. You should have said that when I

asked the second question."

He shrugged in an aggravating manner of disinterest. "Be specific. Anything counts."

Kiara sat for a minute, thinking over what little information Mira had given her while she

had been in the OMG's base. "If he was your father, why did you leave the League?"

This time, she definitely saw the angry tick in his jaw as his features hardened. "How did you know I was in the League?"

Kiara gulped at the harsh, deadly tone. At that moment, she could easily imagine him

tearing someone into pieces and she had no desire for that someone to be either her or

Mira. "I just heard it somewhere. It is true, isn't it? You were a League Assassin?"

Some of the tenseness left his lips, and she wondered why. "Four, yes."

Kiara was getting tired of him numbering his answers. "You know, you could try and be

a little friendlier."

"I'm not paid to be nice. I'm paid to kill."

A lump of dread closed her throat at the thought. "Do you like to kill?" she asked, her throat growing tighter by the heartbeat.

Kiara witnessed the first visible, emotional response from him— he winced as if she had

struck him. His breathing became labored in anger and he slammed the terminal closed

with a sharp snap before he tossed it aside. Without a word, he left the room.

Kiara sat in her chair for several minutes, wondering about his reaction. Since he brought the subject of his killings up so often, why would her question bother him? She went to

find out.

He stood in front of the blast shields in her studio, She watched him from the doorway as

he slid his hand over the plastic panels as if looking for a hole. He appeared calm.

"You said you would answer my questions," she said softly, wishing she could see inside him for a minute and find out why he was so distant.

He dropped his hand. "I didn't expect you to ask that one."

She rubbed the chills from her arms. "Why not?"

Nykyrian crossed the room to stand before her. His nearness intoxicated her more than a

thousand cups of larna could ever do. For a moment, she thought he might actually touch

her, but he remained less than a foot from her—just close enough to warm her with his

body heat, with an intangible wall so thick around him, she didn't dare reach out and

touch him the way her heart cried for her to.

"Why would you care how anything makes me feel?" His soft voice seemed somehow

humble, searching.

She swallowed the clump of assorted emotions churning inside her. "I don't know, I just

do."

He took a deep breath and turned around. "Do you practice in here?"

Kiara frowned at the unexpected question, wondering what had prompted it. "Yes."

He walked over to the mirrors and touched the barre. "Do you enjoy what you do?"

The question caught her off guard. She frowned again, thinking about the answer. "I

never really thought about it," she said. "Dancing was all I ever wanted to do, so I guess I must enjoy it."

His grip tightened on the barre. "Or do you just do it because someone expected you to?"

A chill crept up her back. "What makes you think that?"

Nykyrian turned around and faced her. "The pictures you have in the main room. Most of

them are of you as a child, dressed for dance recitals. You don't look old enough in any of

them to make a life-shaping decision. I would say you dance because you were told it

was what you
should
do with your talents."

The truth in his words cut through her consciousness. How could he see something about her that she had never even noticed? "Are you always this acute?"

He shrugged. "In my business, it pays to know and understand people. It keeps me alive."

Kiara ran his words through her mind. And in that
moment she had her first insight into him. "Is that why you do what you? Because someone told you, you should be an

assassin?"

Silence answered her.

"You still owe me six answers."

"Four answers," he corrected acidly, folding his arms over his chest. "And I've answered enough questions for tonight."

He walked past her and Kiara knew the subject was closed as firmly as if it were held in

trust by League Protectors. With a weary sigh, she realized she didn't know much more

about him now than she had in the beginning.

Frustrated, she returned to the main room where he was once again occupied with his

terminal.

"Will it disturb you if I turn on the viewer?"

"No," he answered curtly, his fingers not even hesitating in their rapid beat.

Returning to her chair, Kiara picked up the control and began flipping through the

channels. She listened more to Nykyrian The Tough than to her programs. Even though

he appeared oblivious to her, she sensed the rigid wall of defenses he had closed around

himself. Somewhere, there had to be a chink.

But did she really want to find it?

Kiara swallowed in trepidation as she considered what it would mean to her life if he

were to open himself up to her. He was a wanted criminal to most governments. If people

associated her with Nykyrian on a social level, she would be barred from the theatre. She

had spent too many years carving her career to just toss it to the wind for some handsome

man. Even one as delectable as her guard.

No, she couldn't allow all the time and energy she had spent building herself up to just

lose it all now. She would allow Nykyrian to remain aloof and distanced, as much for her

sake as his.

She switched off the viewer. "I'm going to bed."

Nykyrian stopped his typing and listened to her walking down the hallway to her room.

He closed the terminal to ease some of the ache from his eyes and allowed the rigidness

to leave his body as he relaxed back against the couch.

The sounds of Kiara preparing for bed formed a strange comfort to his soul. He removed

his glasses, balanced them on his knee, then rubbed his burning eyes until they adjusted

to the light. His soul didn't need comfort, it needed solitude.

His job— to protect, not seduce.

Contrary to his thoughts and noble code, an image of Kiara holding him flashed across

his mind. Enough! he roared at his treacherous thoughts and instantly the image vanished.

Nykyrian placed his glasses on the low table and stretched out on the couch, listening to

the soothing, empty silence surrounding him. He drew strength from it and swore to keep

his thoughts on the men tracking Kiara, not on his seducing her.

* * *

Kiara woke from troubled sleep. Once more her dreams had tormented her with the sight

of Nykyrian killing her. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pulled her robe on and went

to the kitchen to get her ritual glass of
spara
juice.

At the entrance to the kitchen, she paused in shock. On the kitchen table placed before

her chair sat a
warmer with a full breakfast and a glass of
spara
juice. Amazed at the fare, she looked over to Nykyrian who sat on a bar stool reading a stack of papers. He was, as

usual, completely oblivious to her.

"Impressive," she said, retrieving a piece of toast from the warmer. Her tastebuds reeled at the strange, sharp spices he had added to the bread. "Very impressive."

He ignored her compliments. "What do you have
to do today?" he asked in a gruff voice that set her teeth at odds.

Kiara swallowed a sip of juice. "I have rehearsal this afternoon, then my performance— "

"No," he interrupted. "No performances or rehearsals."

She sat the juice down on the table and stared agape at him. "You're insane if you think

you can keep me from dancing."

He put the papers on the counter and stood. "Next time, they'll bomb the building to get

you."

She smirked. "How do you know?"

"I would."

His deadpan voice frightened her more than anything else he could have said. Kiara

swallowed the lump burning in her throat. "This is my career you're talking about. A

missed performance could end it."

"Death would be a much more permanent end to it."

Well she couldn't argue with that logic. "What am I supposed to do? Stay imprisoned

here, waiting for the next assassin to come in and kill me? Why not just bomb this

building and have done with it?"

Nykyrian didn't so much as twitch a muscle as he responded in his low, unwavering

voice, "League rules."

Kiara stiffened in confusion. "What?"

"The League forbids a free-assassin to detonate a bomb in a housing building."

She laughed at the absurdity of the idea of paid killers following a code of honor. "You

mean assassins actually have rules to follow? Why should someone who kills for a living

give a damn about some League ordinance?"

Still no visible reaction from Nykyrian The Tough. "If you had ever disobeyed the

League, you wouldn't ask that question."

She moved closer to him and leaned against the bar. "What's that supposed to mean? Are

you speaking from your own experience?"

He moved away from her. "Very few free-assassins have the ability to outwit League

Assassins. Despite the corruption inherent in their own system, the League does try to

keep some type of law over the free-assassins to make sure they don't become more

powerful than the fat bureaucrats."

Kiara pursed her lips. That didn't answer her second question at all.

She studied Nykyrian, finding it amusing that he allowed someone to govern his

behavior. She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "And you abide by these laws?"

"When it suits me to."

Kiara clutched her robe closed. The underlining threat of his words was not lost on her.

She had been right, he respected no man's rules, except his own.

She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject. "Can I at least go shopping? I

have a birthday present to buy for a friend of mine."

He went perfectly still and she wondered why her question bothered him. "If we must,"

he said at last. "I suppose you want to go today."

Kiara narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, with my pressing schedule, I don't know. I think I might be able to schedule it between my luncheon and party."

He didn't even bother to smirk at her sarcasm. "Go get dressed. It'll be better to go before the afternoon crowds start swarming."

With a sigh, Kiara retrieved her juice and a slice of
grasdin
then headed to her bedroom.

It didn't take her long to shower and dress, but before she finished, she heard Rachol

talking with Nykyrian in the main room. They spoke a strange language she couldn't

understand even though she listened very carefully for her name or any other word she

might recognize.

Well at least Nykyrian's harshness seemed to fade a tad around Rachol. She would like to

see some reaction from her bodyguard other than shrugs and clipped retorts.

A wicked smile curved her lips. Before her common sense could rear its ugly presence,

she changed clothes. If there was one thing she had learned in her adulthood, it was that

men loved her lean, muscular body
.
Maybe a little sight of it just might wring some form

of reaction out of Nykyrian.

She pulled on a pair of tight black slacks and the low-cut matching blazer that hugged her

curves in just the right way. Kiara tucked a white scarf into the deep décolleté to disguise

the fact she didn't wear a blouse.

This was the outfit that had gotten her noticed by some of the most desirable men in the

universe. She couldn't wait to see how Nykyrian would fare against it! Slipping her feet

into a pair of low-heeled boots, she
went to join him and Rachol.

As she entered the main room, Nykyrian looked up from his conversation and didn't so

much as prolong a word, let alone trail off in the startled appreciation she usually

received from men when she dressed this way.

Rachol turned around in his chair and almost fell out of it. He cleared his throat. "Whoa,"

he said, looking back at Nykyrian.

"Thank you," she said with a disappointed sigh.

Nykyrian came to his feet, still refusing to acknowledge her dress. "Are you ready?"

Grinding her teeth together in disappointed frustration, she nodded. She thought Nykyrian would at least take her arm to keep her near him, but all he did was open the

door and scan the corridor before waving her out of the apartment.

"Is Rachol staying here?" she asked, noting he didn't move from his chair.