Kindred of the Fallen (2 page)

Looking down at her, he lowered his hand. Something playful or mischievous tugged at the naughty curve of his mouth. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

He stepped closer, his insanely masculine, incredibly sexual body bearing down on her. He even smelled divine. Spicy wilderness with sweet hints of cardamom and sandalwood.

Raw recognition poked at her memory as if she knew him, but she’d never seen him before. This was certainly the type of man one didn’t forget. Rivulets of sublime energy emanated from him. In all her days, every person she’d come across had lacked this distinctive quality. His body purred with a charged current, foreign yet familiar, comforting and unnerving her at the same time.

“You need to sit,” she said, suddenly lightheaded, her voice faint. When he quirked an eyebrow, she added, “So we can begin the consultation.”

“Certainly.” He brushed around her and sat in her chair.

Her chair! Only inches away. The audacity of him. Her heart thumped so hard and fast she could barely breathe. “Not there.”

He lounged back in the seat, getting more comfortable, sensuous smile deepening. Alluring blue eyes, dark and exotic, locked on hers. “Where would you like me?” he asked in a liquid velvet voice that poured over her thick as warm butterscotch.

A hot flush set her face on fire.
Evan. I’m getting married to Evan.
She repeated the words in her mind like a prayer to protect her from this complete stranger. When she swallowed, she realized her mouth had been hanging open. How long had she been gaping at him?

He gazed at her with such intensity another sweet flush of heat fluttered over her entire body. She needed to do this consultation and get him the hell out of her office.

“Never mind.” The sooner this was done, the better. She shoved her palm toward him. “Please place your hand on mine.”

His fingertips skimmed hers, his warm hand sliding toward her arm until they were palm to palm. A delicious tingle licked up her spine as his long, thick fingers curled around her, his thumb kissing the inside of her wrist where her pulse throbbed.

A moan blossomed in her chest, but she killed the mutinous noise with a harsh clearing of her throat. She’d worked under pressure before, though nothing as sweet as this. She shut her eyes, determined to do her job and ignore the titillation of his touch stirring her mind into a tizzy. Distraction wouldn’t derail her now. Focusing on the silken ribbons of energy caressing her from scalp to sole, she cleared away all thoughts.

An image blasted in her mind, bright, scorching: him holding her, lips pressed against hers, drawing her close in an embrace.
 

She yanked her hand away.

“Is that it?” His brow wrinkled. “What did you see?”

Not a damn thing she could mention. Something had gone wrong. She hadn’t been focused. How could she get centered with him looking at her like that? Like he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off of her for even a second.

Oh no! She hadn’t seen his soul. No visual interpretation she could capture in a drawing. No soul design. A biting rush of panic grated her insides. She glanced around the office, roping her thoughts together to come up with a solution. Her gaze homed in on the sketches on her desk.
Show him the drawings. Stall for time.
She scooped them into her hands, scrambling to put them in some order. “Let me show you what I’ve done for others.”

The chair creaked as he stood. When she turned to hand him the sketches, they collided, scattering the illustrations onto the floor. They bent at the same time. Their heads knocked together with their lips coming dangerously close. The gripping visual of him kissing her, holding her, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, waltzed into her head sharper than a memory.

Heart racing wildly, she staggered back. “I can’t work with you.”

“What?” He rose and stared at her. Those piercing eyes refused to let her go.

“I mean,” she stammered with no clue what to say. “My services aren’t for you.”

She stumbled to the other side of the desk to get away from him, trying not to trip over her tongue. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry I wasted your time. You’ll get a full refund.”

“Not necessary,” he said, following her. “I haven’t paid yet.”

That’s right. Clients gave a deposit after they approved her sketch, usually thrilled she’d done such a fabulous job. She was completely losing it.

“Can we stop going in circles and sit for a moment to discuss this?”

They’d gone around the desk twice already.

She hurried to the door. “There’s nothing to discuss. I don’t want to work with you.” She cringed at her candid tongue and blatant rudeness. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you the soul design you came here for. It’s been a long day. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have somewhere I need to be. Dougie shouldn’t have overbooked my schedule.”

“If we could speak for a minute, I’m sure we could work this out.” He radiated debonair coolness that must’ve made most women swoon.

“There’s nothing to work out.”
Idiot.
She’d blown her one chance to read his soul by daydreaming about something that could never happen. Her first botched consultation. She yanked the door open wide, desperate to get rid of her only disappointed customer in five years. “Dougie will give you the name of another shop.”

He stopped in front of her, blocking the doorway. “But I want you.” Definitive certainty steeled his voice, stilling her. For a split second she questioned exactly what he’d meant.

“You wouldn’t be happy with my work. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for something. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She backed away, avoiding the magnetic grip of his dark gaze.

“I won’t take up any more of your time. I have another engagement as well that unfortunately I have to keep,” he said in a low voice.

“Let Dougie know we’ll take care of your bill at the other studio. Have a good day.” She turned to her desk and grabbed her messenger bag to stop her hands from shaking.

A breath later he was gone. She hadn’t heard him leave, but sensed it in the heat dissipating from her body, the tingle fading from her skin. She couldn’t risk checking in case she was wrong, and he was still standing there.

“What the hell happened?”

She looked over her shoulder. Dougie glared at her from the hall. She slung her messenger bag across her chest and went to face him.

With a shrug, she said, “I don’t know. Couldn’t read him at all.”

Dougie’s face lightened, and he threw a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Are you feeling okay? Everything went peachy with the dude before him, right?”

Not quite peachy, but she nodded. “This one I totally screwed up. I told him we’d pay for his tat at another place.”

“He thanked me, said he wouldn’t be using our services and left.”

She heaved a sigh. The guy undoubtedly came to their studio expecting an unforgettable experience having his soul read. Instead, she’d scared him from getting a tattoo at all.

“Shake it off.” Dougie tightened his arm into a playful headlock and kissed the top of her head. “No one can have a perfect record forever. Bound to lose one eventually.”

The words stung worse than a finger poking a sore. “I’m late. Evan’s going to kill me.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Have a good weekend and try not to catch anything that requires penicillin.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” He cupped her shoulder, smile fading. “Evan has been in your life forever, and I can’t remember you giving another guy a chance. I get why you said yes, but there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love.”

Her parents had been in love. Deeply, desperately in love. But in the end it only brought unspeakable misery. “Please, be happy for me.”

After a resigned sigh, he nodded, then scooted her down the hall.

The studio hummed with activity as she rushed along the gleaming hardwood floors through the shop. Most customers were inked behind silk screen dividers, but they also offered private rooms for those needing more discretion.

Along with changing the name, moving from street level where neon signs and walk-ins were the norm to a classy building in Midtown Manhattan had been instrumental to creating a sophisticated salon for discerning body art connoisseurs or the pickiest tattoo virgins. A handful of award-winning tattooists and upscale touches such as her paintings on the walls elevated the hybrid ink studio/art gallery from the typical tattoo dive to premier hot spot.

She hopped into the elevator and her mind flickered back to the spectacular failure in her office, back to the striking man who’d rattled her senses, nullifying the one true gift she possessed. She wanted to scream.

Down in the lobby, she flung the door open and inhaled an Indian summer breeze.

At least her headache had eased, and…no more ticking. The incessant clock beating in her mind had stopped just as suddenly as it had started a few weeks ago. She closed her eyes, reveling in the silence. If she hadn’t been so upset over losing a client, she would’ve done a happy dance right there in the middle of the street. Berating herself once again, she hustled to the subway station on Ninth Avenue.

The smell of urine and cigarettes engulfed her as she descended the steps into the subway station. She swiped her Metro card through the turnstile. One flight below, the metal rumble signaled the train approaching. She raced down the stairs, hopped on and slid into the last open seat as the doors closed. Lights flickered and the train clattered along the rails.

The doomsday clock had been counting down in her head for so long it was almost odd for it to be gone. The relentless ticking began the same night as the recurrent dream.

In her nightmare, a dark angel guided her through the folds of shadow and light, trying to help her, but his presence didn’t change anything. It always ended the same—death coiled around her, pumping liquid ice in her veins. A shiver scraped through her body.

Energy in her core vibrated and churned. The unforgettable face of the sole customer she’d been unable to read flooded her mind, stoking another rush of dizzy heat. Her parents hadn’t been around long, but one lesson she’d never forget—fiery passion led to disaster.

She remembered how her parents kissed and hugged, the way people did on TV and in movies, like touching each other was the greatest thing in the world. Even after her mother had abandoned them, he talked about her all the time, about how much he loved her, missed her. And it was that crazy love he couldn’t live without that had killed him.

Electric ripples fluttered inside her.
Not now, not here.
Visions of her dad in the wee hours at home were one thing. She couldn’t handle a creepy hallucination of her dead father in public. Closing her eyes, she took calming breaths, coaxing her body to relax. Then she slowly opened her eyelids.

A man dressed in the same sweater and jeans her father had worn the day he died stood in the subway car, holding a gun. His body wavered ghost-like in the flickering lights of the train. Her heart lurched into her throat and bile coated her tongue.
Not again.

The man’s form solidified. He raised the gun and pressed it against his temple.

Pressure, heavy and aching, bore down on her bladder. He stared at her, eyes full of woe. She knew every line and curve of that doleful face as well as her own. It was her father.

Her body locked as if bands of steel had clamped around her. Numbness seeped into her limbs like poison, hardening her entrails to stone.
Keep it together. He isn’t real.

The guy across from her dropped his newspaper. A gaggle of kids fell silent and inched toward the doors. An older lady clutched her purse to her chest, growing bug-eyed.

Everyone standing near her father backed away.

Shit. They can see him?

Chapter Two

With the gun pressed to his temple, her dead father closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. A thunderclap shattered the silence.

Serenity cringed, expelling a sharp breath.

His lifeless body crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

A flurry of gasps and screams erupted in the subway car.

The body lay on the floor, a pool of crimson forming beside his head. People scrambled to the doors and banged on the glass, obscuring Serenity’s view of her father’s body.

“He disappeared,” someone shouted.

“Oh, sweet Lord!”

Unable to see beyond the frenzied bodies, she jumped atop the seat and craned her neck over the chaos. Her father had vanished, without a trace of blood. Her gut convulsed. Her mind reeled.
 

Over the last month and a half, she’d seen flashes of her father, but this was the first time anyone else had seen him too.

Panic swelled, saturating the heavy air. Fists pounded on the metal doors. A window broke, splintering the glass. Passengers threw open the connecting doors to the adjacent cars. People shoved and tripped over each other to get out, spreading terror as they fled. The train slowed to a halt, one station short of her stop. The doors flew open like floodgates. A throng of cursing, praying, panicking people spilled from the train in a deluge.

An older lady fell. Pinned between the metal doorframe and the bustle of bodies rushing out, she covered her head with her purse.