Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) (8 page)

Finally, he said. "I accepted the position as your guardian."

"That's a deal you made with someone else, not a promise to me. Neither of us even know exactly what being my guardian means, except that it probably doesn't mean killing me." She gave him a challenging look. "Make me a promise, Slade. Promise me that you won't stop until Julia is saved. Promise me that you'll keep me alive. Promise me that you'll take on my hunt for Julia as your own. Then I'll trust you."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he shook his head. "I don't know what I can promise you at this time," he said. "I don't know enough about the situation."

Damn him. She turned away, pacing across the room. "Can you at least promise me you're not going to kill me? Ever?"

He ground his jaw. "No. I can't. I don't have any immediate plans to kill you, and at the moment, my intention is to be your guardian, whatever that entails, but I can't promise that it won't change in a week, or a day, or in the next thirty seconds."

Her stomach dropped at his honesty, and fear rippled down her spine. She'd been feeling safe with him, and his answer was a terrifying reminder of what she was facing. "Then how can you ask me to trust you? Trust you to do what?"

He finally shrugged. "I don't know. I guess nothing." He stood up. "Don't trust me. You're right." He held out his hand. "You ready?"

She stared at him. "You want me to go with you after you just said not to trust you?"

"You might not trust me, but you still have to make a choice. I have a lock on the woman who wore the wig. I'm going after her. You can come, or I can drop you off somewhere. But it's time to leave, because there's a demon outside that's getting too close."

Her heart stuttered, and she looked at the steel walls. He was her only link to finding Julia, now that he'd burned the wig. There was no decision to be made. "I'll go with you."

He nodded, giving no outward sign of whether he liked her decision. "Your choice," he said. "What method would you prefer for ensuring you can't reveal this location to anyone? I can blind you temporarily as we leave so you don't see where this safe house is, or I can wipe your memory of this location and everything about it. I always wipe memories, but for you..." Something shifted in his voice, a hitch that was barely noticeable. "I'll give you the choice to remember."

She suddenly recalled how he'd looked at her while they were kissing, making sure she knew he was the one kissing her, and her heart softened. This was a man who lived in absolute isolation, wiping the memories of everyone who knew he existed. He was invisible...except, he was willing to let her keep the memories. Allowing her to remember every detail about him was against every code he lived by, and yet he was making that offer. She realized that, despite his isolation and his life choices, there was a part of him that still burned for that human connection, just as she did. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted there to be someone in the world who remembered...and he'd chosen her.

The tension fled her body, and she knew then that although he was a man who didn't trust, he'd trusted her with the most important thing he had to offer...his existence. Suddenly, she knew what he didn't even know, that he would never,
ever
be able to kill her, no matter what.

She realized suddenly that she had no memory of arriving at the building. The last thing she remembered was agreeing to go with him, and then sitting on the couch. "Did you wipe my memory when we got here?"

He nodded. "Your shields go down when you sleep."

"Did you wipe it of anything else? Other than getting here?"

"Just the trip here." He glanced at the wall. "We need to go."

"Blind me." She said it without hesitation. She didn't want to lose a moment of memory. Being blind would make her completely dependent on him until she could see again, but she knew now that she would be safe with him, no matter what he thought.

He nodded. "Let me into your mind."

She felt his mental push immediately. Her instinct was to block him, but she forced her mind to stay relaxed, allowing him to enter. His presence was heavily masculine, strong, and deadly. She expected to hate it, but the intimacy of the connection with him felt good, safe, grounding...which was irony at its best.

"Lights out," he said softly.

The moment he said it, the room went black. She sucked in her breath, losing her balance at the sudden loss of visual reference. He was beside her instantly, scooping her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her legs around his hips, holding tight. His arm was solid against her back, holding her securely against him. "Stay quiet," he instructed.

She nodded, tucking her face into the crook of his neck to stabilize herself.

His muscles tensed, and suddenly, she felt him explode forward, moving so fast that her hair whipped against her face like razor blades. She recalled the times she'd seen him move quickly, and thought once again of her question earlier.

Was he part cat? Or something else? Something even more dangerous?

J
ust like before
, having Anya in his arms made him want her.

Slade swore as he eased to a stop in a dark alley several miles from the bar where he'd been murdered. The moment they were still, he released his hold on Anya's mind, but didn't release his grip on her waist. "We're here."

She lifted her head, blinking as she looked around. "That's so weird how you can turn my vision on and off."

"One of my many talents."

She let go of him and slid down, her body sliding across his in a decadent temptation that made his cock harden. He swore, grinding his teeth as he fought for control. He was going to have to stop touching her until he pulled his shit together. He had no time for being distracted by a woman, and he didn't have protocol in place for dealing with it, since he had always preempted it.

It was a completely different situation once he was already in it.

He dropped his hands from her, but she kept her hand on his side as she looked around. "Where are we?"

"A shitty area of Boston," he said. He scanned the area around them for mental imprints that would suggest someone or something was nearby, but the only thing he was picking up was the bouncer at the door of the bar.

"The kind of place where you do your business?"

He glanced at her. "You think people only get murdered in alleys?" He moved away from the wall, heading down the alley. "People get killed at black tie fundraisers. They die at State House dinners. They die at five star restaurants in the men's room. They die in their boxed seats at the opera. That's where most people die."

She stopped. "I knew it."

He looked back at her. "Knew what?"

"That you're cultured. Refined." She gestured to his leather trench coat and jeans. "You don't walk around like that much, do you? You live some fancy, high class life, where no one would
ever
suspect you're an assassin."

He was surprised she'd bothered to notice. Most people didn't. "I'm going to have to wipe your mind if you keep being observant."

She grinned. "I forgot already." But as she walked up beside him, there was a definite gleam in her eyes, as if they shared some sort of bond. "Why do you do it? If you have all that money, why do you still go around killing people?"

"I like it."

As he expected, she stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening. "You
like
it?"

"I don't need the money. I don't know the people I kill, and I don't care if they're saints or sinners. I'm not saving the world or trying to rule it. So why else would I do it?"

"You
like
it? What, like you're a serial killer? Some sort of psychopath?" She looked faintly ill, and for the first time in his life, it bothered him to have someone look at him that way.

"Forget it." Gritting his jaw, he headed out into the main street, heading straight toward the basement door that was barely visible from the sidewalk. "Come on."

He didn't even bother to look over his shoulder to see if she followed him. He didn't need to. He was viscerally aware of every move she made. He could smell her shampoo, and her fear. He could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing. He could still taste her from that kiss. What the hell? He needed to focus.

Swearing, he opened his mind to the woman he'd tracked. She was inside, downstairs. He vaulted over the railing to the stairs that went below street level, then paused to wait for Anya to walk down them. Shit. He wasn't used to waiting for anyone. It took him off his game. "Wait out here," he said.

She put her hands on her hips. "No."

He swore. "I can't watch out for you. I need to be focused."

She raised her eyebrows. "If I stay out here and demon-boy finds me, but you're inside, what then? How does that satisfy your guardian thing? If I die, and you fail, does that mean you forfeit your second chance at life and go right back to hell?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You're a pain in the ass."

"And I'm right."

He let out his breath. Damn. He didn't like anything about this. He didn't like being bound to that red-haired woman he'd made the deal with. He didn't like having Anya with him. He didn't like having to make choices that were about anything other than what he wanted to do. How did his brother do it?

Shit. Now wasn't the time to think about his brother. He had to focus. "Then stay close, but don't bother me. This is what I do."

Anya paused. "What you do? Are you going to kill her?"

He didn't answer. He didn't kill unless someone paid him, but just about every other rule he lived by had been violated in the last twelve hours, so he wasn't going to make any promises. Instead, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

It was dark, smoky, crowded, and filled with the scent of sex.

* * *

W
hat kind
of place was this?

Anya was shocked when she saw people half-naked, up against the wall, apparently having sex, or almost. There were people dancing, couples that were so tightly entwined that the beat of the music seemed to have merged them together. The music was low and sultry, and the mood of the place was sex, seduction, and illicitness.

There were several threesomes on the dance floor, so many hands and body parts that it was difficult to tell what belonged to who. One of the men in the nearest trio caught her staring, and he held out his hand to her, inviting her to join them.

She managed to shake her head coolly, trying to act like she belonged...but good God, she'd never been in this situation before.
Ever.
Aside from a few men she'd dated when she was younger, before she understood how dangerous it was to expose herself, she had stayed tight and low profile with her mismatched family, and this kind of world had not been hers.

Slade was staring at the corner, and she followed his gaze to shadows that obscured a door. He started to walk right toward it, but she caught his wrist. "Stop," she hissed.

He looked sharply at her. "What?"

"You'll scare her. You can't just barge in there."

"I'll catch her if she runs." He raised his brows. "Why? You want to dance first?"

Heat flared in her cheeks, and she dropped his wrist like it had burned her. "What? No."

He didn't turn away, however. He simply stared at her like he was devouring her with the heat of his stare.
I want to dance with you, Anya.

She swallowed at the sudden rush of desire that burned through her. She glanced at the dance floor, at the couples moving to the music as if they were in the throes of passion right there in front of everyone. To dance with Slade like that? Good God. It was so sensual, so bold, so public. So not her. But it was also so tempting, calling to a part of her that she'd never acknowledged. God, no. What was she thinking? She didn't have time for that! "We have to find the woman with the wig."

"She's not going anywhere right now. She's in the bathroom. We have time. One minute. Two." Slade caught her wrist and drew her close to him, his touch like heated silk around her wrist. "I want this."

She swallowed, her heart hammering. She already knew what he could do to her sexually. She didn't need to come apart in his arms in public. Or in private, for that matter. He made her weak and vulnerable, and she hated that feeling. For heaven's sake, he'd made her pass out just from kissing her. Literally. She had to feel strong, not weakened. As badly as her body yearned to accept his invitation, she couldn't risk it.

"You know you want to," Slade said softly, his voice sliding beneath her skin like a tantalizing seduction.

"Yes, but I have the willpower to resist." Barely. She ducked under his arm, and scooted past him. "I suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Guard the door, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer as she wound her way across the dance floor, as desperate to get away from his temptation as she was to meet with the woman who might have information about Julia.

The man on the right had his hand on a woman's breast, and seemed to be trying to suck her soul out of her body through her mouth, the kiss was so deep. It was sensual, but also disturbing, like there was something predatory about it.

Suddenly nervous, she looked back over her shoulder. Slade was right behind her, less than six inches away. She flashed him a brief smile, then resumed her trek toward the bathroom, so very glad he was with her. This kind of place wasn't her world. Assassins weren't her thing. Her mom had taught her how to run and hide, to fight if necessary, but it had all been theoretical. She'd lived her life on the outskirts of society, protected by her mom and Marjorie, and she had no experience to draw upon to handle this.

I got it covered.
Slade's voice brushed through her mind.
This is my world.

She couldn't help the rush of relief.
Stay out of my head.

You're broadcasting. You need to work on that.

You're an ass.

Is that bad?

She reached the bathroom and pushed on the door. Slade was standing right beside her. "It depends on what you want to be," she said. "Now don't come in unless I'm in trouble. Women's bathroom and all, right?"

His gaze narrowed, and she had a sudden suspicion that he had never, ever, let something as simple as a gender restriction keep him from going where he wanted to go. "We need her to talk, Slade, not be killed. You know how to kill. I know how to talk. So let me do this. You can easily catch her if she runs, right?"

He pressed his jaw together, then looked past her, as if he were scanning the occupants of the restroom. Then he inclined his head. "You have three minutes." He moved in front of the door, facing the bar, his arms folded across his chest, looking like an ancient, immovable, deadly gladiator.

God, he was daunting. She wasn't going to lie. She was really happy he was on her team right now, but the more she got to know him, the more aware she was of the fact that if he ever changed his mind about being her guardian versus assassin, she was so dead, so fast.

She let out her breath. Right now, he was on her side, so she was going to have to take advantage while she could. "Be right back." She dragged her gaze off him and focused on the bathroom. Inside there was the woman who claimed to know where Julia was.

Had it been a lie designed to trap her? Or was there really a chance? There had to be a chance. She had no other connections to Julia.

She took a deep breath, then shoved the door open and stepped inside.

The bathroom was small and dimly lit. Paint was peeling off the walls. It stank of urine and alcohol, the kind of stench that would never go away no matter how many times it was scrubbed. Both stall doors were open, but there was a woman bent over the sink, splashing water over her face. Her hair was light brown, in a messy ponytail, but she was wearing the same jeans and black shirt that she'd been wearing in the bar. Her jeans were splattered with Slade's blood, a dark rusty brown that stood out on the blue denim.

"The warehouse on the corner of Hartford, and what?"

The woman whipped around, her blue eyes wide with shock. Water streamed down her face, and her complete lack of makeup made her look vulnerable and young, so different than the black-haired seductress who'd kissed her neck at the bar. "How did you find me?"

"Where is she?"

The woman spun around, and went back to scrubbing her face, frantic now. "Don't you get it? They know I was going to tell you. They won't let it happen." She shut off the water, and yanked her shirt off, revealing her naked torso. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her body was fit and strong, the complete opposite of how vulnerable and scared she appeared.

Anya cleared her throat, but didn't look away. She wasn't going to take a chance of losing her just because she wanted to give the woman privacy. "Who are 'they?' Who has her?"

"No." The woman grabbed a hooded gray sweatshirt from beside the sink and pulled it over her head. "It's not worth it."

"It is worth it! It's my friend's life!" Anya leapt across the bathroom and grabbed the woman's shoulders. "Please help me. I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"Don't you get it? They already know I met with you!"

"If they already know, then what's the harm in telling me?"

The woman pulled away, and yanked off her bloody jeans. "Because your friend isn't worth it to me."

"We can protect you. The Black Swan is with me. He will protect you."

The woman grabbed another pair of jeans and pulled them on. They were too loose, sagging in the butt. Her baggy outfit hid her slim body, and her messy hair and lack of makeup made her impossible to link to the woman in the bar. "The Black Swan is no match for them. No one is." She yanked her sneakers on and turned to face Anya. "Do yourself a favor. Forget about your friend and walk away."

Anya's fingers balled into fists. "Is she still alive?" If Julia was dead...tears threatened, but she held them back. If Julia was dead, she would honor her mother's wish and go into deep hiding. She would free Slade to live the life of the avenger. She was the only one left alive, and she had to stay that way. But if Julia was still alive, there was no chance she was going to abandon her. "Just tell me that much. Is she still alive?"