Marked by Passion (19 page)

If only there was no scroll. Then I could paint and have regular relationships without the constant worry of ulterior motives or that I'd hurt someone. Then I'd know for sure whether Rhys wanted me for myself or for an old scrap of paper.

Although I figured I knew the answer to that already.

Needless to say, my mood was less than stellar when I arrived at work. Again. A fact everyone noticed based on the way they skirted around me.

Except Vivian, who was especially annoying with all her gleeful comments about dating my brother. She seemed oblivious that she was flirting with danger. I was tempted to unleash on her—just a little. God knew she deserved it. But I kept to my side of the bar and managed to control the impulse.

Barely.

Because I was so focused inward, I didn't notice who walked into the bar until Vivian elbowed me. "He's so fine. Don't think you can keep him to yourself. I know he didn't come here just to see you."

I froze, martini shaker clenched in my hands. Rhys? I had the urge to dive under the bar until he went away. But I refused to let him make me a coward, so I forced my head up—and just about passed out from relief when I saw Paul.

The spot right in front of me cleared and he stepped in. "Gabby."

Tu ch’i
surged, catching me unaware. My heart lurched as it strained to get away from me, but I managed to rein it in. Breathing hard, I turned around and finished filling an order for a customer, but really I didn't want him to see me struggle.

God, I needed to figure out how to deal with this. I couldn't continue like this—I was a menace to society. How long before I lost it again and hurt someone else?

By the time I delivered the drink and collected money, I felt in control enough to deal with him. "Hey, Paul."

"I've been worried all day, Gabby." Brows drawn, he looked seriously pissed. "You didn't return my calls."

Wince. "Sorry. I worked early into the morning and then woke up only in time to get to work."

"I didn't know what was going on. I kept imagining the worst. Like Mom—" Exhaling deeply, he ran a hand over his hair.

"Sorry. Really." I stretched across the counter to squeeze his hand. "I'm not used to being accountable to anyone."

He tried to smile. "Get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere."

Tears sprang to my eyes. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and spill everything.

"Hey." He lifted my chin. "Are you okay? You look exhausted."

"I painted late."

His brow furrowed, making him look so much like Wu. "My offer still stands."

My breath caught in my chest, remembering the last time I heard the very same words. Though I was more inclined to entertain this one. "Thanks."

"Both offers."

A slightly tipsy guy shoved his way in next to Paul, jostling him. "Excuse me, can I get a drink?"

Paul shifted to give the guy some space before returning his attention to me. "I want you to let me help you, Gabby, but I'll support you no matter what decision you make."

"You don't know how much I needed to hear that." I didn't think I could love him more than I did right then.

He smiled. "In the meantime, maybe we could have dinner again."

"I'd like that."

"Good." The delight on his face lifted my spirits. His expression became cautious as he said, "And if you change your mind about the scroll... Well, I'm here. Even if you just need someone to talk to."

"I'll call you." I awkwardly hugged him across the bar. "Thanks, Paul."

He nodded and tapped his hand on the bar. "You're busy, so I'll get out of your hair."

I watched him leave. My heart rejoiced that he was making such an effort to make up for lost time. My mark twinged uncomfortably.

"Excuse
me." The drunk guy lurched into the counter. "I need a beer."

He didn't, but I gave him one anyway. Who was I to judge what he needed and what he didn't?

It was an atypical Tuesday night—hopping, so I shouldn't have had a moment to think. But I did.

And all my thoughts centered on the scroll. One thing was sure: I needed to find a safer place for the scroll than my refrigerator. I needed to get rid of it in a way that put it out of everyone's reach. Even my own.

When my shift ended, I told Vivian I was clocking out and left before she could complain. Exhausted after the long day, all I wanted was my bed and a week of sleep. Hell, I'd settle for a whole night. I left the Pour House with plans to go straight home and crash.

I didn't factor in someone tailing me. And this wasn't someone interested in keeping me safe. I wondered if Rhys had had a change of heart, but as soon as I had that bitter thought I dismissed it. In my gut, I knew the waves of menace emanating toward me could never be from him.

Growling under my breath, I turned off Mission onto 23rd. I frickin' did
not
want to deal with this tonight. Couldn't anyone give me a break?

Anger rose in my chest, so high I almost choked on it. I could feel
tu ch’i
tingling on the edges, waiting for the right moment to jump in and spike my system.

I should confront the asshole. I stopped in my tracks, tempted.

Better idea. I began to run—hard and fast—toward Bartlett Street. Red Crush, a popular restaurant and bar, sat on the corner of 23rd and Bartlett. No, I wasn't going to ditch him through the restroom window—I just wanted the noise to cover up any noise he might make when I impressed upon him my displeasure at having my plans screwed up. Plus Bartlett was usually deserted at night.

When I reached the street, I slowed down, looking behind my shoulder to make sure he saw me turn.
Tu ch’i
pulsed with anticipation, mixing with my own adrenaline—a heady combination.

I waited, hands clenched and ready.
Tu ch’i
radiated through me and gathered into my fists.

The guy barreled around the corner.

"Hey," I called, stepping out from the shadows. I cold-cocked him with a right jab straight to his nose.

He staggered from the impact. I blinked in surprise—I barely felt the impact on my knuckles.

Not wanting to give him the opportunity to retaliate, I shoved the thought aside and followed with a left hook to his jaw.

He spun to the side and fell face forward with a loud
"Oof."

Dark satisfaction flared in my gut. I jumped on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck in a choke. Lifting a forearm to arch his head back, I hissed in his ear. "Why the hell are you following me?"

When he didn't reply, I applied more pressure on his throat. I waited for the choking sounds, expecting to feel his fingers dig into my arms to break the hold—only nothing happened.

I leaned over and looked into his face. His skin appeared dark, but the lighting was dim. He had nondescript features, but the one thing that stood out was the purple bruise rising on the side of his face. He was out cold.

"Damn it." I let him go and sat on his back. I'd knocked' out my best source of information before I extracted any from him.

With a huff of disgust (at myself), I got off him. I felt
tu ch’i
urge me to do more—to crush him into the ground. I gasped in horror when I realized I was moving toward him to kick his ribs in.

"Shit." I clawed a hand through my hair and hurried away.

Instead of going directly home, I walked the hood. Briskly—to work
tu ch’i
out of my system. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I rounded the corner and walked straight into someone.

We both yelped at the collision. I set my weight, my fist cocked and ready to strike, when I registered that the surprised face in front of me belonged to Carrie.

"Crap, Gabe." She patted a hand over her heart. "You nearly scared me to death."

"You startled me." I lowered my hand and looked at the street signs. What was she doing out here so late?

She gaped at me. "Were you going to punch me?"

"I didn't know it was you." Though I should have had an inkling I wasn't in danger—not a peep out of
tu ch’i.
"Why are you out so late so far from your apartment?"

"I was on my way home from the library, and I thought I'd stop in at the bar to see how you were." Her big round eyes widened. "You didn't even hesitate. It was like you were ready to hit. Hard."

"I'm sorry—"

"You've really got to teach me how to do that."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Seriously. I'm always out late, either at the library or work. I'd like to know how to take care of myself. Like you." She smiled and held a hand up "I know you're busy getting ready for your show, but maybe when things have settled down. Just think about it."

"Okay," I said, simply because I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Are you still feeling sick from last night?" She frowned. "You're shaking, and you look shell-shocked or something."

I hid my hands in my pockets. "I'm peachy."

"Um, okay." She shrugged off her frown. "I should get going. I've got a rendezvous with a dense historical tome."

Still dazed from my last encounter, I just nodded.

Her brow furrowed, and she put a hand on my arm. "Are you sure you're okay, Gabe?"

"Yeah," I managed to say. "Just tired."

"Okay." She nodded, but she didn't look like she believed me. She removed her hand and stepped back. "I'll see you at work, then."

"Right. Be careful getting home.'"

"Always." She waved over her shoulder.

I started down the block.

"Hey," she called a moment later.

Stopping, I turned around.

"We should hang out sometime. Outside work," she added as if I might not understand. "Just us girls."

Girl time.

As a kid, I was so different from the other girls that even if Wu hadn't monopolized my time with combat training, I doubted I would have clicked with them. Then for the past fifteen years I'd been so focused on my goal I hadn't taken the time Not that I had the inclination, either. Calling me a loner was understating it.

But that day at the bar when Carrie had made me coffee and we talked about Rhys was nice. Really nice. More girl time was oddly appealing. So I nodded, somewhat shyly. "I'd like that."

"Great. We'll talk, then." Carrie's smile lit up the dark city block. "See you later."

Buoyed, I headed home, taking a circuitous route, of course. My cautious delight over the possibility of a girlfriend faded into exhaustion over the blocks, and by the time I got home I was a stumbling zombie. I locked the door behind me, dropped my jacket right there, and fell face-first onto the futon.

Wu's voice sounded in my ear. "It's late, Gabrielle. You need to start getting to bed earlier."

With a growl, I yanked the covers up and fell asleep.

T
hree days later. Countless cups of coffee. No cake left. No more painting done. I slumped on the stool, where I'd pretty much been perched the entire time I'd been here.

Madame La Rochelle convinced me to stay at her place so I could work every minute I wasn't at the Pour House. She was freaked out over my lack of progress.

I was freaked, too. Not just by my inability to paint, but by the thought that some creep was going to follow me home and steal the scroll. Or worse—that the creep would turn out to be Rhys, and once he had the scroll I'd never see either of them again. So I stayed.

Except I'd gotten nothing done. Aside from battling to keep
tu ch’i
under wraps, I had sudden pangs of anxiety over leaving the scroll alone. Totally irrational. No one knew the scroll was in my refrigerator. It was safer than if I'd kept it on me.

On top of it all, I felt this crushing sadness and I was afraid that it had to do with not having seen Rhys in days. I wanted to ask Madame if she'd heard from him, but each time the impulse came, I bit my tongue and forced myself to keep silent.

With a groan, I stood, put my things away, and washed the dishes I'd accumulated in the sink. I wished I could take a nap—struggling to keep a lid on
tu ch’i
was taking a toll on me—but my shift started in a couple hours and I needed to go home to change (I'd run out of clean clothes).

I didn't know where Madame was, and I wasn't about to go find her. The last thing I needed at the moment was a lecture on how my paintings weren't going to paint themselves and that I was blowing the greatest opportunity I'd ever be presented as an artist. So I jotted a quick note to let her know I'd left and sneaked out like a thief.

Wu accosted me as soon as I walked in the door to my place.

"Where have you been?" He stopped pacing to glare at me. "You haven't been home for days, and it's after five this afternoon. I've been waiting to talk to you."

I shrugged, only because I knew it'd infuriate him. "I had someplace to go."

"You. Had. Someplace. To go." He clenched his fists and hovered off the ground.

Neat trick, but he looked like he was going to pop. Could ghosts explode?

The few pieces of furniture I had began to quiver. I grabbed the only vase I owned before it crashed onto the ground. "Whoa Calm down before you break all my stuff."

"Your stuff is the least of my concerns," he said so quietly I got worried. The last time I'd heard him speak
that
quietly was when my brother Paul totaled Mom's car. Correction: it was at Mom's funeral, when he said she'd be alive if it weren't for me. "We need to start training. The scroll—"

"I'm handling the scroll." I shook out of my jacket.

He became still. "What do you mean?"

Nothing, really—I was talking out my ass. I had no clue what to do with it. If I could only get rid of it permanently—

Get rid of it permanently.

I blinked, dropping my coat on the floor. Rule number four played in my head.
The Guardian possesses the powers as long as he possesses the scroll.

Since
tu ch’i
and Wu went hand in hand with the scroll, destroying the scroll would solve everything. I could get on with my life without constantly worrying that someone was going to break into my refrigerator and end the world. I wouldn't have to worry about it falling into the wrong person's hands, but neither would I have to sacrifice my life to it. No one would be able to get it.