My Darkest Passion (21 page)

The mage gestured to his four guards, and they moved into position, new and unwilling slaves though they were. “I say the word, you kill him.”

Harsh shook his head. “Now that’s just showing off.”

“Maybe I’ll tell them to kill you right now. How about that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

For the time being, the magehelds stayed close to Infante, but there was no disguising their cold and helpless desperation, not with the hallmark buzz-cut hair and their psychic nullity.

Infante gestured, and a soft, greenish glow suffused the immediate surroundings. Rats scurried for cover of darkness. Harsh crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The four enslaved demons spread out. One turned his back to Harsh so he could guard the mouth of the alley. Another stood just behind Infante. The other two moved forward and to either side of the alley.

Infante made a big deal of arranging himself in the middle, facing the Dumpster at Harsh’s back. No doubt he thought he was safe with four bodyguards to one of him. Understandable. What Infante had seen that night was Kynan Aijan at work. If that meant the mage thought Harsh wasn’t much of a threat, well, that was fine with him.

He slid a hand in his coat pocket, but Harsh had hooked into his mental state just enough to keep him from realizing it, and just enough for Harsh to know he didn’t have a talisman on him. That would have been a problem, since a talisman would have enabled Infante to draw even more magic.

Hand still in his pocket, Infante sneered. “What the fuck you doing so far away from home?”

The attitude was unchanged: angry, full of himself, spoiling for a fight. He looked younger, though. Not forties anymore, but mid-thirties. For a man who’d lost everything just eighteen months ago, that apparent youth meant he’d ritually murdered a lot of demons since their last meeting. He’d bet good money Infante was a screamer again.

He almost didn’t give a shit that ending his life was prohibited unless he was defending himself or someone else. “You’re pretty far from home, too.”

His lip curled. “I’m on vacation.” The light around him flickered. The dark-skinned mageheld to Harsh’s left sidled closer to Infante. What the hell was this asshole doing with a mageheld who didn’t have that
lived-in-America
look? No way was he local to North America. No way.

If he’d managed to enslave one of the African demons, that was cause for concern. He couldn’t help tucking away the possibility that the African demons and mages were finally taking an interest in the West. Or else this petty, self-important little fuck had gone to Africa and put all their asses on the line. Either way, if that mageheld was one of the Africans, they’d all just slid that much closer to war.

“You’ve been harassing Addison O’Henry,” Harsh said. “That needs to stop.”

Infante raised his hands, palms out. “Me? I ain’t doing nothing to her.”

“Leave her alone, or you will be stopped.”

The mage looked around, pretending he was confused about where he was. “This isn’t your warlord’s territory. I don’t have to do anything you say.”

“Think of it as advice you would be wise to take.”

“Like I give a rat’s ass what some hotblood says.” Infante spat to his left. The African shifted so that he had a straighter line to Harsh. If this came down to a fight, he could handle Infante and the three smaller of his magehelds. But the one he was almost certain was African? That one would be a challenge.

“She remains under our protection.”

“Fuck that. She’s fair game.” The magekind did not always have the most pleasant personalities, but after several years bound by oath to Nikodemus, Harsh had learned to navigate the necessarily fraught relations between demonkind and magekind. It wasn’t impossible that Infante would continue in this abrasive manner even if he intended to comply.

“Not only do we protect our own, we enforce our rules.” Impatience crept into his voice. Addison ought to have been safe here. There weren’t many magekind here, and even fewer of the demonkind, most of whom had been killed or enslaved years ago. Since then, nearly all the free kin—demons—had left for the safer territories of Northern California where Nikodemus held power.

“The fuck you do.”

They fell silent when a group of clueless humans walked past the alley. Infante’s green light dimmed to nothing. The demon closest to the street drew back. One of the humans slowed and looked into the alley. He hesitated rather than moving on. A sensitive. They weren’t as rare as he liked, humans who were sensitive to magic. Harsh pushed out a gentle compulsion for the human to think if he lingered any longer, he’d lose track of his friends.

The man frowned and stared down the street. “Hey! Wait up!”

Infante continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption. The mageheld guarding the entrance to the alley returned to his place. The greenish light glowed again. “If you enforced the rules that bitch would be dead.”

“If you had rules, she wouldn’t know we exist.” He curled his hands into fists, glad he had plenty of power at hand. Infante wanted revenge for what had happened out at Bodega Bay, and he was here because he thought he’d regained enough power to risk a meeting like this. “If you followed your own rules about protecting humans, she’d still have a normal life.”

Infante, being what he was, knew a few buttons to push. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s not my fucking fault. She should have stayed home like a good girl.”

Harsh forced himself to familiar calm. Getting there was harder than he liked. “There is no justification for what happened to her. None. You know that.”

“Oh, bull. Shit.” He made a sharp gesture and the light around him tracked the movement of his hand. “You think I don’t know what your deal is? She’s just the kind of juicy young thing you hell-freaks like. Why do you think Bejar took her when I sent him out?” Infante leered at him. “I bet you fucked her, too. She as fun in the sack with you as she was with my guy? She gonna push out more demonspawn for you?”

There came a time when diplomacy was of no use. Such as now. Speak softly and carry a big stick the saying went. His natural abilities, combined with his oath of fealty to Nikodemus, made him a pretty damn big stick. He’d learned, over the years, that he had an edge when he appeared to be calmer than he felt. No one expected the diplomat would ever lose his temper. “You have been a pain in my ass from day one.”

“Glad to hear it. Let me tell you, this one here”—he cocked his head in the direction of the African mageheld—”he’s going to find out for himself what’s she’s like. How sweet she is to fuck. I’m going to watch every second of it.”

“You won’t live long enough to regret it.”

“This ain’t Frisco. Nikodemus can’t do shit here, and you don’t have an army of hotbloods and traitor witches to send after me. Not down here.” He jabbed a finger at Harsh. The light followed in an eerie flash of green. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to finish what I started with that bitch. She won’t be the only one, either. Tell you another thing. Your Nikodemus is going down. Every one of you freaks will end up dead or under control. The way it should be. I saw how you looked at that kid. All hot to control him. We aren’t safe any other way.”

“To which I am tempted to reply, ‘The only good mage, is a dead mage.’”

“Yeah, fuck you, too.”

“Leave Addison O’Henry alone, and we have no argument.”

“No can do. I’m shorthanded these days.” The curl at the edge of his mouth turned ugly.

He kept his hands loose. He should have known. He should have known better than to think Infante would be anything but an utter asshole. Intent on revenge. On him and on Addison. “There’s nothing to discuss, then.”

“You got that right.” Infante gestured to the mageheld Harsh thought was the African demon, and his bad feeling came back a thousand times worse than before. “Go.”

A smile curved the mageheld’s mouth, and Harsh just had time to think there was something off about that look before everything went black.

22

H
arsh set a brisk pace to the restaurant, antsy for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. Sure, he was late, but not all that late. It was like having a word right on the tip of his tongue, or knowing something important dangled just out of his mental reach. It was driving him crazy.

Five feet from the restaurant it occurred to him that he ought to be reacting to Addison's presence, and he wasn’t. Which meant she was late, too. With a little luck, he’d be seated before she got here, and she’d never know he hadn’t been on time. All the same, he made sure he registered as normal before he opened the door. Inside, he scanned the patrons for the slightest sign of a reaction to him. No one besides the Maitre’d looked his direction. But then, he’d always been good at passing for normal.

He slipped the Maitre’d a fifty dollar bill. “Reservation for Dr. Marit.”

The bill vanished. “Ah, yes, your party is here.”

Really? The Maitre’d gestured toward a table at the back of the restaurant, and yes, there she was. She was very, very good at passing for human. He straightened his tie and walked to the table. She’d ended up spending the night at the hotel with him, and what a revelation, their physical compatibility. He wasn’t going to ask himself many questions about what he was doing beyond committing to finding out if there was going to be a second night of the most intense sex of his life.

“Sorry I’m late.” He slid onto the seat across from her, one eye on the door, and then glanced to the back exit of the restaurant because you could never be too careful. Not in this day and age. Not in any city, but for damn sure not in a city where there wasn’t a warlord keeping him safe. “Traffic. And then parking.” He touched his tie. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No. I just got here.”

He gestured, unsettled and feeling more and more certain he’d forgotten something vital. Whatever it was simply would not shake loose. He picked up the menu and scanned through it. He wasn’t hungry. The feeling that he’d forgotten something continued to nag at him.

She dropped her hand to the table and an uncertain expression flashed across her face. He set the menu back on the table and braced himself. “Wow.” She shook her head. “I didn’t expect this to be awkward.”

“Which means, exactly?” Wrong. Wrong thing to say. Wrong way to say it.

“You can’t even look me in the face.”

“I’m sorry.” He let out a breath and couldn’t get over his uneasiness.

“Look, it was one night. We don’t have to do it again.” Her big eyes stayed on his face, solemn. “No pressure, Harsh. I wanted what happened, I wouldn’t mind if it happened again, but if that’s got you worked up, it’s okay.”

He didn’t say anything. She was breaking his heart. She really was. He did not want to feel like this. Not regretful about the sex, even though he should be. Regretful that she was pulling away so quickly.

“And now we’re done talking about it.” She smiled at him, and his heart twisted in his chest, and along with that twinge of regret, he knew he was making a mistake, letting her think he had any kind of a problem with what they’d done.

“That’s not it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand. “We did it. It was fantastic. You’re still my friend, and I won’t forget what you did for me.” She bowed her head and pressed three fingers to her forehead.

He pinned her hand to the table, a quick, instinctive reaction. The creeping sense that he wasn’t who he thought he was scooped him hollow. “Don’t. Do
not
do that. Not to me.”

“Why not?” She drew back her hand, and there was a challenge there. He could no more stop that leap of recognition than he could stop breathing. His chest vibrated with a reaction to what she was and to the fact that he’d been all over her last night. What the hell had him so far off his game?

“I know what you are,” he said.

“A fucked up girl who’s sometimes afraid to go outside? Who thinks every man who looks at her sideways is another monster trolling the streets for the perfect mark?”

“A warlord. A woman I respect and admire. You shouldn’t abase yourself like that. Not ever. To Nikodemus, yes. But not me.”

“You’re the reason I’m alive. Not Kynan. Well, a little because of Kynan, but that was after. And definitely not Nikodemus.”

“I did what was right and necessary.”

“You didn’t have to. I mean, you did because you’re you. But someone else might have done what was easy.” She leaned toward him and touched her forehead again. “How else am I supposed show my gratitude and respect? How else am I supposed to make sure you understand that I know I owe you my life.”

“Not like that.”

“Then what?” She leaned back, exasperated, and all around the edges and in the air between them, he reacted to her. It was all he could do to keep his fingers away from his forehead. “Blow job?”

The waiter came to the table, pen and tablet poised. There was no question he’d heard those two little words, and if the circumstances had been different, Harsh might have thought it was funny. The waiter ran through the specials with remarkable aplomb, but his smile tried a little too hard. “The salmon is particularly good tonight. Are you ready to order yet or do you need more time?”

“Thank you.” He stifled the urge to explain he was not involved with this unduly young and attractive woman. Despite the fact that he was passing at the moment, he picked up enough of the waiter’s mental state to know that’s what he thought. An older man stepping out to indulge a sexual kink with a woman several years too young for him. In his human form, he was too ethnic, and she was too white American of European descent to think anyone would take them for relatives. “Do you need a few minutes, Addison?”

“I’m good.” She ordered from the lowest price range of the menu. The waiter marked his pad of paper, then said with bright hope, “Wine?”

“No.” If she got carded, his humiliation was going to be complete. He was young enough that his chronological age was not far out of synch with his apparent age. But mid thirties was a lot older than her twenty-two or twenty-three or whatever the hell age she was now. “Thank you,” he said, slower this time. “But no.”