Through a Crimson Veil (7 page)

When she realized she was checking his bottom drawer for tabbed folders, she stopped short. Setting up this office wasn’t her job—finding that incantation was, and although she didn’t want to locate it immediately, she’d given her word.

She returned to sorting, thinking about her task. The plan was, she’d give the spell to the Council so they could destroy it. She wasn’t naive; she knew that if they could use it to gain more power, the Council members would. But no full-blooded demon could wield it—that was part of the legend. And since they couldn’t cast it themselves, the Council wanted the incantation eliminated.

She finished with the pile, then slid the drawer all the way out and turned it upside down. There was nothing attached to the bottom, and tapping revealed no hidden compartments. She put it back and arranged the papers inside as she’d found them.

Nothing turned up in any of the other desk drawers either. Pushing the chair back, she crawled on the floor and examined the desk’s underside—she even felt along the back. Not a damn thing.

She emerged from beneath the desk and eyed the shelving unit. There had to be a thousand books jammed in there, and she’d have to glance through each and every one. She was bored, sweaty, and the last thing she wanted was to go through every one of those tomes. Mika perused the titles. Some had nothing written on the spine, but of the ones that did, about half dealt with demonology.

She’d already spent four and a half hours digging through Conor’s things, and had discovered nothing. Well, nothing except the fact that the man didn’t throw papers away and didn’t have a filing system. Mika shook her head and laughed. She’d bet McCabe would be shocked to his core to discover a demon who wanted to rearrange his file cabinets. That was the ultimate in evil, she knew.

Deciding she’d feel more like tackling the bookcase after a short break, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and turned on the light. It made her feel vaguely uncomfortable to stand there, fully illuminated. The windows didn’t have any kind of curtain or blind, and anyone lurking outside would see her clearly. It was silly, paranoid—who would be watching her? Did she believe his earlier suggestion that she was the one being targeted? No. But her laugh was uneasy, unamused.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the orange juice. Lifting the container, she knew it was nearly empty and decided not to bother with a glass. Her head was back and the carton almost vertical when she felt it: Someone
was
out there. Mika started and juice soaked the front of
her shirt. Ignoring it, she dropped to the floor—right into a puddle of juice. She didn’t bother to swear, but reached out magically and turned off the lights.

She tried to focus outside, but her night vision was impaired from the earlier light. Damn it, she hadn’t needed the overhead on, she could see as well in the dark as with the lights on, but flipping the switch was a human habit she’d never broken.

Extending her senses, Mika tried to read the watcher’s energy. He was cloaked in invisibility, but that cloak wavered—the same as she’d felt last night when she and McCabe were under observation. What were the odds that there were two different people who couldn’t hold a shield while watching her? Slim—she’d bet on it.

There hadn’t been any heated animosity earlier, and she needed to know if that had changed. She reached out again, but it was distaste she sensed, not hatred. Of course, she was making a huge leap and maybe a foolish one. There didn’t have to be rage for this watcher to kill; that had been a hole in her logic yesterday. If Conor hadn’t been so furious with her, he probably would have pointed it out right then and there.

At least the protection around his home was holding. It was barely discernible, but she thought she had its signature now. Mika turned her attention back to the watcher.

“Who are you?”
she asked and held her breath. If he heard, he chose not to answer.

She needed to figure out as much as she could. This wasn’t a demon, she was sure. As she’d told Conor, only one very young would be unable to hold his cloak, and this wasn’t a child.

So vampire, werewolf or sensitive—which was it?

When her eyes adjusted, she shifted into a crouch and carefully crept to the window. Scanning the scrub-filled land behind Conor’s house, she didn’t see anyone. Of course, her field of view was restricted, not only by the overgrown bushes at the back of the property line, but by
her position in the house. She debated moving to check from some other vantage points, but decided not to. Maybe the peeping tom would grow impatient and give himself away; she simply had to wait.

For more than half an hour she knelt on the floor and watched, but while she felt the presence from time to time and knew he was directly across from the window, she never saw him. Restlessness gnawed at her, and it became more difficult to remain still. The thought of going outside for a confrontation was tempting, but she decided that would be precipitous.

She continued to bide her time until she felt McCabe approach. Then the observer changed position. Mika’s heart froze, resumed beating in double-time. It was difficult to be sure with the energy fading in and out, but she thought the spy was moving to intercept Conor. She had to do something.

Mika raced to the front of the house, and for a split second she hesitated. McCabe would have a fit if she went outside, but she had to warn him. To hell with it.

She threw open the door as Conor turned into the yard. His scowl was immediate. “Get back in the house,” he said. Despite his quiet voice, she heard his anger.

Realizing the brightness from within the house silhouetted her, she telekinetically turned off all the lights, but she didn’t go inside. Conor’s expression became fiercer, and she knew there would be hell to pay later. Ignoring that, she reached out to find the watcher. She couldn’t locate him, but something pulled at her senses.

Mika tensed, caught the vaguest sense of motion.

She went from zero to warp speed in a nanosecond and tackled Conor to the ground. He rolled, covering her body, and they both watched a glowing streak flash through the night, slicing directly through the space where he’d been standing.

She’d been wrong. The stalker was a demon.

But things were even worse than that. Even among the
darkest of demons, only a few were able to wield auric killing energy. And those few performed one job and only one job: Assassin.

Which meant someone wanted Conor dead.

She had to get him inside. “We need to move.”

“I know. Stay behind me,” he replied.

He was the one in danger, but she remained quiet; Mc-Cabe wouldn’t let her shield him, and arguing about it would only keep them outside longer.

When he shifted into a crouch, she did exactly as he’d ordered. The sight of a gun in his hand startled her. Conor should know that demons weren’t affected by bullets. His other arm went around her waist and he hauled her to her feet.

He didn’t let go of her. Keeping his body between her and the assassin, he propelled her toward the house. She didn’t resist, not wanting to give him any reason to slow down. Mika wanted him out of the line of fire. When her heel hit the bottom stair and she started to fall, Conor tightened his hold and nearly dragged her into the house.

The door closed behind him, and he holstered his weapon. “What the hell were—You’re hurt. How bad?”

She followed his gaze. It was only then that Mika realized she was bleeding.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I know it stings.”

Mika frowned, but Conor bent his head to dab at her leg. She sat on the coffee table—too sticky and dirty to sit on the sofa—and McCabe knelt in front of her, administering first aid. “It’s barely more than a few scrapes from the concrete. They’ll heal within a few hours. There’s no need to do thissss.” Her last word came out a hiss as he found a deeper laceration.

“Who would have guessed that a demon would be such a baby about antiseptic?” he jibed. She snarled, but Mc-Cabe ignored her and kept cleaning the wounds.

“This is a waste of time,” she said.

“No, it’s not. You’ve got dirt in there. You’ll heal better if I get it out.”

Since he sounded determined, Mika vowed to be tough. She wouldn’t let him think her weak, not over this. But as he scrubbed another of the deeper cuts, she inhaled sharply, her fingers curling around the edges of the coffee table.

Somehow, she needed to keep her mind off what Conor
was doing. She closed her eyes and replayed the ambush. Yeah, that would keep her thoughts occupied.

The attack had to be orchestrated by the Council. Bastards. They’d promised her they wouldn’t kill Conor, but if an auric assassin was involved, odds were good they’d sent it. Mika tried to remember the precise phrasing of the oath they’d given her. She was sure she’d covered every contingency.

But was it the Council? For one thing, she’d only been here a little over twenty-four hours. Even a strong demon couldn’t be expected to find the spell so quickly. And for another thing, they would never risk their magic by breaking a vow. There were other factions who might want Conor dead. She’d been assured that no one except a few high-level advisors were aware McCabe was thought to have the spell, but word might have spread. Information was power in Orcus and all loyalties were for sale.

She sighed silently. The rats’ nests of alliances among demons were always troublesome. Weaker branches regularly gave their oaths to stronger ones for protection. All it took was one word in the wrong place and a secret was compromised.

Mika reached out and ran her hand through Conor’s hair. With his close call so fresh, she needed to touch him. He froze and shot her a questioning look. Smiling faintly, she rested her hand on his shoulder. After a moment, he glanced away and resumed his ministrations.

She had to think. What did she know about auric assassins? The answer wasn’t much—demon breeds never shared info about their talents. But she had a few facts. Only a handful of males from the five darkest groups were capable of wielding such energy.

And how many did she think there would be, all told? Mika rubbed her forehead with her free hand and tried to make an educated guess. Probably fewer than twenty, she speculated.

Conor interrupted her thoughts. “There, that should do it. Why don’t you go clean up?”

His voice made Mika slowly turn her head and meet his eyes. “He was after you, not me,” she said, ignoring his suggestion. She did want a shower, but there were more important things to take care of first. McCabe needed to understand the danger he was in, and she wasn’t sure he did. He was much too calm for a man who’d avoided death by a matter of seconds.

“We don’t know that,” he said.

“The hell we don’t!” Mika glared at him. “He was aiming for you.”

Conor took her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “What do you think would happen to you if I were killed? If he takes me out of the picture, the path to you is wide open. That’s the way assassins think. They prefer easier kills.”

For a moment, she merely stared at him. “How do you know it’s an assassin?”

“Come on, Mika.” Conor began to pull away, but she caught him and dug her fingers into his shoulders to keep him close. “Give me some credit. I’ve been around for a long time.”

Bullshit. He lived in the human world, he shouldn’t have a clue that the demon who’d shot at him was an assassin. But Mika opted not to question him about his knowledge; she might discover more by pretending to believe him. Not that he was lying, strictly speaking. She was sure every word he said was a hundred percent true. McCabe was such a boy scout, it was unlikely he’d tell an outright fib.

“You’re right,” she said. He looked smug until she continued, “I do need a shower.” Mika stood and stepped around him. The laugh she let escape while sauntering toward the bedroom was deliberate. Let him stew over that for a while.

Grabbing some clean clothes, she went down the hall to
the bathroom. She left the door open about six inches. It wasn’t precisely an invitation, but if he wanted to join her, she wouldn’t say no. Still, Mika doubted Conor would come in. He wasn’t at the breaking point. Yet. Her lips curved. She might have to give him a few more nudges.

His bathroom had an art deco look. The ceramic tiles were a warm coppery-brown color, and the vanity was a few shades darker. Rising up from the tub was a decorative curved wall with a stripe down the center that made her think of water. The shower was separate, the floor inlaid with small tiles in a pattern that complemented the retro feel.

Mika’s eyes narrowed. There was definitely a woman’s influence in the decor. No way did any guy, especially one like Conor, buy a mirror with a design etched into the corner, or a window with a frosted ocean wave on one side. Jealousy burned in her, and Mika tried to push it aside. This possessiveness was associated with the vishtau. She knew that, but it didn’t help.

She started the shower. Whoever the woman was who’d helped McCabe pick out the tile and fixtures, she was long gone. That was obvious, since her presence was notably absent in the other rooms. Besides, she didn’t matter; Mika was around now.

With a shimmy, Mika let her shorts drop to the floor and kicked them into the corner. Placing her clean clothes atop the hamper, she leaned forward to study her face in the mirror. There was a small cut on her left cheek that Mc-Cabe had missed swabbing with antiseptic. For a moment, Mika toyed with the idea of calling him and asking him to clean it, but decided that was too much—it would be gone in a few hours, anyway. But the laceration was a reminder of how dangerous the situation was.

When she’d taken this assignment, Mika had never dreamed she’d end up playing bodyguard to a man who was half Kiverian. Despite the oddity of someone as weak
as herself protecting a much darker demon, she’d do it. No one would hurt McCabe, not if she could prevent it. Not the damn Council, not any other faction, and most definitely not the shooter.

Mika snorted. Yeah, right,
she
was going to defend
him
from an auric assassin? Demons a lot less powerful than that could kick her ass. She shook her head. There were ways other than confrontation to keep Conor safe, and she’d have to rely on those.

Steam billowed out of the shower and she stepped back from the vanity. Tugging her shirt over her head, she tossed it near her shorts and shed the rest of her clothes. When she got in, the hot water felt good and she let it sluice down her body and relieve her tension. She only allowed herself a few minutes before reaching for the shampoo.

As she scrubbed her hair, Mika noticed how her things were intermingled with Conor’s. Her shampoo and conditioner sat on the ledge next to his. Her soaps rested against his bar in the shower caddy. There was an intimacy to the way their personal items had become tossed together and, no doubt, that familiarity would drive McCabe nuts. She laughed quietly.

After rinsing out the suds and conditioning her hair, Mika worked on getting the rest of the dirt off her body. With a sigh, she straightened, then froze. She heard something. Cocking her head, she listened intently. Then she made a guess as to what was going on. That son of a bitch. And after she’d saved his life, too!

As quietly as she could, Mika stepped out of the shower. She left the water running. Quickly, she dried off, then wrapped the towel around her. It barely covered the essentials, but that didn’t bother her. Conor, however, would be affected.

Since the bathroom door was already ajar, she didn’t have to do more then ease it slowly open. She knew how to move without making a sound, and she used that skill as
she walked down the hall to the bedroom. Yep, she’d read the noise exactly right.

Mika stood in the doorway and watched Conor search her things. He was fast, he was silent and he was careful—just not fast, silent or careful enough.

It was impossible to be offended by his lack of trust. She had searched his desk earlier, and she herself was lying to him. He was smart not to put his faith in her. But that didn’t mean she was going to let this go. As he opened the second dresser drawer—the one she’d appropriated without permission—she knew the perfect opportunity was fast approaching. She bit her lip to prevent a laugh from escaping.

He went through the half that held her socks first, and Mika rolled her eyes. If he planned to do a thorough search, he was merely delaying the inevitable. But that was no big surprise. He was resisting the need to mate with her.

Finally, Conor moved to the other side of the drawer. He gingerly removed each piece of lingerie and set it down on top of the dresser. She waited until he was holding a tiny pair of lime green, lacy panties before she called out, “First women’s wrestling, now a panty fetish? McCabe, you
are
a pervert!”

His expression was priceless, but it didn’t last long. A neutral mask settled over his face. With a smirk, Mika sashayed into the room, not stopping until she had invaded his personal space.

“What were you planning to do with those?” She trailed her fingers over the hand clutching her underwear. “Were you going to use them while you indulged in self-pleasure, or were you thinking about wearing them?”

“Mika,” he growled in warning, but she was close enough to see the flush beneath his tan.

“Don’t you think I have the right to ask what you’re doing with my panties?” she asked. She slid her fingers through his till their hands meshed in her silky lingerie.

He bent forward so he could scowl in her face, but Mika wasn’t intimidated.

“Maybe you’d rather I lose the towel and put them on myself,” she said. “Then you could tug this out of the way”—she hooked her finger in the gusset of the panties, pulling the fabric to one side—“and slide inside me.” Mika let her lashes drop and ran her tongue over her upper lip. “Mmm, I think I’d like that too.”

“Will you stop that?” he said. He tried to take a step back, but the dresser was in the corner and there was nowhere for him to go. Mika edged forward, pressing her breasts against his forearm.

“I suppose a thing for panties isn’t that kinky, and if this is what it does to you”—she put her palm on the front of his jeans and stroked his erection—“then I can live with it.”

His hand covered hers, stopping her from continuing her motion, but he didn’t pull her free. She squeezed him and saw the color burn brighter in his irises. Mika squeezed it again, heard the change in his breathing, and when his hold loosened, she resumed caressing him.

“How do you want me?” She wasn’t calm herself, and the more she touched him, the more she wanted him. He’d feel so good moving inside her—she just knew it. “Against the wall? Or would you rather have me leaning over the dresser?”

Conor blinked, and she saw him rein himself in. She nearly groaned aloud. It didn’t surprise her when his hand captured hers again and removed it from his pants.

“You left the water running,” he rasped.

“What?”

“You’re wasting water. Turn the shower off.”

Mika didn’t have to go anywhere to do that. She reached out mentally and stopped the flow. “I’d ask if you were happy now, but we both know you’re not. Nothing except your body shuddering inside mine is going to satisfy you. Trust me.”

He pivoted, caging her in the corner, and growled. It
was purely the sound of a frustrated demon male, but she didn’t tell him that. The situation was much too volatile at this moment for her to goad him. He might not realize how dangerous he was right now, but she did. Conor wouldn’t hurt her, she trusted that, but nothing good would come from too much pressure.

Though she didn’t do it often, Mika backed down and dropped her eyes. It was a submissive gesture, one his Kiverian instincts would read and accept even if his human side was unaware.

“No,” he said, and his finger went under her chin, carefully tipping her face up until their gazes met. “I’m not happy.”

Before she could say anything, his mouth brushed over hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss. For an endless moment, they stared at each other, then Conor took a step away and strode out of the bedroom.

Mika raised her fingers and touched her tingling lips. Something had just happened. She wasn’t sure exactly what, but his actions had left her feeling off-balance and confused. McCabe had turned the tables, and Mika didn’t like it.

It was ten A.M., and though she’d been in bed for a couple of hours, Mika couldn’t sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw that streak of energy headed toward Conor. It easily could have killed him. What if she hadn’t sensed it? What if she hadn’t been fast enough? What if the assassin had fired again? Rumor had it that some of them could shoot that killing bolt twice.

Conor was as restless as she. Mika heard him moving in the other room, trying to get comfortable. Demons could go indefinitely without rest, but their powers declined as fatigue increased. And with their human genes, she and Conor would be affected more quickly. They both needed to sleep.

Mika sighed and rolled onto her side. She was too aware
of him. Despite the room-darkening blinds, she could see him clearly whenever she looked through the open door. The mid-morning noise outside the house seemed remote, but she could hear every breath he took. In one day Conor McCabe had become important to her, and she felt as if she’d known him forever. It was tied to the vishtau, but there was more than that. There was a lot about this man that she liked. That she’d liked since reading his file. He was honorable and intelligent, kindhearted—but with an edge that made him sexy as hell.