Tiger Eye (25 page)

But still … still, she could see the bodies, the blood. Violence, sprayed against her walls. Her home would never feel the same.

“He’s sweating bullets,” she said, holding one up for them to see. They stared at her, and then the bullet, until Dean suddenly blanched and scrunched up his face.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s gross.”

Dela nodded. There really was no way to disagree. It
was
gross.

“Dean and I are going to take the bodies away,” Artur said mildly, still looking at the bullet in her hand. “We will be gone for most the night, but this is something we must do before light. I do not think you have anything to worry about.”

“Um, sure.” Dela took a deep breath. Dean patted her arm.

“Nothing to feel bad about, Dela. It was us or them, and the first law of survival: Always choose yourself.”

She nodded, not entirely comforted, but willing to believe her friends harbored no regrets or resentment.

“Blue called me,” Dean said, as she walked the men to the remains of her door. “Eddie is going to be fine. They had to file a police report, but everyone believed their story, especially when they dropped your name and their connections to Dirk & Steele.”

“It’s amazing what a good reputation can buy,” Dela mused.

“A good reputation is priceless,” Artur observed, pulling his gun from its holster. He handed it to Dela, safety off.

“You remember our lessons?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good,” he said wistfully.

And then they were gone.

It was impossible to stay away from Hari, but there was that big broken door to consider, and no matter what Artur said, men had entered Dela’s home to kill her and her friends. Indeed, Artur passing over his gun did not inspire copious amounts of confidence in her own safety.

So, Dela darted from the bedroom to the living room, and back again, over and over, barely resting in one place before feeling the incessant urge to head to the other. She vomited
several times, thinking of the dead men. She was not terribly sorry they were dead, and that made her feel guilty.

It was exhausting, and when she finally heard Blue call her name as he stomped up the stairs, she almost cried with relief.

“How’s Eddie?” she asked, meeting him at the door and handing over Artur’s gun. Blue frowned, clicking on the safety.

“Eddie’s fine. Just needed some stitches. He wanted to come back with me, but the nurses wouldn’t let him. You, apparently, are now his hero. He thinks you’re the best thing since Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

Dela blushed. “Eddie’s pretty nifty, too. You should have seen him, Blue. He acted like a pro.”

“So did you.” He gave her a speculative glance. “You’ve gotten more powerful, Dela. I know only one person who can stop a bullet with his mind, but that was after years of meditation and practice.”

“You’re talking about Michael, right? He’s getting ready to retire, last I heard.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. It’s just … desperation can do wonders.” Dela grabbed a can of ginger ale from the refrigerator. Her mouth tasted bad. She did not want to think about this.

“It can’t do
that
much,” he muttered, gesturing for a beer. She handed him one, and he leaned against the counter. There were circles under his eyes; he looked rumpled and tired, his long black hair coming loose from its tie. Dela had a feeling she looked a whole lot worse. She hadn’t had time yet to change her clothes, which were covered in Hari’s blood.

“I wasn’t really thinking clearly when I did it,” Dela confessed. “I felt the bullet leave the gun, recognized the metal casing inside my head, and just told it to … stay.”

“Stay?”

“Stay.”

Blue frowned. “We should run some experiments. You’ve always been sensitive to metal, more familiar with it. Maybe that familiarity made it easier for your mind to hold on to the bullet.”

“Cool,” she said, although she felt anything but. She had enough on her plate without her psi-powers doing unexpected things—even if they were
good
unexpected things. She held the cold can of ginger ale against her neck. “Let me ask you something, Blue. Did you ever imagine your life could get so weird?”

Blue smiled. “This is sane, Dela.” When her eyebrows shot up, he laughed. “No, it really is. I’ve got friends I don’t have to hide from, I’m helping people, saving lives, getting the bad guys. As far as I’m concerned, this is it. The Dream. So what if things get dicey every now and then. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Dela opened her mouth, but the words that sprang to mind didn’t seem adequate. Instead, she kissed Blue on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said, as he blinked back surprise. “I needed to hear that.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling. “Now go and check on your Hercules. Dean called as I was leaving the hospital. Said your man was spitting out bullets.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dela said. “Thanks for being such a good friend, Blue.”

“Back at you,” he said, saluting her with his beer.

Dela padded back to her room, carefully opening her bedroom door. Hari still lay on the bed, covered in blood. Bullets rested on the surface of his chest and stomach.

He opened his eyes.

“Delilah,” he whispered, his naked relief a mirror of her own. He closed his eyes as Dela sat beside him. They did not speak.

“I had no idea,” he finally said, very softly. “Such weapons make men like me unnecessary.”

Dela shook her head, though Hari’s eyes were still closed and he could not see her. Cupping his face in her hands, she ignored the scent of blood and kissed his lips. “You are not a weapon. You are a man. A good man. You could never be unnecessary.”

Hari smiled. He ran his fingers through Dela’s loose hair, and then hesitated, as though realizing the gruesome quality of his skin. He tried sitting up, and bullets rolled off his body, clanking, ringing dully against the floor. Dela pressed her hands against his shoulders.

“I need to bathe,” he said, and then stopped, choking. “Delilah. You are covered in blood.”

“Your blood,” she quickly said. “Remember?”

Hari nodded, but his eyes were haunted.

“That man used his weapon against you. I thought I would be the one to die when I saw that. I could not move quickly enough to stop him.” Hari wrapped one mighty hand around Dela’s wrist, drawing her palm to his cheek. “I believed myself strong, so fine a warrior those men would fall to me before they could hurt you or Eddie. Arrogant, Delilah. I was too arrogant. I never realized how lax my skills have become.”

“It’s been a long time since you cared who lived or died.”

“True,” he breathed. “We are both fortunate you were able to save yourself, and Eddie.”

“I stopped the bullet.” The words were whispered.
I stopped a bullet.

Hari’s gaze traced the lines of her face, searching. “If that is what it is called, then yes, you did. A remarkable act, Delilah.”

“It wasn’t enough to help you.” She choked on the words. “All my promises … I’ve broken them all. You’ve suffered so much pain since you met me.”

Hari touched her mouth, gentle. “No. Every day I would do this, if it kept you safe. There is joy in these sorrows, Delilah. So much joy, because we are together, because you are my true
friend. It is as I have said: A little pain is a small price to pay, compared to the alternative.”

“A little pain?” A sob burst from Dela’s throat and she buried her face against his filthy shoulder. Hari raised her up so he could look into her eyes; he kissed her lips, her cheeks. He tasted her tears.

“I am with you,” he whispered.

So much in those four words. So much to live for, to take joy in. Dela tried to smile through her tears, and found it not so difficult. Hari laughed, and gently pushed her away from him. He rolled off the bed, bullets scattering like beads.

“I belong in a charnel house, not a beautiful woman’s bed. I need to bathe.”

“Well,” Dela said, still sniffling, following him as he staggered into her bathroom, “you
are
on the smelly side, but at least you’re not leaking anymore.”

“A very good thing,” Hari agreed. He seemed to have some difficulty bending over, and Dela squeezed past him, working the knobs until the showerhead began blasting out hot water. Hari dropped his towel.

Dela blushed. She had seen him naked before, but the lights were bright, and his comfort with her felt all the more intimate for its casualness. Hari caught her staring, and the heat of his gaze aroused her even more. He stepped close, partially erect, thick and heavy. Dela met his eyes with some difficulty.

“Do you know,” he said, advancing on her with graceful menace, “that I have not yet seen your body? You are obsessed with concealing yourself—and me.”

Dela found it difficult to breathe. The sink pressed against her back.

“You’re not concealed now,” she managed.

Hari’s answering smile was predatory, sensual. His large, elegant hands, which she knew had killed countless men in battle—and
one for her tonight—tenderly traced her collarbone. He ran his knuckles against the swell of her breasts—lower still, against her stomach, until his fingers found the hem of her shirt. He tugged upward, slowly, revealing inch by inch her creamy flesh until her arms were stretched high, breasts firm and taut beneath his golden gaze.

“Ah.” Hari sighed, pulling the shirt over her head. Before she could drop her arms, he caught her wrists with one giant hand. He cupped a breast with the other, and Dela trembled against him, her vision going dark with desire. Everything inside her felt open to Hari—her vulnerability, her passion, her love.

“I will never hurt you,” Hari murmured, dipping his head to taste her mouth. “I will be with you always, Delilah. You own me, heart and soul, regardless of any curse.”

Just words, but from Hari they sang with truth. He released her wrists and she immediately pressed herself to his naked body, ignoring the blood, the stench of death. She clutched his back and lifted her face, words spilling hoarse and full from her lips.

“I love you, Hari. I don’t know how or when it happened, but I can’t help it. I’m yours. All of me, yours.”

Hari froze, and then let out a long sigh that seemed to take years from his face. “I think,” he said, very carefully, “that if we can move past murder and magic, and the crowd of men still in your home, we will be very happy together.”

Dela laughed, scrunching up her nose. “Go on, get in that shower.”

“Not without you,” he said, working on her pants. She squealed, for a moment unmindful of anyone who might hear. Hari stripped off her pants with a sultry charm that left her grinning and breathless.

He sighed appreciatively, gold sparking in his eyes. Pressing his lips to her stomach, he lightly trailed his fingers from her
delicate ankles up to her thighs. And then, in one blindingly fast movement, he straightened and lifted her in his arms. He stepped into the tub and hot water coursed down their bodies.

They kissed for a time, dazzling each other with the flames their lips and tongues could conjure, bodies licked with heat and soul-deep hunger. And then, slowly, hands gentle upon each other, they spread soap on skin, and washed away sweat and blood, the taint of loneliness.

“I suppose we’re still waiting until the guests leave,” Dela said, fingers tracing the air around Hari’s erection.

“Do not tempt me,” he growled. “I want the moment to be perfect, without … witnesses.”

Dela grinned, lifting her hands. “Fine. I guess I’ll just be getting out now—”

Hari grabbed her hands, leaning down to kiss her so deeply she saw stars. “Go,” he ordered when he released her, his voice low and rough. His eyes glowed. “Go, before I do something we will both enjoy.”

She left, but not before teasingly trailing her fingers down the length of his erection. He was still growling when she exited the bathroom.

The phone rang and Dela ran into the living room, buttoning a pink blouse, wet hair trailing down her back. The curtains had been raised, and the sky blushed lavender, with a hint of morning rose.

Blue winked at her and answered the phone.

“It’s for you,” he said after a moment. “Someone named Kit.”

Dela smiled. Kitala Bell was one of Dela’s few girlfriends, a young woman who was beginning to make a name for herself through her prodigious fiddling. They had met at a gallery opening two years past, and hadn’t stopped talking since.

“Hey,” said Dela, taking the phone.

“Who was that?” Kit asked. “New boyfriend? He sounds hot.”

Dela laughed, and Kit began shushing her. Too late. “His name is Blue, he’s not my boyfriend, and he is quite hot.”

Blue gave her a thumbs-up sign from the couch.

“I’m going to get you for that,” Kit said. “But before my revenge descends upon you and your heirs, maybe you would like to explain what you’re doing back from China? I was just going to leave a message on your machine. In fact, why are you up so early? It’s not even six in the morning.”

Dela was a notoriously late riser, while Kit always rolled out of bed before sunrise. Of course, Kit was also the type of person who poured a gallon of hot coffee down her throat ten minutes after opening her eyes. Which probably explained why she sounded so damn cheerful.

She also didn’t have two men killed in her living room last night.

“I cut the China trip short because I … well, I sort of met someone. Which is the other reason I’m up so early.”

Dela winced as a high-pitched squeal emerged from the earpiece. Blue was silently laughing, and Dela gave him the finger.

“Girl, you found a man? It’s about time. What’s he like?”

Dela looked up just as Hari walked out of the bedroom. He was wearing jeans, and little else. His muscles rippled with liquid grace, his tanned skin flawless despite the scars burned deep into his chest. His eyes were haunting.

“Dela? You’re awfully quiet. Is he standing right there or something?”

“Or something,” she breathed, and then snapped back to attention when she heard a badly concealed giggle.

“All right,” Kit said, and Dela could hear her smile through the phone. “You don’t have to describe him to me while he’s in the same room. But I
am
putting on a show tonight in the city, and you’re welcome to bring your new man, and that
other
cute guy. Bluuue.”