Touched With Sight (7 page)

“He's only thirteen, you son of a bitch.”

His fingers were toying with the straps of her tank top.

“Then I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your hands where I can see them.”

She gave him a flat, unimpressed look.

“That means 'hands,'” he added. “If you attempt to Change or run away, I will deal with you very harshly. After I deal with your family first.”

“
Fine,” she said coldly. “Whatever you want.”

She figured whatever he was planning for her, it couldn't possibly be worse than torture. He thought he was intimidating—but he had nothing on the males of her kind, especially the wolves. His hands slid down her arms to latch firmly around her wrists, which he held at her side.

“Anything?”

Let go of me
, she urged him silently.
Just for one second. Let down your guard. I'll tear you apart.

She could have broken free from him, easily, but there didn't seem to be much point.

Not yet.

She could bide her time with the best of them.

Keeping her face empty, blank, she returned his gaze levelly.

“
What if I want you?” the witch persisted.

This illicit confession should have startled her, but it didn't. She would have to be blind to miss the way he looked at her. The way he had touched her as she slept. She'd heard of witches who were sexually attracted to shape-shifters. They tended to be part of groups that eroticized pain and death.

Catherine set her jaw, refusing to betray her thoughts. If this witch really was a Council member, as he claimed, that spelled out scandal, and it wouldn't do to let him know that she'd come to the same conclusion as he had, lest he take comprehension for agreement.

“
Me,” she said flatly.

“
Don't misunderstand,” he said coolly. “I feel no affection for your kind.”

“
Of course not,” she said. “You just want to fuck me.”

She expected him to flinch. But beneath the facade of prissy official was a core of solid steel. The witch continued to meet her eyes until she was almost tempted to look away. She didn't, though. “That's why you're here?” When no answer was forthcoming, she prompted, “Witch?”

“No. I require you for other things. Infiltration. This artifact.”

“
So you thought you could shit and eat at the same time. How disgustingly convenient.”

She had never bought into the purity myth, of the idea that a woman was only as valuable as her innocence was intact. She might have even considered accepting the offer if she was sure it would really prove an end to her problems. But it wouldn't. Catherine was sure it wouldn't.

If she did sleep with him, one of two things would happen. He would realize it was a mistake, and allow her to disappear in order to keep his secret. Or, he would act as if he owned her, and make her life a different sort of hell. Neither of which she wanted.

And then there was the fact that he had
fucking sneaked into her bedroom in the middle of the night to watch her sleep—and then threatened her little brother
.

Her expression must not have been flattering. His eyes narrowed.

“That isn't an answer,” he said, in a tone that made her certain her decision was the right one.

“
Fuck off,” she said, and while her tone was pleasant, she spoke it through clenched teeth.

The witch's lip curled a little. As if he found her basely amusing. But she remembered his eyes in the gully and thought he might be trying to keep his temper in check instead.

“You have no respect.”

“
Only when it's deserved.”

“
It is an honor to be chosen as an instrument of the Council.”

“
You mean a pawn in whatever scheme you and your people are brewing?”

Another layer of coldness entered his eyes. “You think you can do better? You're a shape-shifter. An animal. A savage. Nothing. You will be fortunate if you live to see your thirtieth birthday. I suggest you ground your aspirations, lest you end up dead in a gutter somewhere.”

He wasn't angry that she was refusing to help him in his capacity as a member of the Council, no. He was angry that she wouldn't sleep with him. If the situation hadn't been so pathetic, she might have laughed in his face—but he would almost certainly kill her then. Catherine crossed her arms and squared her shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“
Are you holding a torch for your mate?” he continued, ruthlessly. “By now, the worms have started feasting on his flesh. Of course, your kind prides itself on strength, and he couldn’t have been so powerful if he allowed himself to be captured so easily—”

“
Nobody said he was
dead
.” She struck him. She'd been aiming for his eye, but he turned his head at the last instant. Livid marks appeared in his pale skin: three parallel lines filled with blood. She'd just barely grazed him with her pinky, and that had left a mark like a tear beneath his left eye.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the witch touched two fingers gingerly to his cheek to study the blood beading at the tips.

“Well,” he said quietly. “Now it seems I have to teach you a lesson.”

She retreated backwards a few steps, horrified by what she'd done and sick with anger and guilt. She nearly upset her music stand, which she struggled to right before it could fall to the floor with a clatter. She was putting space between them so she could attack and parry as necessary. Her roving gaze meant she was searching for something as a weapon and was not indicative of subservience, as he seemed to think.

“Get out,” she said again, without fire.

“
I could arrest you. But it's been a long night—and I'm bored.”

“
Read a book.”

His laugh was chilling. “I don't think so.”

The hiss of scraping metal filled the air. Against her will, her eyes gravitated towards him and she inhaled sharply. He had drawn a longsword, three and a half feet of wicked, gleaming steel. She stared unabashedly, wondering where he'd been keeping it—until she saw the decorated scabbard hanging at his hip from the metal chatelaine. How hadn't she noticed it before?

“
Do you know why the sword is considered such a formidable weapon?”

“
Because it's sharp?”

Catherine wasn't being entirely sarcastic. She remembered full well how dangerous that little knife of his had been. If this blade was also plated with silver, she was a goner.

“Because it contains three of the four elements,” he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, “A sword is a combination of fire and earth, forged together by heat and pressure to create metal, which is then quenched by water. As a result, the sword absorbs properties from each of the elements.” A dark, dangerous emotion shot through his eyes. “Rather like…me.”

“
Somebody threw you into a furnace and then stuck you into a barrel of water?”

“
Oh, we are witty, aren't we? Unfortunately for you, a sharp tongue is no match for a sharp sword.” He tossed the blade upwards, twisting his wrist a bit so that the sword spun in midair, before catching it expertly by the hilt in the opposite hand. “I suggest you rethink your weapon.”

It took her a moment to get the volume she wanted; her voice cracked with the effort of keeping it both soft and steady. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My kind has a special way of settling grievances. You and I are going to duel. You without your powers and me,” he continued imperiously, “without mine. Whoever draws blood three times is the victor, who will then have the ability to stake blood claim over the other.”

“
Blood magic is forbidden.”

“
Then it should be right up your alley.”

“
Fuck you. What kind of grievance could you possibly have against me?”

She wasn't expecting an answer. Not a real one anyway. But he surprised her.

“You compromised my mission, tarnishing my honor as a member of the Council. But more than that,” he took a step closer, “You wasted my time by making me chase you.”

“
I didn't ask to be chased.”

“
I was under the impression that passed for courtship among your kind.”

No
, she thought. “There's a difference between courtship and ownership. Between rough sex and rape. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? That's the thing about people like you. People with your…sickness. You know nothing of my kind, and yet you use it to make these bullshit apologist speeches, when really, the true savage—is
you
.”

Catherine sucked in a breath. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear.

“You come into my house—my territory—and threaten my family, insult me and the people I care about. You brandish your power like a child with a toy, and expect me to fall into bed with you like I'm a cowering dog rolling over on its back. And you wonder why we hate witches.” She snorted. “You couldn't find your dick in the dark, you scheming, sleaze-mongering scumwad. But then, that's why you have a sword, isn't it?”

He plunged his weapon into the floorboards, making her jump. “Choose. Your. Weapon.”

She had pushed him to the very limits of sanity. Not that it was much of a distance.

She grabbed the music stand she'd nearly knocked over earlier. She picked it up, testing the weight and feel of it in her hand. She could feel the green fire of the witch's gaze scorching her back as he watched her. She let her grip slacken a little. If she acted like an amateur, he might let down his guard. Predator was well schooled in drawing in the weak and unwary.

Doubtful, though. The witch knew what she was capable of. She'd been showing off in the gully when she'd shoved the knife into his mouth. It was clear now that that had been a mistake on multiple levels. Probably, she shouldn't have kicked him halfway across the room, either.

He moved closer, mirroring her steps with a litheness that reminded her of a jaguar on the prowl. She tightened her grip on the music stand, which she held out in front of her with both hands like a battle staff. Larger distances were dangerous, because it gave him a bigger attack radius. On the other hand, he'd do less damage to her body if she were farther away.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” the witch said softly.

A trickle of sweat raced down her back; it felt like ice. “Bring it.”

He struck like lightning.

Her only warning was a silver flash as the blade arced, catching the moonlight. She hopped to the side and parried him with the music stand. Sparks flew as the sharp blade sheared against the steel rod. One of the adjustment knobs came off. She heard it hit the floor and roll underneath the bookcase. Grunting, she took a step forward, and shoved him back.

He used the momentum to come at her again with a sideways swing. “Karen told me you don't fight much.” She had to bow backwards to avoid the heavy-handed swing aimed for her abdomen, and felt the displaced air ripple her clothing. “It shows.”

He's trying to provoke you. Don't fall for his tricks.

If he was already resorting to petty insults, maybe his bag of tricks was nearing empty.

Maybe
, Predator mused.
Maybe not.

  “
Does Karen always send you out to do her ba—attles?”

“
Karen is dead.” An undecipherable expression flickered across his face, disappearing too soon for speculation. “Or will be soon, if she isn't already. She was captured by the same group of Slayers who got your…David.”

His tone changed a little, meaningfully. She barely noticed. His words, and the fresh reminder of sorrow they brought, socked her like a punch to the gut.

Pain brought her back to reality.

She clapped a hand to her hip.

“First blood,” said the witch.

“
You distracted me.” What kind of creature used the death of his mate as a battle tactic?

Obviously, she never meant much to him.

She felt a grudging, wavering flicker of pity for Karen. But it quickly disappeared as her ex-mate bared his perfect teeth. “Pay attention, then.”

She wrenched off the topmost detachable part of the stand and hurled it at him like a grenade. It struck him squarely in the chest. He gave a satisfying grunt of pain as the pointy metal prongs jabbed his flesh. The stand fell to the floor with a jangle.

With one hand fisted against his ribs, he gave her a dark look. “What do you think you're doing? You have to draw blood to take claim, you foolish savage.”

“
I'm aware,” said Catherine, matching him tone for tone. “That was just for fun.”

He growled, dropping his hand back to his side, and lunged. She blocked him with the music stand just in time. There was a clang, and a snap. He'd cleaved the metal in two.