My Immortal Assassin (11 page)

He hauled himself closer, nearly blind with the desire to see the life fading from the mage’s eyes. Durian scrambled toward the road, intent on reaching Kessler before he finished whatever spell he was casting.

The mage spoke, raising his voice just enough to be heard. “You have two choices, fiend.”

Durian knew that voice, and he had to bury his reaction fathoms deep. After he’d regained his freedom, he’d spent months imagining all the ways he would kill the mage when he had the chance.

“Come after me.” Durian heard the smile in Kessler’s voice. “Or return to the witch. But not both. Which will you choose?”

He looked downhill and saw three more magehelds burst from the redwoods, racing along the path. Gray was below him, a quarter of the way up the hillside. She wasn’t fast enough to escape them. If he went after Kessler, those three would catch her, and he already knew they didn’t intend to kill her. Gray was capable, but this was her first encounter outside the do-jang. The smallest mistake would be deadly. Worse, these were not normal mageheld. Kessler had done some something profoundly and horribly wrong to their minds. Durian wasn’t even sure he could deal with them.

He leapt toward Gray and the magehelds speeding toward her.

Above him, the car door slammed over the churn of wheels against the pavement edge.

Gray reversed herself when Durian launched himself past her to intercept the first of new magehelds. He killed two with the same strike, but she got to him in time to take down the third with a clean touch that exploded the mageheld’s heart.

Durian’s chest bellowed in and out as he hovered between human and something else. He ignored the pain that ripped through him, furious in a way that he hadn’t felt in far too long. Not at Gray, but at mages who thought his kind were no better than animals to be killed.

“Durian?”

He reached for his control and found it. At last. “Yes?”

“You have blood here.” She touched the side of her forehead and made a face. “Is it yours?”

It was his blood, because his skin stung when he touched the spot she meant. His fingers came away smeared with red. His back, too, was scraped, and both knees. Nothing that wouldn’t heal before they made it back to the car. Gray wrapped her hand around his wrist.

Durian stilled.

She brought his fingers to her mouth. He shivered when she licked away the blood. His lips peeled back from his teeth, and the sound that came from him wasn’t human in any sense. Durian found it in him to take a step back. He didn’t like the way he felt right now—his rising sexual response, the burn of his oath to protect her, his desire to connect and fall into the shared mental space with her.

The inevitable aftermath of what they’d done here would hit them both, soon. “We need to get out of here.”

She released his wrist.

He did what was necessary with respect to the corpses of the magehelds they’d killed, though in any event without the magic that sustained them, their physical bodies would not last long. But the kin had learned from bitter experience never to take the chance that someone would steal such magic before it, too, was gone. Not ever. That lesson his kind had learned too well.

He and Gray began a lope through the woods. They could talk about what it meant that she could feel magehelds later. When he was sure they were both safe.

Right now, they weren’t. Not with Rasmus Kessler one of the mages intending to find out exactly who and what Gray was.

CHAPTER 12

Broadway near Baker Street, San Francisco

A
re you hungry?”

Gray yawned even though she was still jumpy from the fighting. Her need to protect Durian hadn’t yet receded, despite the danger being more or less past. He hadn’t been joking about the obligations of her oath. A human’s oath relied on honor and, she supposed, the punishment of a guilty conscience. Both could be powerful forces. She felt elements of both with Durian, but as she now understood, the moment Durian was in danger, she could no more have failed to attempt to protect him than she could have failed to breathe. Both were reflexes over which she had no control.

In her head, she continually replayed her touches as if her brain were stuck in an infinite loop. How she’d missed at first, what she could have done better. What would have happened if she’d failed.

The experience wasn’t anything she’d been prepared for. She’d
killed
to protect Durian. Compelled or not, those magehelds would have killed him. The very thought kept her edgy. The sound and feeling of the mageheld’s neck breaking wouldn’t go away. When she wasn’t getting flashbacks about that, she got them about the magehelds she’d killed with a touch of her magic. Killing shouldn’t be that easy. The fighting, that was hard, but once she pulled her magic the way Durian had so painstakingly taught her, killing was easy.

She knew she’d do it again, too, if required.

Durian put his arm around her shoulder. “Gray?”

She yawned again. His arm tightened around her, and she got another shot of adrenaline because she remembered what they’d been doing before the magehelds came after them. She got shivers in the pit of her stomach just thinking about the way he’d kissed her. Who’d have thought the original stuffed shirt could turn on the sexual heat like that?

“Ah,” he said. They were at the bottom of the stairs, not far from the doorway to the living room. His arm remained draped around her. “You are tired.”

Unlike humans and the magekind, demons did not sleep. “I still need a few hours.”

“A downside of your fealty to me.” His low voice reminded her of sex. Hot and wild sex. “There is a cost to everything.”

“At least I haven’t turned into some Renfro-like creature snacking on flies and saying ‘Yes, Master’.”

They looked at each other. With exhaustion pulling on her, she mentally checked out and stood there thinking his eyes were too pretty for words and that his mouth was drop-dead sexy. He blinked, and she came back with a shake of her head. She sighed. “Those magehelds were after me.”

“Yes.”

“You recognized the mage, didn’t you.”

“His name is Rasmus Kessler.”

“I thought for sure it was Christophe. Huh. Do you think he’s working with Christophe? Or was this just another day in the life of an assassin, and this Kessler person was just trying something?”

“Almost certainly he was working with Christophe.”

“Damn. Those mages get around, don’t they?”

Durian crossed his arms over his chest. “We have avoided the issue of the magic you took from Christophe.”

“Yes. Yes, we have.”

“That magic has been quiescent, and I allowed myself to think it was nothing we need be concerned with.” He fell silent again, and she had no idea what to make of the quiet. He was blocking himself, but he did that a lot. “It seems there is an unexpected benefit.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not.” His eyebrows drew together. “Quite the opposite. You felt the magehelds when I could not. That is a useful gift.”

She yawned again.

“If you are tired, you should sleep.”

“Or down six or seven shots of espresso.”

“There is an espresso machine in the kitchen.”

“Kidding about the coffee, Durian. All that would do is make me crash even harder.”

“How long since you last slept?”

She almost didn’t answer him. “A few days. I’m fine.”

He tilted his head slightly. “We’ll talk, Gray, after you’ve slept.”

“About what?”

“Killing.” He stopped and swung around so he faced her. His eyes raked her head to toe. “And other things.”

Gray swallowed. “Okay.”

He headed up the stairs. Since it was daytime, on the way she could see the jaw-dropping views from just about anywhere the house faced away from the street. The bay was impossibly blue today. They kept walking until they reached a door near the end of the hall. He touched a round, carved medallion on the wall by the doorjamb. A thread of magic leaked from it.

Gray’s eyes drooped closed, and she stood there thinking that when they got to the room she’d been crashing in next door to the do-jang, she’d just pass out on the bed with all her clothes on because she was too tired to change or even shower first.

“Gray?” He touched her shoulder.

“What?” She’d actually fallen asleep on her feet. Durian held the door open for her. She blinked a couple of times but couldn’t make the room look like the room she was expecting. “This isn’t my room.”

“No.” He touched her waist, and they walked inside.

The room turned out to be a suite. Her new sneakers, scuffed up from the hike and the fighting, looked shabby against the Persian rug that covered most of the floor. “Where is this?”

“My quarters.” He stayed close to her. “When I wish to be private.”

“Oh.” She thought about her old place, the one she’d never go back to. Her apartment had been full of secondhand furniture culled from flea markets and Craig’s List giveaways. In here, a hardwood floor shone wherever the rug wasn’t. A small but colorful abstract painting hung on the wall. Original and expensive, was her bet. Durian didn’t seem like the kind of guy to have a reproduction.

In this first room, the desk against the far wall was the antique kind with cubby holes and tiny drawers. Real wood. Not veneered particle board. No sidetables covered with a kicky shawl to hide the warped top. A leather jacket slung over the chair in front of the desk probably cost more than she used to spend on clothes in a year. To her right, an interior door opened into another room, but the lights were off in there.

Durian hung his keys on a brass hook by the door and closed the door behind them. He touched another wooden medallion small enough to fit on the door frame near the lock. The face carved in the center looked eerily real. For a minute, she was sure she saw it blink. She really needed some sleep. Durian, of course, didn’t need to sleep. None of the kin did.

Above the door frame were three more wooden medallions the size of her palm. The faces painted on them looked real, too. They must have something to do with magic because she was getting a vibration from them that reminded her of Durian.

“You can sleep in here,” he said after he’d walked to the desk and put his wallet on the polished surface. “For the time being.”

“Where?” She took in the room. She meant it as a joke, but she was too tired to make it come out right. “On the floor?”

Durian looked her up and down.

“Are you checking me out?”

She thought about what she must look like to him. Scrawny. Disaster-red hair chopped off without the aid of a mirror. Dirty and sweaty. Her jeans were a mess, and her new shirt had blood on it. If they ever ended up in bed, she was going to have to remind herself that she wasn’t his type or she’d end up hurt. Still, she liked the idea of having hot and sweaty sex with big, dangerous Durian.

“The shower is this way.” He walked past her to the open far door and reached in to turn on the light.

She went in after him. The walls here were a dark, dark matte red with crown molding shiny enough to be gold leaf. Lights glowed from recessed areas near the molding. More painted medallions were spaced every three or four feet on the molding. There was enough magic in them that she felt a ripple in the air when she came close.

She pointed at one, eerily convinced they were watching her when she wasn’t looking directly at them. “What are they?”

“An alarm system of sorts.” He’d been up there fighting, too. How did he manage to look like he’d just stepped off a modeling job for insanely hot men? What if he’d changed his mind about starting something physical with her? She knew for a fact that sex with a demon had its dangers for someone like her. He might not want that. Except, there was that scorching hot kiss… “They will prevent entry by almost anyone not authorized by me, or else make them wish they had not attempted. And inform me of an intruder’s presence.”

“Oh.”

He gazed at her. “They are a magical construct that can be defeated by anyone with sufficient power or motivation. But not without cost.” He thought about that. “So I like to flatter myself.”

“I love it when you get all paranoid on me.” She examined the wooden disks.

“The nature of my work for Nikodemus warrants caution.”

“True.”

“Gray.”

“What?” She went back to examining the medallions. She touched one with her fingertip. The surface felt hot. Inside the circle of wood, the carved face hissed, baring a tiny pair of fangs. “Mean little buggers, aren’t they?”

“They protect me.”

“You’d think they’d know I’m doing the same thing.”

“If they didn’t, Gray, you would have lost your finger just now.”

She turned around. “Whoa. You could have warned me.”

“The medallions pose no danger to you.”

“Is that so?” she asked.

He started to speak, then changed his mind. He lapsed into one of his infuriating silences. While he stood there, silent and brooding, he didn’t take his eyes off her. Silence got to be a habit after a while, and Durian, she was certain, had been in the habit of being silent for a long time.

“You’re not my type, either, you know, but if I was clean and even halfway awake, I’d jump your bones in a heartbeat.”

More silence. Except eventually he said, “Then we ought to remedy your situation, don’t you agree?”

“Right now, I’d agree to just about anything.” She pushed off the wall and jammed her hands into her back pockets. This time, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Their eyes met and she didn’t look away. Another shiver of arousal washed through her.

She walked into the room and took her time looking around. A wide stone table pressed up against one wall. A king-sized futon on a series of Japanese tatami mats was against the opposite wall. The floor in here was a bluish gray slate, which was rough under the soles of her sneakers. There was a gold duvet over the futon, but no pillows. Besides the door they’d come in, there were two more doors. Both closed. Her whole apartment would fit in just this one room.

She was definitely in the bat cave; the place to which Durian retreated when he wanted privacy. Like now. Privacy for two people.

He crossed to one of the interior doors and opened it to reach around and come back with a thick terrycloth robe. Even with the dim light, she could see that he’d opened a bathroom door. “If you’ll give me your clothes, I’ll have them washed while you are sleeping.” He took a step back. Then another, but he was looking at her with a hungry gaze that was melting her inside. “I’ll wait.”

She stuck her head in the bathroom and took a look around. Sandstone floor and walls, ochre-tiled sunken bathtub big enough for a couple of men Durian’s size, if you decided to soak instead of shower. The sink was a copper bowl atop a narrow bronze pedestal. The toilet was white. Back in the doorway, she said, “I could take a really quick shower.”

“The thought appeals, Gray. A great deal. However, my ego would never recover if you fell asleep while we were…”

“Getting to know each other?”

“Precisely.” He smiled and boy. Talk about heat. “I’ll wait for you, Gray.”

“You better.”

She went in and peeled off her clothes. Dirt cascaded from her jeans and from her shoes. The silence in here got to her. She felt as stripped away inside as she was physically. Her legs trembled and in her head she heard that mageheld’s neck breaking, felt the echo in her hands and arms.

The robe Durian had given her was several sizes too large for her, but she wrapped it around her as best she could and tied the sash before she brought out the bundle of her soiled clothes. She handed over her shoes, too, laces tied together.

After he took them from her, with one of his old-fashioned bows, he brushed a finger across her cheek. The tingle went straight to her belly. “You could take a shower with me.”

“Tempting.” His mouth curved. She closed her eyes and had to forcibly make them open again. He was still looking at her. “If I did that, Gray, you would not get the sleep you need.” He cocked his head. “Another time, perhaps?”

“Promise?”

He gave her a gentle push toward the bathroom door. “Go, before I change my mind.”

She needed a few minutes to figure out how to start the shower, but she managed it. It was much nicer than the one she’d been using and that one was pretty
chichi
. The hot water felt like heaven. She took her time getting clean. A few of her scrapes stung, but she healed quickly these days. None of the cuts and bruises would bother her for long.

When done, she stepped out, toweled off and put on Durian’s robe—it was so soft and thick she started plotting ways she could manage to never give it back. She wandered back to the bedroom. The stone floor was cool underneath her bare feet.

Despite the drag of exhaustion, she’d gone beyond tired and was now wide awake. There wasn’t much here. No television. No radio. No stereo that she could see. No clock. No gadgets that would link Durian to the twenty-first century. The walk-in closet didn’t have many clothes: just a suit, two pairs of trousers on hangers, some shirts, all in a palette of gray, black, brown, and dark blue. At least ten pairs of shoes were lined up in the closet, most of them dress shoes. Now that felt like pure Durian.

She wandered back to the bedroom and ended up in front of the photograph hanging over the stone table. The Icelandic poppy looked too large for its spindly stem but you could see how the sun streamed through the petals and made them glow brilliant orange. A color she would have worn in the old days. What, she wondered, had made him choose this photo over all others he could have hung here?