Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) (18 page)

That sly shit had put the target on Jackson’s back and there was nothing Jackson could do about it. I gave him a devilish smile with my eyes glinting with approval only Dean saw. Jackson was too preoccupied with Dean and Niyati to pay any attention to me. 

“Secretive takes on a whole new meaning when dealing with the Fae. We need to be alert and watch what we say. No
thank you
’s, don’t ask for any favors, or put yourself in their debt and be very specific,” Patrick said.

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t mine. Patrick was nervous which, in turn, made me nervous. Patrick didn’t get nervous.

“So, we jump in the deep end and hope we can swim,” I said, my hands firm on my hips.

“That’s what he’s sayin’, suga’,” Jackson snarled.

My face flushed with anger as blood rushed through my body in a white-hot rage. I had an urge to test a theory.

I strode over to Jackson. My heel strikes echoed on the Plexiglas floor in a sharp
click, click, click
. Striking him with all my strength, I shoved my fist into his nose, visualizing the punch going through his face. Thanks to Danny and probably Patrick and Dean too, my punch had a little more
umph
than just human strength. Then, I backhanded him across the face like the bitch he was. The crunch of his bone under my fist felt incredible, amazing. The moment my hand connected with his face, the room went silent. My ears filled with the sound of the crack of skin on skin as my hand crashed into his face.

Dean flinched at the sound but he didn’t move to stop me.

Jackson balled his hand into a fist and raised enraged eyes to glare at me. He drew back his fist to punch me then tried like hell to force his arm forward and strike me. The rage in his eyes turned to panic, disbelief, and then back to anger as his fist hung in the air.

I went cold inside, empty as a familiar peace settled over me. I didn’t have to put up shields to block Patrick anymore. There wasn’t anything there to block.

Niyati dropped to one knee, bowed her head and breathed, “Eithina.”

“NO!” Jackson shouted through clenched teeth and a rock-hard jaw, still trying to throw his punch. He couldn’t.

I punched him again, pounding my fist into his jaw.

Blood sprayed from his mouth, staining down his crisp white T-shirt. Shaking with rage, he advanced on me as his blood gushed from his mouth and his split lip. He wouldn’t meet my gaze but he was still standing. I wanted him on his knees.

Stalking around him, I watched him tremble with rage. Not fear. I wanted him afraid.

I kicked the side of his knee, throwing his kneecap out with a quick painful
pop
, then taking him down to the ground. I grabbed the short ends of his cornrows, dangling down the back of his neck, and yanked his head back, bringing his beaten and bloody face close to mine. His pupils were pinpricks, his lips were curled into a vicious sneer and sweat beaded on his thin upper lip and brow. 

“Kneel before your betters,
suga’
,” I snarled.

His eyes glittered with the liquid gold of his wolf. “I’ll taste your blood before this is over,” he hissed and stiffened as he fought my control.

I shoved his head forward, forcing him to his hands and his one good knee.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” I said, circling around his hunched and broken body.

“Is that a promise?” Jackson huffed through gritted teeth. He relaxed into his quiet defiance, rolling his shoulders and breathing deeply.

Moving quicker than I thought I could, I slammed his head into the floor over one of the support beams. His skull crunched as it crashed into the hard steel beneath the Plexiglas. Jackson swayed, unsteady on his knee and fell to the ground, knocked out cold in a heap of blood and battered flesh. Rolling my shoulders, I stood up straight and held my head high. He’d heal.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Patrick said.

I turned to Niyati. She wouldn’t meet my eyes and still knelt beside Dean.

“Get up, Niyati. You make me self-conscious down there,” I said with as much levity as I could, considering I’d just beat a man unconscious. She stood, hesitant and cautious, keeping her eyes down and head bowed. I glanced over at Dean. For some reason, I needed his approval.

His nostrils flared with a pleased smirk curling his full lips. His eyes shifted back to that pale Caribbean crystal blue that had scared me once. Now, all I saw in them was pride and naked possession. I cleared my throat and turned back to Patrick.

“Is everything ready downstairs?” I asked, ready to get out of the confining, claustrophobic air of the office. Patrick held out his hand to me. He could take a hint. I slipped my hand into his. The touch of his skin and the comfort of his touch were like breathing, easy and instinctual.

“Shall we see that everything is as you wish?” Patrick’s power prickled over my skin like a thousand prickly pears, sending shivers up my spine. He threw up his shields left and right. I didn’t need the emotional bond between us to see his sideways glances my way or the fear making his pupils large, and darkening his eyes.

Once the office door closed behind us, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Alex was right,” Patrick offered squeezing my hand. “It will be interesting to see if the Fae can identify the scariest being in the room.” There was no emotion or remorse in his words. He leaned in and pressed his lips against my hair. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes forward. 

I should’ve been offended. I wasn’t. I wanted to be better, though. I wanted to be the woman Patrick and Tre deserved. I’d become a monster, and the proof was splattered across my knuckles, crusting into a deep crimson stain.

Chapter 19

Damsel was bursting at the seams. Multicolored lights flashed above, people squeezed and shoved to get to the bar, music filled the club with dancers, body heat, and arousal. There was still a line around the block to get in. Word had gotten out the theme parties at Damsel shouldn’t be missed.

No one got in without a costume and the costume had to be impressive. Nova was on the door and had complete autonomy over the guests entering, with a
few
exceptions.

Sitting at the far end of the bar, my back to the wall and facing the door, I watched the entire club as the house music pumped through the crowd. Patrick had hired a big name DJ from France, Maitre De la Lune, which translated to Master of the Moon. Go figure. Patrick had found a DJ werewolf from France. If things got really bad, he didn’t want to risk the talent. Humans were too fragile.

I sipped a club soda and lime as I watched everyone in their costumes bump and grind through the club. I scanned the crowd for some kind of power signature to tell me who was Fae and who wasn’t. A cold tingle of the vampires’ power crept across my skin, like cool breezes circulating amongst the body heat. I felt the werewolves moving through the crowd, too. Each one’s power brushed against me like I was the epicenter of a tropical depression.

One of them approached. The hot anger riding his power was distinctive. I hadn’t hurt Jackson enough to keep him out the entire night. I’d’ve needed silver for that but I’d done enough damage to keep him subdued for about an hour, just enough to teach him a lesson.

He hovered behind me, too close, his chest pressed against my back. Wrapping his arms around my body, Jackson rested his hands on the bar, trapping me. I tensed as his body pressed against my back, wanting him gone and far away from me. I slid my hand absently down my thigh and into my boot, grabbing the palm-sized can of mace. There were too many humans for anything more deadly.

“Ya think ya won, don’chya?” he drawled in my ear.

His hot breath crept down the side of my neck like a thousand little spiders. I shivered, disgusted. He wouldn’t hurt me, couldn’t. I’d proven that much when he couldn’t defend himself in Patrick’s office. That didn’t mean I trusted him.

“Honestly, I don’t think that much about you,” I scoffed my cocky tone filled with an arrogance I didn’t feel.

He took a deep breath through his nose. “I can taste the lie on you.”

I
should have known better than to lie. No point hiding my disdain anymore. “Oh fine,” I spat. “Yeah, I think I won. I kicked your ass and handed it to you like a hat.”

“I can’t wait ta hear your heart stop beatin’,” he growled in his slow, southern drawl.

I casually picked up my glass and held it before my lips. Nova was at the other end of the bar, watching Jackson and I. He stood in front of Dean, blocking the scene and waiting for the signal that I needed help. I didn’t need them to protect me, and Nova was one of the few who understood that.

“You all right, Dahlia?” Miguel, the vampire behind the bar, asked.

I sipped my tonic and lime with a smirk curling the corners of my lips up. I flashed him the smile I knew never reached my eyes. Miguel nodded once and backed away from the bar, leaving Jackson to me.

Setting my drink down on the bar, I slid my hand down into my lap without drawing his attention and reached my hand around behind me. Jackson didn’t notice my movement. Nova would never have ignored any movement I made. Maybe Nova was smarter than I gave him credit.

I grabbed the bulge between Jackson’s legs and dug my nails into him, squeezing his most sensitive body parts in the palm of my hand. He tensed, hunching over me in a frozen state of agony as he groaned against my ear.

“We’ll see,” I growled over the music and met Nova’s eyes across the bar. He smiled with a proud twinkle in his eyes then disappeared into the crowd, also leaving me to deal with Jackson on my own. I squeezed until a gasp and a whimper of pain escaped Jackson’s lips as his testicle popped in my hand. That little sound made my heart race and a real smile brighten my eyes. The pleasure that surged through me probably should have worried me but that was something to think about later. After the Fae left.

“Now, go do your job,” I hissed as I squeezed him one last time then shoved him away. I picked up my glass from the bar and took another drink, ignoring the angry, whimpering werewolf at my back.

I released a tension-filled breath and rolled my shoulders as he backed away, limping. Dean and Nova mingled back into the crowd and I lost them in the sea of people. Patrick stood on the stage, next to the DJ, watching the throng of people like a monarch surveying his subjects. His eyes locked with mine and he grinned at me, showing the merest hint of fang.

How long had he been watching me?
Concern twisted my stomach into knots and it wasn’t mine. Patrick carried around his concern for me like a mantle to be born. I hated him a little for that.

I wasn’t a chore or a burden but I sure as hell felt like it. I was angry with him for keeping information from me. I was angry at Danny for dying. Unfair, but true. I was angry at Dean for putting me in a position again that I didn’t want to be in. But most of all, I was angry at myself for letting all of this get to me. Angry for not being able get over it. I didn’t know how to fix it, any of it.

Patrick’s face tensed and took on a mask of elegant indifference. It was the look Jade mistook for arrogance, for his real personality. That’s where she and everyone else were wrong. The cold, arrogant expression was the mask he wore to
hide
his emotions. His blank eyes told me more than most people’s true expressions ever could.

The Fae’s power entered the club like a spring rain, soft and cool, with a warmth that was almost wild. The static of magic, like a storm brewing, hung just off on the horizon. Their magic was old. I felt lighter in my own skin, giddy almost, as their magic touched me, making my heart race. I stretched on tiptoe to get a glimpse of them but the club was too crowded. Humans and supernaturals alike migrated instinctively toward the door where the Fae gathered. Their wild magic was intoxicating and tugged at my will, inviting and beckoning me to join them.

I closed down, shoving the wild magic away and filling myself with the cold emptiness of a kill. I felt the intoxication in my brain calling me to come closer, to follow. But something lower and more primal inside of me growled its resistance. I was thankful for her interference. Their power was different than anything I had experienced before. It was sweet and welcoming, like coming home to apple pie at Christmas time. I convinced myself I wanted what their magic offered.

Patrick nodded into the crowd. That was my cue. I left a tip for Miguel with a wink and merged into the crowd.

“Thanks, Miguel,” I shouted over the noise at the bar. He was handsome, with sharp features, a prominent brow, and black hair like satin after a soft rain. He’d showed me, once, the apartment he kept separate, away from the colony where he painted. The paintings were all of his mother, his wife, and his daughter. He’d murdered all three on his first night as a vampire. Only one painting wasn’t of the women he’d loved in life and in death; the sunrise, so he wouldn’t forget.

“No problem. Be careful,
mi sueno
,” he called after me.

“You know me.”

He rolled his eyes.

I stepped into the crowd, nearing the door, and the power pressed at the back of my brain, beckoning to me. A group of six tall, lean, and beautiful people entered the club. The closer I got, the more I felt that nagging feeling in the back of my skull telling me to come closer. I didn’t like being told what to do and neither did the familiar snarl in the back of my mind.

I was supposed to drift in with the crowd but stay hidden, according to the plan. I tried to shove my way through a wall of people but had some trouble. Hiding wasn’t going to be an issue. I was consumed by the crowd of bodies circling the Fae like they were rock stars. The problem was getting close enough to get in position.

Patrick, Alex, Dean, Jackson, and Niyati moved up to greet the Fae. Anyone who knew them would’ve seen the tension lines through Patrick’s shoulders, the tightening of Dean’s jaw, and Alex’s eyes glancing about the crowd to keep everyone in view.

Partygoers surrounding the Fae grew too thick for me to wade through. Anxiety spiked through my veins as I got stuck and couldn’t make my way into position. I pinched the man in front of me, hard, to move him the hell out of my way.

Patrick’s cool breath of power swept over the crowd, calming them, and squelching the Faes’ intoxicating magic. The crowd dissipated as if nothing had happened, leaving the Fae and our envoy alone. I blended with a group headed toward a table just a few feet from Niyati. I passed by one of the Fae on my way to the only seat left at the opposite end of the bar. A beautiful specimen of a man, the Fae at the rear had Romanesque features and skin a deep bronze that glimmered under the strobe lights of the club. The color and shimmer of his skin reminded me so much of Byron that my chest ached at the thought of him. 

I’d murdered Byron as he crouched in a pool of old blood and pieces of gore. He’d been claimed by Midnight Ash as a lover, as a pet, and as a weapon to be used. In her deranged attempt to love and possess him, she’d damaged him beyond repair by keeping him prisoner and feeding him human flesh. He’d begged me to kill him, unable to depend on himself or anyone else to help him. I still had nightmares where Byron’s pitiful face haunted me.

I buried Byron’s face down deep in my psyche as I turned cold eyes up to the bronze God, smiling coyly at him.

I tried to flirt.
Tried
being the operative word. I wasn’t very good at it. I never had been. His lukewarm response was proof enough I hadn’t lost my horrible touch. The Bronze God met my gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes were stunning, disorienting, the color of the darkest onyx. There was no warmth, only complete contempt. In his gaze, I remembered why I should fear them.

Enticing and dangerous, the look he gave me was haughty, as if he knew he could have every woman in the room and didn’t need the likes of me. I decided as the muscles moved beneath his exposed taut, bronzed skin, he probably could’ve had any woman in the room. He was dressed only in a pair of soft, tanned, buckskin pants. They appeared softer than cotton or silk and I had the urge to reach out and touch them, to feel just how soft they actually were. A quiver and bow were strapped to his back with the strap cutting a tight line across his chest. His red hair, the color of maple leaves in October, was long, in a thick braid curved around his narrow neck, hanging over his shoulder. After viewing me with disapproval, he scanned the crowd, obviously searching for something, or someone, other than me.

I shrugged and hopped up onto a barstool, waving Miguel away.

The man at the front of the group laughed, a light easy tinkling sound, like children playing with bells. He held out his hand to Patrick, who took the other man’s grasp in a warrior’s grip.

“I wasn’t sure you would be able to force our magic back. You didn’t contain it upon our arrival,” he said, still in that jovial light tone. “I was concerned.” The Fae’s skin was dark green, the color of moss after a good month of rain. He had long, silky straight hair trailing down to the small of his back in a glossy wave. All the colors of spring were woven together in a glistening fabric of hair.

“I merely waited to see if you would force my hand,” Patrick said in that same inoffensive, diplomatic tone.

Underneath all the civility, I heard the ferocity, the warning in his words.

“I am Saeran, King of the North American Sidhe,” the Spring Fae said. He again scanned the crowd, skimming his gaze over me.

I gasped with wide-eyed horror. He exuded a regal air but even his daffodil yellow eyes couldn’t keep Byron’s face out of my mind. Saeran, King of the North American Sidhe, was identical to Byron, with one exception; his coloring. For a moment I thought it had to be Byron but I knew better. I’d carried Byron’s blood on my hands since I’d taken his life.

Saeran smiled and I imagined that’s what Byron’s face would’ve looked like had he been free of Midnight Ash. Clenching my hands into fists at my side, I shut my barriers down tight. I didn’t want to distract Patrick.

“I’m Patrick Cavanaugh,” he said with the confidence of his Colony behind him. “Liege of this colony and the Northwest Territory.” Patrick bowed at the waist, looking more like a Nineteenth Century gentleman than the devious genius I knew him to be. “You and your entourage are very welcome.”

“Come, come,” Saeran said as he folded his arms over his chest. “You are much more than that.”

“I’m afraid your meaning escapes me,” Patrick answered.

Let the mind games and political bullshit begin.

“My friend,” Saeran said. “You have your alpha behind you and present a fierce line of power. Where is your Blushing Death? As beautiful as these ladies are, they are not human,” he goaded.

“My Lord? I thought you would have been able to pick out the Blushing Death,” Patrick said smugly.

I wanted to move this party off the main floor. We were too exposed and there were too many humans as innocent bystanders. The Bronzed Man was getting antsy. His fingers tapped the side of his thigh, the only indication of his unease. While I noticed, no one else was paying attention to the guy in the back, just like no one was paying attention to me.

“I’m sorry but the magic of Fairie does not allow me to identify assassins,” he scoffed, a bit of disdain making his voice harsh.

I am not an assassin!

I hopped from the stool in a huff. I’d been called many things,
Bitch
,
cold
,
harbinger of Death
. But I did not kill for money. That was just too much. I stalked around the Fae, positioning myself behind the Bronze God, inserting myself between the door and their retreat. The group of Fae blocked me from both Patrick and Dean’s view but they knew exactly where I was. Patrick could feel me; they both could smell me. Hell, Patrick could probably see me through concrete if he tried hard enough.

“We would all dispute the claim that she’s merely an assassin, especially her I would think,” Patrick said with a satisfied edge to his voice that was dangerous if you knew what you were listening for. “Dahlia, Sweetheart, your presence has been requested.”