Sins of the Flesh

That depended on what the Matriarchs had learned from Kuznetsov. The irony was, she would never know.

She turned to face Mal. He hadn’t moved. The dimness of the kitchen contrasted with the light in the hallway behind him. He was cast as a silhouette, tall, broad shouldered. His face was in shadow.

“You ask questions to which you have no right to know the answers,” she said.

He moved toward her, sinew and grace. Everything about him was shadow and pewter and ash. His hair. His clothing. Even the gray of his eyes had darkened in this light.

“Tell me anyway.”

She shrugged, not because the answer was of little import, but because there was nothing she could do to change it. She could only plan and prepare the best defense she could. “They will call a council. They will banish me at the very least. More likely, they will send a termination party.”

His lips tightened. “By termination, I assume you don’t mean that they’ll offer you a package with a gold watch and a ‘thank you kindly’ for your years with the company.”

“No.”

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

Both the declaration and tone were so outlandish that she couldn’t help but laugh. “How is my fate any of your concern?” She paused. “And what will you do, Mal? Stand guard over me every second of every day?”

“Nice. You called me Mal.” He slanted her a glance through his lashes, and his mouth took on a mulish slant. “Yeah, I’ll stand guard over you.” He raked his fingers back through his hair. As soon as he dropped his hand, the straight, sleek strands fell over his forehead once more. “You plan to just sit down and wait for them? Let them take you when they come?”

She blew out a heavy breath and pressed her fingers to her temples. “No. Of course not. I am not without skill. I will know when they come. I will stay a step ahead of them as long as I can.” She shrugged. “But eventually they will find me. I will fight. I will win—” she cut him a sidelong glance “—because I am good at what I do. At some point, they will send one I cannot escape, and then I will no longer be free. Perhaps, I will no longer be alive.”

“You say that like you don’t care.” He stepped toward her, his expression fierce.

She stared at him, stunned by his intensity, and whispered, “You say that like you do.”

“Of course I do.” He prowled closer still, until he was there right next to her, the heat of his body crossing the thin span of air between them. “Did you think I chased you to some fucking mountaintop dungeon because I had nothing better to do?”

“I think you chased after Kuznetsov.”

“Then why did I come after you first?”

She’d thought about that and come up with the obvious answer. From all he’d said, she understood that he had to know where to open a portal. That he had to have seen the place, or been there, or been told about it by another. He had seen the base of the mountain, and likely her prison room, through her dreams. He had no way to see where they held Kuznetsov.

So he’d come after her, likely hoping she could take him to his prey.

“You don’t know me. How can you possibly care what happens to me?” She shot him a look of pure ice. She knew exactly the image she projected. She had practiced it for decades, perfecting the facade of frigid calm, a mirage, an illusion. Inside, she was anything but calm.

“Silly.” He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb along her brow. Her pulse kicked up. “Little.” He traced the line of her nose. Her skin warmed. “Girl.” He rubbed her lower lip.

She was breathing too fast, shallow pants that made her chest rise and fall and gave her away. She knew he noticed because his gaze dipped then rose.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“You.” His lips shaped the barest hint of a smile.

“Why?”

“I have no fucking clue.” He shook his head. “Call it the thunderbolt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know.” He paused. “Why did you come on to me at the club?”

“I didn’t know you were a supernatural. You masked your power.”

He nodded. “But why me?”

Truth? Lie? “Because you are beautiful. Because the way you moved made me think that you would—” She broke off. She’d already given more than she should.

He huffed a low laugh. “Yeah. I would.” He paused. “Why did you run away?”

“You know why.”

“Because I let my shields slip and you figured out I was a supernatural.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s too complicated.”

“Yes.”

“You prefer the no-strings approach.”

“Yes.”

He laughed then, a gorgeous rich sound that twined around her and through her and made her want to lean close against him and feel it rumble through his chest.