How had everything gotten so twisted? She almost felt nostalgic for the time when all she had to worry about was Urien trying to kill her. Urien had been Powerful and scary, so she lived under his enemy Dragos’s protection in New York. End of story.
Maybe she had put things together wrong in her head. (But she didn’t think so.) Maybe a marriage of convenience wasn’t necessary. (Even though she was pretty sure it was.) Maybe things would look different in the morning after a good night’s sleep. (And too many tequila shots.)
And why did this have to be a nonsmoking bar? Her teeth clenched as she looked around. Everybody knew how much stress cops lived with on a daily basis. Somebody in this damn joint had to have cigarettes. One way or another she was going to beg or steal a pack.
The air grew static. The tiny hairs along the back of her neck and arms rose.
She knew that feeling. She knew it.
The lights flickered and dimmed. A speaker near the doors emitted a feedback shriek then another did, and a lightbulb over the bar exploded in a shower of sparks.
Agonized hope leaped inside. She turned, looking for him. She was too small to see over the heads of most of the people surrounding her. Then the speakers on the dance floor screamed, and the music came to an abrupt halt.
People stopped dancing. She heard snatches of good-natured grumbling. “. . . storm outside . . . must have been a lightning strike close by . . .”
That was when she saw him. He was still dressed in his black fatigues and weaponry. He was taller than most of the humans and infinitely more hazardous. The strong bones of his face were hatchet-sharp, his beautifully cut mouth drawn taut, and he wore dark glasses that turned him into an unpredictable stranger. His face was turned toward her as he shouldered through the crowd. A path opened on the dance floor between them as the people there took one look at him and backed away.
Her body reacted first as she stared at him. She started to shake. Her breathing grew choppy. Her pulse ratcheted up its speed, turning her veins into an autobahn. Then her emotions caught up with the rest of her.
Elation that he hadn’t left.
Astonishment, as the sheer force of his presence jettisoned her into a different reality. Everything around her became sharper, clearer, more vibrantly colored. Everything inside her reached a level of intensity that had her nearly coming out of her skin.
And there was uncertainty. There was very much uncertainty.
Because he looked so cruel, so sadistic. No, sexy. No, sadistic. Oh shit.
He stopped in front of her, an immense wall of muscled male aggression. His dark sunglasses angled down toward her, and his harsh-edged assassin’s face was the one that had promised to burn down the world of the most Powerful Nightkind leader on Earth.
Whatever you do, don’t say sowwy.
She tried speaking his name. It came out a shaky mess. “Tiago?”
“What the hell are you wearing?” he barked.
The question slapped her in the face.
Excuse me?
She fell back a step as hurt spread through her middle like a bruise. She may not have been able to get fully engaged in the outing, but she had still put effort into her appearance because she wanted to look nice.
She pointed to the door and said between her teeth, “You need to go outside and come back in with a different attitude, mister.”
He snarled, “What I am going to do is take you back to your room so you can put some goddamn clothes on.”
An invisible gremlin must have been in the room, because it doused her temper with lighter fluid and struck a match. A wave of heat flashed over her skin. She stamped her foot and shouted, “I look pretty!”
Dr. Death bent his head down to go nose-to-nose with her. He bellowed, “You look half naked!”
She disconnected from her body as she transported to a place only he could make her go. She didn’t have to put up with this shit. She cocked her head sideways and glared at her reflection in his sunglasses. That was when she heard herself say, “So what are you going to do about it, spank me?”
The insolent words echoed in the air.
He stared at her in incredulity. A sliver of sanity whimpered and tried to crawl back into her head.
“Sure,” said Tiago. “That works.”
The floor fell away, and her world turned over as he snatched her up by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. She oophed as her midsection connected with hard muscle-covered bone.
“Wait,” she tried to say. She had no air in her lungs, so it came out something between a squeak and a wheeze. “I take it back. I want a do-over.”
“Tough shit,” he said. He wrapped one arm around the back of her legs and strode off the dance floor.
“Do you understand how popular I am?” she hissed. She bent at the waist and flailed around until she managed to latch on to his ear with her nails. She pinched hard. He growled and jerked his head sideways, trying to dislodge her hold. “You can’t spank a faerie princess in public in America. Do you want to get shot on sight?”
“Don’t worry, your tempestuousness,” he snapped. “There won’t be any witnesses.”