To his surprise, Zer had kept Nessa St. James locked up safe in G2’s, making it impossible for his rogues to get at her. It was time to put Plan B into play. He stroked his fingers along the smooth leather of the armrest and gave her another once-over. Female. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Not a bad approximation on the height. She was insurance. And fun. He’d never liked waiting.
He tapped on the window, and the driver hit the brakes, bringing the car’s slow prowl to a dead halt.
When Nessa St. James received his little message, she’d come out of her nice, safe hidey-hole. She’d want to see for herself what had happened to Cuthah’s latest pick. Then, she’d run—straight into the arms of his rogues, or right into the arms of the Fallen. Either way, she’d stop straddling the damn fence and make a move. A move that would work for him either way. Life was good.
Whistling, he opened the door, and the girl’s head did a 180, peeling away from the empty, bus-less street to try to see inside the car. “Moira St. James?” When she nodded, he added, “It’s your lucky day, love.” It had been easy to find a girl with the same last name, to learn her habits and schedule.
Sliding back into the darkness of the limousine, he waited. All she’d see was his hand, stroking the empty seat beside him. That hand, and the shadows.
She hesitated, but not for too long. He’d scented the exhaustion and desperation on her. Whatever she believed wasn’t going right in her life, she’d also believe he could offer the magic ticket to fix. “You’re one of the Fallen, aren’t you?” A smile lit up her eyes as excitement replaced the exhaustion. Transformed her face into something approaching pretty. Shape of the eyes wasn’t quite right, but he’d known he wouldn’t find perfect.
She’d do.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
Sure enough, she did as he asked, even pulling the door shut behind her. The book bag tangled around her feet.
“Do I get to ask you for my favor?” Her voice was breathy with excitement, so eager to whore herself out for the Fallen. Really, he thought dispassionately, he was doing her a favor. Saving her soul for her.
“Not tonight, darling.” Pulling out the knife, he made himself wait just a handful of seconds. This close, her pulse beat visibly beneath her skin, and the faint, warm thread of her scent called across the small space to him. Mass-market perfume. Talcum powder. Sweat. He made her nervous, but she’d gotten into the car.
“No one said anything about a knife.” Her hand reached for the door. Lazily, he reached out, his hand crushing those fingers. Her mouth opened uselessly, dragging in air as she tried to scream through the pain. Not that screaming would have done her any good. Limousine was sound-proof, and there were so very few beings in M City who might have been able to stop him, anyhow. No one was riding to her rescue.
He brought the knife up and got busy.
The look on her face, right before the light went out in those brown eyes, told him she understood, loud and clear. Just because he could, he gave her the words, anyhow.
“You see,” he whispered against her throat, gathering her up close to him, “right now I need you to do a favor for me. I need you to die for me, love.”
The latest body had been dumped on the outer edge of the university campus. Zer’s hesitation had already warned Nessa; whatever had happened had transformed a living, breathing woman into a murder victim. Yeah, she understood what to expect.
“You sure you want to see this?” Twice he’d asked, and twice she’d nodded her head. The third time, she’d thrown in a more graphic explanation of where he could stick his concerns. She had to see, and they both knew it.
Still, nothing could have prepared her for the graphic nature of the woman’s death. She shifted restlessly. Or for how helpless she would feel. Someone—something—had slashed the woman apart with casual, brutal strength. Blood splattered the street. The killer had made no attempt to conceal the body. Now, she couldn’t help watching Zer as he examined the crime scene. She’d known the Fallen were fast and strong, but she’d conveniently overlooked the fact that, sometimes, they were also murderers.
This woman had died fast, and she’d died alone.
Nessa couldn’t reconcile last night’s lover—the male who had taken such tender care of her—with the stone-faced, cold-eyed warrior king riding roughshod over MVD. He’d taken charge of the dead woman—and the crime scene—without so much as a please or thank you.
She should run. It was the perfect opportunity. All she had to do was ask one of the MVD techs for a ride. She could be home in minutes. Still, even as the escape plan presented itself, Zer’s eyes met hers, those hard lips curving into a slow, male smile. Yeah. Who was she kidding? They both knew that she could take off right now, but he’d be right there on her ass. She wasn’t a free woman—she was merely on parole.
She needed to keep her mind on the facts. He was her kidnapper. He was bad, bad news.
“You need to understand,” he’d said when the call came in. Then, he’d brought her here.
“Was this random?” Maybe the woman had simply been unlucky.
He shook his head, slowly. “No. This was deliberate. Eyewitness reports place a limousine cruising the bus stops near this edge of campus. That sounds like Cuthah, not just some random rogue. He was looking for her, and when he found her, all hell broke loose.
His eyes examined her and then the dead woman. “She had the same last name as you. Same brown hair and eyes. Not too close, but close enough.”
“Are you suggesting she was targeted because she looked like me?”
“No. I’m saying that yesterday’s run-in wasn’t an accident, and Cuthah hasn’t stopped looking for you just because you suddenly dropped out of sight.” He shrugged. “You’re the scientist, baby. You tell me which way the facts are pointing here. Random rogue kill—or someone who had the misfortune to look too much like Nessa St. James?”
The woman tossed on the ground had the same last name, the same brown hair, and the same build. Silently, Nael handed her the student ID card. Apparently Moira St. James had been a student on campus.
“She’s dead because of me,” Nessa said finally.
Zer eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said. “You could say that.”
He was splitting hairs with her. “But is it the truth?”
“You want three kinds of proof?” he snarled. “I can’t give you that. What I can tell you is that your name is on a hit list, and Cuthah isn’t going to stop until you’re dead—or he’s dead. Pretend to yourself all you like, but you have to choose sides now.”
“That’s not much of a choice.”
“No.” He eyed her for a long moment. “It’s not. But it’s the choice you get to make.”
The familiar campus no longer seemed like a safe haven. Now, the shadows were menacing. She’d walked here a thousand times. Daylight, nighttime—it hadn’t mattered. She’d known she was safe. Now, she knew none of that.
MVD had arrived shortly after the Fallen. Their sleek black bodysuits and high-tech gear lent the scene a sleek patina of civilization. Two male techs slid the dead woman into a nylon body bag. The sound of the zipper closing would haunt Nessa for the rest of her life.
The nearest tech paused, then came to her.
“You all right, ma’am?” His eyes methodically dissected her face, the analytical once-over at odds with the sympathy in his voice. “First time at a crime scene?”
“Yeah.”
“You know the vic?” He wanted to know why she was here. What role she played in this crime scene of his.
“No.”
“Mind if I ask you your name?”
When she told him, she could see him connecting the dots. “There was an incident.”
“Yesterday,” she filled in wearily. “On campus. Yes. That was my lecture.”
“You didn’t want to stick around, ma’am, and provide a statement?” His eyes accused her.
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Shooting Zer a look, she decided this was his fault, and he could explain. God, she hadn’t even considered that campus security would be looking for her. That they would want a statement.
“Eyewitnesses report you were dragged out of the lecture hall by Goblins.” To her surprise, he mouthed:
Do you need help?
She couldn’t quite conceal her small start at his decency. She should have taken him up on his offer, but Zer was watching her, and she’d seen what a rogue had done to this woman. Whatever was happening between her and Zer, it had gone way past kidnapping. Statistically, her chances were better with the Fallen, rather than alone in her flat or holed up with MVD.
“No,” she said finally after a too-long pause. “No, I don’t.” Disappointment and something else filled the tech’s eyes. Great. Now he thought she was a Goblin whore.
When she looked away, her gaze caught Zer’s. Something dark flashed in those eyes. When he strode over, the tech took one look and melted away. She didn’t blame him. Even she recognized that primitive look of possession on Zer’s face.
He knew she’d made her first choice.
Just to make her night complete, the dean popped out of his official car just then, looking harassed. Yeah, she’d just bet he hated when dead bodies appeared on his campus. Now, smoothing his thinning hair with one hand, he flashed his profile at the media camped out on the other side of the yellow tape.
“Nessa,” he said, and she stiffened. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her personnel file with him tonight. “You look well.”
As if he hadn’t been lobbing not-so-veiled threats in her direction yesterday. He sported the same bland suit-and-tie look, and tonight’s shirt was just as too-small as yesterday’s.
Was she supposed to make polite chitchat with him while the body cooled beside them? Apparently so, because he continued, “Campus security reported a mishap in your classroom yesterday, but, apparently, no ill effects, eh? Had someone at hand to offer assistance?”
He rubbed his hands together, the large stone of his ring catching the light. Sexist bastard. She fought an unfamiliar urge to kick him. Hard. Kicking the dean would be career suicide. Carefully, she pushed down the slow simmer of anger. Facts first. Connect the dots beyond a reasonable doubt.
Then
she’d act. Bastard.
“I did,” she replied, her voice tight. Yesterday, he’d been inches from a sexual-harassment lawsuit. Today, he was playing nice. She’d bet the reason for his change of heart was standing right behind her, too.
The dean’s gaze slid away from hers, straight to Zer. And stayed there. Bastard was definitely taking his cues from her master manipulator.
Zer leaned in toward her, his breath ruffling her hair. “I’ll gut him for you,” he growled. “Tell me to do the spineless bastard for you, and I will.”
Medieval. Primitive. And highly satisfying, if impractical. “I don’t need your help.” If she decided to commit murder, she’d do it herself.
He shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his duster. “If that’s what you want.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
She wanted her life back, but, clearly, that wasn’t an option.
The dean watched their exchange covertly. This time his gaze dipped south and stayed there. “Professor Markoff tells me he hasn’t heard from you yet.”
She’d burned less than twenty-four hours, most of which she’d spent running for her life from a homicidal maniac. What did he think she’d been doing? His self-satisfied little smirk warned her that, campus murder or not, he was going to hang her out to dry, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.
“Three days, dean. You gave me three days. I’ve got time left.” Her disbelieving glare just had him smiling and rubbing his hands together. Then a reporter yelled a question from behind the police line, and her nemesis wandered over to chat the man up.
“Gratis,” Zer rumbled from behind her. “A gift, from me to you.” Thoughts of his last
gift
had her squirming with remembered heat. “No more gifts,” she muttered.
Zer was playing a deep game—showing her what could be, good and bad. It was just possible that he’d fed this victim to the rogues to illustrate his point. She didn’t believe he had, but she couldn’t be sure. He was capable of it. They both knew it.
Zer knew he was deliberately fueling her suspicions. He hated like hell that she distrusted him, but he couldn’t afford to let her get too close. And, after last night, she’d been softening. It killed him to push her away, but it had to be done. She was going to bond with one of his brothers and live happily ever after, even if she didn’t know it yet. Yeah, and maybe if he kept repeating the fairy tale to himself, he’d start believing. It didn’t matter. She was the tool he needed, and he wasn’t letting her get away. Bringing her here was good. Now, she understood that Cuthah meant business.
Nael and Vkhin peeled away from the small group of Fallen, headed his way. MVD got the hell out of their way. “You got a bead on our killer?” he asked when they’d cleared the path. “Looks like Cuthah’s work to me.”
He wouldn’t have gone far. He hadn’t been clean enough or tidy enough to cover his tracks, so all they had to do was follow the signs. Like a neon sign lighting up the M City night sky.