The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (79 page)

“No, thank you, Rinna.” He squeezed her, then turned to slide open the balcony door. “By the wings of Keterach, that was an amazing flight!” He headed into the darkness of the main room.

Rinna froze in shock.
Keterach
. Her clan’s most-hated enemy.
Banaranjans
preferred war to peace on the best of occasions. With Shadowchasers and the Gilead Commission now policing the preternatural community, her race had long ago turned the love of battle into the art of grudge-holding, taking to thunderous skies to settle disputes under cover of storms.

Sweet Darkness, she had taken to the skies with her mortal enemy! Worse, she had mated with him. If her clan found out, she would be worse than dead.

Did he know her clan affiliation? Surely not, or he wouldn’t have stepped in to save her. Then again, he had been careful to not give his clan name when they first met. Maybe he already knew. Maybe healing her and taking her out into the night was all part of some sort of plot to gain leverage over her, or make sure she could never rejoin her clan again.

“Rinna?” Bale came back for her. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she lied. “I’m just worn out. I could really use some sleep.”

He scooped her up. “Sleep, yes. Then we’ll reenact our flight without the pyrotechnics. Then talk.”

Rinna bit her lip. She wanted this, wanted Bale with the same intensity that she’d wanted to escape her clan. She fought a swell of panic. Somehow she had to make it through, then find time to think. No matter what, she had to get away from Bale, even if it was a mistake. Because if it wasn’t a mistake, her life was in danger.

“Rinna?”

She snapped out of her reverie, raising her head as a man approached the table. He looked the part of a successful human business man, dressed for the mild late spring weather in dark khakis and a burgundy-coloured dress shirt.

“Bale.” She immediately covered her eyes with her palms, a traditional
banaranjan
greeting to another of higher rank, skill, power or age.

“That’s not necessary, Rinna.”

“Perhaps not to you,” she replied, lowering her hands, “but necessary to me. Will you join me?”

He took the chair opposite hers, facing the entrance. He looked good, still fit and in his prime, dark hair curling thickly about his ears, brows like two wide slashes above dark brown eyes lit with flecks of otherness yellow, the strong chin, stronger nose. Even his mouth hinted at his power. Taken separately each feature could be overwhelming, but Bale’s features fit him perfectly. A strong, striking face, the face of a man secure in his abilities.

She remembered his eyes the most. Those eyes had regarded her with gentleness, with compassion, with consternation, and then with intimate heat. Now, those eyes stared at her with cool civility, no trace of the passion that had surprised and disturbed them both two years ago.

Bale broke the awkward silence. “Chaser Solomon called me, said that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes.”

“You know you didn’t have to go through the Chaser to meet with me,” he admonished. “She’s got enough to deal with right now.”

Rinna stared down at the table, her heart sinking. Not that she’d thought Bale would wrap his wings around her and lift her off the floor in a
banaranjan
lover’s embrace, but this cool distance was disconcerting and disheartening.

“I thought if the request came from the Shadowchaser and not from me, that you would be more inclined to come,” she said. “Chaser Solomon didn’t seem to mind.”

“Either way, I am here.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you wish to talk about?”

The rehearsed words fled her mind. “I wanted to thank you again, for what you did for me two years ago.”

He waved a hand. “You’ve already thanked me for that. There’s no need to rehash it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mean just saving me from the hunter,” she said softly. “Though that was huge. You helped me a great deal that night. And afterwards.”

He nodded. “I did. Then you left.”

“I had a valid reason.”

“Yeah.” He sat back. “The classic ‘I-need-to-find-myself’ letter that humans have used for centuries. You didn’t have to do that, Rinna. I would have helped you.”

“You helped me enough. I needed to help myself. I was almost taken out by a human thrill killer, I was mouthy with a Shadowchaser, and I ran away from you – twice.” She sighed. “I was childish. Thinking that I could survive the way I was back then proved it.”

“But you have survived,” Bale pointed out. “You’re here now.” He paused. “Why are you here?”

“To ask you for another chance.” She leaned forward. “I actually took some training while I was away. Studying for a psychology degree. I know the classes are geared to human psychology, but I’ve been thinking of how to customize some of the information for the hybrid community. In particular, to displaced, outcast or lone hybrids who need a sense of belonging.”

She lowered her gaze again. “Not having a place to belong, a group to belong to, can be very isolating for those of us used to being part of clan dynamics.”

He nodded. “It can make us make mistakes, do things we deeply regret later.”

“Yeah.” Did he have regrets? She fiddled with her coffee cup, struggled gamely on. “There can also be issues for hybrids used to being loners, issues with being able to trust others in times of need. Even simple things like coordinating knowledge of threats against us from within and without can be beneficial.”

She reached for her messenger bag, pulled out a thick notebook in a binder. “I have some other suggestions, just ideas for outreach and stuff like that. Not anything particularly earth-shattering or radical, but I think it might be good for those of us who don’t want to be on the wrong end of the Shadowchaser’s blade.” She slid her binder to him.

He pulled the notebook closer, then opened it. Rinna watched him as he flipped through the sections. “Why did you do all of this?”

“I want to work with you to help the hybrid community here. I don’t want what nearly happened to me to happen to someone else because of fear or ignorance.”

She took a deep breath, then added, “And I hope it’s a way of showing I can be of value to you.”

“You are of value to me, Rinna,” he finally said, closing the book. “Obviously I didn’t do a good job of showing you that.”

“You did, but I wasn’t sure of what I felt or what you felt. Then I discovered that you descend from Keterach. I descend from Hetache. It’s an enmity that goes back centuries, so far that no one knows the cause. All I know is that we’re supposed to be mortal enemies.”

“Duels to the death on sight, the nursery rhymes used to say.” His gaze raked over her. “Do you want to fight me now, Rinna?”

“No. A duel to the death between two
banaranjans
would level most of Virginia-Highlands.”

“Not to mention a fight like that would come to the Shadowchaser’s notice.”

“Yeah.” She shuddered. “I’d really rather not be on her bad side if I can help it.”

“I seem to recall you saying that the reason you came to Atlanta was because you didn’t want to fight,” he said then. “My reasoning was, and still is, the same.” He sighed. “I know how hard it is to be alone, to try to find a place different from what you’ve been taught all you life. Seeing you, a lone female, triggered the clan instinct in me. When you left with that human male, I was angry. Seriously angry. Only the DMZ’s protective shielding prevented me from confronting you in the club. And the Chaser stopped me from immediately going after you when you left.”

He spread his hands. “Luckily, my anger turned to concern when I realized who the human was. Call it the clan instinct or male arrogance, I don’t know. But I only knew that I had to take you from him. After the danger passed and you healed, I couldn’t shake the instinct or desire, or whatever, to make you mine.”

“Really?” She hadn’t known. “You did a good job of keeping that to yourself.”

“To be blunt, I did a piss-poor job of suppressing it. Which is why I’m glad you left like you did.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t tell if I wanted you because you’re Rinna or because you’re a lone
banaranjan
female. I also wasn’t sure if your attraction to me was an after-effect of your ordeal with the hunter or because you were interested in me. I would have ignored those doubts for as long as possible if it kept you with me. Eventually though, I think it would have soured everything. And I didn’t want to sour anything between us.”

“Bale.”

“So I’m glad you left. You had things to learn about yourself, and I had things to learn about myself.”

“What did you learn?” She could barely get the question out.

Dark brown eyes flared yellow as they bored into hers. “I learned that I want you even more now than I did two years ago.”

If she’d had her wings out, they would have shivered with pleasure. “I was afraid you’d be angry, angry enough to refuse me. We are grudge-holders, you know.”

“I’ve no grudge against you.” He reached out, lacing their fingers together. “I think we’ve already proved that we’re not like other
banaranjans
.”

“We’re most definitely not.” She smiled.

Bale returned her smile. “Then why don’t we start over? Have a little breakfast here at the Majestic and talk about your ideas, and where we go from here?”

“I’d like that, but I don’t think we have to start over
completely.
For instance, I really enjoyed that night-flying manoeuvre.”

“Good.” Heat crept into his gaze. “Because I plan on doing a lot of night-flying with you.”

“Sam!” Rinna called. “We need to order. Something tells me I’m going to need some energy!”

A Story of the Shadow Guard

Kim Lenox

Late afternoon, London, 1883

“I shall have a visitor today,” Mr Rathburn quietly announced.

Malise Bristol turned from the upper drawer of the walnut clothes press, where she arranged her elderly patient’s nightshirts. One of the hospital’s perpetually out-of-breath, red-faced laundresses had delivered them only moments before. The linen was still warm to the touch.

Mr Rathburn’s quietly spoken words had startled her – startled her because in the nearly two years she had been assigned as his personal nurse at Winterview, he had never once received a visitor. The other residential patients of the exclusive, elegantly appointed home for the aged often had visitors, even if only barristers with papers to be signed or family members with stylish hats in hand, begging for an increase in their allowances.

“A visitor, sir?” she enquired, closing the drawer.

He sat in his wheelchair peering out the window, which was framed by vertical swathes of burgundy silk. In the dim afternoon light, the silk appeared almost black in contrast to the grey sky on the other side of the pane. He appeared gaunt today. Frailer than in days before, and nearly swallowed by his green silk dressing robe.

“Indeed,” he answered, offering nothing more in the way of explanation.

“A member of your family?” she enquired hopefully. Though neither of them was an excessive conversationalist by nature, she had grown very fond of Mr Rathburn and wanted him to have a loving family. Only why wouldn’t they have made an appearance before now?
Because,
her mind supplied,
they were obviously a terrible, useless lot.

“No, not family,” he answered evenly, sounding not the least bit disappointed.

“Business?”

“Thank God, no.”

“A friend then,” she prodded gently.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose.”

Malise’s heart warmed with a vision of two elderly gentlemen, whiling away the remainder of the afternoon reminiscing about younger days. A visit from a friend would do Mr Rathburn good. She should not be his only companion in his final days.

Even from her perspective, as his nurse, a visitor would be a welcome distraction. Their days together followed a rather monotonous pattern, each day nearly identical to one before.

First, there was breakfast, then she would push Mr Rathburn in his chair for a walk about the grounds. If weather did not allow for such an excursion, they walked the halls instead. Next, the elderly gentleman would spend a few quiet hours squinting through his brass-rimmed spectacles at one of his many old books. Sometimes he would ask her, ever so politely, to read to him. Then it was time for luncheon and another walk. Afterwards, she would tidy his suite or draw in the sketchbook he had given her for Christmas while he wrote in silent concentration in one of his many leather-bound journals. Then, after a light repast of tea and whatever staid culinary selection the kitchen sent up, the male attendants would come and assist him into bed and she would retire to her tiny room in the hospital attic – except for Saturday evenings when she took the train into Chelsea. Sundays were her day off.

She made no complaints about the quiet predictability of their time spent together. Her life before coming to Winterview had been more eventful than she cared to remember.