The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (13 page)

“Eve, go home.” Celeste came up behind her and smiled, her gaze flickering toward Cian. “Shifts over. What are you doing here?” The last directed to Cian.

“Jeez, Cel, queen of blunt,” Eve bristled. She turned to Cian with an apologetic smile. “What my sister meant to say was hi. Right?” She turned, narrowing her eyes at Celeste.

Her sister gave a quick nod, throwing her thick blond braid over her shoulder. “Just moody, sorry. Last customer was killing me. Some faux Vamp looking for the perfect claw ring. Totally sent me on a wild goose chase. I mean wild, like I’m digging through twenty cases, even had to grab some from the back room and then when we find it, well...” Celeste rolled her moss green eyes, a perfect look of disgust on her face, “wouldn’t you know the little wench was
just looking
. Ugh! I need an effing ciggy.”

Eve lifted her brows, sure that Cian could care less. Poor man having to be subjected to her sister’s tirade. “Well I’m sorry to hear that, Cel.”

“Yeah, me too. Especially since I decided to quit cold turkey last week. Dammit.” Celeste turned, muttering to herself as she walked off.

Eve bit her lip, not even wanting to turn around and see the glitter of shock in his eyes. Celeste was so different outside of the shop, carefree, spirited, but get the chick in the store and she became one raging ball of estrogen.

“I’m sorry that you had to hear that--” she said, turning to face him.

“Don’t apologize. Your sister did nothing wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to have an ear willing to listen.”

Her brows twitched, a soft smile playing at the corner of her lips. “That was nice. Thanks.”

He shrugged, glancing at the shelves behind her head. “Thanks for the...” he patted his pocket, “blood.”

She wrinkled her nose with a smile. “That was really hard for you to say, huh?”

He cocked his head, a tight grin on his face.

Why did that strike her as utterly adorable? He was so awkward. Shy even. This huge hunk of man, who just last night rescued her from a demon hell bent on destruction. The disparity was so odd, she wanted to laugh, but she sensed that it cost him everything he had to even say that little bit. It made her warm up to him all the more.

“You’re welcome, Cian.” And just because she couldn’t help it she brushed her fingers over his shirt again. His gaze flicked to her face.

She didn’t want this to end. Now that she was being honest with herself, she wanted a friend. Someone she could share things with, go to movies with, and just hang out. Someone other than her sisters. She enjoyed his company and he seemed to enjoy hers. There were no dreams of a romantic involvement, hot sex was a fantasy playing in perpetual motion in her head, but that was just lust. Not the spiritual connection she craved with a partner and she refused anything less. Last thing she wanted was to give a man false hope, she wasn’t sure she was ready for another commitment.

But friendship, that was a different matter entirely.

“Listen, are you doing anything tonight?”

He blinked. She couldn’t refrain from smiling.

“I had nothing planned.”

“Good. Well it’s getting kind of dark out and I’m not really ready to go home yet. I’d love the company, just so long as you promise not to bite.”

He grinned, showing off his white teeth, the canines in prominent display. A delicious shiver ran through her, those were some nice looking fangs. Not too long, not too short.

Jeez, since when did I become a fang lover? Goddess help me
.

Everything about this man was perfect. It would have made her sick except that he was looking at her with an answering heat in his eyes.

Friend, Eve. Friend. That’s all you want right now. Keep telling yourself that, you’ll believe it eventually.

She broke the electric silence first. “Okay, well I’m gonna go grab my sweater and clock out. Give me about two minutes. In the meantime why don’t you go ahead and eat, I know you must be starving after just rising and all.”

***

Cian waited until Eve was out of view, then he turned and headed outside, finding the nearest dumpster and tossed the baggie into it. He didn’t want to hurt feelings, but there were limits to what he was willing to do and
that
was one of them.

He leaned against the brick exterior of the shop and crossed his arms, waiting for Eve. He should have told her no. But he was sick unto death of all the should haves, for once he’d decided to go with his heart, he only hoped he didn’t regret it come weeks end.

A flash of red crossed his gaze. He narrowed his eyes, senses heightened as the prickle of another reaper traveled down his spine.

“Frenzy,” he hissed, the red could belong to no other. Silence. But the shadows breathed. He ground his jaw, his pulse kicking into hyper drive. Footsteps pounded the pavement, he stalked to another dumpster tucked deeper in the alleyway. His eyes roved the darkness. The awareness of the presence grew steadily stronger.

The bell above the shop jingled as Eve walked out.

He turned, torn between finding Frenzy and going to her. It was his hand that decided him. His fingers were fleshy. Whatever Frenzy had in mind, it wasn’t death. At least not now. Shooting one last glare at the darkness, he walked toward her.

The confusion written on her brows gave way to excitement as she finally noticed him walk up. She smiled. “There you are.”

“Aye.” He held his arm out to her, after a moment’s hesitation she slipped her arm in.

Inside he trembled with rage.
Breathe. Breathe or she’ll know something’s wrong
. He couldn’t help but cast a quick glance behind his shoulder. Nothing. She never noticed.

“Aye, hmm. That’s very archaic.”

He ground his jaw; he hadn’t meant to slip into the old speech. He’d broken himself of the habit centuries ago, a telltale that had become too dangerous to use. But his mind was consumed. The betraying pulse of death was gone, but the memory lingered on. He rubbed his jaw, stretching out with his senses, listening for something. Except for the rustle of rodents and heavy shuffle of normals, he heard nothing to indicate danger.

She raised a brow. The smile on her face slipping, waiting for his response, a nuance, some validation that he’d heard her. He took a slow, deep breath and tried to pretend that everything was okay. That she wasn’t marked by death.

But the truth was that everything wasn’t okay. Was it? Just like the fae’s he despised, he looked her in the eyes and without missing a beat, forced a smile. Cruel deceit.  

She sighed, and calm replaced the tension. “I like it.” She flashed him her familiar crooked grin. “Sounds very chivalrous. So were you Irish before the big change?”

Whichever reaper he’d sensed was now long gone. But the cold reminder of her plight settled heavy on his mind. Fact was, he wasn’t just a man on a date. He was here to protect. Period.

“Yes,” he said almost as an afterthought.

She shrugged her shoulders, winding her knitted wrap tighter around herself. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Can you just imagine the old magick permeating those hills?” She glanced at him under the cover of her lashes and chuckled. “Well, I suppose you could, couldn’t you?”

“I probably could, Eve.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not my brightest moment. I swear you’d think I was blond sometimes.”

A passing pedestrian jogged past, accidentally bumping into her, forcing her tight to his side. He noticed that she didn’t bother to move, even after the jogger had disappeared from sight. He didn’t know why, but that pleased him. The feel of her thigh grazing his and her scent mingling with the salty air of the bay, had heat traveling straight to his loins. Lights dotted the sidewalk as late evening soon gave way to the dusky painting of night.

He looked at all the faces. Studying them. Committing them to memory. The walk, though pleasant, was a façade. A pretense of normalcy on his part. But he was used to pretense. It was like breathing, eating, or sleeping to him. To survive at the courts you had to be good at faking it. Until recently, he’d always been. Until her.

The busy streets of San Francisco boomed with life. Hawkers, their silver carts of goods standing at spaced intervals on the path, sold everything from Wharf souvenirs to steaming piles of crab and chilled oysters on the half shell. A city of mixed cultures and ethnic diversity. Seemed appropriate for his dark witch. Somehow she belonged, and he understood why the
supers
choose to call San Francisco home.

After awhile he relaxed. Not into a false sense of security, but at least enough to enjoy what time he had with her. Nothing attacked them. For now.

Carpe Diem
.

They took their time walking. Neither in any hurry, or with any real sense of where to go, only content to enjoy the company the other had to give.

A crisp wind slid in from the bay and settled over the city like a wet cloak, turning the slightly balmy day into a cool spring night.

Eve smiled and glanced up at him, her cheeks filled with a red glow. “How old are you, Cian?”

“Been wondering about that for a while now, haven’t you?” he teased. Funny how easy he was able to do that with her. Comfortable. Like an old shoe.

She twisted her lips. “Guilty as charged. It’s a thing for me. Being mortal myself I sometimes feel a little envious of you immortals who got to see all these times and places I can only read about.”

The reminder of her mortality was like a tight band around his chest. He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. “I’m several centuries old and my exuberance for life has diminished. It’s never-ending and ceaseless, one day rolling into the next with no end in sight. In truth, I envy the mortal who can live life to the fullest; only they can understand the true depth of what it means to live. I just carry on.”

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “C’mon. Don’t be so glum about it. Honestly. What a wonderful gift you’ve been given. To see the rise and fall of civilizations. The changing of time and people from one era to the next. You know I would have given anything to be around during the Victorian Era. Those corsets are a sinful fetish of mine.”

He chuckled. Her enthusiasm filled him, touched the ache in his soul and made him remember moments from his past he’d have forgotten otherwise. “That was a prudish era. You’d have suffocated. Women were little more than chattel to the men.”

“Well not all. Take Lily Langtry for instance. An actress, a business owner, and let’s not forget the self-confessed mistress to a future King. It couldn’t have been all that bad.”

He nodded. “She was indeed the exception.”

“Ha!” She wagged her finger under his nose. “I gotcha! Should have probably let you know that I’m a research enthusiast. You know much of the gothic movement takes its manner of dress and speech from the Victorian era. It’s a hobby.” She shrugged like it was no big thing.

But in truth, he was impressed. Eve wasn’t just a pretty face, she was engaging and he found himself drawn to her like a moth to flame. Dangerous. A deadly fascination. Because the moth was always consumed by the light.

She shook her head. “I’m such an awful romantic. I guess I wouldn’t replace the convenience of a hospital for the fact that women died during something as simple as childbirth. But just a glimpse. Is that too much to ask?”

“Anytime you want to know. I’ll be happy to answer.”

“Good.” She peeked at him. “Were you around during the great Roman Empire?”

“Mmhmm.” Memories sped through his mind. The acropolis. Roman soldiers. Sweat. Tears. Blood. The coliseum. Caged fighters and beasts.

She stuck out her tongue in a mock drooling fashion. “Excuse me, while the history geek in me drools over that. Seriously. That’s amazing. To think I have my own personal history book at my disposal.”

He shook his head with a smirk. “Geek huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one as appealing as you. I should hang out at the library more often.” More teasing? This was unlike him. Different. But he didn’t altogether dislike it.

She hummed with exuberance. It settled over him like a soothing balm.

“So you’re pretty old there, vamp,” she said, hedging.

“So I’ve been told.”

She chuckled. “You’re exasperating, man. Worse than a female.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t answer.

A rap beat grew in volume the nearer they came to the center square of Fisherman’s Wharf. A man, painted entirely in silver, stood immobile. His limbs held rigid in an odd posture, his eyes unblinking. At least until a tourist decided to walk up and take a picture next him, then he’d reach out to yank the hat off their heads and slip their purse straps from off their shoulders.

They stopped to watch for a moment before they continued on.   

“So,” Cian asked, “how did you sleep last night?”

She shot her gaze to him, her eyes a little wide, panicky. He tasted the faint tremors of it on his tongue.

“Awful. How’d you know?”

He indicated her neck. The mark of Bezel long gone, her flesh a smooth, creamy porcelain. “The demon’s kiss. It’s effect lasts for twenty-four hours. Terrible nightmares. I was wondering if you were okay.”

She let out a deep breath, shaking her head, a weak grin on her face. “I’m sorry. That was just so ironic that you’d know to ask that question. Yes, I had awful dreams last night. I didn’t sleep much afterwards.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You should sleep fine tonight.”

“Good to know.”

The closer they drew to Pier 39 the more the overpowering stench of wet sea lion filled the air. Their honking and chatter could be heard long before they were spotted lazing about on the floating wood.

The sea lions came and went as they passed the pier without a backwards glance, it seemed Eve had a purpose to their meanderings after all. Which was fine by Cian. Until she started taking him on twists and turns further away from the tourist traps and deeper into the heart and soul of the city itself.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve rescheduled this appointment about ten million times, always finding one reason or another why I couldn’t make it. But tonight, I have company, and I feel brave. So I’m going to meet my friend and you’re coming with me.”