Tiger Eye (30 page)

“Delilah.” He got off the bed, but she backed away, shaking her head, tears running down her face.

“Your timing is lousy
and
you’re a coward,” she spat. “Or maybe you don’t really love me and this is just your way of letting me down easy, getting out before things get too tight.”

Hari crossed the distance between them in an instant, pinning
her against the wall with a snarl. “Do not dare say such things, Delilah. I want your happiness more than anything else in this world, and if giving you a normal life with a normal man would do it, then I am prepared for the long sleep.”

Dela tried shoving him. “Bullshit. Sounds like you’re worried about your own happiness.”

“Maybe,” he confessed, “but I am more terrified of losing your love than your life.”

“My love? But why—Hari, do you think I would stop loving you because you can’t die? That I would … would resent you for your youth?”

“You might. Not just for yourself, but for any children we might have. Even they could learn to hate me.”

“Oh, Hari.” Dela stopped struggling, and pressed her forehead against his chest. “You are such an idiot.”

Hari wrapped his arms around her. “You could grow old with any other man. The two of you, aging together.”

Dela pummeled his back with her fists, but did not try to leave the circle of his arms. “I thought we already covered this, you numbskull. There will never be another man. You’re it. If you leave now, I’ll go to a convent, become a nun, and flagellate myself three times daily for the awful sin of remembering you naked.”

He laughed, though he had not thought laughter was possible at a time like this. Someone knocked on the door. Dean peered in.

“Are you guys okay? We heard fighting.” He gave Hari a suspicious look.

Dela quirked her lips. “Let me ask you something, Dean. If you were madly in love with the woman of your dreams, would you call off the relationship simply because she’s immortal?”

“Hell, no. That’s every man’s fantasy. Ninety years old with a hot chick pushing my wheelchair.”

“See?” Dela smacked Hari on the chest. “Except I’ll be ninety years old with a gorgeous stud carrying me everywhere I want to go.”

“Your feet will never touch the ground,” Hari promised, kissing her palm. “Your body will be my temple.”

Dean groaned, shaking his head. “Get a better line, man.”

“Go away, Dean.”

Dean muttered something unflattering, but quickly left. Dela smiled at Hari.

“Finally getting a toehold in the pack, huh?”

“I prefer to think of it as beginning relations with a friendly clan.”

“Clan, huh?” She rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Well, does my fellow clan mate feel like a shower?” Her voice was light, but her eyes were tired, bloodshot. Even, he thought, uncertain.

“Of course,” he murmured, as they backed into the bathroom, peeling off each other’s clothes. He thought of doing this every day for the rest of Dela’s life, and though burdened by sadness, his joy overwhelmed it. Dela was a gift to celebrate, not mourn.

And he celebrated her with his lips and his hands, until she cried out his name, again and again.

And then he held her while she cried for Adam.

Chapter Twelve

Adam’s suicide continued to weigh heavily upon Dela’s mind, and for several days afterward she wavered between melancholy and outright depression. She kept the gallery closed and received several phone calls inquiring into her health, asking if she needed help. Dela always said no, thanking her callers for their concern. “Just undergoing some renovations,” she would say. “Things will be back to normal in a couple of weeks.”

Maybe.

Dela spent a lot of time in her studio, staring at the cold forge. Her art felt like a memory, distant and unreal. Everything she had created was without meaning or substance. She ignored the unfinished projects on the worktables, shutting her mind away from steel. All she could do was look; she did not touch the sculptures or weapons. She did not listen to their whispers.

When she was not in her studio, she wandered around her home, unable to rest easy. She had trouble sitting in her living room, or eating at the dining table, which overlooked the great
expanse of floor where so much blood had poured. No amount of sunshine could wipe away the gloom hanging over that room.

“I want to move,” she announced over breakfast, three days after Adam’s death. Her friends were still bunking with her, and would continue to do so until they heard some word from the Zhangs. While no one disputed Hari’s abilities in a fight, even he agreed there was safety in numbers.

“Thank God,” moaned Dean.

Dela glared at him. “Don’t hold back, Dean. Tell me what you really think.”

“I think you should get the hell out of this place,” he said with a straight face. “So many people have died here, I’m afraid heads are going to start spinning.”

“I know a good exorcist,” Blue remarked, buttering his toast. “But he charges by the hour.”

“Oh, stop it.” Dela tried not to smile. “I just want a change of scene, that’s all.”

Someone knocked on the door. Six pairs of eyes swiveled uncertainly at each other.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Hari asked, rising to his feet. His sword lay beside his chair on the floor; he had taken to keeping the blade close at all times. He picked it up when Dela shook her head, and the rest of the men clicked the safeties off their guns. They swiftly took up positions around the living room while Eddie guided Dela into the bedroom. The young man cracked open the door, standing with his shoulder against the wall.

Dela heard the front door open, and then:

“Hey, good morn—holy shit, are those guns?”

Dela raced out of the bedroom and found Kit standing in the entryway, staring openmouthed at the sheepish men trying in vain to cover their shoulder harnesses and weapons. Hari was the only one who did not try to hide; he held his sword braced against his forearm, the nicked steel glinting silver.

“Kit! What are you doing here?”

Kit blinked, tearing her gaze from Hari. “What am I doing here? You haven’t called me since you bailed at the concert. I would have tried getting a hold of you, but I had to leave town right away for another gig. I just got back, and what do I find? Not a single message on my answering machine! So I think, I’ll just march over and make sure my girl’s still alive. And these guys go Hawaii 5-0 all over my ass.”

“We apologize, Ms. Bell,” Blue said, nervously smoothing back his hair. “We thought you might be someone else.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Who? Satan?” When weak laughter was her only response, she turned to Dela. “At the risk of becoming a demanding bitch, I’d really like to know what’s going on. And don’t tell me it’s a family emergency. I haven’t seen this much weird shit since the last time I watched a Tarantino movie.”

“Um,” Dela said, glancing helplessly at the others. They all shrugged, warily noncommittal, but she caught a flicker of amusement in Hari’s eyes. For some reason, that made her smile—a quick tight grin—which immediately had everyone but the shape-shifter staring at her like she was a hairsbreadth from hitting a pothole.

“Okay,” Dela said. “Let’s go to the studio. It’s quiet down there.”

“I hope so,” Kit said, frowning. “If I spend any more time surrounded by all this testosterone, I may just sprout chest hair.”

“I’m sure it would look lovely on you,” Dean quipped, returning to his breakfast.

“Bite me,” she shot back, before following Dela out the door.

Down in the studio they made themselves comfortable on the old green couch stuck in the corner farthest from the forge. Kit put her feet up on the threadbare cushions and wrapped her arms around her knees. Cocking an eyebrow, she stared at Dela and waited. Patient, unmoving.

And utterly terrifying to Dela. Her confidence shattered;
Dela opened her mouth to spin lies and half-truths, and found she could not. She had a duty to the agency and her friends—their secrets were not hers to reveal—but she also had a duty to herself, and it was becoming too easy for her to shade the truth. Dela had always understood the necessity and accepted it, but Kit was her friend …

You misjudged Adam, and you did not trust him with your most precious secret. How can you be sure Kit will be any different?

“You’ve never been this nervous around me,” Kit remarked quietly. “Come on, Dela. Spill. What is up with you and those guys? No one pulls a gun like that unless they have a good reason. Hell, I’ve never even seen that many guns in one place. And the way you all left the other night … the looks on your faces …” She pressed her lips together, grim. “I don’t know what you’re involved in, but it’s serious.”

“Yes,” Dela said. “Adam’s dead. He committed suicide.”

Suicide. Such an easy escape. Kit gasped, and Dela grimaced. Her grief tasted bitter, sorrow and hate dancing shadows around her heart. She despised Adam, loathed him with a ferocity matched only by her continuing love. He had been her friend, and she could not forget that—could not set aside those years of camaraderie and kindness. It broke her heart, remembering.

The horror of his betrayal, the blood on his hands, would never leave her. Adam had made her a part of his pain, dirtied the art she loved. If she ever forged another blade, he would be there in the steel, his memory etched in murder, suicide.

Kit leaned close, dark eyes intense, shadowed with sympathy, questions. Dela sighed, thinking of the men waiting for her upstairs, putting their faith in her discretion. She thought of Hari.

Kit is not Adam
, she reminded herself.
But then, maybe that’s not the point.

“I don’t know why Adam did it,” she lied, making her choice. Kit was her friend, deserved the truth, but that was life;
nothing was ever entirely fair, and in this situation, duty had to come before honor.

Kit sucked in her breath, shaking her head. “That’s terrible, Dela. I’m so sorry.”

“He was a coward,” Dela ground out, eliciting a brief look of surprise from her friend. Kit began to speak, stopped, and then sighed.

“Maybe,” she said. “I didn’t know Adam well. Could be he felt like his life was so far past redemption, the only way back was to wipe the slate clean.”

It was a remarkably insightful statement, considering Kit had no idea what Adam had done. But that was Kit; wise beyond her years.

And in her words was an echo.
There are some things worse than mere pain and death. Some acts, which cannot be forgiven.

But death was still no answer. It was too easy.

“Dela,” Kit ventured softly. “What else is going on? Adam’s death doesn’t explain a room full of armed men.”

“There have been some threats on my life,” Dela said. Kit recoiled, and Dela hurriedly pushed on. “It’s nothing to worry about. The guys upstairs are old friends. They work for the detective agency my family runs. I told you about that, right? They’re taking care of the problem for me.”

Kit held up her hands. “Nothing to worry about? What kind of shit is that? Have you told the police?”

“The police can’t do anything.” Dela stirred uneasily; lies were best when simple, and this was venturing into something more complex. “Look, Kit—I’m sorry they scared you, but they didn’t know you have a key to the building. I forgot to tell them, so when you knocked …”

“It was unexpected,” Kit finished. “Yeah, I understand that. Me and … me and Adam were—are—the only ones with access to your place. Ah, hell … at least I understand now why
you didn’t call. This isn’t something you can just explain over the phone. But Dela, this is ugly. Who’s threatening you?”

“Someone crazy.”

Kit choked back a snort of laughter. “Yeah. I figured that.” She scrunched up her eyes and leaned back against the couch. “Thing is, I don’t think you’re telling me everything.” She shook her head before Dela could speak. “Don’t. It’s okay. I trust you enough to know you’re saying what you can.”

Which made Dela feel like crap. Biting the inside of her cheek, she slowly nodded. Kit sighed.

They both needed air, and walked through the studio to the side exit. The garden pressed up against the warehouse; morning glories climbed the trellis, hummingbirds darting between the blooms. Pampas grass swayed to a light breeze, casting shade on the thick herbs sprouting among the bulky decorative stones and antique metal-trimmed benches. Rose petals dotted the ground.

Dela turned her face to the sun. Kit hummed.

“So … that guy upstairs. Blue. He single?”

Count on Kit to rope things back to basics. “He is, and he asked the same thing about you.”

“Cool. How are you and Hari? I noticed he was carrying a mighty big sword.”

“He’s a mighty big man.”

Kit laughed. “Seriously, Dela.”

“Seriously? He’s the one, Kit. You remember how we used to talk about whether it was possible to just … know? Like, no doubts whatsoever?”

“You didn’t think it could happen.”

“Yeah, and look at me now.”

“I am,” Kit said. She touched Dela’s arm. “You be careful. Don’t make me cry.”

“You’re too tough for tears.”

“Yeah, whatever. I guess I don’t have to worry. You’ve got enough hurly-burlys up there to take down a small army.”

“And then some,” she agreed, feeling like a fraud. She had never felt so bad about lying.

Dela walked Kit to her car. When she returned to the studio, she found Hari waiting by the forge. His hands traced the stone frame, her resting tools.

“I listened in the stairwell,” he confessed. “She seems like a good friend.”

“She is. I still deceived her, though.”

“You know better than us whether she can come to grips with your secrets.”

“Not really. Kit might handle it fine. I just don’t know if I can take the risk, especially when it’s not only my secret to tell.”

“It is a hard decision, but not one I have had much experience with. My only friends have ever been family, and family always comes first.”

“Family?” Dela said hesitantly. “Is that … is that how you see me?”

Hari blushed. Remarkable, seeing his tawny skin deepen to rose. That such a man could look shy took her breath away.