City of Light

  “Ah,” Sal said, the sharp sound of his voice making me jump slightly. “And here’s Nadel, right on time.”

  I glanced around as a tall man with receding blond hair approached the table. He shook Sal’s hand, his manner more formal than usual for friends, then glanced at me.

  “And you would be the young woman who is interested in the security position at Winter Halo?”

  His scent swirled around me, an interesting mix of old paper, vanilla, and something furred. Not Sal’s scent. Not the scent of the unseen man who watched from afar. I rose and offered my hand. “Ti Zindela, at your service, sir.”

  His grip was warm and soft. It wasn’t the grip of a man who’d ever worked hard for a living—and it certainly wasn’t the grip of a soldier. Though why I’d thought it might be was a mystery.

  He looked me up and down, then said, “And have you had any experience in the security industry?”

  “Yes, but mostly in smaller establishments. I’ve never worked for any company as large as Winter Halo.”

  “You’re chipped?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Not if they come from Chaos.” He paused. “You don’t, do you?”

  “No.” I waved a hand at the empty chair. “Please, sit.”

  He hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t. There’ve been problems at the company, and I have to get back.”

  “I hope it’s nothing major.” Though Sal’s tone bordered on disinterested, I had a suspicion that was anything but the truth.

  Nadel gave him a somewhat wary look. “Nothing that I can speak about, I’m afraid.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Sal replied. And again, I sensed his interest even though all outward signs suggested otherwise.

  The older man frowned and returned his gaze to mine. “I’ll scan your details, if you don’t mind. If your references and history check out, we’ll be in contact about the position.”

  “Any idea how long that will take? I’m afraid I’m running low on credits.”

  He shrugged and pulled a small scanner from his jacket pocket. “It should take only a day or so. Where are you currently staying?”

  I raised my hand, wrist side up. “A place called Old Stan’s on Twelfth.”

  He sniffed as he scanned the RFID. “Not one of the more favorable establishments in Central.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s one of the few I can afford given the credit situation.”

  “I shall see if I can hurry the process along.” He glanced at Sal, nodded, then turned and walked away.

  I blinked. “Well, that was short and sweet.”

  “As I said, they are in desperate need of security personnel. If your references check out, you can expect to be contacted by tomorrow evening.”

  “Huh.” I sat back down. “Why were you so interested in what was happening at Winter Halo?”

  He smiled. “I’m lucky Nadel is not as perceptive as you.”

  “That you are. And stop avoiding the question.”

  His smile grew. “Information is better than credits in Central. Remember that if you wish to succeed in this place.”

  A tall, brown-haired waitress appeared and, after a quick glance at the menu, I ordered the roast beef and vegetables. Sal made it two, and ordered wine for us both.

  I leaned back in my chair as she left and kicked off one sandal. “And is that what you’re doing at Hedone?” I raised my toes to his leg and slowly slid them upward. His gaze darkened, became hungry. “Gathering information?”

  “There is no better place to collect information than those few vital moments postcoitus, when the mind is completely relaxed and the guard down. You, of all people, should know that.”

  I did know that, but knowledge and action were often two very different things. Warriors who’d been at war most of their lives sometimes didn’t relax, even during sexual acts. That had always made attempting to read the complete road map of their emotions and put together a picture of plans and possible outcomes very dangerous—especially when a lot of shifters were sensitive to any sort of mental intrusion. Even something as noninvasive as seeking could be a death sentence if it was tried on the wrong target.

  Using my skills on Sal would be dangerous. Even if he had nothing to hide, discovery might very well signal an end to our friendship. I was both breaking the trust between us and betraying our friendship by attempting to read him, and the loss of both would be a very high price to pay given I’d only just found him again. And yet, while I very much hoped I’d find nothing to implicate him and that he wouldn’t discover what I’d done, I couldn’t not do it.

  I studied him for a moment, then said, “But you’re not a seeker yourself, so I take it you’re employing men and women who are.”

  “Seekers or telepaths, although that is something we look for rather than advertise for,” he said. “Hedone has a good reputation, our pay rates are good, and so are the conditions. I have a long list of those wishing positions.”

  “And is information gathering the reason why the history of Hedone mentions nothing about making your way up from the twelfth district?”

  He smiled, but again there was something very cool, almost inhuman, about it. Which was an odd thought given Sal and I had never been human in any common sense of the word. “Those who partake of our offerings would be less inclined to do so if they were aware of our history.”

  “Nadel is one of those customers?”

  “He is indeed.”

  “And he’s a shifter?”

  Sal raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t tell?”

  I shook my head. “His scent was a little strange—not human, but not really shifter.”

  “That’s because he’s only half-shifter, and a tabby at that.” He smiled. “He has a preference for overly tall, dark-skinned women with bountiful breasts—”

  “‘Bountiful breasts’?” I cut in, with a laugh.

  “His words, not mine. Luckily for me, I happen to employ a telepath who fits such a description. I’ve gotten some interesting information from him over the years.”

  “Anything about Winter Halo’s owner? Anything I should be worried about, that is?”

  “Other than his predilection for sleeping with his staff, no.”

  “Then why were you so reluctant about arranging this meeting?”

  “Because I wish you in my bed, not his.” He caught my foot as it reached his thigh, shifted it to the top of his leg, and began to knead it. I sighed in pleasure, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the massage.

  Our meal arrived. We ate it leisurely, talking and joking and laughing. It almost felt like old times back at the bunker. Almost.

  Because there was an underlying tension that ran between the two of us. A tension that was sexual in nature, and something else. Something that was almost—but not quite—wariness. Or maybe even suspicion.

  It made me wonder about that call he’d received before I’d arrived. Made me wonder about the part he might play in all this—if he did, indeed, play a part.

  When our meal was cleared, the last of the wine consumed, and the bill paid, Sal said, his expression guarded, “So, would you like to come back to my place?”

  I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you actually want me to come back to your apartment.” I cocked my head slightly. “I have to say, you don’t exactly seem enthused by the idea.”

  A grin split his lips, but it wasn’t quite as real as it should have been. “Oh, I am. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up too far.”

  “Good.” I placed my napkin on the table and rose. “Shall we go, then?”

  He rose and caught my hand, his fingers brushing my wrist as he led me out of the restaurant. The night was cool and bright and, overhead, a storm rumbled—a sound that seemed at odds with the almost blinding light that bathed the streets. As we walked back to First Street, he said, voice nonchalant, “What happened here?”


  He raised our joined hands and pointed to the ugly scar left by the vampires. I hadn’t thought to disguise it, and that was a very stupid mistake on my part.

  “Camouflage,” I replied, with an easy smile. “I thought I might be a more believable security guard if I wasn’t such a clean skin.”

  “Maybe.” Though his expression gave little away, the threads of suspicion seemed stronger.

  I hesitated, and then said, “You don’t think it’ll be a problem, do you?”

  “That I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But if it’s only camouflage, you can get rid of it easily enough, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can. It’s only real wounds that cause a problem when body shifting.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue. I frowned and squinted up at him. “But you know that.”

  He waved his free hand. “The war was a long time ago, Tiger.”

  It might have been a long time ago, but I certainly hadn’t forgotten it. I couldn’t, not when I lived with reminders of the war and the actions of the shifters every single day. Sal might not have those reminders, but even so, why hadn’t he called me on the lie? Had he truly forgotten or was he was testing me? And if the latter, why?

  I didn’t say anything, however, and we continued on in silence—a silence that was edged with both desire and watchfulness. It was the latter that stirred alarm. I needed to be very, very careful tonight.

  “Would you like some wine, or perhaps a coffee?” he asked as the elevator stopped on his floor and the doors opened.

  He strode ahead of me, heading for the kitchen. I kicked off my shoes, then stripped off my tunic, dumping both on the nearest sofa as I followed him across the vast space of his home.

  “Perhaps later,” I replied. “Right now, I’m hungrier for something else.”

  He paused in the middle of reaching for a bottle of wine and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze swept me and that hungry light reappeared. “So it would seem,” he murmured, and closed the fridge again.

  He reached for my waist, but I caught his hand instead and led him toward the bedroom. “This time,” I said, my voice low, “we do it my way.”

  “More than happy to,” he murmured, his free hand sliding sensuously down my spine before coming to rest on my butt. His touch was cool, especially when compared to the fire that raged inside of me. And while his salamander blood meant his touch would never contain the heat of mine, it nevertheless seemed . . . odd. I frowned but thrust away the curiosity and questions that inevitably stirred. I’d get answers soon enough if I did this right.

  I stopped when I reached the bed and turned to face him. “Don’t move,” I said. “And most certainly don’t touch.”

  He raised an eyebrow, amusement and expectation warring for precedence in his expression. “Where is the fun in not touching?”

  “You’ve been around humans far too long if you cannot remember the simple pleasure of receiving rather than sharing.”

  I began to strip him, taking my time, exploring each new bit of flesh as it was revealed, touching and kissing and tasting. By the time his shirt fell to the floor, he was breathing fast and the smell of desire was so thick in the air that it filled every breath. I kept going, kept teasing, my fingers playing around the waist of his pants but not undoing them. Not releasing him.

  When I finally did, his groan was one of sheer pleasure. His cock jumped free, thick and hard and quivering with expectation. I ran my tongue over its tip and he groaned again, the sound almost desperate. I smiled and kept on tasting him, kept teasing him, until he was quivering with the need for release and his body was tense with the effort of control. Then I rose, my nipples brushing his chest as I kissed him. Softly, gently.

  “I presume you have massage oil?” I murmured, my lips brushing his as I spoke.

  “In the bathroom.” His reply was little more than a husky growl.

  “Then I’ll go get it while you lie on the bed.” I brushed a final kiss across his lips, then stepped away. “Lie on your stomach, not your back.”

  “I don’t think—”

  I placed a finger against his lips and silenced him. “This isn’t about thinking. This is about pleasuring. Lie on the bed.”

  He took a deep, somewhat shaky breath, then did as I bid. I retrieved the oil, warming the small, pliant bottle between my hands as I climbed on the bed and sat astride him. His skin quivered where our flesh touched.

  When the heat of my hands had warmed the oil enough, I undid the top and slowly dribbled it onto his skin, starting at the base of the spine, then moving upward to his shoulders. Once the bottle was recapped, I moved back to the base of his spine and began to work the oil into his flesh, alternating long sweeping strokes with more circular ones, my hands not leaving his skin as I worked my way up his spine, then across his shoulders and down each arm. Then I made my way back down his body. After dribbling more oil onto my hands, I continued on, over his firm rump and down the muscular length of his legs, concentrating on his feet for a while before moving back up his legs. When my fingers slipped between his thighs and brushed his balls, he jumped slightly and groaned.

  “God, don’t,” he murmured. “Or I may not last.”

  I chuckled softly. “This from the man who once boasted he could make a woman come a dozen times before he himself felt the need to release.”

  “That was a long time ago.” He jumped again as my fingers brushed him a second time. “The need for control is not especially prized in a world that values time over quality.”

  “Then that is this world’s loss.” I moved to one side. “Turn over.”

  He obeyed. Precum gleamed on the tip of his cock, and I leaned across, my hair brushing his belly as I swirled my tongue around the tip of him, drawing in his salty taste. His hips instinctively arched upward, silently urging me to take more of him. I didn’t.

  Instead, I poured some more oil over his body, then sat astride his legs and began to massage him again, slowly exploring every inch of his well-defined stomach and muscular chest, gradually working my way upward until my breasts were pressed against his.

  “By god,” he said, his words little more than a puff of agonized air. “All I want to do is take you in my arms and plunge myself inside you.”

  “But you can’t,” I replied. “Not yet.”

  I kissed him, gently at first, then deeper, harder, our tongues entwining, exploring. When I pulled away, he groaned again. I smiled but held his gaze as I kissed and licked my way back down his body. When I licked the base of his cock, he jerked in response, groaning, quivering. He was close to his breaking point—close, but not quite close enough. I needed him to be nothing but emotion and need and desire. So I teased him, played with him, alternating between taking him in my mouth and running my tongue around the base of his cock and balls, until every inch of him was quivering for release and the smell of his desire stung the air, thick and heavy and desperate.

  Only then did I sit astride him. I didn’t let him enter me, but rubbed myself up and down the length of him.

  He made a low sound of desperation, then grabbed me and quickly changed our positions. He hovered above me for several seconds, his gaze on mine, his body shaking with the fierceness of his control.

  “No more,” he growled. “From here on in, I’m in control.”

  And with that, he thrust inside me. I groaned in pleasure, but the sound was automatic, as were the responses of my body. Because the minute he entered me, I released the gate on my seeker skills, allowing my energy and aura to merge with his, letting it entwine as intimately as our bodies, until emotions and thought became something I could see and taste. I ran swiftly across the surface images, sensing within them a hunger I couldn’t explain—a hunger that was fierce, icy, and alien. I plunged deeper, seeking the darker recesses and hidden places. Saw, in rapid succession, fragmented images from his past—his actions, his lovers, those he’d murdered and become, and those he’d simply murdered. Then, deeper still, felt the anger, t
he desperation, and the fear of a world determined to destroy us. Saw four humanoid forms—two male, one female, and one that was something else altogether—become trapped by a bitter, alien, darkness that swept around and through them, merging their particles, making them one. Saw the four become three as one was killed and its blood and flesh consumed.

  There was nothing more beyond that. Nothing but that bitter, alien darkness. It was as if he’d been reborn in that moment and everything that had gone on before then—everything he’d been and everything he’d done—had been erased. All that remained were vague, fragmented memories that made little sense.

  Slowly, carefully, I withdrew from his energy and aura. As awareness of the here and now resurfaced, I reimmersed myself into the sensations flooding my body. Became aware of the fierceness of his thrusts, and of pleasure, spiraling ever tighter. His lips, hard on mine, demanding and desperate.

  I wrapped by legs around him, pressing him tighter, harder, against me. His breathing became harsher, his tempo more urgent. The burn of desire built and built, until the need that pulsed between us became all-consuming and the air so thick with desire I could barely even breathe.

  We came together, his roar echoing across the silence, his body slamming into mine so hard the whole bed shook.

  When I finally caught my breath again, I took his face between my palms and kissed him long and slow, even as my gaze searched his, looking for any sign of suspicion, of doubt. There was nothing but languid contentment.

  I wished I felt the same.

  I had no idea what had happened to Sal, or what indeed those images truly meant, but one thing was clear.

  This man—this déchet—wasn’t my Sal. He might have his scent, he might have his form, but the Sal I’d known had all but died just after the war’s end, when that oddly bitter darkness had combined his spirit and his flesh with that of three others. It was an event that had left him irrevocably changed, and in ways I couldn’t even begin to guess at.