Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(21)

She was hot. A sexy, cute hot, with green eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter.

Where was my mouth? Obviously, still on the friggin’ floor.

I snapped my jaw shut and cleared my throat. “It’s nice.” It’s nice? I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth to a hot chick who obviously was trying to get my attention. Well, she had it, probably had the attention of every guy in this place.

“Little early for beer. Alcoholic?” she asked.

It would appear like that. Just moments ago, I’d made the same assumption about the other patrons. “Nope.”

“Rough night then? Is it a woman or man?” She laughed again when I snorted. “Sorry. Hard to know. I mean, you’re gorgeous, obviously in good shape, and dress nice, and it seems like all the attractive men I’m interested in aren’t interested in me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Wow, I managed a whole sentence. Then I realized what I said and quickly rectified. “I mean, I like chicks.”

She laughed and held out her hand, and I noticed she didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingers were long and slim, well kept, nails manicured. “Good to know. I’m Abigail—don’t call me that though. I prefer Abby.”

The instant I touched her hand, I felt the familiar electricity shoot through my body and it wasn’t a sexual thing. No, this was a get-the-f*ck-out-now warning.

I jerked back, grabbed my coat from the back of the chair, threw a twenty on the bar, and headed for the door.

No way was her sitting down beside me an accident.

I slammed my palm into the door and walked out onto the sidewalk, kicking the bicycle post with the toe of my combat boot. “Shit.” I should’ve known what she was the second she sat down.

I heard the door open as I put my arm out to hail a cab. I smelled her vanilla perfume as she came up behind me.

Without turning, I said, “Not a fan of witches, so best keep your spell fingers to yourself.”

“I need your help,” she said.

“Yeah, well, my help meter is at full capacity right now. Take a number.” Frig, where were the cabs when you needed one?

“It’s Liam.” Whoa. What? Liam? Shit, this must be the witch rumored to be hanging at Liam’s club. I turned toward her as she said, “The vampire.”

“Yeah, I know who the f*ck he is,” I said.

A yellow cab slowed.

“Liam told me to meet him at the club in five nights.”

“And why the hell do I give a shit?” The cab rolled to a stop and I opened the door.

Her fingers curled around my arm. “He’s going to kill me.”





There was a soft knock on the door.

I jerked away from the window and the blinds I’d parted with my fingers to peer outside snapped closed. I knew it wasn’t Kilter because I was getting that the guy didn’t know how to knock.

“Rayne, it’s Anstice. Can I come in?”

I hadn’t seen any of the Scars except Kilter for two days. After hearing about Ryker being here, I’d stayed in the bedroom.

I walked to the door, put my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath then opened it.

Anstice smiled. “Hey. I came to check if you needed anything.”

We were the same height, although Anstice was wearing one-inch heels. She had on a white blouse and dark blue jeans that sculpted to her long, fawn-like legs. There was a vibrancy and animation with Anstice’s stark features and flaming red hair, but her voice contradicted her looks in that it was quiet and poetic.

“Ah, no. Thanks,” I replied.

Hovering by the door, she shifted her weight and said, “At breakfast the other day, I saw the bruises on your neck. I can heal them if you want.”

“I’m fine.” I had no interest in anyone using their abilities on me and certainly not touching me.

“They have to be tender.” Anstice paused. “I promise, healing doesn’t hurt.”

I’d heard that before—it always hurt. “I’d rather not.”

I heard booted footsteps come down the hallway and I looked past Anstice’s shoulder to see Kilter. He scowled, but then that was pretty much a permanent thing, so it didn’t give me any indication as to whether he was mad or not.

“Let her heal you, babe.”

Anstice said, “It’s okay, Kilter. She doesn’t have to—”

“Yeah, she does.” His eyes locked on mine and I crossed my arms as if to shield myself from his intense gaze. It didn’t work.

I raised my chin and said, “I don’t want her to.”

There was a hint of a lip twitch at the right side of his mouth and his furrowed brows lifted. “Anstice, give us a minute,” Kilter ordered.

“Umm, yeah, sure.” She half-smiled at me before walking back down the hall. Kilter strode in, forcing me back, then kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot.

“I need you to do this.”

He stalked toward me and I backed up until my legs hit the end of the bed. He stopped inches away.

“It’s important.” He raised his hand to my neck, his knuckles tracing the bruises. It was so gentle I barely felt it. “She can heal these. In minutes, they’ll be gone.”

His eyes lifted from my neck and came back to mine. The black depths of his eyes melded with a chocolate color that radiated warmth.