The Curse (Belador #3)(14)

When Tzader finished his call, he said, “Going to be a little later than midnight, more like one. Let’s meet at—”

“How about my room at the Ritz downtown,” Quinn interjected, giving his room number. “That will allow us adequate privacy.”

Tzader’s gaze eased from Quinn to Evalle. “Good by me.”

Evalle hated putting off talking to Quinn, but with Tristan waiting, she didn’t have time right now. “I’ll be there by one.”

She hoped. Tristan could be slippery and she didn’t plan to lose track of him this time. She started picking body goo off her shirt. “Z, you got enough people here for cleanup?”

“Plenty.”

“I’ve got an errand to run.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“Nothing I can talk about.” She cringed at how that sounded. When Tzader didn’t respond, she knew he expected her to expound. “I was talking to Macha right before you called me in.”

“Oh?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but she could feel them bearing down on her. Few Beladors spoke directly to Macha, Tzader being one of those. Evalle didn’t particularly like being in that group, but neither did she have a choice. “I have to do something for her.”

When the silence that followed hung too long, Evalle looked up to find Tzader frowning. She held her hands out in a motion of asking him to understand. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”

“I know that. I also know how Macha is. Be careful.”

“I will, and don’t worry if I run a little late.” Evalle gave Quinn a smile she had a feeling looked as forced as it felt, but she’d been through a lot with him, and with Tzader. She wouldn’t believe that Quinn had betrayed her based solely on the words of a Medb witch. “See you later.”

Quinn nodded, too quiet and reserved, even for him.

Time to finally deal with Tristan.

After hiking back down Memorial Drive, Evalle found a water spigot behind a string of restaurants in the block that included Six Feet Under. She cleaned up the best she could, happy not to smell so nasty even if her clothes and hair were now damp. The chilly air felt refreshing on her skin, especially after all that clammy death.

She left her shoulder-length hair loose to dry while she covered the next couple blocks. She found her motorcycle parked where she’d left it on a side street, lit only by a single overhead security light.

Shadows moved and murmured in her wake.

Nightstalkers probably. Ghouls who had once been homeless people before they’d died in natural disasters. None were trying to get her attention tonight. They just hovered nearby. But when she reached her motorcycle, she felt energy moving toward her. Something nonhuman lurked a few feet away.

Turning, she waited for a Nightstalker to glimmer into view and ask for a deal. But what emerged from the shadows was no ghoul.

Storm was alive.





FIVE




Storm ignored the residual pain lingering in his body and stood with his feet apart, prepared to deal with an angry Alterant.

But seeing Evalle again could heal a dying man … which he’d been up until yesterday.

As usual, dark sunglasses protected Evalle’s sensitive, glowing-green eyes, but nothing could shield her emotions from him. Like now, when he sensed her turmoil, with no way to ease her anxiety. Not yet.

The first time he’d set eyes on her during a meeting at VIPER, he’d caught her silent distress. Thinking only to help, he’d reached out with gifts bestowed by his tribal ancestors to soothe her … and had gotten a biting earful later for his efforts.

She was harder to get close to than a pissed-off hornet, but in those rare moments when he had her in his arms, no other woman equaled her.

“Storm?” she asked tentatively, still standing near her bike. “Where have you been?”

Emotions boiled off of her, slamming him with a chaotic rush of thrill, worry and frustration.

He waited as a noisy beater car passed, leaving the side street silent again in the wake of loud music muffled by the rolled-up windows. Striding forward a few slow steps, he paused close enough to reach out and touch her, but he waited, watching for any signs of hesitation on her part.

Or that she’d attack.

She’d been hurt at some time in her past, physically as well as emotionally, and would strike out like a wounded animal when caught off guard. “I’ve been healing.”

“I see.”

Worse than angry. She sounded hurt. His empathic gift picked up on the swell and ache of that emotion.

He had plenty to tell her, but he needed her to hear something first before he shared all the details about what had happened. One thought kept jamming his brain, pushing its way to his lips. “I missed you.”

She stood there, racked with indecision for several seconds, then gave him a watery smile and lunged into his arms. “I missed you, too.”

He caught her, hugging her to him, surprised at how his body trembled at the feel of her close again.

His definition of heaven.

One he fought guilt over enjoying since she didn’t know he had no soul. Back in South America, those who knew his history had called him a demon. What others thought hadn’t mattered … until he’d met Evalle.

Now he had every intention of fixing that problem.