Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(64)

Today had been one long, strange day from hell. Where was Tiago now? Aryal said he had met up with Rune. Maybe now that Rune and Aryal were here, Tiago really would head back to New York. He had kept his promise to her. He had stayed until she was healed. She knew how important keeping a promise was to all the sentinels. Would he leave without saying good-bye or returning her calls? He was such a proud, aloof man, and she had rejected his support in front of Carling and the whole Dark Fae delegation, so he might very well be gone.

Yes, he had made a mistake when he forgot to tell her about the Wyr, but after everything he had done for her, he deserved better than what she had given him.

She kept remembering that flash of anarchy in Tiago’s face when she had sent him away. She had hurt him, and oh God, she missed him so much it was like suffering an amputation, and she wanted to ask somebody how she had suddenly gotten transported into a Victorian novel.

A marriage of convenience? Really?

She coughed out an angry, hurting laugh. The dance music obliterated the sound.

Look at this progression. First she was afraid to have an affair with Tiago. Then she was afraid she would only get a little time with him. Then she was grateful she might get any time at all with him. Then she lost any hope when she sent him away. Now, when Aubrey and Kellen agreed they would tolerate the presence of her Wyr friends for a few weeks, she didn’t even know if Tiago was still around. If he was, there was a good chance he was no longer interested. Even if he was still interested, she didn’t know how she could stomach having an affair with him while she simultaneously looked for a husband.

And that was just what was happening in her personal life.

How had everything gotten so twisted? She almost felt nostalgic for the time when all she had to worry about was Urien trying to kill her. Urien had been Powerful and scary, so she lived under his enemy Dragos’s protection in New York. End of story.

Maybe she had put things together wrong in her head. (But she didn’t think so.) Maybe a marriage of convenience wasn’t necessary. (Even though she was pretty sure it was.) Maybe things would look different in the morning after a good night’s sleep. (And too many tequila shots.)

And why did this have to be a nonsmoking bar? Her teeth clenched as she looked around. Everybody knew how much stress cops lived with on a daily basis. Somebody in this damn joint had to have cigarettes. One way or another she was going to beg or steal a pack.

The air grew static. The tiny hairs along the back of her neck and arms rose.

She knew that feeling. She knew it.

The lights flickered and dimmed. A speaker near the doors emitted a feedback shriek then another did, and a lightbulb over the bar exploded in a shower of sparks.

Agonized hope leaped inside. She turned, looking for him. She was too small to see over the heads of most of the people surrounding her. Then the speakers on the dance floor screamed, and the music came to an abrupt halt.

People stopped dancing. She heard snatches of good-natured grumbling. “. . . storm outside . . . must have been a lightning strike close by . . .”

That was when she saw him. He was still dressed in his black fatigues and weaponry. He was taller than most of the humans and infinitely more hazardous. The strong bones of his face were hatchet-sharp, his beautifully cut mouth drawn taut, and he wore dark glasses that turned him into an unpredictable stranger. His face was turned toward her as he shouldered through the crowd. A path opened on the dance floor between them as the people there took one look at him and backed away.

Her body reacted first as she stared at him. She started to shake. Her breathing grew choppy. Her pulse ratcheted up its speed, turning her veins into an autobahn. Then her emotions caught up with the rest of her.

Elation that he hadn’t left.

Astonishment, as the sheer force of his presence jettisoned her into a different reality. Everything around her became sharper, clearer, more vibrantly colored. Everything inside her reached a level of intensity that had her nearly coming out of her skin.

And there was uncertainty. There was very much uncertainty.

Because he looked so cruel, so sadistic. No, sexy. No, sadistic. Oh shit.

He stopped in front of her, an immense wall of muscled male aggression. His dark sunglasses angled down toward her, and his harsh-edged assassin’s face was the one that had promised to burn down the world of the most Powerful Nightkind leader on Earth.

Whatever you do, don’t say sowwy.

She tried speaking his name. It came out a shaky mess. “Tiago?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” he barked.

The question slapped her in the face.

Excuse me?

She fell back a step as hurt spread through her middle like a bruise. She may not have been able to get fully engaged in the outing, but she had still put effort into her appearance because she wanted to look nice.

She pointed to the door and said between her teeth, “You need to go outside and come back in with a different attitude, mister.”

He snarled, “What I am going to do is take you back to your room so you can put some goddamn clothes on.”

An invisible gremlin must have been in the room, because it doused her temper with lighter fluid and struck a match. A wave of heat flashed over her skin. She stamped her foot and shouted, “I look pretty!”

Dr. Death bent his head down to go nose-to-nose with her. He bellowed, “You look half naked!”

She disconnected from her body as she transported to a place only he could make her go. She didn’t have to put up with this shit. She cocked her head sideways and glared at her reflection in his sunglasses. That was when she heard herself say, “So what are you going to do about it, spank me?”