Magic to the Bone (52 page)

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Authors: Devon Monk

BOOK: Magic to the Bone
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He rubbed his face. ‘‘You are so damn stubborn. Fine. The note says I’m sorry about how it all turned out. That I’m sorry you and I got involved and that I can’t risk you . . . can’t risk a relationship in the . . . in the kind of work I do. There are people out there, Allie. Bad people. Still.’’
 
 
‘‘Like the guy who smells like vitamins?’’
 
 
‘‘Who?’’ he asked.
 
 
‘‘Plain-looking killer. Knew my name?’’
 
 
Zay was quiet a moment. ‘‘That could be a lot of people.’’
 
 
Oh, and just how terrific was that?
 
 
Why it was fan-damn-tastic. Who didn’t want lots of plain-looking killers who knew their name hanging around town? We could have a big ole plain-looking killer party.
 
 
‘‘Great,’’ I said. ‘‘If he happens to stroll by and I point him out, would you tell me who he is?’’
 
 
‘‘Probably.’’
 
 
And somehow I knew that was the closest, straightest answer I was going to get out of him.
 
 
‘‘You were saying?’’ I said. ‘‘About the letter?’’
 
 
He glanced at the street, then back at me. ‘‘It says I hope you’ll understand why we can’t see each other again, and that you’ll forgive me someday.’’
 
 
‘‘So you wrote me a Dear John note?’’
 
 
‘‘Allie, you were in a coma.’’
 
 
‘‘So you write the woman who is your lover, who is in a coma, may I remind you, a Dear John note? I get hurt and you dump me? What the hell?’’
 
 
‘‘You dumped me first,’’ he said. ‘‘You punched me in the nose.’’
 
 
‘‘Yeah? Well, I healed you, right? With some kind of big, amazing light show, Nola said. I so took you back again. And how do you repay me for saving your life? You dump me.’’
 
 
‘‘I didn’t want to—you were dying—I didn’t, couldn’t.’’ Zayvion threw his hands up in the air and growled in frustration. ‘‘You are impossible. I’m trying to make the right move here, Allie. I’m trying to do the smart thing. You almost died. Instead of staying to protect you, I went up to Mama’s to try to get Cody. To get him away from . . . from James. I put my . . . my job before you. Before the woman I . . . the woman I didn’t want to die.’’
 
 
‘‘You were there when I needed you,’’ I said. ‘‘Every time. You’re the only person in my life who ever has been.’’
 
 
‘‘Did Nola tell you that?’’
 
 
‘‘No. I figured that out all on my own.’’
 
 
We sat there, looking at each other and not saying a lot of things.
 
 
Finally, I spoke. ‘‘I am giving you a chance to change your mind about us, about what you wrote in the letter. A chance for us to try this again. And if you don’t want to stick it out with me, fine, I don’t blame you. I haven’t had the easiest sort of life lately. I’ll leave you alone. No hard feelings.’’
 
 
I’d never seen him look so conflicted. Or at least I didn’t think I ever had. ‘‘Allie,’’ he pleaded. ‘‘Things aren’t as safe, as stable as they look. I want you safe. I want what’s right for you.’’
 
 
So do I,
I thought. But I had no idea what that was. My head told me trusting him would be an incredibly stupid thing. He was steeped in secrets, half-spoken truths, and behind-closed-doors dealings. It could take years before I saw the real man behind that masquerade. I didn’t even know what he did for a living.
 
 
But my heart told me he was right, he was safe, he was home.
 
 
It was confusing being me.
 
 
‘‘Okay. Until I figure out what I think is right for me, I want you to do me two favors.’’
 
 
‘‘If I can.’’
 
 
There he was again. Zen-Zay, the man of a million secrets. The man I knew I’d be a fool to trust.
 
 
‘‘I want you to stick around, at least until I get a chance to point that jerk out to you.’’
 
 
‘‘Which jerk?’’
 
 
‘‘The one who opened the cab and talked about a war that’s coming.’’
 
 
Zay suddenly became very, very still. I could feel the magic shift beneath him, could feel him drawing upon it.
 
 
‘‘What war?’’
 
 
‘‘That’s what I want to know.’’ And I guess I looked convincing, because he blinked and sat back in his chair. He looked out the window again, and I could see the muscles in his jaw clench, could see the rope of muscle down the side of his neck strain. He was angry. Or worried.
 
 
‘‘I’d love to have you show me who said that to you.’’ He said it in a low, soft, and dangerous voice. But when he looked back at me, he seemed calm, as if we were discussing tomorrow’s rain. ‘‘What is the other favor?’’
 
 
‘‘I could really use a cup of coffee.’’
 
 
That got a smile out of him, and I liked the look of it. Even scruffy and underslept, he was a damn handsome man, with those tiger-bright eyes, arched cheekbones, and kiss-me-baby lips. I wanted to reach across that table, grab him by his shirt, and find out what his mouth tasted like.
 
 
A wisp of memory, of mint, came to me.
 
 
‘‘All you want from me is a cup of coffee, Ms. Beckstrom?’’ he said.
 
 
‘‘No,’’ I said, ‘‘I want more. Maybe a lot more.’’ I looked down at my hands, because I needed to look away from him to catch my breath. When I was composed, I glanced back up and said, ‘‘How about we start with coffee, lunch, and dessert?’’
 
 
He leaned forward and gently caught my gloved hands in his. ‘‘How about we do.’’
 
 
And I realized this,
this
was what I’d been looking for. It might not be the only place for me, or the best place for me. I had a feeling it wasn’t the safest place for me. But for now, for today, it was right where I wanted to be.
 

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