Seal of Destiny (8 page)

Mira gripped her coffee tighter, anxiety expanding within her like a giant balloon to eradicate her oxygen supply. “This is the reason you need to protect me?”

Kagan gave a brief nod, his midnight blue gaze searching her face. Mira struggled to catch her breath. The birthmark on her shoulder burned, more intense than the night before. She fought the urge to rub her fingers over the sensitive spot. The last thing she needed was for these guys to find something else wrong. One more thing to connect to this batshit crazy story.
Nope. Best to keep the mark a secret.
“You can’t expect me to simply go along with this. Show me concrete proof and then I’ll decide.”

“Fair enough.” Xander nodded. “I’ll make you a deal. You agree to come with Kagan today and keep an open mind. After we present our case, if you still think we’re nuts, then I promise you can leave, no questions asked.”

She sized him up, calculating her options. A battle would be more difficult, but she could defeat them both if they decided to be less than accommodating. “All right. But I need to go back to my apartment.”

Kagan rose to his feet, shaking his head in abject denial. “
Mai
. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. Argus is still loose. Until we locate him, you’re not safe.”

“You mean McClaine? He’s dead — you shot him.” She glanced from Kagan to Xander, stark realization smacking her upside the head. “Except he’s not dead, is he? He’s one of you.”

“He’s not one of us.” Kagan’s scowl deepened. “But he
is
immortal. He’s a demon.”

“McClaine’s a demon?” Mira had no problem believing this new tidbit of information. She shrugged, her spine stiffening along with her intent. “Doesn’t matter. I need things from my apartment. Things I’d rather you not handle. You can’t keep me locked away forever.”

“You won’t be going back, Mira. Not alone, anyway.” Kagan crossed his arms, his expression as stubborn as her will.

Her cell phone jingled to life in the bedroom. She shot Kagan one last stubborn glare before stalking away. With a curse, Mira grabbed the phone and confined herself in the bathroom.

• • •

Mira raged while she dressed. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her what she could and couldn’t do? She snatched her stiff clothes off the towel rack and winced as the burning pain shot through her right shoulder again.
Dammit!
Could something else go wrong today?

She twisted to view her back, the reflection revealing an angry red scald on her pale skin. She raised tentative fingers and tapped the heat pulsing from its surface. What the hell was wrong with her? First she had weird cravings for a man she knew nothing about — her fucking abductor, no less — and now her birthmark threatened to explode from her skin? She pulled on her clothes, taking care not to disturb the welting mark, and glanced at her cell phone. The screen still flashed with the missed call.
Zoe
. Clacking the toilet seat closed, she sat and hit redial.

Zoe picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick last night! By the time I made it out of the back kitchen, all I caught was a flash and you were gone.”

“Hey I texted you, remember?” She tried to make light of the situation. “Glad you made it home safe last night.”

“It was
him
, Mira.” Zoe’s voice lacked her usual spark of warmth. “McClaine.”

She hated the idea their scumbag molester might still be walking around —
was
walking around, if Kagan spoke true. “Maybe it was only someone who looked like him.” She rubbed her forehead.
Lame, Mira. Pathetic and lame.

“We both know it wasn’t, Mira. I saw the bodies too.” Zoe hesitated. “And I swear I’m not crazy, but he’s still alive.”

While stalling for a rational explanation, Mira went with the obvious. “Zoe, he got shot in the heart four times. Nobody lives through those kinds of wounds.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the guy who’s watching my apartment.” Zoe’s panicked tone jangled along Mira’s already frayed nerves. “It’s McClaine, Mira. And he’s messed up. Worse than before.”

Shit.
“Could you get a read on him?” Mira leaned back against the toilet tank.

“No,” Zoe’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “All I see is darkness. And pain. He thrives on pain.”

Mira retraced the steps of her recent conversation with Kagan and Xander.
Their story sounded more believable by the second. With dwindling choices and an influx of intuition, Mira made a decision.
“Zoe, listen. The guy I left with last night, he’s in security. He might be able to help us, and he’s got friends.” Zoe didn’t respond. Mira kept going. “I’m going to have him take me to my apartment later today. I want you to pack up what you can carry and meet us there.”

Silence. Mira checked to see if the call had disconnected. Several long seconds passed before Zoe’s tired response carried through the line. “That’s it, then. We’re leaving?”

“What other choice do we have?” She couldn’t lie to Zoe. Not after everything they’d survived together. “It’s not safe here anymore. We have to figure something else out, okay?”

Zoe gave a weary sigh. “You’re right. What time?”

Mira checked her watch. “I’ll text you after we get there.”

Running a last check over her appearance, Mira was surprised to find the dark circles beneath her eyes faded and her cheeks flushed a healthy pink. She appeared normal, maybe even attractive.
Good.
She’d need all the help she could get to convince Kagan to go along with her plan.

• • •

Mira’s gaze flicked up from where she sat on the sofa, surfing through cable channels. Kagan emerged from the bathroom, half naked, his hair damp from the shower. Her eyes dropped fast as her heart raced and her mouth grew dry. She waited for the now familiar knot of dread that always accompanied her being alone with a man. The one born of pain and torment and long nights of forced intimacy. When it didn’t arrive, she was beyond perplexed.

Kagan moved through the bedroom, his powerful strides threatening to undo the loose towel plastered to his hips. He stood before the closet and leaned against the doorframe, giving Mira an unobstructed view of his sculpted back and brawny arms. The biceps tattoo she’d glimpsed the night before was visible, along with several others adorning his torso. Her gaze traced a scrolled cross between his shoulder blades, the muscle rippling beneath while he tossed clothes out onto the bed.

She attempted to focus on the TV again until she heard his wet towel hit the floor. He padded back into the bathroom to change. A flash of movement in the full-length mirror beside the closet hinted that, if she leaned forward, she’d have a clear view of Kagan in all his naked glory. Mira closed her eyes and fought the battle inside her head.
I will not look. I will not look. I will not look.
It worked for about thirty seconds. Then he began to hum softly and she caved like a mine disaster.

Mira couldn’t stop staring at his newly revealed manhood jutting from its nest of dark curls, his balls heavy below. She’d never wanted to contemplate a man’s body, not after the abuse. Now, she couldn’t seem to tear herself away.

The smooth, pink head of his shaft glistened under the vanity lights. Would he tremble if she stroked him? Moisture pooled between her legs, making her squirm on the sofa. Her slow gaze traveled upward. By the time she reached his face, her curious eyes locked with Kagan’s in a heated stare.
Busted. Fuck!

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to break the tension. A final glance into the mirror gained her an unfettered view of his tight ass before his jeans slid over the hard curves. He wore nothing underneath.
Lucky jeans!

Mira took several deep breaths, struggling to gain control of her rioting emotions. She sought refuge in the coffee commercial playing on the TV.
Caffeine! That’s what I need.
She walked to the kitchen and poured a cup.

“You ready,
piccola
?” The low velvet purr of his voice startled her, his hot breath close to her ear. She jumped, sloshing hot coffee over her hand. Mira brought her scalded flesh to her mouth.

“
Merda!
Here.” Kagan’s grin disappeared. He turned on the faucet and took her hand, guiding the injured skin under the flow. Kagan directed cool water over the area with his thumb, his concentration centered on his ministrations. His expression was serious, his tone quiet and full of apology. “
Scusa, piccola
. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Mira blinked, her focus also trained on their joined hands. “It’s okay. I was distracted.”

“
Si
? Wonder why?” His deep, rich chuckle rumbled through the haze of her emotions, reminding her of his naked form, her arousal. His thumb continued to stroke, to caress. “How’s that feeling?”

“Um … ” She hesitated, her gaze locking with his. He tugged her forward until she stood a bare wisp away, his warm breath fanning over her face. His head descended. She wasn’t ready for this, was she? His lips brushed hers, withdrew. His pupils dilated, black devouring the blue. His gaze dropped to her lips and his tongue swept out, sheening his mouth with moisture. Mira was lost. She leaned closer, granting him the unspoken permission she’d never granted anyone before. He accepted, his hips pressing to hers and his hand cupping her nape, drawing her closer.

His ringing phone startled them both back to reality.

Kagan cursed. His forehead dropped to hers. Mira stared at her toes until he turned away to answer his call, her cheeks heating. She’d violated every rule about handling an unknown threat, and Kagan was the most dangerous peril she’d ever faced. She took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves, struggling to distance herself from a situation way beyond her experience.

“Xander,” Kagan said, approaching again and clicking his phone shut. “He and Wyck have new information. If we leave now, we can stop at your apartment and grab the stuff you need before we head over.” Kagan grabbed a fresh coat from the closet then scooped a second one out for her. “The jacket’s big, but warm.”

Mira slipped the overcoat on and rolled up the sleeves while she waited for him by the front door. Kagan took out his weapons and stowed them as he strode to her. He stepped beside her and she shot him an inquiring look. Kagan ignored her unspoken question and clamped an arm around her waist, preparing to flash away. “What? You need your stuff, so we get your stuff.”

“Wait a minute.” Mira held up a hand, her jaw tense. “How about we do this the old-fashioned way? My stomach sure would be grateful.” She pointed out the window. “You have a train station across the street.”

Kagan glanced at his watch. “Fine.” He pulled her out and locked the door. “If we hurry we can catch the next one.”

• • •

Argus peered into the sunny Chicago morning while he walked back from the brunette’s apartment. It’d taken all of his strength to haul his happy ass out of the club before the cops arrived last night. Hidden in the alley, inside a Dumpster, his human host had died and been reborn again through the power of his demon. He’d been forced to regenerate a new heart because of that Scion fucking douche. Argus coughed, his new heart stuttering, the beat not yet regulated. His host still continued to rattle in his head, now crazier than ever since his death.
Fan-fucking-tastic.

He pushed into his host’s apartment and walked into the kitchen, rummaged through the cupboards until he uncovered a box of chocolate puff cereal. Argus popped the lid and tipped the box overhead, filling his face to the brim with sugary goodness. He searched the shelves and uncovered a bottle of honey. Arugs poured the thick flow down his throat with one hand while he continued his pantry raid with the other. Sugar was the fuel his demon body depended on in the human realm. Regeneration required more than usual.

Argus tossed the empty cereal box and honey bear into the sink and untwisted the top from a newfound jar of strawberry jam. He picked up a dirty spoon from the counter and dug out a huge glob. Then, too impatient to wait, he dumped the utensil in favor of direct scooping with his fingers. He washed everything down with two liters of stale orange soda from the bottom rack of the fridge.

Energy levels on the rise, Argus moved into the living room. He clicked on the TV and listened to a news blurb about the club shooting while he invaded the bookcase. He scanned the titles with a sneer. Nothing but medical journals and classic literature. Who the hell did this asshole think he was fooling? Argus knew the information he wanted was hidden somewhere in the piles.

Books and magazines flew, tossed haphazardly over his shoulders as he continued to search. His eyes flicked to the bottom level, and he spotted doors below the shelves. He popped each one open, empty handed until he glimpsed a plain cardboard shoebox concealed in a far corner. He fished out the container and flung off the lid.

With a grin, Argus retrieved a small piece of paper with the words
Union Station, locker number 77
and a numeric combination scrawled in red ink.
Bingo.
He shoved the slip into his pants pocket, his grin threatening to encompass his entire head.

Argus licked the last of the strawberry jam from the jar then guzzled a gallon of apple juice. He shrugged into his trench coat, mindless of the stained wifebeater underneath, smeared with the remnants of his blood and breakfast. The empty plastic juice jug rattled into the sink where he tossed it before he barged out the back door.

An hour later, Argus pushed his way through the crowds of departing passengers at Union Station and headed toward the wall of lockers near baggage claim. He scanned the numbers until he located number seventy-seven. With trembling fingers, he punched in the code. The human’s spirit rampaged in his head and a sharp twitch convulsed his neck. He mentally bitch-slapped his newly insane host and wished for the zillionth time he’d eradicated the cracker-ass mofo prior to possession.

After a roll of his shoulders and a loud crack from his joints, he finished punching in the numerical code and the locker hissed open. He squinted into the dark cavern and fished out a black briefcase. It fell to his feet with a heavy thud as the door slammed. He hoisted his bounty and took off out the revolving door. An electric surge spiked through him, jerking him to a stop. His head snapped around, searching for the immortal’s presence. No luck. He hailed a nearby cab and dove into the backseat. The weight of the heavy case hurled him sideways while he barked out the address to the driver. The taxi pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic on the busy street.