The Sharpest Blade
Page 52

He kisses my collarbone. “The vigilante’s expecting me.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, sliding his hands under my shirt. My stomach tightens when a chaos luster skips across my ribs. “You’re telling me no, then?”
“I’m telling you later.” My voice is suddenly raspy. His hands have moved down to my waistband. His thumbs dip under it, and my legs turn molten when an unbelievably hot bolt of lightning shoots down low.
“What if the evil vigilante steals you away?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear.
“Then you’ll come find me.” I dig my fingers into his shoulders. “Or I’ll kick his ass. Whichever is easier.”
Aren chuckles.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“It’s only been an hour.”
“You didn’t miss me then?” he asks, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“I’ve missed you for the last month,” I tell him, and as soon as I say those words, I remember the other kisses we’ve shared over the last week. The reluctant kisses, the ones he tried so hard not to give me.
I take a half step away from him. His smile wavers. It’s brief—no more than half a second passes before it returns—but it’s telling.
“You haven’t told me why you tried to push me away.”
His chaos lusters are darting across my skin. It takes everything in me to stand there, not giving in to the desire to kiss him again.
His smile turns into a tantalizing half grin. “Would you believe it was because I was the Realm’s biggest fool?”
“Yes.” A particularly hot bolt of lightning makes my voice break over the word. “And no,” I force myself to say. “I want to know the truth, Aren.”
“I told you the truth.”
“You told me you couldn’t accept the life-bond.”
He looks away from me, back toward the road. That’s when I feel Kyol’s apprehension. Thinking about the life-bond has made me more aware of him, and I’m all but certain he’s braced for Aren and me to be together again.
“That’s close to the truth,” Aren says, his brow furrowing. “Life-bonds are sacred between fae.”
“I’m not fae,” I manage to get out. I’m trying so hard to build a mental wall.
Aren nods. Then his gaze settles on me again. “That makes it worse.” He takes my hand. “Come on. Someone’s just pulled over.”
He presses an anchor-stone into my palm, then leads me to the edge of the river. Still trying to put up a wall, I look over my shoulder and see a police officer walking to my car. He’s not looking in this direction, thank God, but I’m betting I’ll have another TOW AWAY sticker slapped on my car when we get back.
Aren doesn’t release my hand when he dips his into the river. His chaos lusters spiral up my arm. They’re heating my skin, making me flush, and as the fissure shrrips open, I welcome the chill of the In-Between. It extinguishes my lust just enough that I’m able to build a fairly solid mental wall when we step out of the light in Boulder.
“It doesn’t affect you much, does it?” Aren asks, pocketing the anchor-stone.
“What?” I hedge because I’m not sure how to answer. If I tell him the truth, that yes, knowing that Kyol feels how much I love and want Aren is wearing on me, Aren might think I regret last night. He might try to put distance between us again, and I don’t want that.
“You usually hold on to me more tightly when we step out of a fissure,” Aren says. “You’re not off-balance or shaky. The life-bond’s made you more resilient.”
Thank God I didn’t answer. He wasn’t asking if the life-bond affects me; he was asking if the In-Between does.
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “It’s had some interesting side effects. Kynlee was able to take me through a gate without—”
“Kynlee,” he interrupts, his silver eyes widening.
“Yeah. She—”
“You fissured with Kynlee? With a tor’um?”
“I’ve already been informed how risky that was. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.” I’m surprised he’s just now learning about this.
“It wasn’t risky, it was suicidal. Sidhe.” He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair.
“Hey,” Naito’s voice comes from behind me. We’ve fissured to the edge of a wooded area. When I turn, Naito is stepping between the foliage. “Are you two coming, or do you need some time?”
“We’re coming,” I say.
We’re just a handful of paces away from a parking lot that’s crammed with cars. Lee’s on the phone, arranging for a taxi to pick us up. When he sees me, he starts walking toward the entrance to a shopping mall. After a short debate on whether it’s actually necessary for me to have on a red scarf—Naito thinks it is just in case we don’t recognize the vigilante, but Lee’s certain the vigilante will be Harper—I grab some cash from Lee, run inside, and buy a scarf that’s more pink than red. It’ll have to do.
Half an hour later, I’m sitting alone at the bar. It’s ten minutes before six, so the place isn’t crowded. That’s kind of a problem. Lee’s hunkered down in a corner booth. He’s wearing a baseball cap that he picked up at the last minute from a street vendor, but if the vigilante is paranoid and looks closely, he’ll see Lee’s face. Plus, there’s always the possibility that my contact isn’t coming alone.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks. She’s skinny with a tattoo inked from her left wrist all the way up to her shoulder.
“Nothing right now,” I say. “I’m waiting on someone.”
“Are you waiting on him?” She nods toward a man sitting at the end of the bar. He’s older, pushing sixty at least, with a deeply pockmarked face. A briefcase sits at his feet.
“If so, you’re the third”—she eyes my pink scarf—“reddish-scarfed woman he’s met here recently.”
“That’s probably him then. Thanks,” I say, staring at the man. He’s still not looking at me. And Lee isn’t moving. He’s here instead of Naito because, theoretically, he’ll recognize more of the vigilantes since Naito hasn’t been one of them for several years. Honestly, though, I’d rather have Naito here, or Aren or Trev, but they’re all waiting outside in inconspicuous locations. The vigilante would either run or fight if he saw a fae, and we don’t want to cause a scene.
If Briefcase Man is my contact, I could just walk out of here. We could follow him to see where he goes, or we could maneuver him into a dark alley and question him. Either way is simple and would work. Really, all I need to do is make sure he’s who I think he is.
I’ll give him until 6:05. Then I’ll go talk to him.
When the clock behind the bar reads exactly 6:00 P.M., Briefcase Man picks up his briefcase, walks to me, then with a curt “Follow me,” he heads for a narrow hall at the back of the bar. Presumably, it leads to the restrooms and rear exit.
As I stand, I glance at Lee. He won’t see me if I go down that hall, and he’s not looking my way now. He’s staring out the window. I hesitate, waiting for him to check on me, but he seems riveted to something outside.