Heir Of Doom Page 8

  A few steps more and I told him to stop.

  “Pay attention,” he instructed, taking a tiny step forward, his aura flickering into range.

  The man took a step back, his aura disappearing, then another forward, his aura reappearing.

  I shook my head when he raised his eyebrows in question.

  “Pay attention,” he said again before repeating the process. Back one step, forward another. Then again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Half an hour later, I slumped in defeat. “Forget it.”

  “It takes a while for a person to tell the difference. Plus, I'm very good at disguises,” he declared, without a hint of conceit.

  “So the silvery color, that's the fee part. Can you hide the green and keep the silver – I mean, can you pass for a fee?”

  Diggy paused, his brows creased. “Have you ever seen a silver aura before?”

  “Yeah, Lee's. Her aura was a pure, shining silver.”

  His pause this time wasn't so brief. “Lee…?”

  “Leon Ora Maiche.”

  Pursing his lips, his gaze grew serious. “When – where did you meet her?”

  I scanned the dead land, the cracked soil, the blackened husk of the forest ahead. “Here. I met her about three months ago. Here.”

  Diggy followed my gaze around the planet as if he expected Lee to appear out of nowhere. The way she'd appeared not so long ago, when she'd tricked me into making that bargain. The one she had yet to collect. I shivered, wondering if she was watching us.

  “I guess she would take an interest in you,” Diggy murmured, no doubt thinking about my father and the broken bargain. “Do yourself a favor. Whatever you do, wherever you go, keep away from her and her kind.”

  Yeah, bro, too late for that.

  Chapter Nine

  It took me a few days, watching his aura every time it flickered in and out of range, at other people in the streets, at work, in the market, but I finally saw what Diggy had wanted me to. Whenever his aura flickered into range, I focused on it. It had me eating a few punches I could have blocked, but the result was worth it.

  It wasn't much, barely something at all, just a faint shimmer, or more like a tiny silvery sheen in the inner line of the aura that appeared and disappeared almost instantaneously. As if the light hit at a certain angle and reflected in a particular way. Later I'd be told that for that tiny reflection to show in the aura of a rejected, that person had either to be under extreme stress or do it on purpose. Since Diggy's wealth of energy seemed bottomless, I believed he'd finally taken pity on me. That notion was reinforced by the fact that I never saw it again.

  Those who had to procure charms to disguise their auras and scents, Diggy explained, couldn't hide that fleeting shimmer. A fact that was proved with Roland. I'd known he wasn't human; no one ordinary could have the power and authority to command twenty-six preternatural top predators without having a lot of oomph. But viewing that reflection, a transient golden sheen, something I'd no doubt seen before but attributed to the effect of the light; it had me hurrying to the locker room, locking the door behind me, and doing a victory dance, all elbows jabbing, feet moving, butt wiggling, hips bumping.

  The next day, during our power-bar break in the Low Lands, I told Diggy what I'd seen. I couldn't tell Roland's true nature from that brief glimpse, and I suspected that even if I were able to fully see his aura, I wouldn't be able to tell what he was.

  Of course, the fact that Diggy was the one who'd pointed out where to look only meant my discovery wasn't news to him, but the pleased look I caught in his eyes before he could mask it told me he was glad.

  I could, of course, talk to Vicky – and I did – but the discovery wasn't as important to her as it was to me. For Vicky, pretty important these days was what to wear for a hot new date, which restaurant to go to, and the fact that the friend of a friend was a “hottie” without a date, and that I should go out with them on a double date. And, oh yeah, the fact that Valentine's Day was just around the corner didn't help at all.

  She'd been dropping subtle hints about this guy for a while, and when I refused to bite the bait, she'd outright thrown it in my face.

  “You need a man to put some spice in your boring life, my friend,” she'd said, the concern in her baby blues real enough. I thought my life had enough spice and was, in fact, too hot even for me, but I didn't reply and she let the topic drop, to be continued another day.

  * * *

  That evening I awoke to the sound of Vicky rummaging in my kitchen, the smell of melting cheese making my mouth water. A glance at my watch told me I'd overslept again. Not that the extra hour brought extra rest, not at all; if anything, I felt like I'd been run over by a speeding bull.

  I threw the covers away and stood, groaning when my stiff muscles stretched and throbbed. Grabbing a rubber tie I'd thrown atop the nightstand before I'd crawled into bed a few hours earlier, I tide up the mess of hair. Disentangling locks would be a bitch, since I'd slept with my hair wet and uncombed. A job for another time, I told myself as I padded barefoot to the kitchen, where the aroma of melting cheese and coffee originated.

  I was still on my second bite when Vicky began bombarding me with suggestions about blind dating and that friend of a friend. I let her talk, hmmming whenever there was a lull in the conversation, finishing the sandwich before she noticed I wasn't really listening.

  Narrowing her eyes, she dropped whatever she was doing in the kitchen and came around the divider. She paused a few feet away, the coffee table between us, fists on hips, Frizz ignored by her side. Ah, shit.

  “You need to start dating again, Roxy,” she said in a righteous tone.

  Licking grease off my fingertips, I stretched my legs on the coffee table and braced myself for the conversation ahead. “No, I don't.”

  “You can't just live your life like this, alone, no friends, no life beyond work. You have no hobby, no habits, no social media interactions. It's not healthy.” The concern in her eyes was genuine, but not strong enough for me to sense yet.

  “I have hobbies. I watch movies with Frizz every night when you're not around. And I thought you were my friend.”

  “No, that's not what I meant.”

  I clicked thumb and forefinger together and said, “You can say watching movies with Frizz every night is also a habit. See, a hobby, a habit and a friend. I enjoy cooking and baking too – it's both a pastime and a relaxation method for me.” I gave her an innocent smile that she ignored.

  “Yet you live on sandwiches and takeout food,” Vicky frowned at me. “You used to enjoy reading. You liked to go shopping, to go dancing. You don't even listen to music anymore.”

  “I still like to read,” I waved a hand at the guidebook of the preternatural catching dust atop the coffee table. “And I don't have time to go shopping or dancing anymore.”

  “You have time,” She glared at me. “We all hold a nine to five like you. And before you start with all that nonsense about Dimple working you hard, you still have weekends to get out and have fun. Why can't you? You were always the first in line in the theater or the first to arrive at the mall or at a party.”

  “That girl died when she was twelve,” I snapped, her words starting to get under my nerves.

  Vicky was quiet for a long moment. “Why are you afraid to live?”

  I stiffened. “I'm not afraid to live. I am alive, aren't I?”

  “Is it because you're afraid the scientists will come again? Are you afraid to get accustomed to things, to enjoy a free life, only to have it snatched away again?” She crouched in front of me, took my hand in hers, her eyes direct and passionate. “I don't know how to ease your fear, Roxy, I don't have the right to do that,” She inhaled a long breath, “But this isn't the answer. Look around at your life, at your own apartment. It's a place where you take care of necessities. You sleep, you eat, you bathe. But you have yet to make it a home.”

  “It is my home,” I said softl
y, my heart tight.

  Vicky shook her head. “There are no personal touches here, no decorations, no pillows.” She took a cursory look around, “Where's the music, the smell of home-cooked food, that figurine you saw and couldn't help but buy? A photo of your friends framed here or there? A misplaced shoe, a vase of flowers?”

  I didn't say anything. Couldn't, for the ball of emotion that had lodged in my throat. “It's a bleak existence, Roxy. You might as well put back that blocking bracelet.”

  We both cringed at her words, and Vicky's face went pale. I bared my teeth in a savage smile. “If you think my life now is the same as it was before, then you're just like any other clueless human out there.”

  Vicky blanched, her guilt wafting like a spray of rancid gas in the air. She stood, eyes stricken. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

  A kernel of guilt took root in my belly and I waved a hand in dismissal. If I were to be honest with myself, I'd admit she wasn't entirely off the mark. “I'm doing fine enough, Vicky. Believe me when I tell you I'm content with this life, and that I have zero interest to go out with some random guy just because.”

  “You don't have to date the guy, Rox, just come out with us and have some fun. Meet him. Brandon can just be your friend if at the end you guys don't feel the spark.”

  “It's not about dating. I'm just not in the mood for loud talk, big crowds, deafening music. And before you start telling me about quiet restaurants, the answer is still no.”

  Vicky was quiet for so long, I'd have thought she'd let the subject drop. That is, if it wasn't for the calculating glint in her eyes.

  “Is it because of Logan, then?” she asked, and I almost said yes. But the fact was, I wasn't sure about that. It wasn't like I was pining for him; no, I'd figured from the start that I may never see him again. And really, I believed I was fine with that.

  “Is it?” she prompted when my answer didn't readily pop out.

  I chewed my lip, brows furrowed, and glanced at her. “If I tell you that I'm not really sure about that, but that I really am fine with the idea I'll never see him again, would that make any sense?”

  Her eyes softened and she came around the coffee table and sat beside me, picking up Frizz and settling him on her lap, the subtle scent of her perfume surrounding us.

  “Oh, Roxy. It does make sense. Because you are so hung up on him, no one else matters to you.”

  I groaned. I should've known she wouldn't understand. Yes, there had been an attraction between Logan and me, and I wasn't going to deny that, but even then, I wasn't looking for a relationship with him. So much of his life was unknown, and a lot of what I'd seen had made me uneasy. How could I pine for someone I didn't even know? Attraction, yes, but nothing more than a crush. I didn't even fully trust him. For God's sake, I didn't even think about him that much, or fantasize about us meeting again.

  Sure, I've done all the above, but only a few times, and mostly to wonder about his whereabouts, what position he held in the clan, and the fact that he'd failed to tell me he and I were part of the same clan.

  “That's why you should date,” Vicky was saying. “You should search for alternative options. You can't wait for him forever.” She placed a manicured hand over my knee and squeezed once. I could feel the warmth of her hand through the denim, and the faint concern vibes she was broadcasting increased with the touch. “You might think you have all eternity to figure this out, Roxanne,” she chuckled at this and shook her head, “maybe even literally, but don't you see? It might take you that long if you don't start somewhere. Why not now, here?”

  “Maybe,” I said, to appease her and so she'd drop the subject.

  Thankfully, “maybe” was a step up from an outright “no”, and she let the topic drop.

  On Saturday evening, two weeks after Diggy and I had had “the talk” and three days prior to Valentine's Day, Diggy dropped by.

  Vicky was preparing popcorn to go with the chosen movie of this weekend – The Lord of the Rings, one of Frizz's favorites – and talking nonstop about Brandon this and Brandon that, and the fact that they were all going to meet in a downtown pub tomorrow night. I was preparing Frizz dinner before Vicky could stuff him with junk food, trying my best to come up with some reasonable ploy to avoid the blind date by convincing my friend I couldn't go without having to lie.

  “I'll get that,” Vicky said when the doorbell rang. “It's probably the neighbor's kid again, on a dare from his friends.”

  “Teenage hormones,” I snorted in agreement.

  But then Frizz disappeared, and Vicky's breath hitched. I dropped the bowl of ground meat on the counter and hurried to the door, and there he was, a very handsome devil, dressed in black tailored pants, a dark-gray button-down shirt, and shining Italian shoes, hazel eyes twinkling with knowing amusement, lips cocked in a smirk at Vicky.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped in annoyance.

  Vicky whirled at the sound of my voice, her baby blues shocked.

  Diggy looked up at me, then down at Vicky, then up again.

  “Who?” Vicky breathed.

  Diggy's eyes shifted back to her, checked her out. Really?

  I crossed my arms, scowling at the interested gleam in his eyes. “Vicky, this is Douglas Vemourly. Diggy, this is my friend,” I emphasized the last word, “Vicky.”

  He extended a broad hand down, and Vicky, fool that she was, took it, a dumbstruck look in her eyes.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, Vicky.” He said, kissed the knuckles of her hand.

  “Eew, Vicky! My God, Diggy,” I snapped, but neither paid me any attention.

  She gave him a full-wattage smile and I had to grit my teeth to keep myself from snatching her away from him.

  “What do you want?” I snapped again.

  Diggy broke the gaze lock to look at me, eyebrows raised, and said, “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

  “No,” I snapped at the same time Vicky said, “of course.” And opened the door wider for him to pass. My scowl deepened as I caught her checking his backside as he moved by with a charming smile.

  Diggy took in my place as if he'd never been there before, his eyes lingering on the bowls of ground meat and popcorn, both untouched. I cursed my stupidity, knowing there was nothing I could do about that. At least Frizz had had enough sense to disappear.

  “What do you want?” I asked again, unable to mask the biting tone. My private life was off limits, and damn it, Diggy knew better.

  “Roxy!” Vicky chastised. “Don't pay attention to her. Please have a seat.” She ushered him into the living room, a propriety hand on his elbow. “She's just moody like that on weekends.” Lowering her voice, she added, “It's the lack of a date, I keep telling her.” She looked back at my surprised face and winked with a wicked, mischievous glint.

  Diggy followed, and I noticed the long hanger, encased in a soft pale-yellow cloth draped over his forearm.

  He turned when he reached the sofa and looked at me, but didn't sit. “You're not dressed.” He gave me a once-over.

  I looked down at the denim pants, yellow tank top, my bare feet, then at the object dangling over his forearm and up to his face. “For what?” I asked warily.

  “The charity ball I told you about,” he said with a meaningful look at Vicky, standing beside him like a midget, smiling adoringly up at him.

  When his words registered, she whirled toward me, a genuine hurt look in her eyes. “You never told me about a date,” she accused.

  Because there wasn't one.

  “Because I'm not going,” I glared at Diggy.

  “Why not? Of course you are,” Vicky huffed, forgetting about the gorgeous guy beside her.

  “You know it isn't optional,” Diggy played along. “The boss said all employees should attend.”

  He said nothing to me. “I'm not going,” I scowled, almost growled the words.

  “Nonsense.” Vicky dismissed my denial with a wave of a hand. “Is that f
or her?” She reached for the garment bag before Diggy could answer, her excitement filling the room.

  “I can switch with Bellemeir if you want,” Diggy offered with an earnest expression.

  “No, no. She'll go with you.” Vicky grabbed my forearm, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

  I yelped in protest and glared at her, but she only glared back, unfazed. She led me away, her excited words tumbling over one another.

  I glanced back at Diggy, wanting to send him one last withering look, but his eyes were on the Guide Book of the Preternatural sitting in plain view atop the low table, before he shifted his gaze to the ground meat, to Vicky's back, and finally to me. A chill ran down my spine, and I had the sudden urge to pull Vicky behind me, to protect her from the dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  It took Vicky the better part of an hour to do to me what I'd have done in less than ten minutes. Really, what was it about shrugging on a dress, putting on shoes and adding some make-up?

  Vicky pinned up my hair, leaving a few strands hanging around my face and neck. The make-up was minimum, a soft-pink lipstick and gloss, an almost imperceptible darkening of the eyes, and the faintest of blush on my cheeks. All against my protest, of course.

  But when I got up to survey the result, I had to admit, I looked good.

  Pretty damn good.

  The dress, Christian Dior – according to Vicky – was long-sleeved, done in a lilac shimmering color made of a soft fabric that stopped just below my knees and fit me like a glove. It had me wondering how Diggy had gotten a measuring tape around me without my knowing.

  Four inches, also lilac stilettos looped twice around my ankles. Vicky lamented the fact that I had no precious jewelry, then unpinned the teardrop earrings from her ears and handed it to me. There was no necklace to go with the occasion, but since the neckline of the dress was high enough, Vicky claimed the lack was alright. I took off the bracelet Logan had given me and handed it to her, leaving my wrist unadorned.

  She clapped twice with exhilaration, her face glowing as she announced, “You look stunning.”