Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel

you in danger.”

“I’m not worried about that.” I could handle myself and Ty knew that. “Please. I want up close and personal with this client. See the whites of his eyes.”

Tyler’s jaw flexed and his brows came together, crinkling his forehead. Again, I got the feeling he wanted to get cozy with my private thoughts. “You think this is necessary?”

I nodded once.

“Fine,” he said, as if the word left a nasty taste in his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I stood up and stretched my too-tight muscles. Extending my thumb and pinkie to my ear and mouth, my lips moved in a silent call me. I left Tyler staring after me as I wound my way through the gyrating dancers to the exit.

“Goin’ home, Darian?”

The bouncer’s nickname was Tiny, and he was as big around as a California redwood. I thought Killer or Skull Crusher might have been a more appropriate term for him, but, oh, well, it wasn’t my job to give him a name.

“You know it,” I answered as he put his body between me and the line of enthusiastic patrons salivating at a chance to get into the packed club. I shook my still-damp hair forward to hide my luminous eyes and sauntered down the street, fading into shadow as soon as I knew curious stares no longer followed me.

I stepped out of the lift into the vast, open square of my apartment. The only room closed off from the studio was the bathroom. The bed sat in one corner, the living room in another, and the kitchen and bathroom at the opposite side. High, vaulted ceilings gave me a good twenty feet of space, and windows showed a cityscape dotted with skylights. The frequent Seattle rains played a symphony on those skylights, and I usually lay stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling until nature’s music put me to sleep.

I discarded the wet duster, flinging it across the flat-screen TV to dry, and returned the saber to its resting place on the wall above my fireplace. I set the dagger on the mantle, wondering at Tyler’s show of protectiveness. I liked to think he cared enough about me to be concerned, though now was not the time for him to get all personal bodyguard on me. One of the things I liked about Ty was the fact that he didn’t coddle me or treat me like I was made of glass. He thought of me as an equal, and I thought of him the same way. But my inner damsel did swoon —a little. Dislodging one boot and then the other, I kicked, sending each to a different corner of the studio. After peeling off my wet pants and sweater, I stayed in the living room, allowing the balmy heat floating down from the vents to air-dry my body, clad in nothing but a black bra and matching lace underwear.

“Now, that’s a sight to behold,” said a red-velvet voice from behind me.

I cursed under my breath. Xander had been following me. Anger pulsed hot and welcome in my veins. I shouldn’t have let my guard down—especially now that I knew someone like him existed.

Instead of turning to face him, I strolled to my bathroom to retrieve a fluffy white fleece robe that I draped over my body and cinched tight at my waist. Then, with murder written on my face like tomorrow’s lunch special, I turned around. He sat relaxed in my overstuffed chair, looking very much at home.

Even from across the apartment, his eyes held me captive. Melted caramel flecked with gold, possessing the bright glow that I knew mine had, though his were more brilliant. The smell of him permeated the air, filling my studio with a sweetness that would put a field of wildflowers to shame. His lips curled up at the corners, hinting at an arrogant smile.

“You look even better in that robe,” he said.

The sound of his voice sent a spasm of chills over my skin. I tried to shake the sensation and moved to the kitchen to pour myself a tall glass of juice. It’s not like I could throw him out, but I wasn’t going to be hospitable either.

His voice cut through the silence. “Who is your maker, Shaede?”

I bristled. After all, I’d told him my name—he should’ve at least tried to use it. “His name”—I paused to sip my juice—“was Azriel, and he is dead.”

He rolled that comment over in his mind for a moment. “I’ve heard the name,” he said. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know,” I said indignantly. “I know only that he’s dead.”

I didn’t leave the kitchen. For some reason, I didn’t want to be too close to him. You don’t often drop in on the assassin who’s been hired to kill you, and I didn’t think he’d stopped by for a cup of tea.

“From whom did you acquire your skills?” he asked.

“From myself,” I snapped.

A deep, rumbling laughter erupted from his chest, and another round of thrilling chills trickled across my skin. Shaedes are alluring by nature. Azriel’s eyes, voice, and laughter often had the same effect on me. I wondered, though: Could it be something more?

“I’ve come with a message,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What’s tha—?”

Before I could finish, he appeared in front of me in a wisp of darkness. His form became solid and his face demanded my attention.

“You are summoned to the king’s guard,” he said.

“Whose king?” I asked. Certainly not mine. I was my own woman, and I had no country or master to swear allegiance to.

He brought his hand up to my cheek. I could feel the heat before he touched me, but when he did, I felt as if he’d laid my skin against one of those electric heating pads that humans use to ease their aches and pains. Wonderful.

He brushed his thumb across my cheek before dropping his hand to his side. I couldn’t break his hold on me, and my eyes didn’t leave his. I swallowed. Hard.

“Your king,” he whispered, and vanished.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Well, this has been a shit-tastic day, I thought, leaning against the kitchen counter to steady my quaking body.

I had been alone for so long—the only one for years. I’d developed a comfort zone and lived my life within its boundaries. Well, that was shot to shit now. I turned toward the picture window, staring out across the dark city peppered with random white lights.

The rain had started up again and pounded on the skylights like it wanted in. I watched the water bounce and land, running in rivers down the pitched glass. Making my way to the bathroom, still watching the rain on the skylights, I shucked my robe and started the shower. I never used the cold water; I like my showers hot, and the temperature didn’t damage my preternatural skin. Within moments, the room filled with glorious steam, and I joined its company for a single second as I glided under the water. I could have taken the extra couple of steps, but why exert the energy?

The steam was welcome as I inhaled and held it in my lungs. I gave off a perfumed aroma like any Shaede, but mine smelled like summer blossoms in the late-afternoon sun. Sitting on the tiled shower floor, I let the scalding water pour over my skin until it ran cold. I passed through the steam again—lazy, I know—and ended up next to my robe. After running a comb through my hair, I collapsed into bed and drifted off to sleep, wrapped like a mummy in fluffy white fleece.

Xander’s visit prompted me to dream about Azriel that night. His perfect image floated nearby, just as I remembered him. With olive skin and black hair, he looked like someone of Middle Eastern or Indian descent, though he’d been cut from an entirely different cloth. His eyes were nearly black—cold and devoid of emotion. But when he smiled, a spark lit in them and they danced to life with a mischievous gleam that rendered me helpless. He was neither kind nor cruel; he simply was.

He made me, left me, and taught me nothing.

My eyes were thick with sleep but I pried them open, fighting against the dream. My heavy breathing filled the air, though I lay still as death on the bed. Banishing every thought of Azriel, I closed my lids and forbade myself to dream.

The next morning, I sat at the table, working on my second cup of coffee, when I heard the lift. My apartment, which used to be old warehouse space, occupies the entire top floor, hence the lack of an actual door.