Haidee had once been a Hunter, had killed his best friend, Baden, keeper of Distrust, and had attempted to savage his home.
Yet still he’d desired her. And now, every time he looked at her, he was reminded of his failure. His loss. The ensuing pain. But…and here was the kicker. He’d never had a problem resisting her. He’d kept his mouth, hands and favorite appendage to himself without any difficulty.
Kaia, however, wouldn’t be extended the same courtesy if they spent any alone time together. Already his mouth watered for a taste, his hands itched for a touch and his favorite appendage stood at embarrassing attention.
Oh, yes. He had to get as far, far away from the whole situation as possible.
“Stridey-Man. You here with me or what?”
He blinked into focus. Paris. Police station. Humans with guns. Winking in and out was stupid. He blamed Kaia for his lax concentration—another reason to avoid her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” was all he said.
Paris opened his mouth to respond, but closed it with a snap when they heard the welcome sound of high heels clacking down the nearest hallway. Then Kaia was rounding the corner, silky red hair hanging down her back in complete disarray, gray-gold eyes bright and wicked body swaying with a seductive beat Strider prayed only he could hear.
No. He didn’t want to hear it, so he wouldn’t pray that he alone could. But if anyone else heard it, he’d rip out their goddamn eardrums. Because Kaia was, despite everything, his friend. They’d fought enemies together, bled for each other. Hell, they’d joked and laughed together. So yeah, they were friends, and he didn’t like his friends being harassed. And that was the only reason, damn it. He’d do the same thing for Paris. Who’d better not hear that beat!
“Don’t you go getting into any more trouble, you hear,” the officer escorting her said with open affection, and Strider wanted to kill the guy for so blatantly harassing her—or speaking to her at all. “We love ya, but we don’t want to see you here again.”
“As if I’d let myself get caught a fourth time,” she replied with a grin that was all about the charm.
A grin that caused Strider’s chest to constrict. No one should have lips so plump and red, or teeth so straight and white. Didn’t help that she wore pink knee-high snakeskin boots, a micromini jean skirt and a white tank top that clearly showcased the white lace bra underneath.
Miracle of miracles, she was wearing a bra today.
She stopped short when she spied him, her smile fading. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but he did know that reticence wasn’t it.
Her gaze moved to Paris, and the smile returned. As did the constricting in Strider’s chest. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing here?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” Paris threw him a quick frown. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, you understand.”
“Yeah. You, too. And thanks for the pick up. Appreciate it.”
“Anytime. Just hopefully not anytime in the near future.”
She chuckled, the sound warm and rich and its undertones so erotic that it stroked over his skin. “Can’t promise.”
Neither said anything romantic, yet both of their voices grated on him. Maybe because he’d needed them to goo-it-up with each other so that his hormones would get the “not going there” message.
He had a feeling he would have been annoyed no matter what.
Like her smile, her chuckle shut down when she switched her attention to Strider. “So,” she said. “You.” As if she’d just spotted an oozing culture of flesh-eating bacteria on the bottom of her shoe.
There was no reply. Truth was, Defeat was intimidated by Kaia and didn’t often wish to draw her notice.
And really, the only time Defeat deigned to speak to Strider was when his competitive spirit was engaged. “Competitive spirit” being a nice way of saying Strider’s ass had been glued to the chopping block. He much preferred the little bastard to stay at the back of his mind, a dark, silent presence easily ignored.
“I expected you to send someone, not show up yourself,” Kaia added, rocking back on her heels.
“After the message you left me?” He snorted. “Hardly.”
“Are you whining? Because I hear a whiny schoolboy tone.”
He’d listened to that message a thousand times and knew every word, every hitch in her breath by heart. Beep.
Animosity was good, and he seriously hoped she maintained a tight grip on it, despite the fact that he’d had to move heaven and earth to get here. Heaven—phoning Paris and convincing the warrior to drop everything up there, have Lysander bring him home, and come with Strider. Earth—phoning Lucien and convincing the warrior to drop everything and use his flashing ability to get them from Budapest to Alaska in a mere blink of time. Neither of which had been an easy task.
In fact, he would rather have had his tongue removed with a dull, rusty butter knife. Both men had asked questions. Lots and lots of questions he hadn’t wanted to answer.
And yeah, Strider now owed the keeper of Death a favor, too. They were piling up, all because of the deceptively delicate-looking, utterly curvy stunner in front of him—who clearly wanted his head on a pike.
“Would have been nice if you’d given me some direction. Torin had to search every—” Strider stopped himself before he publicly admitted that Torin, the keeper of Disease, could hack into every database known to man. A skill like that was better kept under wraps. “He just had to search for you. Cost us some time.”
“So?”
“So. That’s all you have to say for your appalling behavior?” Thank gods she was doing as he’d hoped and holding tight to that animosity of hers. Yeah, thank gods. “You could have called Bianka. Word is, she’s here in Anchorage with you.” Not that she’d taken
“So?”
Damn it! Would it have killed her to show him a little gratitude? He could have stayed home, left her rotting. Instead, she’d metaphorically batted her lashes at him and he’d jumped like a girl with a rope. Frustrating woman.
He’d done her wrong, yes, and unlike Haidee, she hadn’t deserved it.
A group of Hunters had been riding his tail for days, but he’d been too wrapped up in his pity party over losing Haidee to Amun to notice or care. Kaia had stepped in and saved the day, preventing a disastrous ambush. And gods almighty, she was sexy when she fought.
He hadn’t seen that particular fight, but he’d seen several before it—and the one after it—and had even practiced battle-moves with her. He could very well imagine the lethal dance she’d performed that night.
Then had come the battle after, when she’d challenged him to a round of Who Can Slaughter More Hunters. He’d been royally pissed because one, she could slaughter more Hunters, no question, and two, he’d had other things to do. Like take his first vacation in centuries. Still, the challenge had been issued, his demon had accepted, and Strider’d had to drop everything or suffer a loss.
To his shock, she had let him win. Harpy that she was, she could rip through an entire army in seconds—all without breaking a sweat or a nail—but rather than render the final blows, she’d piled up her still-breathing conquests and given them to Strider.
He hadn’t heard from her again until she’d left that message.
Yeah, he needed to apologize.
