It was a kiss interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps.
Irritation flared when he lifted his mouth from hers and saw the muscled Cur he’d found Etain dancing with days earlier, and that hostility was returned. “You still with this motherfucker, Etain? That the reason you’re not taking calls from your friends?”
It took effort for Eamon not to lash out with magic. No human who called him Lord would dare insult him in this manner or speak to Etain in such a tone, nor would any Elf. A glance at Cathal and he saw that this man, Anton, had the same effect on him, though apparently the disrespect rolled off Etain with ease.
“My phone went missing at the fund-raiser yesterday. Tyrone told you I was here?”
“Him and a shitload of other people after I put the word out I was looking for my friend Etain.”
“Happens I wanted to visit with you too.”
Anton laughed, a quick burst of sound followed by the flat eyes of a man who could kill someone he called a friend. “I can guess what about. You already involved me in police business once in the past week. I’m giving you a pass on it ’cause it didn’t blow back on me. Not going to happen a second time, not with something that involves the Curs.”
Etain had a bad feeling about why Anton had tracked her down. He confirmed it by saying, “You owe me a tattoo.”
Eamon’s sudden, complete stillness shouted
“A memorial tattoo?” she asked, though not in defiance of Eamon. The prospect of adding more of her ink to Anton, especially now, with her gift changing, had ice settling into her core.
Cold sweat broke out on her skin. She couldn’t be sure if that was her thought, her voice, or something else entirely.
“Yeah, a memorial,” Anton said.
“Faces?” And once again she felt shame at not having learned the names of those who’d been slaughtered.
“My baby sister, she was working the bar, was saving the money to pay for nursing school.”
Etain shivered at the prospect of being bombarded by Anton’s emotions. “I’ll need pictures.”
“Figured you might. I got a collection of them out front. Funeral for Taneshia is in two days. I want to be wearing the ink by then.”
“My promise doesn’t cover a rush job.” It was an attempt to avert trouble
He touched a place on the right side of his chest. In her mind’s eye she saw his skin as a canvas already crowded with art, the ink she’d put on him as well as what others had done.
“Let’s get the pictures.”
Eamon’s continued silence as they walked toward the shelter’s public entrance concerned her far more than a voiced objection would have. She reached out, touching Cathal’s arm. “You mind taking Anton’s phone number for me?”
Cathal pulled his cell from his pocket. Anton snorted. “You got yourself a personal assistant now? Or he part of the boyfriend troubles you was having?”
“
Anton rattled off his number. Cathal punched it into his phone’s memory as they stepped out into bright sunshine.
A car backfired a couple of blocks away. Anton jerked and reached reflexively for a gun she couldn’t see.
Adrenaline spiked through her, her heartbeat ratcheting up with something more than the fear of what might happen with skin-to-skin contact. “You expecting trouble?”
“Habit, that’s all, baby.”
Liam was absent, maybe lurking in back where the Harley was. But the unmet Myk lounged against Eamon’s car, going instantly alert. He took a step toward them but stilled, probably at some signal from Eamon.
Anton’s Harley was parked several spaces away. They stopped next to it. He opened a saddle bag, reaching in, eyes going wet. He blinked and gave her a hard look. “Tell them to back off, Etain. Motherfuckers don’t need to be all in my business.”
She glanced from Cathal to Eamon, saying only, “Please.”
They moved, giving Anton and her a little distance, not a lot.
Anton came around to stand next to her, spreading a collection of photographs on the bike seat. “Taneshia’s three-year-old little girl,” he said of the child in one of them. “My mama has her now.”
An image started to form, despite all the reasons why honoring this promise was so dangerous—to him. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m going to leave that to you. You come up with the art, I’ll wear it. Take whatever pictures you want.”
She pocketed a couple of them and was reaching for a third when she heard Myk yell, “Sire.”
Magic rushed across the ink on her skin, a bomb detonation of it rather than a mild wind as she was slammed into Anton. The two of them hit the asphalt along with Cathal and Eamon, like human bowling pins taken down in a single strike by Myk.
Bullets ripped into Anton’s bike, part of a spray from automatic weapons that pelted the ground all around them, deflected by a shield she thought had to be there. Otherwise they’d be bleeding. Dead.
A car sped away leaving a sudden hush. A silence that exploded in a rush, like the pop of a balloon.
Sirens could be heard in the distance. Those willing to have their names included in a police report clamored out of their cars, talking excitedly. The pile of masculine bodies on top of her lightened.
Eamon’s eyes held ice. He didn’t ask if she was okay, though Cathal did, hands roaming her body.
“I’m good,” she said, feeling the glassy stare of cellphone cameras pointed in her direction and using him in a vain attempt to shield against having her picture taken.
Justine rushed from the shelter along with a swarm of workers and volunteers, and Etain felt sickened by the possibility that someone inside might have been hit. “Everyone okay?”
“Yes.”
Relief came with a shiver and the remembered feel of magic blasting over her. It had been no small expenditure of power, as if the shield she knew had to exist covered more than those on the ground behind Anton’s bike.
She could feel the burn of magic from inked wristbands into her forearms like a fiery leash attached directly to the Dragon. This time she confronted the surreal beast and the possibility she was going crazy by asking,
But the ink on her wrists and arms went cool. “Peordh,” she said, looking at Eamon. “Do you know that word?”
Justine heard and answered, “It’s the name of a rune symbolizing fate.” Adding, “I think it would be better if
