Crap. I couldn’t stop picturing her naked. She really needed to quit parading around the city with nothing but a network of colorful tattoos splayed across her skin. My thoughts took a hike every time my eyes landed on those sinful curves.
I groaned, firmly shaking my head. Wrong. Looking at her that way was completely wrong. The screws holding together my dimwitted brain were coming loose, probably thanks to the recent cage fights and increased drinking. Maybe I should stay away from The Pit for awhile. That way I wouldn’t run into her.
As I rounded a crumbling brick building with its smashed front window boarded up, there she was as if I’d conjured her. And then I literally ran into her. Our bodies collided and, on instinct, my arms wrapped around her back so she wouldn’t tumble to the uneven pavement. A soft whimper left her lips and I immediately let go, jerking back a step.
I was breathing hard from my run, sweat stinging my eyes, so I couldn’t get a proper read on her expression. After our last meeting, I wasn’t sure what to expect. And for once . . . for once my mouth didn’t fill with the acidic tang of disgust at the sight of a shifter. I quickly scanned her body, a sigh of relief puffing from me when I saw the black cropped shirt and shorts covering her frame.
“When I said ‘See you around’, I didn’t think you’d run into me this soon, stalker.” I flicked my eyes to hers, waiting for a reply, but none came. She just stared, like she’d seen a ghost or something. She almost looked . . . haunted.
Finally, she said, “Oh. Hi, Tarik,” then slipped a cigarette between her lips, inhaling slowly. Her gaze grew distant as the cigarette glowed orange. A slight tremor shook her hand. She moved past me then, not really seeing. Simply walking.
I frowned, tracking her wraith-like movements. In all the times I’d stumbled across her on patrol, I’d never once seen her so distracted. Absent. A spark of concern flared in my chest.
“Are you . . . okay?” I swallowed, rubbing at my neck. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked someone that question. And I knew how many times I’d asked a shifter that—none.
Attached to the building’s corner was a thin rickety stairwell, and she climbed a few steps before gingerly taking a seat. I stood there, studying her. She looked fragile. Breakable. Something simmered in my gut then. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time, not since—
My hands formed fists. Walk away. She’s not your problem. Don’t get close. Only pain will come of this. But, for once, I didn’t listen to the voice in my head. I approached her warily, silently, unsure how she would react. “Reagan?”
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked, meeting my gaze as if seeing me for the very first time. “You said my name,” she whispered. The cadence of her voice, so small and vulnerable-sounding, tugged at my humanity.
I couldn’t stop myself from lowering onto the step below hers. With our height difference, my eyes were level with her neck. That’s when I noticed a new mark faintly illuminated by a nearby street light—a red, angry brand seared into her blistered flesh. The shape reminded me of a . . . I squinted. As the image sharpened, heat surged through my veins.
“Who did that to you?” My voice was like a whip, harsh and biting.
She flinched and pulled her hair over her shoulder, hiding the brand from view. A barb of panic pierced me. The strong and mighty Night Enforcer flinched? I didn’t know what to make of the movement. A minute later, she still hadn’t responded, and I was left to form my own conclusions. I thought back to the day’s events: her stepping in yet again to scare off a pack of shifters from killing me, her vouching for me in front of a seething—
Mordecai. That look he had swung her way.
Oh Gaia. That brand was my fault. She had suffered because of my stupid, hot-headed words. Because she’d vouched for a low-life Fae. I waited for vindication to wash over me—needed the surge of adrenaline—but the feeling never came. Instead, I felt rotten. She had helped me for some misguided reason, and all I brought her in return was pain.
You’re bad luck, my mind jeered. This time I listened. But not before doing something I shouldn’t. Slowly, carefully, I feathered a finger down her arm, the one inked with a koi fish the same hue as her eyes. Where my skin touched hers, I pushed my healing magic. Directed the thin threads toward her neck. Not a lot—I didn’t want her to suspect. Only enough to cool some of the fire no doubt raging beneath that dragon brand.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then stood and quietly walked away. The words should have tasted foul, but they didn’t. They felt right.
—
“Tarik! Help me!”
Arms, hands, fingers ending in claws, held me back. Made me watch. The voices in my head, even after all these years, were crystal clear. But the sounds. The sounds were the worst. Tearing clothes, shredding flesh, breaking bones. And then the screams.
Desperate. Afraid. Helpless.
I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t save her.
“Leilani!”
Her tortured gaze met mine, her mouth opening in a silent plea.
Agonizing guilt crashed over me and I cried out. Cried out as they—
The pounding echo jolted me awake. Dispelled the familiar nightmare. I inhaled sharply and blinked at my apartment’s yellow, water-stained ceiling. After a few more deep breaths, my racing heart slowed. No matter how many times the dream gripped me, shaking the images loose never got easier. The knocking continued and I grunted, stumbling out of bed.
On my way to the door, I pulled on pants, not bothering with a shirt. I knew who was on the other side at this ungodly hour. Flicking the lock, I swung the door open and a
