He stopped and faced her again. He jerked his chin at the blood-spattered front of her tunic. ‘Then maybe you should stop advertising.’ He reached toward his back.
She lifted the dagger. ‘Try anything and I’ll—’
‘Here.’ He pulled out a handkerchief. ‘For your hand.’ He nodded at the weapon. ‘You can put that away. I’m not going to hurt you.’
She’d like to see him try. ‘Right after you tell me who you are.’
‘Creek.’ He held the handkerchief out a little farther. ‘You have a name?’
‘Chrysabelle.’ She took the handkerchief. Looked clean. She tucked the dagger away, snapped the handkerchief open, and started wrapping the fabric around her hand. ‘You’re human?’
He nodded. ‘Most days.’
A human male. When was the last time she’d had a conversation with one who wasn’t comarré or a noble’s servant? She tied a knot in the makeshift wrap, holding one end of the fabric with her teeth. It smelled faintly of spice and smoke. ‘You just happened to be in this part of town?’
‘I live in this part of town. Grew up here.’ His eyes narrowed a bit and made a sweep of her from head to toe. ‘Not the best place for someone like you.’ His gaze went to her sacres, still on the ground. ‘At least you came prepared.’
She retrieved her swords. ‘Likewise. Your weapons are interesting. For someone like you.’
‘They do the job.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You headed back to Seven?’
‘Back to? How do you know that’s where I came from?’ She slipped the sacres into their scabbards, happy for something to do besides gawk at the man before her.
‘Where else would a comarré be going? I’m headed that way if you want company.’ He shrugged and took off, a slow easy gait that conveyed more grace than a man of his size should have.
If he’d meant to hurt her, he could’ve tried something by now. Or not bothered to interfere between her and the fringe. And he wouldn’t have given her the handkerchief. She caught up to him in a few long strides. Better than guessing which direction the club was in. ‘They don’t let humans in, you know.’
‘I’m not going to party, I’m going to work.’
‘You work at Seven?’ He must be new. Not that she knew every employee, but he had a memorable look. Not traditionally handsome, but interesting. And human, her gut kept reminding her.
‘Not yet.’ He slanted a look at her. ‘I take it the comarré don’t socialize with the rest of the employees.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not one of those comarré.’ She frowned, instantly wishing she could take the words back. He didn’t need to know who she was or wasn’t. No wonder Maris had never gone out without her signum covered. Wearing your life on your skin left much to be desired. ‘My car is parked there.’
Beside her, Creek stayed silent, watching her.
She changed the subject. ‘So you’re looking for a job there.’
Shifting his gaze back to the street, he shrugged. ‘Gotta pay bills.’
‘What do you do?’ Probably anything he wanted.
He hesitated. ‘Private security.’ He twisted his head around, looking at her sacres. ‘You’re good with those. Where’d you pick that up?’
‘Comarré school.’ She was suddenly too tired to make up another answer and well past caring. ‘Where’d you learn to fight?’
‘FSP.’
‘Is that a local school?’
‘It’s a state prison.’
A long, quiet minute passed. ‘You were a guard?’
‘Not exactly.’
He didn’t look at her, didn’t glance over to see her expression, but she felt the weight of his anticipation to her reaction like a thousand pounds of steel pressing down. If he expected her to freak out because he’d done time, he was going to be disappointed. Living among vampires had a way of tempering the mortal world’s big baddies. ‘How long were you there for?’
‘Seven years, twelve days.’
A long time, but not that long. A serious crime would have meant more. ‘What did you do?’
He snorted softly. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to ask an ex-con his crime?’
‘She didn’t really get a chance to teach me much. She was murdered.’
He briefly raised a brow before his face returned to passive stoniness. ‘My father, too.’
She nodded, knowing that pain and wondering what had happened. They were more alike than she would have imagined. ‘Did they catch who did it?’
The muscles in his jaw worked. ‘Yes. What about your mother?’
‘The person who murdered her is still out there.’ She took a breath, feeling a new strength well up inside. ‘But I’m going to take care of it.’
He stopped walking. ‘If you’re going to take justice into your own hands, you need to see your opponents better.’
She faced him, surprised he wasn’t lecturing her about becoming a vigilante. ‘I did fine back there.’
‘You got cut.’ Taking a step closer, he lifted his hand toward her arm, then dropped back. He didn’t come closer. ‘You could do better.’
She didn’t move away. ‘Better how?’
‘You watch too closely. This’ – he made a V with his fingers, pointing them at his eyes then at hers – ‘is fine for one-on-one, but with a crowd, you gotta learn the infinite stare.’
‘And that would be?’
‘Instead of watching your opponent, stare through them. Focus on your peripheral vision, let that do the seeing for you. With practice, it will become second nature. You’ll notice every move.’
‘Hard to practice when I don’t have a sparring partner.’
His mouth twitched. Almost like a smile. ‘Are you asking?’
Was she? Her heart beat a little faster. Asking him seemed risky for reasons that had nothing to do with his past.
He held his hands up. ‘It’s cool, don’t worry about it.’ He pointed across the street. ‘Club’s two blocks that way, so your car must be close.’ He gave her a little nod and took off running, leaving her behind before she had a chance to say anything else.
Chapter Seven
Creek killed the engine on his customized Harley-Davidson V-Rod, walked it through the cargo door of the old machine shop, and notched
