I unlocked the door, opened it.
“Hey, stranger,” I said.
He gave me a soft smile. “Mind if I come in?” He held up a bottle of wine and a cell phone.
His eyes were a little bloodshot, and even though it looked like he had changed back into jeans and a sweater, he didn’t look like he’d gotten any sleep last night.
I stepped aside so he could come in. “You do realize it’s ten thirty in the morning?”
He glanced at the bottle in his hand. “Too early for wine?”
“Unless you like it in your cereal. Did you sleep at all last night?” I took the bottle from him. He unzipped his coat and pulled off his beanie, then scrubbed his head.
“No one did. We’ll meet again at five tonight. Thought you should know. Maeve wants you there. Not at the meeting. But in case she needs to ask you questions.” He rubbed at his face, muffling the last couple words.
“Calling someone?” I asked.
He frowned, noticed the phone in his hand. “Oh. No. This is for you. Compliments of the Authority.”
I expected it to be heavy from the silver glyphs that encased it, but it was light, compact.
“Thank you,” I said.
“My number’s in there. Maeve’s too, I think, and Shamus’.” He yawned.
I could feel his exhaustion wash through me. Okay, maybe there was a downside to this Soul Complement thing.
“How about coffee?” I said.
He rolled his shoulders, nodded, then wandered into the living room. I poured coffee for both of us and took a second to assess myself. I still felt like me, just me. But with Zayvion so near, I did have an awareness of him, of his exhaustion. Maybe with practice I’d be able to have a stronger awareness, feel his emotions and mental state like when we were wearing those cuffs during the hunt.
Or maybe he would always be just a faint echo in me. Maybe that’s all a Soul Complement added up to.
Yeah, I doubted that.
The water in the bathroom had stopped turning on and off.
I found Zayvion slouched on the couch. He had kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out, propping them up, but not on the coffee table. I walked around the couch and saw Zay’s stockinged feet resting on Stone. Zayvion rubbed his feet over Stone’s back. Stone looked up at me and crooned contentedly, stretching to angle his shoulder for a better scratch.
I sat next to Zay, handed him the coffee.
“Want a pet rock? Give him to you cheap.”
Zayvion smiled. “Oh, no. He’s all yours.” He stopped rubbing Stone and took a drink.
Stone belly crawled so that he was positioned on the floor between both Zay and me, and looked up at me expectantly. I kicked off my shoes and propped my feet on his shoulder, scuffing my toes against him.
Stone clacked and crooned, a happy little rock.
Zayvion exhaled and closed his eyes. He pressed the coffee cup against his chest. Hells, he was tired.
I drank my coffee, savoring the moment. Yes, there was a gargoyle at my feet, and yes, my boyfriend was mixed up with magic and people who were more dangerous than I’d ever known, and now I was mixed up in it too. And yes, my dead father was still in my head, growing stronger. Even with all that, this was the most normal and right my life had felt in a long, long time.
“They haven’t found out what Greyson knows yet,” he said softly. Zay had been quiet so long, I thought he had fallen asleep.
“Why?”
“He won’t talk, and we can’t make sense of what’s going on in his head. Yet. He’ll come around. We’ll get it out of him. Jingo Jingo has taken over, and he’s good at this kind of thing.”
Yeah, so good that he told me my dead dad was not in my head.
“I don’t trust Jingo Jingo,” I said.
Zay nodded. “I know. You don’t trust anyone. That’s why I like you.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Not at all.” He still had his eyes closed, but he smiled.
“How’s Chase?” I asked. Even though I should be angry as hell at her, I mostly just felt sorry for her. For the chance she and Greyson never got.
“Looking.” He opened his eyes, took another drink of coffee. “For clues of who did this to him. She’s pretty sure your dad was behind it.”
“So she and I are like this?” I crossed my fingers.
“More like just the middle finger,” he said.
“This becoming a part of the Authority thing,” I said. “Pretty complicated stuff.”
“Smooth as glass here on out,” he said.
“Really? Gonna promise me that?”
He shifted his cup into his other hand, and turned so he could better face me, his right arm long enough to drape across the back of the couch.
“Maybe. What will it cost me if I’m wrong?” He smiled, and those warm brown eyes didn’t look quite as tired as they had a minute before.
He was a beautiful man. Not just on the outside. There was a strength in him that drew me in like a cat to sunlight, a calm in him that made me believe things might somehow work out if we both kept working on it. I mean, we’d done some good already. Gone on a real date, caught a Necromorph, gotten most of Cody safely into Nola’s care, helped a Hound who was being used, and oh yes, closed down the gates of death and made me an official member of the Authority. Not bad for a couple days’ work together.
“You have to admit I beat you,” I said. “Knocked you to the mat with magic.”
Zayvion sparked at the challenge in my voice. He grinned. “And if I see it differently?”
Instead of answering, I leaned forward and kissed him. I took my time, lingered over the reality of him, here, warm, alive. He tasted of coffee, smelled of pine. And felt like home.
“How about we negotiate the price later?”
“Think we’ll have time?” he asked.
“I think we’ll make the time.”
He smiled, took my hand. And I walked him into my bedroom, intending to make it very clear to him that we had all the time we needed.
Read on for an exciting excerpt from
Devon Monk’s next Allie Beckstrom novel,
Coming in May 2010 from Roc
Two months of self-defense, mixed martial arts, and weapons training did not make it hurt any less when I was thrown over my opponent’s shoulder and slammed into the ground.
Yes, I should have tucked and rolled. Would have too if he hadn’t kept hold of my arm and twisted at just the right instant to knock me off balance and make me sprawl like a dead jumper waiting for my chalk outline.
“Give up?” he asked.
My right wrist still locked in his grip, I stretched out my left hand and grabbed his ankle, used the leverage to pull my right arm down, and twisted. I broke his hold on my wrist, rolled up onto my feet. I got off the mat and out of arm’s reach quickly.
“I’ll take that as a no, then?” Zayvion Jones asked. He was a little sweaty, a lot relaxed, standing halfway across the mat from me. Barefoot, he had on a pair of jeans that, if there were any justice in the world, would not let him flex and move and stretch the way he did in a fight, and a nice black T-shirt that defined the muscles of his chest, his thick, powerful arms, and flat, hard stomach.
