Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel

“What do you know about my business?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

“I know people pay you to solve their problems.”

“And how do you solve problems?”

I pulled a dagger from the sheath at my thigh and drove the point into the bar’s thick wooden tabletop. “I take them away. Permanently.”

And with that, I was hired.

As promised, the elevator whirred to life ten minutes after his call.

Tyler never disappoints. He’s never late.

I didn’t greet him at the door. Cordiality wasn’t one of my strong suits. Instead, I stood at my kitchen counter, pretending to be anything but preoccupied by who had just stepped into my apartment. It’s hard to ignore that level of gorgeous, and Tyler had it in spades. My heart raced at the sight of him, and it suddenly felt like my mouth was too dry to speak. Damn. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, and just watching him walk toward me was enough to make my stomach do a backflip. And that was a huge fucking problem. I couldn’t afford to feel anything for him. I’d learned the hard way that love is nothing more than the sharpest blade, and it can easily be turned against you. I refused to let anyone have that kind of power over me ever again.

“Is there anything in your wardrobe that isn’t black?” he teased as he walked toward the kitchen.

I resisted the urge to smile, unwilling to let him see the trace of warmth his nearness caused. “I like black.” I almost always wear black or white, depending on the job and the circumstances. Tyler only saw me in black. The work I did for him wasn’t exactly on the sunny side.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, coming closer. “You look great.”

So do you, I thought as he shrugged off his heavy wool peacoat. Ty never overdid it in the clothing department. He was a jeans and T-shirt guy all the way, but he knew how to make the simple garments complement his lean, muscular body. Tyler’s not even a notch below Calvin Klein underwear-model physique, and has a tousled mop of gold-and-bronze-streaked hair and strange hazel eyes—green with a brownish star surrounding the pupil. A garbage bag would’ve looked like an Armani suit on him. He reached around to his back pocket and produced an envelope containing the rest of my money, and a slip of paper. “Is that for me?” I asked, reaching out.

“Yeah, the information’s on the paper.”

I leaned over the bar and he pressed the envelope and paper into my hand, grazing my fingers as he pulled away. Though his skin was cooler than mine, Tyler’s touch left me warm. And wanting more. My skin all but burned where he’d touched me, a brand that reminded me I’d have been better off dealing with Marcus. Tyler must have felt it too, judging by the way his lids became hooded and his chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm. I took a tentative step back, irritated at my own stupidity for orchestrating this visit. Shit.

He ran his fingers through the thick tangles of his hair and dropped onto a stool at the bar. His jaw clenched, the muscle at his cheek flexing. “Look, Darian. I want you to be careful on this job. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Ty’s instincts were usually right on. But I never gave much thought to things like caution. “I can handle it,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know you can handle it.” Ty gave me a level stare. “That’s not the point. Maybe I should take this one myself.”

“No way.” This job paid double my usual fee. I had no intention of giving up that kind of money. Or the kind of action a double fee usually indicated. “I’ve got this one. Period.”

Ty shifted in his seat, and I knew his pensive attitude had nothing to do with the mark. “You ever think of a change in venue? Maybe a new line of work?”

“Sure, because I’ve always secretly wanted to pursue my dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher. Please. I’m good at what I do, and you know it.”

Standing from the stool, Ty rounded the bar and leaned up against the sink beside me. I balled my hands into fists, more to keep them from shaking than anything. God, he smelled good. Comforting, like fresh-baked cinnamon bread or something equally delicious and loaded with rich spices. His unique scent swirled around in my head, and I wanted nothing more than to lean into him, feel the weight of his arms around me as I breathed him in. But then my common sense gave me a swift kick in the ass. There was a stack of reasons why I couldn’t be with Tyler. He was human while I . . . well, I sure as hell wasn’t. Plus, he deserved someone softer. A nice piece of womanly eye candy. Someone capable of giving and receiving love without considering it a bargaining chip. Someone who wouldn’t stab another person with something sharp if he pissed her off. That someone wasn’t me.

“How long are we going to keep doing this?” His tone, though dark, had a sensual edge to it. A yearning that mirrored my own. Shit.

“Tyler—” My gaze dropped to the floor. I couldn’t look up because he’d see the emotion written all over my face. “We’re not going to talk about this.”

“Maybe I want to talk about it.” His voice became softer still. He reached out, his fingers caressing me, shoulder to wrist. A jolt of excitement shot through my core, and I cursed my weakness and my susceptibility to his touch. I wanted him, and not just for the night.

“We work together.” The excuse sounded as lame in my head as it did coming out of my mouth.

“Then you’re fired,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against my palm.

My cheeks flushed and it had nothing to do with the temperature in my apartment. These moments between us were becoming more frequent—and harder to resist. I put my palm against his chest, my entire hand tingling with excitement from the contact. He felt solid, rock hard, under my hand, and I wondered what his skin would feel like without his T-shirt between us. I pushed him gently away, severing our contact and allowing me enough space to take a decent breath. I couldn’t focus with him so close. And we needed to talk business.

“So,” I said, shaky, “I take it the mark’s a real bastard?”

Tyler took an extra step back, his smile turning almost sad. “You know me,” he said with a sigh, and the sound mirrored my own disappointment. “I don’t take money to kill just any asshole. Only the scum of the earth will do.”

That’s why I worked for Tyler. He shared my disgust for the morally bankrupt, and I could count on him to flush them out of their holes for me. Be it a drug dealer, pimp, or worse, Tyler hated abusers just as much as I did. And each and every one of them abused their victims in one horrible way or another.

Talking business was like a gust of fresh air. It cleared my head, redirected my focus. This job was the only thing keeping me from violating all of my self-imposed rules in regards to Tyler. I’d spent decades polishing my armor, and now was not the time to let it tarnish.

I leaned back against the stove, but still, the distance between us could be closed by an arm’s length. Even the air seemed thinner, as though there wasn’t enough of it to share. Tyler sealed the gap, his eyes trained on my face, drinking in every detail. He reached out, his fingers feather light against my cheek, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Time to take this conversation out of the kitchen. I needed some space, and the current cramped quarters weren’t doing anything for my willpower. I tapped the envelope of money against my palm, paced away from Tyler, and rounded the far end of the polished concrete countertop. I flopped down on the overstuffed chair in the living room that bordered the kitchen. Unfolding the slip of paper, I read the mark’s info with more interest than the situation called for. “I’ll get ahold of you when it’s done,” I said.

Tyler stiffened, his shoulders square. “You can’t keep avoiding this—us— Darian.”

Who says? As far as I was concerned, I could keep avoiding it until the end of time. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Right, Ty? We work well together. And I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Why can’t things stay just the way they are?”

“Change is the only constant, Darian.”

He always said my name with care, as if the word were fragile. The sound of it made my chest ache. “We just can’t . . . be together.”

His eyes burned into mine. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed? “It’s not a good idea. Trust me, Ty. I’m not what you need.”

He threw his coat over his shoulders and headed for the elevator. “Why don’t you let me worry about what I