Virna DePaul - Turned

Her scar burned under his gaze, a reminder of how much she’d paid because of her past. At the time, the payment had seemed worth it. Now?

She’d simply learned to make the scar invisible when she looked in the mirror. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

This job he offered—this chance to get information on Gloria—could be a chance to finally heal. Or it would scar her more. Right down to her soul.

“Pobrecita,” he murmured, and the sound of her native language falling from his lips made her shiver. “You see the scar as penance, don’t you?”

Slowly, he raised his hand and ran his knuckles against the unmarred skin of her left cheek.

She shivered, but didn’t pull away.

Penance? That implied forgiveness. A fresh start. She wanted it. She was so close to having it.

But as this man’s questioning proved, she wasn’t close enough.

Ty leaned closer and nuzzled his nose into her hair, nudging the heavy, dark brown tendrils behind her ear. Despite the chill he radiated, her body was infused with sudden heat.

She waited in breathless anticipation for him to kiss her again. She wanted him to. Was close to pulling his face around so she could initiate a kiss herself. This time, she thought, she’d use her tongue. She’d sate herself on the taste of him, and let her hands explore the body that seemed capable of both strength and tenderness …

As if by accident, his fingertips brushed the raised, jagged line on her left cheek. Her eyes flew open. Like a bucket of ice water, the contact with her scar shocked her out of her trance. “Stop!” She shoved him away, took several steps back, and put a chair between them.

For a second, he looked like he was going to come after her. Like a fool, she wanted him to.

He didn’t. Suddenly he was all business again.

“Belladonna can offer you something different, Ana. Something more than the gang ever could. Something more than what you have now.”

“Shut up!” She was disgusted by how easily he’d pulled her in then allowed her to back away without even a hint of regret.

Ty waved his hand around the coffee shop. “Technically, you’re fine. You immerse yourself in your business and your garden. I’ll bet you even shag every once in a while, just to prove you can. But you have no friends to share your highs and lows with, and when you do have sex, you probably never come. Hell, you don’t even have a cat for company. Are you living? Or are you just waiting? And if so, who are you waiting for?”

No one .

But it wasn’t true.

More than Gloria, she’d been waiting for someone like him .

The realization weakened her knees and ate at her belly.

Ty’s expression softened. “You know another term for waiting? Dying. What I’m offering you is the chance to be more. To do more. To join in the land of the living again. To have purpose. In doing so, you’ll train and be trained in return. You’ll learn to stop suppressing the hatred and guilt and anger inside you. Feel them. Control them. Then you’ll hold all the power in the world.”

Power. Power to feel again.

Power to feel more of what she’d felt today. With Ty.

Power to feel alive.

She was almost convinced, but he didn’t need to know that. She had to keep this interview, which was what it seemed to be, on track.

“These other women I’m to train. Who are they? Gang members? Ex-cons?”

Ty shook his head. “That’s also on a need-to-know basis. You won’t necessarily be working with each other. Not at first.”

“So what you said about training them—”

“You’ll cover what you know to prepare them for their own missions, if and when it’s necessary. They’ll do the same for you. Different skill sets. We need them all.”

Annoyed, she stopped pacing and frowned. He was actually serious. He truly believed she could make unknown women into badass spies. That she could be one. Weren’t Bond girls all boobs and no brawn? “What would I need to be trained in?”

He thought that over. “As I said before, control to start with. But the other female agents won’t be teaching you that.”

“Who—” she began, even though she already knew.

He simply stared at her, all traces of lightheartedness gone.

She wasn’t surprised. And she didn’t miss his message, either. He wouldn’t just train her. He’d push her. Far more than she’d want to be pushed.

He moved, stepping right up to her. His gaze wandered over her face. Her scar. Her lips. But he didn’t touch her.

“You have the business card, Ana. You know how to get in touch with me.” He paused, looked out the window with a slight frown, then met her gaze again before saying, “You’re brave. You’re strong. You built this coffee shop from nothing. You’ve fought to survive, but you’re still not willing to fight for what you really want in life. When you are, I’ll be waiting. And I’ll help you. All you have to do is call.”

Ty strode out of Ana’s coffee shop and kept walking despitethe strong urge to go back to her. To kiss her again. To do far more to her soft lips, her slick tongue, and her warm, fragrant body.

Lust the likes of which he’d never felt before, even during the first two months of his transition, was riding him hard, making him nearly dizzy. When he’d first been turned, his lust had been for sex, regardless of who it was with. Now, his lust seemed reserved for Ana alone.

Shaking, he headed toward the flat he’d rented. It was across the street from Ana’s house, so that he could easily keep her under surveillance. Thankfully, the more distance he put between himself and the coffee shop, the calmer he seemed to get. Within minutes, although he still ached to have her, he no longer felt like he was going to die if he didn’t. His surroundings, rather than his desire for Ana, became his focus.

Since it was past midnight, the streets were quiet. Eventually, the trendier neighborhood where Ana worked gave way to a seedier part of the city, one where gunshots and sirens weren’t uncommon and some streets were virtually abandoned. Ty’s flat— apartment , he reminded himself—was nothing to brag about. It was on the top floor of an anonymous three-story brick building with a clear view of Ana’s little house. Carly had paid the rent in advance for several months, although Ty had no plans to be there that long. The renting agent was glad to take the cash and asked no questions, handing over the keys and assuring Ty that there was no extra charge for the furniture.

One tug on the greasy string dangling from the bare-bulb light fixture in the ceiling and he’d seen why. The previous tenant had left only a beat-up sofa and a rickety table and chair. There was a hot plate. Shabby digs, but all he needed for the temporary stakeout. Dragging cumbersome items from a van into the building would have attracted attention, something Ty wanted to avoid.

He’d braced the table so it could safely hold his surveillance monitors. The rest of his gear—flash drives and micro-engineered spy stuff, including items designed specifically for Ana—weighed next to nothing.

He slouched comfortably into the chair in front of the monitors, touching a few keys to adjust certain settings. A half hour later, she arrived home.

For a second, Ana looked straight into a tiny camera she didn’t know was there.

Ty sat up, mesmerized by the catlike wariness in her brown eyes. He was relieved when she looked away. She moved around inside her house, her expression calm.

Ana was a natural beauty. Thin gold hoops were her only jewelry, piercing plump little earlobes that he wanted very much to nip. With flawless light caramel skin, she didn’t need makeup and she didn’t seem to use any besides eyeliner. Her fine features and dark, wing-like brows had a delicate symmetry, unlike her full mouth. Her lips were luscious, the lower noticeably more full than the upper. Made for kissing.