Amanda Bonilla - Shaedes of Gray - A Shaede Assassin Novel

My nerves hummed, wound as tight as a trampoline spring. Though I’ll admit to being arrogant at times, I realized now I wasn’t the only unnatural thing on the planet. Of course others like me existed! I wanted to bang my head against the table. How could I have been so blind? I probably couldn’t even pick one out of a crowd, though once or twice I’d sensed a different kind of energy surrounding someone who, for all intents and purposes, looked human. I’d let Azriel’s words lull me into a false sense of security. I minded my own business and they minded theirs.

But now I truly worried that someone hadn’t read that same memo. Someone who knew me as a Shaede had chosen to put me in a very precarious position.

“I never met the guy,” Tyler said after a passing silence. “I talked to him on the phone and we arranged drops for the money. He called me, but his number was blocked.”

“Did he ask for me specifically?” Tyler had a tendency to hire freelance professionals, even though we both knew I was the best.

“Yeah. Said he’d heard about you. Said you were the only one for the job.”

I’d been set up. At least now I knew why the client didn’t want to pay up front.

But that also prompted another interesting question. How had the client known what I was? If he knew about Shaedes, he would know we aren’t so easy to kill. Food for thought.

“I want you to set up a face-to-face with this guy.” I didn’t care that it wasn’t the norm. I wanted to look the bastard in the eye, let him see that I wasn’t a helpless target.

“Are you crazy?” Tyler’s voice rose above the din of the music. “That’s a huge liability!”

“Can you arrange the meeting or not?”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “This isn’t a good idea.” His voice strained as he fought for control of his temper. “I’m the middleman for a reason, Darian. Your anonymity protects you. If you meet with a client, it puts you in danger.”

“I’m not worried about that.” I could handle myself and Ty knew that. “Please. I want up close and personal with this client. See the whites of his eyes.”

Tyler’s jaw flexed and his brows came together, crinkling his forehead. Again, I got the feeling he wanted to get cozy with my private thoughts. “You think this is necessary?”

I nodded once.

“Fine,” he said, as if the word left a nasty taste in his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I stood up and stretched my too-tight muscles. Extending my thumb and pinkie to my ear and mouth, my lips moved in a silent call me . I left Tyler staring after me as I wound my way through the gyrating dancers to the exit.

“Goin’ home, Darian?”

The bouncer’s nickname was Tiny, and he was as big around as a California redwood. I thought Killer or Skull Crusher might have been a more appropriate term for him, but, oh, well, it wasn’t my job to give him a name.

“You know it,” I answered as he put his body between me and the line of enthusiastic patrons salivating at a chance to get into the packed club. I shook my still-damp hair forward to hide my luminous eyes and sauntered down the street, fading into shadow as soon as I knew curious stares no longer followed me.

I stepped out of the lift into the vast, open square of my apartment. The only room closed off from the studio was the bathroom. The bed sat in one corner, the living room in another, and the kitchen and bathroom at the opposite side. High, vaulted ceilings gave me a good twenty feet of space, and windows showed a cityscape dotted with skylights. The frequent Seattle rains played a symphony on those skylights, and I usually lay stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling until nature’s music put me to sleep.

I discarded the wet duster, flinging it across the flat-screen TV to dry, and returned the saber to its resting place on the wall above my fireplace. I set the dagger on the mantle, wondering at Tyler’s show of protectiveness. I liked to think he cared enough about me to be concerned, though now was not the time for him to get all personal bodyguard on me. One of the things I liked about Ty was the fact that he didn’t coddle me or treat me like I was made of glass. He thought of me as an equal, and I thought of him the same way. But my inner damsel did swoon—a little. Dislodging one boot and then the other, I kicked, sending each to a different corner of the studio. After peeling off my wet pants and sweater, I stayed in the living room, allowing the balmy heat floating down from the vents to air-dry my body, clad in nothing but a black bra and matching lace underwear.

“Now, that’s a sight to behold,” said a red-velvet voice from behind me.

I cursed under my breath. Xander had been following me. Anger pulsed hot and welcome in my veins. I shouldn’t have let my guard down—especially now that I knew someone like him existed.

Instead of turning to face him, I strolled to my bathroom to retrieve a fluffy white fleece robe that I draped over my body and cinched tight at my waist. Then, with murder written on my face like tomorrow’s lunch special, I turned around. He sat relaxed in my overstuffed chair, looking very much at home.

Even from across the apartment, his eyes held me captive. Melted caramel flecked with gold, possessing the bright glow that I knew mine had, though his were more brilliant. The smell of him permeated the air, filling my studio with a sweetness that would put a field of wildflowers to shame. His lips curled up at the corners, hinting at an arrogant smile.

“You look even better in that robe,” he said.

The sound of his voice sent a spasm of chills over my skin. I tried to shake the sensation and moved to the kitchen to pour myself a tall glass of juice. It’s not like I could throw him out, but I wasn’t going to be hospitable either.

His voice cut through the silence. “Who is your maker, Shaede?”

I bristled. After all, I’d told him my name—he should’ve at least tried to use it. “His name”—I paused to sip my juice—“was Azriel, and he is dead.”

He rolled that comment over in his mind for a moment. “I’ve heard the name,” he said. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know,” I said indignantly. “I know only that he’s dead.”

I didn’t leave the kitchen. For some reason, I didn’t want to be too close to him. You don’t often drop in on the assassin who’s been hired to kill you, and I didn’t think he’d stopped by for a cup of tea.

“From whom did you acquire your skills?” he asked.

“From myself,” I snapped.

A deep, rumbling laughter erupted from his chest, and another round of thrilling chills trickled across my skin. Shaedes are alluring by nature. Azriel’s eyes, voice, and laughter often had the same effect on me. I wondered, though: Could it be something more?

“I’ve come with a message,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What’s tha—?”

Before I could finish, he appeared in front of me in a wisp of darkness. His form became solid and his face demanded my attention.

“You are summoned to the king’s guard,” he said.

“Whose king?” I asked. Certainly not mine. I was my own woman, and I had no country or master to swear allegiance to.

He brought his hand up to my cheek. I could feel the heat before he touched me, but when he did, I felt as if he’d laid my skin against one of those electric heating pads that humans use to ease their aches and pains. Wonderful.

He brushed his thumb across my cheek before dropping his hand to his side. I couldn’t break his hold on me, and my eyes didn’t leave his. I swallowed. Hard.

“ Your king,” he whispered, and vanished.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Well, this has been a shit-tastic day, I thought, leaning against the kitchen counter to steady my quaking body.