Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 22

  He noted her use of the plural. She knew where all the amulets were, not just the one. A flutter of lightheadedness gave him hope. “I need to get them and return them to where they belong. You said Hunter had the shipment, do you know where he’d keep them?”

  Nikala inspected the glass and traced a fingertip over the metalwork that looked like tiny branches. Whoever made the amulets was a talented craftsman. Cian doubted it was Acelyne, which meant someone else in Faerie was involved. The list of those to track down kept growing. Which meant he had to get word to Rori. She could find the bastards in Faerie while he stayed in London. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing the reason he put off leaving the human realm sat across the table from him. And he didn’t mean the amulet.

  Finally, Nikala slowly shook her head. “If I had to guess, I’d say at Hunter’s place. He won’t forgive me for this.” Nikala hesitated, then continued, “Someone destroyed his lab last night.”

  Cian processed her words, the way she looked down when she spoke. A subtle submissiveness entered her actions. “Was this the man who called when we were at the pub?” Cian’s mind was working like gears in a clock, setting plans in motion, making alternate plans if the first fell through.

  Her nod was more of a full body rocking. “He told me to meet him at his place, but I came here with you instead.” The warble in her voice sent fury racing through Cian’s veins.

  The man had ordered her to his house and she’d denied him. The change in her tone indicated she feared the man. He’d be dealt with in time. Cian needed more answers from Nikala first.

  “The amulets come from somewhere, Nikala. I need to know where.”

  She took a sip of her tea and sighed. “Someone in Edinburgh brings them. From where, I have no clue. I was supposed to meet her when you arrived.”

  “Her?” Cian sat up straighter. “Was it Acelyne?”

  Nikala shook her head, letting her blonde waves cover her face. “I don’t know. All I was given was a description. Red hair, shorter than me, trim build.” Her eyes widened and she swore under her breath.

  “What is it?” Cian prodded when she didn’t elaborate.

  “Red hair.” She toyed with the pendant, slipping it between her fingers like a magician with his cards. “The woman from last night.” Nikala snapped her attention to Cian. “There was a woman near SIRE’s building last night. Saffron coat, auburn hair. She seemed startled to see me. I’m not saying she’s the woman, but it was definitely strange.”

  “Acelyne had blonde hair, golden like yours. As tall as you, perhaps an inch taller. The woman you were to meet must’ve been her courier.”

  Nikala bit her lower lip and rolled it between her teeth. “I overheard Malcolm talking about someone named Max.”

  Cian felt sucker-punched. The air swooshed from his lungs and he choked on the coffee in his mouth. It couldn’t be. Not the same Maxx who was his mum’s best mate. Not the Maxx he knew to be one of Faerie’s greatest spies. According to his queen, Maxx died five years ago on a mission in the human realm. He sifted through memories and data. Had she died or gone missing?

  Slick tendrils of dread latched onto his spine.

  He’d been there last night when Nikala had risked her own life to save the woman from getting hit by the bikers. By their body language, he hadn’t thought they knew each other, but upon reflection, the woman in the mustard coat had looked at Nikala strangely—as if she recognized her and was afraid.

  The dread slipped into his throat, constricting his breath.

  He’d not seen Maxx in years, seven or eight at least, and she’d had dark-brown hair, if he recalled correctly. It wouldn’t be hard for her to change her appearance, but why would she be hiding from Faerie? And if she was the courier, why was she selling kidnapped fae to Malcolm?

  “What’s going on, Cian?” Nikala reached across the table to take his hand. “I think it’s time we both told the truth.”

  As much as the idea terrified him, and as much as it went against everything he believed, she was right. Last night he spoke the truth with his body; now he’d speak the truth with his words. He could only hope she wouldn’t betray him.

  24

  At a quarter to one, Nikala left Cian’s flat with the promise she’d see him soon. The quiet, fog- drenched streets matched her mood. He’d told her many things over the last few hours. Things she never thought could be possible, but for every argument she’d had, he could point to an event that proved his story. In the end, she’d had to accept that what he’d told her was not only conceivable, but highly feasible.

  Beyond the reality of this world, was another. Faerie, he’d called it. And not just that one, but many other worlds that existed in tandem to Earth. Some were parallel timelines, like Faerie, and others were in the future or past.

  The tea she’d drunk and cereal she’d eaten had long since turned to an agonizing mush in her gut. She’d listened to Cian as he told his wild stories of assassins and queens, of elven thieves, and sweet-natured giants. The world he created sounded too fantastical to be true, yet something nagged at the back of her mind every time he said Faerie.

  The most astonishing admission he made was telling her he wasn’t human. He was fae, he’d said with a straight face and not an ounce of mischief. A faerie. Even when she’d asked about his wings, he didn’t smile or chortle or say he was joking.

  “They’re here,” he’d told her, “beneath my skin. When I need them, they’ll be revealed, but not until then. Only if you’re royalty can you always display your wings.” Then his face became somber and his voice lowered. “When a fae is close to death, their wings will curl around them in a protective embrace, like a cocoon.”

  She’d held the amulet the entire time he spoke. Not once did he try to take it from her, although she saw the desire in his eyes. It was when he’d told her each amulet contained at least one kidnapped faerie that she’d thought he’d really lost his mind.

  One question she hadn’t asked—and he hadn’t mentioned—was the glistening of her own skin. She told herself it was from Hunter’s tests, but a seed of doubt or hope or despair had been planted in her psyche.

  When she said she needed time to process what he told her, he didn’t argue for her to stay. Instead, he stood quietly and kissed her on the lips before helping her into her leather jacket. Then he stooped to pick up the memory disk she’d found in his trouser pockets and handed it to her.

  “Whatever Malcolm’s up to, it’s on here.” He’d pressed his warm lips against her forehead and inhaled, as if marking her scent. “I’ve told you everything I can. Now it’s up to you to find your own truth.”

  Something in the way he said the words, with a wistfulness she’d not expected, set her nerves jangling. As if he knew something about her he didn’t reveal. Or something about Malcolm. But there was an unspoken fear lodged in his goodbye.

  She bounded down the steps to the Blackfriars Underground station and swiped her card for entry. A shadow in her peripheral eased from the wall and followed. It could’ve been one of the scyvers from last night, or another of Malcolm’s henchmen. She didn’t care. If they came too close, she’d take care they couldn’t follow her ever again.

  They kept their distance, whoever it was. On the platform, she checked her phone, surreptitiously trying to peek beneath the hoodie. Their face was too covered to know whether it was anyone she recognized. Last night she didn’t get a good look at the scyvers, but she sensed it wasn’t one of them. Nor was it Jude or Yash. From the height, it could be the mysterious Maxx. She looked closer, but could only make out a pale chin. Not enough to assume anything.

  Nikala boarded the train that pulled up with a whoosh of hot air and settled into a corner where she could see most of the passengers. The door between carriages to her right had its window lowered, and loud screeching assaulted her ears as the train pulled out of the station. The hooded figure stood facing her, about thirty feet away. As long as they kept their distance, she’d keep her
s.

  Sweat dripped down her back to the wound Donyatella had dressed the previous night. Cian had spent several excruciating minutes examining her body—every scar, each mole, even that damned cut Yash had given her. She’d stood still during his probing, but every instinct had wanted her to grab her clothes and run as far and as fast as she could, putting as much distance and space between her and Cian as was humanly possible.

  But with each caress, every kiss, she’d melted a little more. By the time he’d lain her on his bed, she didn’t fear the disfigurements as much as she feared his unabashed delight in her body. The way he’d looked at her, as if she were whole and beautiful, was harrowing. How could a man not be disgusted by the marks on her flesh? Cian hadn’t flinched when he saw them. He hadn’t shuddered and looked away. He’d loved her.

  Tears pricked her eyes and she crammed her fingernails into the soft spot of her palms to keep from crying. This would not do. Crying was for simpletons, not for her.

  She’d do well to forget all about Cian MacNair and his sweet kisses and gentle touch. He was a distraction she didn’t need in her mountingly convoluted life. A distraction she welcomed, nonetheless.

  The train pulled into her station and the hooded figure exited before Nikala. Perhaps she was getting too paranoid. Maybe they weren’t following her after all.

  She made her way through the throng of people to the street where the sounds of city traffic chimed like welcome bells in her mind. The quiet of Cian’s street had been unnatural. She remembered the blue haze he’d made appear in his flat and wondered whether that somehow had flowed out onto the street.

  Magic, he’d called it. Said every being in Faerie had some kind of magic in their blood. Then he’d explained how different races could do different things with their magic. Fae were excellent at illusion, deception, healing, and nurturing. Trolls worked their magic through nature, and elves—hell, she forgot what elves were good at. It had all blended together at that point. Magic was something she thought of as parlor tricks or Vegas shows. Not something people had or did.

  She inspected her hands and farther up her wrist to her forearm. The slight luster was gone. Cian had shown her his Glamour and said it was helpful in confusing cameras and other things in the human realm.

  “You were in Malcolm’s office last night when I was there, weren’t you?” she’d asked him.

  “I was.” He’d answered without elaborating.

  She’d known someone was there, but had worried it was Hunter. It hadn’t crossed her mind that the intruder might be Cian. He was good, she gave him that much.

  At SIRE’s building, she paused. The police cars were gone and from where she stood, it didn’t look as though anything was out of the ordinary. Yet Hunter had said someone destroyed the lab.

  Her stomach coiled in on itself. Shit. Hunter had told her to go to his place last night and she ignored him. He was going to be pissed. She rubbed her hands together and crossed them over her chest. When wasn’t he upset with her over one thing or another?

  Another sliver of their conversation slipped into her mind. He hadn’t answered her when she asked about Malcolm. Nikala gazed up at the glass building. No way would Malcolm destroy Hunter’s lab. Not after investing a billion pounds in the stupid thing. Top-notch technology, Malcolm had beamed when he showed her the plans. The latest in medical equipment so Hunter could continue his work.

  She shivered and forced the thought out of her mind. His work was that of a mad scientist and should be shut down, not rewarded. Her right hand slipped beneath her jacket and she rubbed the two bullet wounds Hunter had given her. Whoever had destroyed the lab did the world a favor. If only she could bring herself to kill the man. It wasn’t Malcolm that kept her from going through with it. Nikala shook with the realization that every time she thought of killing Hunter, another, fiercer need to protect him overrode her thoughts. She couldn’t control it or get rid of it, but it was visceral and all-consuming.

  As if someone had fucked with her brain.

  Shit. She had to find Malcolm.

  A movement across the street caught her attention and she turned in time to see the hooded figure duck into a recessed doorway. With another glance toward the office building, she turned and jogged across the street. The figure darted from their hiding place and ran down an alley, with Nikala close behind.

  The alley twisted to the right and she swung wide in case the runner thought to attack from the inside. They did. A gloved fist came from the corner of a brick building, missing Nikala’s temple by an inch. She heard the rush of air as the fist clipped her ear. She dodged another punch and kicked hard into the assailant’s midsection.

  They oofed as they were thrown backward, into the wall. A crack sounded when their head hit stone, but Nikala didn’t let up. She kicked and jabbed, ducking to avoid punches, and sidestepping kicks as much as she could. The hooded figure—adept at martial arts and seeming to know Nikala’s moves before she made them—didn’t give her any advantage.

  Nor did the limited space allow for improvisation, yet she found ways to reach her assailant’s soft middle again and again. Her elbow connected with a cheekbone and the figure’s head snapped to the left. The hood slipped and Nikala caught sight of auburn hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

  “Maxx?” The name was forced between breathless gasps.

  The woman backed away, hazel eyes huge in her tanned face. “You know who I am?”

  Confused, Nikala shook her head. “Not really. I heard your name and put the pieces together. I was supposed to meet you in Edinburgh, but you never showed.”

  “Because Acelyne never arrived. I’ve been hiding from Malcolm ever since.” Maxx straightened her jacket and replaced the hood over her head.

  Nikala leaned against the wall to catch her breath. With only a few hours’ sleep, tea, and sugary cereal to keep her fueled, she was lagging in energy.

  “Why hide? Why attack me?” Everything Cian had told her about Maxx slipped between her thoughts. This woman was a skilled assassin. If she wanted Nikala dead, she’d be dead.

  “I’m trying to warn you.”

  “You could’ve just said something.”

  “I had to know if you could be trusted.” Maxx snorted. “Or at the very least, if you’d listen. We aren’t really the trusting sorts, are we?” They shared a grin, then Maxx said, “That blade last night could’ve been meant for me, but you risked your life to save a stranger. You earned more than my respect.”

  She did a funny thing then. She placed the tip of her thumb against her lips, then to her forehead. If Nikala was supposed to understand the meaning, she didn’t.

  “Malcolm’s not right.” Maxx leaned in close. “I believe he has the madness.”

  “Madness? What, like Alzheimer’s?”

  “Similar, but different for our kind.” Maxx looked from one end of the alley to the other. “You’re not safe here. None of us are.”

  “Why? What’s going to happen?” Maxx was right; they weren’t the trusting kind and nothing she said could be taken for truth. She was the reason Hunter now had all the amulets. Nikala crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “Why should I believe you when all this time you’ve been selling those—” She couldn’t bring herself to say faeries, wasn’t willing to believe it was true. Not yet. “You’ve been helping Malcolm.”

  Maxx glanced down at her hands. “I want my freedom, nothing more. I didn’t want to help him. I was forced to.” She tugged the hood over her head until it masked her face and turned away from Nikala. “If you’re smart, you’ll get away from him, right now.”

  Maxx pivoted and ran full out down the alley. Nikala let her go with a frustrated growl. She had too many unanswered questions and too little patience. She strode back toward SIRE’s offices, where she hoped there would be answers. Her knuckles were bruised where she’d hit Maxx, and her ribs ached where she’d been kicked. Maxx wanted her freedom? Did that mean it was Malcolm who had forced her to help
? Or Hunter? And why?

  A chilling prickle tracked over her skin. Or was there a third player on the board? One Nikala didn’t know, but perhaps Cian did?

  Police tape covered one of the lifts and she glanced at the ceiling. If the firefighters were able to contain the fire to the one floor, that meant her laptop and everything were still safe in her office. She jammed her hand on the reader to their private lift and waited while it blipped and hummed. A moment later, the doors opened and she stepped inside. Whatever Malcolm was up to, she was going to find out. She fumbled in her pocket for the memory stick Cian had stolen from Malcolm’s office. All of SIRE’s business dealings were on there, according to Cian. But Nikala wanted to hear the truth from Malcolm before she looked at what was on the stick.

  She ignored the receptionist and went straight to Malcolm’s offices, but they were empty. The poor dear raced after her, mumbling apologies, and asking questions. Mr. Dagniss hadn’t shown up for work today and wasn’t taking her calls; did Nikala know what she should say to those who he had appointments with?

  “Fuck if I care,” Nikala groused and stormed into her office.

  Her heart seized at the sight of her broken laptop. At least she knew Cian hadn’t been the one to vandalize her property. Yasheda and Jude came immediately to mind. Those assholes. She scanned the rest of the room, noting the state of her luggage and mess of belongings tossed willy-nilly behind her desk.

  She put a hand to her chest where the amulet rested in her cleavage. If they’d come for it, she had Cian to thank for them not finding the pendant. Her gaze went to her laptop and the empty slot where the memory card had been when she left the night before. Great. Now Malcolm would know she’d been spying on him.

  Well, that was kind of what he paid her for. Not spying on him, exactly, but spying on others. It was poetic justice of a sort. Except, she didn’t think he’d see it that way. She locked the office and turned to the receptionist, who stood beside her huge desk, wringing her hands.