Demon Retribution (4 page)

Had she felt him watching her? She had never
sensed him before. Not even this morning, when he had been so
close. He’d followed her to the pond, where he had originally
detected her scent.

Perhaps he should have approached her then,
but there had been something oddly private in the way she sat there
next to the water, her stare hard and distant. He’d stayed hidden,
feeling as though he’d be interrupting some ritual of hers.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

He was acutely aware of something inside him
that was screaming to stay away from her. Warning bells had shaken
his brain with the first discovery of her feminine fragrance. Even
now, he was hesitant to follow, but at the same time, oddly eager.
The conflicting desires made him debate whether it might be better
to stay at a distance, keep an eye on her without her knowing.

His gut relaxed at the thought, and then
tightened in protest—as if it too was unsure of the best
course.

Her gaze swept past him without pausing. The
thick foliage covered him well. He was sure she couldn’t see him.
Again, she swayed on her feet and took a moment to balance herself.
When she finally entered the building, her left shoulder bumped the
door frame.

A few moments later, the light behind her
curtains flicked on.

His instincts were at war. His usual
curiosity seemed to be his biggest enemy. That and his desire for
her. There, he’d admitted it to himself—why he’d been denying it so
vehemently, he didn’t know. But he wanted her. Badly.

Not really a surprise, considering how
drop-dead gorgeous she was. Yet even so, he shouldn’t be as
unnerved as he was by wanting her. He took females like he took his
meals; frequently, and with everything on the side. Emotions were
never involved…on his part. He couldn’t care less where the females
came from, or where they were going. Hell, he hardly cared what
they called themselves, only that he got what he needed from
them.

However, there was something different
regarding Kyra.

Whatever it was, he blamed Anya. That damn
girl had made him soft! Somehow, she had forced him to love her,
albeit, as a sister. But, before her, he hadn’t allowed anyone new
into his heart since…

His teeth gnashed together. Thinking of his
mate was always painful. Holding himself together after he’d lost
her was a challenge he’d given up on long ago. He waited for the
burning that felt like acid under his skin to subside, eager to
embrace the emptiness that always followed.

Before Anya had entered his life and mated
his brother Sebastian, Cale had been drifting through life as a
shell. Faking his way through every day.

And it had been
fine!
He
had been
just fine.

No one had really known how thoroughly he
suffered, how much pain he kept to himself. He’d been able to hide
it from his brother and sister, from everyone, all this time.

Until Anya.

The way she’d look at him made him wonder if
she saw right through him. No, he knew she did. With her gift, she
could sense his every incriminating emotion. She understood
probably better than he.

Though, the chit had been sweet not to bring
it up.

He thought of the last time
he’d seen her, just before leaving
Marada
. She’d been unconscious,
barely breathing. Sebastian, distraught, looked ready to join her
in death if she didn’t wake up.

Kyra’s light flicked off, reclaiming his
attention. From where he stood, he could see that the sliding door
curtain was not drawn all the way. The buildings were so tightly
packed together; it would be a breeze to climb to her balcony…just
to make sure she was alright.

The justification was a lame one, but to
hell with it.

As he scaled the wall, he tried to deter his
desire by reminding himself of another reason he should stay away
from her.

Her future was his future.

Meaning, if he got involved
with her, as he always tended to do with women, he couldn’t just
send her on her way and be done with it. Where she went, he would
have to go. And vice versa. At least until
Marada
rescued them from this
backward planet.

But the impending ramifications did nothing
to sway his course.

Damn, but he shouldn’t have danced with her.
Sebastian was right. He had no self-control. And she held too much
attraction for him. By marking her as forbidden, he’d managed to
make her that much more appealing.

But if he just got another look at her—a
glimpse—then he could distance himself once more, and be at ease
for the remainder of the night.

On her balcony, he crouched next to the
wall. A sliver of moonlight seeped in to her apartment, but it was
not enough. He could only see the edge of a table. Testing the
door, he found it unlocked. He guessed there weren’t a load of
humans who could climb as well as he.

He slipped inside and his
vision adjusted to the dark. The room was about the size of his
quarters on
Marada
. A plush white couch faced a flat, black screen. Draped over
the arm was a strip of familiar fabric. Her top? He swallowed,
thinking he should turn around and leave. It would be the logical
thing to do.

He stepped forward. A few large
pictures—black and white landscapes—hung against walls that sucked
up the blue hue of the moonlight. To his right, a wide bar with a
dark counter top separated the kitchen from the living area.

Across the room, he spied a door cracked
open. Bunched at its base was another clump of material and a
single heel. He traveled lightly over the beige carpet and peeked
through the opening, already suspecting what he would find.

His breath caught.

She hadn’t quite made it under the
covers.

She lay face down, head cocked to the side,
arms sprawled above her. Her legs were slightly askew and looked
pale against the dark sheets. The only bit of fabric she wore was a
tiny strip that sank into an ass that couldn’t have been more
perfect if it had been shaped by an artist.

“
Mercy of gods.”

Her body jerked at the sound of his voice,
and she gasped, rolling over the side of the mattress. The rustle
of a drawer being yanked open should have been his queue to
skedaddle, but he’d been momentarily frozen by the sight of her. At
the last second, he moved, and the bullet whizzed past his
head.

“
Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m not
here to hurt you.” He backed away from the door.

“
Shopping for apartments,
are you?” She hissed, barging into the living room, gun aimed true,
and still nearly naked.

His mind went blank for another moment.

“
I’m here to protect
you.”

“
You broke into my place to
protect me.” Her tone was sarcastic. Then her eyes narrowed as
recognition took hold. “You’re that guy,” she said.

Kyra swayed, feeling nauseous.

Seeing his face between the two other blurry
figures reminded her that she was three sheets to the wind.

“
I’ve come to keep you safe
from the Kayadon.” His arms were up, showing he was unarmed, but he
wasn’t meeting her gaze.

“
From what?” she replied a
bit slurred. “Do you mean people who follow girls home and sneak
into their rooms when they’re unconscious?”

“
Not exactly.” His words
were slow, as if he wasn’t really paying attention. She followed
his line of sight.

Huh, when had she removed her clothing?

“
Get a good look? It’s the
last pair you’re ever going to see.”

His smile was cocky. “I doubt that.”

Kyra squeezed the trigger three times. The
long silencer at the end of her nine millimeter muffled the
sound.

“
Shit!” he bellowed and
stumbled back, clutching the open wounds in his torso.

Even wasted, she was a spot on shot. The
trick was to aim for the middle one. If that didn’t work, just
shoot ‘em all. Bound to hit something.

“
You crazy wench.” His
expression was incredulous, and she mused that psychos were always
surprised when their prey fought back, and won. Though he probably
didn’t realize it yet, she’d mortally wounded him. Lung, liver,
kidney. This one was proving tough, however. He was still steady on
his feet.

“
Get out of here, or I’ll
put one in your head, you sicko.”

He grumbled something she couldn’t hear and
still shamelessly ogled her. She tensed her arm for another
shot.

“
Alright, I’m going,” he
said, as if she were merely inconveniencing him.

But instead of heading toward the door, he
went to the balcony, and she registered now that the sliding door
had been open this whole time. He hauled himself up to balance on
the banister. Gun still trained on him, she took a step forward,
about to either make the kill or demand he leave again. When he
flung himself over the side, her jaw dropped.

She rushed forward, expecting to see a
splattered body on the street and the sound of honking horns, maybe
some screaming from passersby, but there was none of that. She
ignored the chilled morning air as she leaned over the edge.

Her heart, which she hadn’t realized was
racing, began to slow, and a low gust of wind reminded her that she
was naked. It didn’t matter. No one from below could really see
her. It was still dark out, but the coming sun threatened to leach
the night away at any moment.

Leaning farther out, she checked to see if
he’d landed on the balcony under her, but he wasn’t there
either.

Then movement across the street demanded her
attention.

It was him!

He leaned against a thin trunk behind the
waist high wall that separated the park from the sidewalk. Blood
trickled from where she’d shot him, but he looked casually
unaffected. Almost relaxed.

Their eyes met. He smiled. All she could do
was gape at his smug expression. In the next instant, he was gone,
disappearing into the park.

Stunned, she stood there for a long while.
Eventually the black of the sky mixed with navy. Car engines
rumbled below. Brakes squealed. The gun was still in her hand,
growing cold.

Had that really just happened?

By midday, Kyra had sobered up. Mostly.
Sober enough to realize the droplets of blood in her apartment
weren’t from an alcohol-induced hallucination. She had shot
someone, and he’d practically laughed about it. At least, she
though he had laughed. There had been a chuckle at least.

Of course, he was most likely dead by now.
People didn’t survive wounds like that unless treated immediately,
and he hadn’t seemed in a hurry to find a hospital.

Anyway, she couldn’t stay here any longer.
It was time for another identity change.

The moment his body was found, alive or
dead, there would be an investigation, and she best be long gone by
then.

A half-filled suitcase lay open on her bed.
Each time she moved, she would mourn as if someone was dying. Which
was kind of true. Kyra Okora was dying. Just as Kyra Webber, Kyra
Jenkins, and countless others had before.

She’d always keep her first name for two
reasons. One, because it was who she was, who she would always be,
no matter how many identities she took. Two, she could never get
used to answering to a fake name. She’d tried it once. It was
always awkward when someone had to say the name three or more times
before she would answer.

Kyra had made changing her life as easy as
possible, so she could just up and go at a moment’s notice. All her
properties were owned by a “travel company” so there was never any
paperwork to track, and a bag of cash was always on hand, along
with countless deposit boxes.

Like so many other times she’d just become
another missing person. Not that there was ever anyone who’d put up
a fuss over it.

Well, not usually. Zoey might.

Maybe that’s why she sat slumped, staring
aimlessly through her glass coffee table. For the first time in
ages, someone would miss her. And she would miss someone. Why had
she let herself get so close to the human girl?

Kyra debated calling her, giving her some
excuse as to why they would never see each other again.

Hey, Zo, I killed a man,
just to watch him die
.

Okay, not to watch. Though, Kyra didn’t
regret shooting the wacko. Killing him would save whoever his next
target would have been. And she was sure there would have been a
next. People like him didn’t just forget their sick obsessions.
They didn’t grow a conscience. She smiled, remembering her
vigilante years, long before things like police forces and
forensics labs had existed.