Fleeing Fate (2 page)

It was just her luck neither of them was available.

She was halfway up the stairs when the lights dipped and the
crowd downstairs started shrieking with laughter, one voice rising above the
hilarity. “No more kissing if it means you’re gonna blow the fuses.”

An ache started in her chest, threatened to spread out and
engulf her, and Gràinne paused for a moment, fighting the pain.

What did it feel like to have friends? To laugh and talk
with others just for the fun of it? And what,
oh
, what did it feel like
to be
free
?

Hanging on to the banister, she took a couple of deep
breaths, getting herself under control a little at a time, until the tremors
racking her arms and legs abated and she could once more lift her head.
Thinking about escaping from the Council had been one thing, but once she’d
touched the runestone, held it in her hand, emotions she’d only vaguely been
aware of before had broken free to flood her system. Never before had she felt
such fear, excitement, determination. Lore said her kind were created to be
cold, stoic, passionless, without sympathy or desires. Why then was her heart
racing, her stomach twisting with trepidation at the thought of what may come?

This might be the last night of her existence, but that was
a chance she was willing to take to experience what it meant to truly live.
Lifting her chin higher, she swore softly under her breath.

“Perhaps I’ll never know what it’s like to have friends but,
by the Goddess
, tonight I’ll taste freedom, if it’s the very last thing
I do.”

Fortified, she continued up the stairs, taking them two at a
time, fear of failure replaced by eagerness and the determination to succeed.

At the top she glanced around. The tattoo parlor was smaller
than she’d thought it would be, considering that the café portion of the shop
stretched quite a way farther back below the loft. There were only four chairs
ranged around the space, two near the railing, two closer to where she was
standing, while a couple of doors at the rear of the space hinted at other
rooms. The industrial, hard-edged atmosphere she’d noticed in the café below
had been duplicated up here, but stripped bare, leaving the impression that
although downstairs was a place to enjoy yourself, up here was all business.

Jakuta was on the opposite side of the parlor, his back to
her as he fiddled with some equipment on a table, and Gràinne started toward
him, the flat heels of her boots clacking on the concrete floor. From below
she’d realized he was big but only now, being on the same level with him, could
she truly appreciate his height and thickly muscled body. The wide back and
arms bulging with corded muscles couldn’t truly be concealed by his white,
long-sleeved shirt, and tight black jeans only emphasized the definition of his
thighs. As she skirted one of the chairs he looked at her over his shoulder and
the breath left her lungs with a
whoosh
, the power she’d sensed before
slamming into her like an immobilization spell on steroids.

By the Goddess.

The floor tilted beneath her feet and Gràinne reached out to
grab the arm of the nearest chair, steadying herself against it. Thankfully,
he’d already turned back to whatever it was he was doing and didn’t see her
almost fall over.

Apparently the Creator, in Her infinite wisdom, had carved
the perfect being from the bole of a mahogany tree and then, breathing life
into him, made this man. His face was a series of wide, flattened planes and
deeply chiseled angles combining to create a breathtaking landscape of harsh,
dark beauty. Fierce black eyes had seemed to have raked her from top to toes,
igniting a cascade of desire to flare over her skin. Long, thick dreadlocks
hung around his face, somehow emphasizing his commanding presence.

Holy Mother, preserve me.

Suddenly the air around her seemed heavy, full of invisible
sparks that stung and tingled against her skin, making her shiver. As she
watched he raised his hands to sweep the locks back from his face, securing
them at his nape with a rubberized band. The motion caused the muscles in his
back to flex beneath his shirt, and Gràinne trembled to see their smooth,
strong movement.

“What can I do for you?”

Impossible to ignore the way his deep, soft voice rumbled
into her, vibrating and rocking through her system, making her already rubbery
legs even weaker. Still gripping the chair, giving thanks he hadn’t yet turned
around, she swallowed and somehow found the wherewithal to speak.

“I need—” She cut herself off, cursing at the tremulous
sound of her voice. “I came to get a tattoo.”

“That all?” Now he turned, snagged her gaze with those dark,
sparkling eyes, holding her motionless. “Somehow I think you want a lot more,
and I don’t know that you’ll find it here.”

“What?” Shock made her voice come out as a squeak. “What do
you mean by that?”

A slow, almost sly smile tilted the corners of his mouth,
but there was no amusement in his eyes. “You bringing a storm with you,
sweetness. The Orixás whispered to me that you’re going to need some help.”

Fear shafted into her belly, but she kept her chin up, her
gaze level with his. “Maybe the Orixás, whoever they are, are mistaken. All I
want is a tattoo.”

His lips twisted fractionally, and he shook his head.
“Sorry. The gods don’t lie. Besides, storms are my specialty. Felt this one
coming when I got up this morning.” Now his eyes twinkled, and she couldn’t
tell whether he was laughing at her or himself. “Been making me a little edgy.
I’m almost glad you’re finally here and we can get on with it.”

Realizing she was gaping at him like an idiot, she snapped
her mouth shut and tried to marshal her thoughts. It wasn’t easy with him
standing there, a knowing grin on his face, more gorgeous than a man had a
right to be. He filled her with such a wash of taboo thoughts she was surprised
she didn’t just melt into a puddle.

I don’t have time for this.

Yet the sensation of lust, experienced for the first time,
was crazy-wonderful. Who knew that her body could tremble and swell with need,
her nipples pucker just from looking at this man? Or that his voice could
stroke the tingling flesh between her legs like a finger, making it quiver with
anticipation?

No time, Gràinne!

She swallowed, took a deep breath and inhaled his scent, a
mélange of earthy, woodsy tones that somehow made her think of shadowed forests
and life-giving rain. Holding on to her thoughts took more effort than she
thought possible. “About the tattoo…”

“Uh-huh.” He moved slightly, rocking from one foot to the
other, those amazing eyes sweeping her face, making the heat suffusing her
cheeks deepen. “Any particular one, or do you want to look at some designs?”

Now she had to move, overcome the strange enchantment
holding her in place. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the chair to dig in
the pocket of her coat for the sketch.

“I have a design.” Oh Mother, she had to go nearer to be
able to give it to him. Forcing strength into her legs, Gràinne took a couple
of steps, until he was within arm’s length. Why did each movement feel like
wading through a whirlpool of fairydust mixed with tiny bees? This close she
could see the lightly inscribed tribal lines on his cheeks and forehead, had to
curl her fingers hard not to reach out and touch them, feel their texture, see
if the unmarked flesh in between was as soft as it looked. “Do you want to see
it?”

“Not yet.” He was still smiling, but the air of intensity
surrounding him seemed to rise, taking her desire with it. “Have a couple of
questions to ask you first.”

The hair on the back of her neck rose at his tone, a mixture
of amusement and something far less innocent, and the tingling on her skin
morphed into gooseflesh. Goddess, he made it hard for her to breathe. “What
kind of questions?”

Crossing his arms over that incredibly broad chest, he
tipped his head to one side. “Easy stuff, sweetness.” The endearment flowed
again from his tongue like mead, sending a shiver down her spine. “Like, your
name, classification. Things I need to know to get the job done and fill out
the paperwork for my boss.”

His words said one thing, but his eyes were asking other
questions, ones she had no answers for. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she
looked down, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat to hide their
sudden trembling. Self-preservation was shouting for her to give a false name,
but in her heart she knew it was too late for that anyway.

“I’m called Gràinne.”

He reached for a clipboard lying on the table behind him,
and she glanced up at him from under her lashes. Realizing he was still
watching her, she went back to examining the toes of her boots.

“GRAW-nya?” He mimicked her intonation but stretched her
name out until it rippled like a Norn-silk banner in the wind. “How d’you spell
that, sweetness?”

She wanted to tell him not to call her “sweetness” but it
was a tossup as to which name, said in that soft, rumbling voice, affected her
more. So she left it alone. “G-R-A-I-N-N-E, surname Bairdie.”

For good measure she spelled her last name for him too,
lifting her gaze just enough to watch his hand as he wielded the pen. The
implement looked tiny in comparison to his fingers, the paper almost dazzling
white in contrast to his skin.

When he touches me, is that what his skin will look like
on mine?

At the thought a shudder of reaction raced through her limbs
to settle, quivering, between her legs and she gasped, unable to suppress her
instinctive inhalation. His hand stopped moving, and she could almost feel his
gaze brushing over her, spreading the heated flush staining her cheeks down to
beneath her coat.

“With a name like that, I’m guessing you’re Northern Fey.”
His voice had dropped lower, no longer rumbled but drummed, soft and enticing,
like rain on a slate roof. “Their names never look like how they sound.”

His words were like a dash of icy water in her face, and she
looked up, wanting to see his reaction when she said, “No. I’m Banshee.”

The only indication that she’d surprised him was a quirk of
his eyebrows. “Huh. Never tattooed a Banshee before.” Tilting his head to one
side, he continued. “Don’t think I’ve even seen one.”

Damn.

“Will that be a problem? To my getting the tattoo, I mean.”

Jakuta shrugged. “Not sure. I’ll have to see if there’s
anything in the book about the right ink to use.”

“And if there isn’t?”

She tried to keep it cool, not let him see how ill she
suddenly felt at the thought of him refusing to even try. But she knew she
hadn’t succeeded when his gaze grew so piercing it was almost impossible to
hold. It took everything she had to not look away.

“We cross that bridge when—if—we get to it, sweetness.”
Before she could ask anything more, he held out his hand. “Let me see the
design.”

The paper was still clutched in her hand, and as Gràinne
pulled it back out of her pocket she realized it felt far warmer than her
clammy, trembling fingers. Opening the folds, she tried to smooth out the
wrinkles before holding it out, turned so he could see it right-side-up.

Jakuta looked down, reached for the scrap of parchment. When
his fingers touched it, heat flared up Gràinne’s arm and a line of fire raced
around the sigil at the center of the design. Shocked, she instinctively let go
and realized he had too when the paper fluttered to the floor.

Neither made a move to pick it up, but their eyes rose at
the same time, met. The grim look on his face made Gràinne swallow.

“Powerful magic.” There was an almost contemplative tone to
his words. “Why you need to put something like that on your body?”

She shook her head. No way would she tell him what she was
trying to do. Something about him, perhaps the deep intelligence in his eyes,
or the aura crackling and humming around him, told her he’d never agree. “It’s
not as strong as you think.” Bending, she picked up the paper, waved it in
front of him. “See? Nothing happens when I hold it. It must be something about
you.”

His eyelids drifted down to reveal their thick, curling
lashes, and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a slow, sexy smile. When he
touched her cheek a jolt of electricity almost knocked Gràinne off her feet.
“Or maybe something about the two of us, together.”

Rocked back onto her heels, she could only stare into his
sparkling, dangerous eyes and absorb the sensation flowing into her skin. With
a soft sweep of one caressing finger he traced the line of her jaw, lingered
just below her ear. Lifting one hand, she grasped his wrist and, as though a
circuit had been completed, felt a surge of confusion and anticipation fill her
with liquid fire, setting her ablaze from the inside out.

Her clothes felt too tight and warm, her body demanding
their removal so she could expose more of her skin to his touch. She wanted to
tug his hand lower, feel the touch of his fingertip to her nipples. The thought
of the electric sensation arcing directly to the straining, desperate tips made
her shiver and her legs tremble.
More
, she tried to say.
Touch me
more.
But she was hardly able to breathe, each harsh, sharp inhalation
scorching straining lungs, each rushed exhale taking a little moan out with it
to echo between them.

Lost in the whirlpool of his gaze, all she knew was the
incredible heat of his skin on hers, the ache of need and twists of pleasure
writhing over her body.

“And where do you want this tattoo, sweetness?”

She knew how he would react. Already she felt a jolt of
power, even before she spoke. “On my breast, just over my heart.”

His face went still, then his eyes closed momentarily and a
low sound rumbled in his chest. “Ah damn. You trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

The little bubble of laughter that rose to her lips
surprised her. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“But you just might.” He shook his head, tension vibrating
off him in waves, the suddenly grim set of his features making her amusement
flee. “Don’t think I can help you, sweetness. You come back tomorrow, when
Hervé is here. He’s the expert on arcane tats.” A self-mocking smile tilted his
lips, but it was the flash of sadness in his eyes that caught her attention.
“And he has better self-control than I do.”

Her heart plummeted, and instinctively she tightened her
grip on his wrist. “No! I can’t come back. It has to be tonight.”

“Why?”

By tomorrow the Council would have found her and Goddess
alone knew what they’d do. Inadvertently, in her search for personal truth,
she’d become a menace to everything they held dear. They wouldn’t hesitate to
squash her like a bug.

“This is the only time I have.” Maybe the last night of her
existence. “If you won’t do it, I’ll have to try to find someone else.” How,
she had no idea. Maybe she could chance a translocation spell or two, but the
residue would make her so easy to track. She’d be limited to portals, and
wasn’t at all sure they weren’t being watched. “Please.”

Indecision flashed over Jakuta’s face, and she couldn’t stop
herself from pleading again.

“Please, at least try.”

Letting his hand drop, he broke the contact between his
finger and her skin, and instinctively she let go of his wrist. The sense of
loss as they separated made her gasp again, and the fear gripping her chest
tightened its hold.

There was no way to read the expressions chasing each other
across his face. She could only subject herself to his searching gaze and hope
he could see how vitally important getting the tattoo was.

Finally he turned away and put the clipboard down on the
table with what she thought was a bad-tempered slap.

“All right then, sweetness.” Yeah, there was a decidedly
irritable edge to his voice. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises, you
hear?”

“Thank you.” Where the urge to hug him came from, she had no
clue, but before she could stop herself, her arms were around his waist, and
she was hugging his back. “Thank you.”

He froze, and she did too. The instant she touched him waves
of sensation began buffeting her, flooding her, until she thought she might
drown in them. Jakuta growled, and the vibrations shot from his back into her
breasts, making her shudder with yearning.

By the Goddess.

Her brain was screaming for her to let go, but her arms
tightened instead. It was Jakuta who grabbed her wrists and tugged, breaking
her grip. Before she could step back he turned so they were once more
face-to-face, so close his heat scorched her and his earth-and-wood-smoke scent
filled her head, making it impossible to think clearly. Suddenly all she could
see was his mouth. Even pulled tight and stern, it looked soft, inviting, made
her want to bite the lower lip, trace the upper with her tongue, taste him,
drink him until his kiss was all she could feel.

“If you look at me like that, it won’t be a tattoo I’m
giving you.”

Seeing his mouth move as he spoke, hearing the rough cadence
of his voice made her trembling increase, and it took a moment for his words to
actually percolate into her brain. The flush of desire heating her face spiked
into embarrassment and she stepped back so quickly she almost stumbled over her
own feet.

“Sorry.” It came out a croak, and she realized her throat
was so dry she could hardly swallow.

The sound he made couldn’t be classified as a laugh, but it
was close. “No need. We’re going to have to get used to touching if you want a
tattoo tonight.”

His hand would be on her breast, his face bent close so as
to see what he was doing. Those sharp zaps of electricity coming off his skin
would enter hers without even the barrier of clothing to mitigate the effect.
Just imagining it made her nipples ache and she bit back a moan, had to brace
her legs so they wouldn’t give out.

It took a moment for her to find her voice to say, “That’s
different, and you know it.”

The laugh that rumbled from his chest arrowed straight into
her, making its way to the hot, needy place at the apex of her thighs. “Don’t
worry yourself. I’m not the kind of man who jumps a woman without at least
buying her dinner first—or giving her a tattoo.” Jakuta winked, but she read
the look of promise on his face and her heart leapt. “Come. We’ll go consult
the books and see what we can find.”

He was already halfway to the other side of the room before
she found the strength to follow, and her mind whirled, trying to put what was
happening into perspective.

Somehow, touching the runestone had blown her already
weakened emotional barriers away completely. Not surprising then to have these
feelings, to want the first man she came into contact with. It was crucial to
remember why she was here, not to be sidetracked. There was no time to indulge
in an exploration of lust, no matter how fascinating the urges—the man.