Dark Deceiver (3 page)

He'd worried that a month would be too little time to infiltrate the Sitheen and earn their trust. Now he had only two short weeks.

His stomach burned with tension. The only thing the slave had been able to tell him about the Sitheen was a name, Larsen Vale, and this place, the Top Sail Marina in downtown D.C. They were his only clues. If he failed to find her here, his mission might be lost before he ever started.

Hoping that wasn't the case, he strode up the path toward the door that said Office. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, caging the Punisher. It was a struggle to fight the deeply ingrained need to fling bodies and demand fear, but he was learning. Humans were fragile creatures, far too easily alarmed by violence. And he had to pretend to be human.

Kaderil opened the door and walked into the marina office.

A solitary, bearded man glanced up from behind the long counter. “Can I help you?”

Kaderil forced his mouth into a semblance of a smile and thrust out his hand. “It's great to see you again!” Human males, it seemed, were incapable of ignoring the invitation of an extended hand.

The bearded one's mouth smiled in a poor attempt to hide his lack of recognition. The moment their hands clasped, Kaderil pushed thoughts into the human's head.
His name is Kade and I know him. I trust him.

“Kade!” the bearded man exclaimed, the cloud of confusion lifting from his eyes. “What brings you here?”

“Which boat is Larsen Vale's?”

The man motioned Kaderil to the window and pointed to the boat in the last slip. “That's hers down there. That's not Larsen on the boat, though. Looks as if she has company.” A lone person walked across the deck, a tall woman with hair like flame. A woman who was not, apparently, his quarry. But she was on a Sitheen's boat. As good a place to start as any.

His pulse leaped with possibility. Even if she wasn't Larsen Vale, she might know her, or be a Sitheen herself. Already, the day was looking up.

Kaderil turned and left the marina office. Behind him he heard a distant, “Good to see you again, Kade. Always a pleasure.” Belatedly, he remembered he should have said thank-you or goodbye.

But his patience for the trivial was thin. He had a draggon stone to track down and Sitheen to destroy. And two short weeks to accomplish both.

Long enough, perhaps, for he had an advantage they would never suspect. He looked like them. They wouldn't know he was Esri.

Until too late.

 

A siren sounded in the distance, rising over the clank and splash of the tie lines, making Autumn's stomach hurt. Every time she turned on the news, another bizarre death was being reported in D.C. Every time she heard a siren, she wondered how many more people had died because of the Esri. How many more murders she might have prevented if she hadn't let that kid go.

A chilly breeze blew a loose wisp of hair in her face as she made her way across the swaying deck of the houseboat to the makeshift desk she'd set up near the back rail. The setting sun over the water blinded her with its brilliance. She grabbed her chair, as much to secure her balance as to move it to the other side of the small table that held her laptop.

Larsen had offered up her unoccupied boat when Autumn had needed a place to stay for a few weeks while her apartment was being repaired after a pipe burst in the unit above hers. In hindsight, she wished she'd taken her less-than-stellar coordination into consideration when she'd decided to live in a moving house. The boat was one of dozens moored at the Top Sail Marina on the Potomac River. Across the river rose the office towers of the very urban Virginia suburbs.

Autumn plopped down in front of her laptop as a pair of gulls cried overhead. For two weeks she'd been trying to find a clue to the other Esri stones. She might not be much of a soldier, but she was a crack researcher, and finding the stones was her only chance to make up for letting that Esri kid go.

Her current research path followed the acquisition records for the Stone of Ezrie: the stone whose scent Baleris had apparently followed to find the gate between the worlds, the stone the Esri called the draggon stone, according to Tarrys. Tarrys was the second of Baleris's slaves, a pretty little thing, barely five feet tall, who had actually helped them defeat Baleris, then stayed after his death.

Before Baleris's arrival, the draggon stone had been doing time as a Smithsonian artifact. A thumb-size pale blue teardrop on a silver chain, the thing had appeared innocuous enough. What made it unique was the seven-pointed star etched on its surface and the legend that it was the key to the gates of Ezrie—a legend, it turned out, that was all too true. If the Esri got their hands on that stone and took it back through the gate, the seals on all twelve gates around the world would instantly dissolve. The Esri could still only get through during the midnight hour of a full moon, but the thought of Baleris's reign of terror times twelve…every month…was enough to give ulcers to the bravest of souls.

She shivered and reached for the zipper on her jacket. If the draggon stone was a key, what was the purpose of the other Esri stones the kid had mentioned? Were they all keys? Or did they serve a different, more ominous purpose? All she knew was they'd better find them before the Esri did.

Her finger smoothed down the copy of the acquisition record she'd copied from the Smithsonian's archives. The page sat beside her laptop, her coffee mug anchoring it against the breeze. She was hoping the previous owner of the draggon stone had been Sitheen with some ability to sense the power in the stones. If he'd owned the one, maybe he'd owned more. She knew she was grasping at straws, but at the moment it was all she had to go on.

She glanced up at her computer, but a movement in the distance caught her attention. Her gaze snagged on a man striding purposefully down the path to the docks—a tall man with dark hair hanging in wind-tossed waves to his shoulders, framing a face that was all strong bones and hard angles. A face darkened by several days' growth of beard. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he looked like some kind of roughrider—sexy and wonderfully dangerous.

As if hearing her thoughts, his head snapped up. He seemed to spear her with his gaze, though he was too far away for her to know if he even saw her. He was probably admiring the sunset. But it still made her pulse race, the fanciful notion that they were destined to meet flitting foolishly through her head.

Which was silly, of course. Even if they were
destined to meet,
it wouldn't be in a romantic way. At least not for him. Though she was definitely a woman who attracted attention, it was never the kind any woman wanted. “Damn, you're tall,” was not a comment designed to quicken the pulse. She'd learned a long time ago that men who looked like this one could have their pick of the female population. And no man with choices chose Ronald McDonald's Amazonian cousin.

Toying with her coffee mug, she watched him reach the docks and turn her way. Her pulse leaped. Surely he wasn't coming to see
her?
With suddenly unsteady hands, she lifted the coffee mug, forgetting its role as paperweight. A gust of wind tore the copied acquisition record out from under the lifted cup and sent it soaring over the rail and into the water like a dying moth.

Autumn's jaw dropped at the unfairness of her life, then clamped shut with a snap. “Hell's bells.” She lunged to her feet, looking for something to help her fish the paper from the water before it disintegrated. She spied the long, metal boat hook hanging from the side of the cabin and grabbed it, but the brackets were stiff with rust and refused to let go. With a growl, she curled her fingers around the metal, took a deep breath and yanked as hard as she could.

“Hello.”

The boat lurched behind her at the exact moment the long hook came free. Turning toward the deep, masculine voice, Autumn stumbled, the boat hook swinging wildly in her hands. Before she could catch her balance, the metal struck her visitor in the head with a sickening thud. The very man she'd been drooling over!

With a groan, she squeezed her eyes closed. If only she could be someone…
anyone…
other than Autumn McGinn.

K
aderil snatched the cold metal weapon from the woman's hand, his muscles tensing in preparation for counterattack even as his brain screamed for caution.
Human. Fragile.
She could do him no damage unless she was Sitheen and knew the death curse.

Was
she Sitheen? Is that how she'd so quickly seen through his facade?

The boat rolled lightly beneath his feet, forcing him to adjust his stance for balance. But as he prepared for battle, watching for her next move, his opponent inexplicably closed her eyes. An oddly pained expression crossed her face, confounding him. Was this how she drew her power? Even Sitheen were known to sometimes possess the power of the Esri.

The loud hum of a motorboat on the water sounded in the distance as he waited, muscles bunched, but his gaze never left her face. A detached part of his brain couldn't help but admire the rare beauty of this human with hair the color of fire, and freckles that dotted the pale perfection of her skin like tiny golden jewels. All his life he'd been surrounded by the white-skinned, pale-haired Esri, the standard of true beauty in his land. But he was finding his eye preferred the more varied, more vibrant coloring of humans. And this woman's was the most vibrant of them all.

Her eyes opened. He tensed until he realized their clear gray depths shone not with the light of battle, but with regret.

Kaderil stared at her with wary confusion, freezing when she reached for him not with fists or claws, but with the softest of fingers closing around his wrist.

“I'm so sorry.”

Sorry? He watched her, bemused, and allowed her to tug him from the rail.

“Let me look at your head. I can't believe I hit you.”

She stood half a head shorter than him, yet she pushed him into the flimsy woven chair with ease, so stunned was he by her reaction to him. Women feared him. He demanded their fear! Yet this one dared treat him like an injured child.

Anger, and some dark emotion he didn't want to acknowledge, had his muscles bunching to right this wrong, but his lucid mind stopped him cold. He
must
pretend to be human. A
nice
human, worthy of trust.

He forced himself to remain motionless. To submit. But when her fingers eased into his hair, his hands curled around the chair's arms until he heard the crack of plastic and felt the sharp bits flake beneath his fingertips. He never let others get this close.
Never.

“I'm sorry if I'm hurting you, but I've got to find the cut.”

She would find no bleeding gash, of course, but a human would let her look. And he must, as well, no matter how difficult.

He sat as still as the statues that dotted the human's city, his senses finely tuned to the intriguing creature hovering over him. Her warm, spicy scent filled his nostrils, sliding through his body, sparking an awareness that surprised him. Her fiery braid drew his attention, the color as hypnotic and exciting as the deadly fire it resembled. His gaze followed the sensuous curve of braid across her shoulder and down to where it teased the tip of one well-mounded breast.

His senses swirled in sudden chaos. She stood too close, confusing him with her gentle touch and lack of fear, ambushing him with the unbidden and unwelcome stirring of desire.
She was human.
He tried to rise, to escape the assault to his senses, but she pressed him down with a perilously soft hand.

“Wait. I haven't found anything. You've got to tell me where it hurts.”

He was about to assure her he felt no pain, to escape this tender assault, when his warrior's mind reasserted itself, chastising him for allowing the woman to distract him from his mission, even for a moment. He must find out if she knew the Sitheen Larsen Vale. Or whether she was a Sitheen herself. A probe of her mind would tell him much.

He reached for her hand, slid his fingers over hers and nearly forgot what he was about. The sensual chaos focused, his every sense suddenly attuned to that meeting of flesh. Warmth flowed from her hand into his, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of skin against the chilly air, and everything to do with the woman herself. A warmth that traveled up his arm and spread through his body in a flush of awareness that shifted the very foundations beneath his feet.

“Can you show me where it hurts?” the woman prodded.

Kaderil groaned. The woman muddled his mind.

“Here,” he said, moving her palm a mere hand's breadth upward. “It hurts here.” He used the opportunity, the skin-to-skin contact, to probe her mind, but what flowed into his head was scarce and strangely garbled. Of no use whatsoever.

Kaderil frowned. The woman wasn't Sitheen, for if she were, he wouldn't be able to breach her mind at all. What, then, was blocking him from her thoughts?

The woman tugged her hand loose, her fingers burrowing tenderly through his hair in search of damage. “I don't see anything.” She leaned to the side, her thick braid swinging free as she met his gaze. “Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

The intensity of the worry in those pleasing features made something pull oddly in his chest. “The pain has receded,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

She looked so unhappy, he was almost sorry he had no wounds to offer her.

“Yes.” More than sure. He was immortal. Even if she'd split his head open, the flesh would have quickly mended and she'd have found nothing.

“Good.” Relief flooded her eyes as she released him and stepped back. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, retreating into a charming shyness. “So…what can I do for you…
other
than clobber you in the head?”

His lips twitched. The desire to smile startled him. How long had it been since he'd felt such a need? He grunted with annoyance. He had no time for such foolishness.

Kaderil rose to his full height. “I'm looking for Larsen Vale.”

“Larsen's not here.” The woman took a step back, but still no fear entered her eyes. A good thing, he had to remind himself. He needed humans
not
to fear him. Especially this human who apparently knew his prey.

“Are you a friend of hers?” she asked.

“No. I need to find her. She's in danger.”

She cocked her head, exposing a long expanse of soft, delicate neck. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed the desire she drew so easily in him, needing to play this role with extreme care. “I've been having dreams about her. And a man with pure white skin who means to harm her.” He grimaced for effect. “I know that sounds crazy.”

“Not as crazy as you'd think.” Her brows lifted above sharp intelligent eyes, eyes that clearly understood the significance of his words. Either she'd seen Baleris herself, or knew of him and the Esri. A rarity, it seemed. Of the dozens of humans he'd touched, not one had heard the word
Esri.
Not one knew of the gates between the worlds.

“I need to talk to Larsen,” he said.

The fire-haired beauty hesitated. “Give me your phone number. I'll have her get in touch with you.”

No, that was unacceptable. Not only was he awkward with the cell phone Ustanis acquired for him, but he had no time to await a phone call. In barely two weeks, the gate would open and his mission must be complete. This woman would help him whether she wished to or not.

He thrust out his hand. “I'm Kade Smith.”

The woman blinked, her gaze softening as she took his hand. “Autumn McGinn.”

As before, he felt an enticing warmth flow between them. His instincts warred between backing away and moving closer until he was in danger of falling into those soft gray eyes. With effort, he did neither.

Instead, holding her hand in his, he thrust thoughts into her head. Thoughts that would make her trust him. He watched her eyes cloud with a confusion that should not be there.

Instead of doing as the foreign thoughts bade her, she merely blinked. Other humans had taken his thoughts as if they were their own. Something was clearly interfering with his small power over her. But even as he debated his next move, she cocked her head.

“Why don't you come…inside?”

It had worked. “I will.” Belatedly, he added, “Thank you.”

She turned and led him to the door, but as she reached for the handle, she stilled and looked down at her hand as if wondering what she was doing. Already his control over her was slipping. She turned to look up at him, confusion shadowing her eyes.

“I don't think…” she began.

Kaderil slid his hand beneath her braid, his fingers gliding across the silken skin of her neck. He'd meant merely to touch her, but the unintended intimacy of that touch parted her lips and lit surprised sparks in her eyes, beckoning him as female eyes never did. His pulse quickened. His gaze fell to those ripe, parted lips and he nearly forgot what he was about.

Control. He was attempting to assert some control. He pushed the thought into her head.
Invite him inside.
But the sparks in her eyes flared into desire.

“Come inside.” Her words were low and husky, sending a rush of need barreling through him.

Had he somehow forced her interest with his touch? No. He couldn't have. His power over humans ended with the reading of their memories and the pushing of thoughts into their heads. He had no ability to affect their emotions.

Which meant the attraction he saw in her eyes was real.
Sweet Esria.

Autumn slid the door open behind her without breaking his gaze, but as she backed into the open doorway, she stumbled over the door's track, the sensual light in her eyes disappearing in a gasp of dismay.

Kaderil grabbed her arm to steady her, careful not to break her fragile bones.

“Thanks.” She eased out of the doorway to allow him entrance even as she bared her teeth in a grimace. “I'm not always this clumsy.” Color washed her cheeks. “Who am I kidding? Sure I am.”

Her admission surprised him, prompting another urge to smile. He liked her, he realized. An odd and inconvenient reaction to have to a human.

“Call Larsen Vale,” he commanded. “Please.”

The woman peeled off her jacket and tossed it on a stool as she went into the kitchen, revealing a green sweater clinging to soft curves. Jeans covered her slender hips and long, long legs. His body stirred as he watched her charmingly unbalanced walk until she disappeared around the counter. But when she returned, she carried not a phone, but a flashlight.

He stared at her in consternation. Had his thoughts not taken at all?

“Autumn, make the phone call.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “I will. As soon as I'm sure I didn't give you a concussion. Now, sit down so I can reach you.” Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “I don't think I've ever said that to anyone before. Except my dad. He's not as tall as you, but he's close.”

“Does he also have hair the color of yours?”

“Oh, yes.” The words came out on a sigh. “I got all my quirky traits from my dad. You'd never believe I was related to the rest of my family. My mom's a five-foot-four blond ballet teacher. Both my sisters look just like her.”

“Their loss.” He wasn't sure where he'd picked up the term, but the quick grin that lit her face made the breath catch in his throat. She had a smile fit for royalty.

“Thanks.” Her expression turned unaccountably shy. “Now, umm, come sit down so I can check your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“The dilation. I want to make sure I didn't give you a concussion.” She slid the soft pads of her fingers around the much larger bones of his wrist and tugged him toward the sofa.

Would Esri eyes react like human eyes? He couldn't be sure and couldn't take the chance, not when he'd finally made contact with one who could lead him to his prey.

He was about to try to push the thought into her head that his eyes were fine when she glanced back at him with an impish sparkle. “I've seen this done on TV a million times.”

The glitter of self-directed humor told him she laughed at herself, but it was the wry quirk of her lips that drew his gaze and aroused his hunger. And when her soft palm pressed against his chest, urging him to sit, he unleashed the desire that had plagued him from the moment her fingers had first eased into his hair. He kissed her, dipping his head and pressing his mouth against the extraordinary softness of her lips.

The woman stiffened at the contact. Her eyes opened wide with surprise, but she showed no fear, and didn't pull away.

His lips moved over hers lightly, sampling the sweetness of that tempting flesh, drinking the spicy fragrance of her skin. She tasted of honey and cinnamon, and alluring, intoxicating female. He'd had females before, though he'd rarely kissed them, for only those who sought the titillation of fear with their mating came near him. This was so very, very different.