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The gun flew from her hand and clattered to the floor.
The shock of my previous murderous thought made me wrong-step. It was just enough to make me have to choose between bulldozing her with my full body weight or...sidestep and...
This.
My last-second fumble wrapped my left hand around her neck, thumb on the nape, fingers at the side, as I spun about her going sideways. It jarred her head forward. Belatedly I realized I could’ve hurt her.
I stopped, mouth open, with my hand still on her.
The electricity of her fine hairs contacting my hand. The jump of her carotid beat. The livening of skin. I swore there was a glow, then a transference ofsomethingshuddering from me to her.
Of ichor. Of fragments of night. Of wriggles of black. They’d sink beneath the surface and rest there.
Waiting.
For what?
Slowly, I loosened my hold and stepped away, noting, when she swung around, my extreme and sudden erection, the flush on her cheeks—possibly merely from the interaction with the thief—as well as the large size of her pupils. She might be infuriated. While she stared, locks of her magenta hair uncurled on her shoulders like lazy snakes, a modern-day Medusa.
Part of mehadturned to stone.
The silence held us, and then a small chunk of ceiling dropped between us to the floor.
The thief groaned, and Kevin huffed at us both, shrugging when we did nothing but stare at each other.
I dropped to my knees to tie the thief’s wrists at his back with his own belt, all the while holding Zara’s eye contact. “You and me, we need to talk.”
Panting softly, she studied me some more before muttering, “Talking’s overrated.” Then she turned and stalked toward the entrance.
A malevolent red mist seemed to slink after her.
Okay, that was normal, to see a transparent wolf thing flowing out the door.
“Fuck.” I swiped my hand down over my eyes and the scratch of stubble on my chin.
A wolf?
I resisted the urge to go after her—not the right place. Besides, I knew where she lived.
Though I wasn’t sure I knew what she was anymore. She was supposed to be a shop assistant. No criminal record, just a sealed report dating back to her teenage years.
A dead end.
Maybe even to my career.
I’d misappropriated my access to the CIA database, so much for being covert. I could’ve ruined a perfect record of obeying commands just to find out her history.
The whys escaped me.
Just like much of what I’d seen.
Small, black, writhing marks had shown on the back of her neck, just above the neckline of her T-shirt. They’d burrowed in and vanished as I’d watched.
Those were from my touch.
I headed for the door, keeping the hood of my jacket raised.
“Hey! The cops will want to talk to you two,” Kevin shouted.
