Darien waved a hand at the human sitting across from him, prompting her to go first.
“I’ll have the pumpkin soup.” She said it like a question, her voice small and trembling, and then added in a voice that was somehow even smaller, “And the salmon crostini to start.”
The waitress faced Darien with reluctance. “And for you?”
“Nothing for me, but thank you,” he replied without looking at her.
The waitress gathered up their menus and left.
The girl took a long drink of her cola and shivered, the blonde hairs on her slender arms rising from the icy temperature. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He shook his head.
They sat in silence for a while. She tapped her foot beneath the table, making a point not to look at him as her big, ocean-blue eyes thoroughly scanned everything there was to see in the restaurant, no matter how insignificant the item or person. The saltshaker, the hanging light fixtures, a tear in the flecked carpet, the other diners who occasionally snuck concerned and curious glances at their table, the worn bar hugging the east wall, the doors that opened and closed as people left and entered.
The vinyl of the cushioned bench beneath him crackled as Darien leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “You got a name?”
She finally met his gaze, though she set about fiddling with the hem of her red shirt that hugged her flat stomach. “Loren.” Her voice was barely a croak. “Loren Calla.”
“Is that a real name or a fake one?”
“Real.” She forgot about her shirt and began twirling the straw in her soda, ice cubes tinkling against the glass. “I figured you probably know enough about me that it’s pointless to lie.”
“Wrong,” he said. She quirked an eyebrow. “When my client offered me this job, they didn’t give me your name—only the bone powder belonging to one of your ancestors. I was asked to track you via aura only. And when I track auras, I don’t bother with details such as names. I don’t even bother with breed, so when I found you in the alley and saw that you were human, I realized there’s more to this than I thought.”
“It didn’t seem like my being human would’ve been a problem for those other Darkslayers.” She shuddered almost imperceptibly. He wondered what it had felt like for her, coming so close to death. For humans, life was fleeting.
“Mmhmm,” he murmured.
“Who do you think those people worked for?” As she twiddled her straw, she kept her focus on the bubbles in her cola as they drifted to the surface, where they gathered to briefly fizz in the warm lamplight before popping. “Their symbol wasn’t any I’ve heard of or seen before.”
He made another sound of agreement in his throat, though this one was edged with annoyance. “That’s a question I don’t have the answer to yet.” Being in the dark wasn’t something he was used to, nor was it something he cared to admit.
The girl took another sip of her cola, her eyes still downcast. “The Darkslayer who took my friend…he had the same tattoo.”
“Did you happen to notice anything else about him?”
“Nothing that really stood out. He was half-hellseher, half-warlock. Blond hair; silver-green eyes…” She looked at him for half a second. “A bit shorter than you.”
“Doesn’t bring anyone to mind.” He frowned. “You’re sure it was the same tattoo?”
She surprised him by giving a roll of her eyes. “Don’t doubt me so soon. The peace officers gave me enough trouble last week.”
That made him crack a smile. “Let me guess. You tried to tell them the Darkslayer was after you and not your friend, and they didn’t believe you.”
“Bull’s eye.”
He gave a snort and settled back into the booth. The cushion was hard and uncomfortable as fuck. “Figures.”
She shrugged and went back to pushing the ice around with her straw. “I’m human. I suppose I should be used to it by now.”
“Ridicule is something no one should tolerate.”
“Easy for a six-foot-five bounty hunter to say.”
He felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Six-four.”
A smile played on her lips. She forgot about her straw and leaned forward, her mass of blonde waves slipping over a shoulder. The motion caused her peaches-and-honeysuckle scent to drift across the table, and Darien found himself breathing it in. “You’re one of the Seven Devils.” She studied his face for longer than she usually dared. He had to admit, there were men who would give their eyeteeth for someone who looked like her. “The only question is which one.”
