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And there was something else about the phoenix that snagged his attention now.
“What the--” Mathias had to look again to make certain of what he was seeing.
Nestled within the breast of the rising phoenix was a mark that was no tattoo at all. The small red crescent moon and teardrop symbol was unmistakable.
A birthmark only a rare class of female bore somewhere on her body. “You’re a Breedmate.”
Nova blinked, the first time he’d noticed her composure slip since he arrived. “Does it matter if I am?”
Hell yes, it mattered. To him, at least. He got up from the chair on a low curse. “You know what you are, and yet you choose to live among humans instead of the Breed?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s a risky choice. Especially when you choose to live here, among people like the drunk who came in here last night and tried to hurt you.”
“I never told you that.”
Mathias held her troubled stare. “You didn’t have to. I can sense something violent happened in this shop. Even if I couldn’t sense it, I’d know something more than what you described took place.” He moved closer to her, then. Swept some of her black-and-blue hair away from her eyes when she made no move to do so. “Looking out for people who need my help is my job, Nova. I’ve spent the better part of my life taking monsters off the street--Breed and human alike.”
She scoffed lightly and drew away from him, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black jeans. “A regular Galahad, is that it? White horse and a gleaming sword?”
He ignored her jab. She wasn’t the first woman to accuse him of having a hero complex. Usually the charge accompanied the angry tears of a neglected lover who didn’t want to believe him that his job, and the duty it demanded, came first. Above everything else.
With Nova, he knew her doubt in him was coming from someplace deeper. A place of real pain. A place of dark secrets that still had the power to haunt her.
“If you’re in trouble, Nova, I can help you. If you’ll let me.”
“I don’t need your help.” Her reply was swift, automatic. Defensive. “I do just fine looking out for myself.”
At that same moment, light footsteps sounded from a stairwell near the back of the shop. A red-haired boy came halfway down in bed-rumpled sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was scrawny, marred with old scars from abuse he must have suffered at a very young age.
“What’s goin’ on, Nova?” The kid’s sleepy expression tensed when he saw Mathias standing in the studio. “Who’s that?”
“It’s okay, Eddie,” Nova interjected quickly. Her voice was warm, all of her chill seeming to be reserved for Mathias. “He’s just a...client. And he’ll be leaving soon. Go on back to bed now. Everything’s all right.”
When the boy was gone, Mathias glanced at her. “Brother?”
“Close enough. Oz took him in last year when he found Eddie eating out of Dumpsters, living on the street by himself in the middle of winter. Now Eddie lives upstairs with Ozzy.”
“You live with them too?” Mathias asked.
She gave a faint shake of her head, the sharp cut of her dark, two-toned hair swishing against her delicate cheek. “I have my own place on the floor above them. Ozzy rented it out to me once I turned seventeen.”
“You’ve been with Ozzy for a while, then.”
“Yeah, I have.”
When she didn’t volunteer anything more, Mathias studied her, looking for cracks in her tough exterior. “He seems very protective of you. Does he know about your mark--and what that makes you?”
“He knows everything about me.”
“He cares for you.”
She nodded. “He does. And I care for him too.” She looked at him in silence for a long moment, as if debating how much of herself she needed to reveal in order to satisfy his curiosity. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than ever. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Oz is family to me. Eddie too. They’re the only true family I’ve got.”
Mathias sensed it was the most honest thing she’d told him all night.
“Look,” she said abruptly, “if you want to talk, then talk. But make it quick. My last client of the night is due in any minute now.” She thought for a moment, and her fine black brows furrowed. “He’s late, in fact.”
