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On a scale of one to ten, Étan had a creepoid factor of eleven. If it were up to me, he wouldn’t be part of this op. Since when did Slayers, Inc. work with one vampire syndicate to take out members of another syndicate?
But it wasn’t my job to understand.
I was a slayer. When I signed on for an op, I carried it out.
The end result was what mattered: One less monster in the world.
Zaq’s flight was announced. Passengers started lining up at the gate. He rose and stretched, long and loose-limbed. The gray T-shirt spread across impressive pecs. He picked up his backpack and slung it over a shoulder.
I grabbed my own backpack and sank deeper into my current persona: Mary Kay Simmonds, a shy, nervy woman in her mid-thirties, a decade older than my actual age.
Zaq took his place at the back of the line.
I edged up next to him. “I hope the flight’s on time.” I let my voice go up on the end so it came out like a question.
“Looks like it is.” His smile was reassuring. He’d taken Mary Kay’s number now.
Étan got into line behind me.
“Good.” I shifted from one foot to the other, sent a look over my shoulder. “I’m—” I halted, shook my head.
“What?” Zaq cocked a brow and gave me his full attention, which made his lean angel face even more attractive.
“Nothing. It’s just, I need to get on that flight.” I put a catch in my voice.
“Don’t worry. You will.”
I nibbled my lower lip. “Could you do me a favor? Pretend you know me?”
Zaq’s weariness sloughed away. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head, fast and jerky, like a terrified rabbit. “Just pretend you know me. Please?” I sent another anxious look over my shoulder.
Blaise, a Paris Syndicate soldier, stepped off the escalator and zeroed in on me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had dark hair, a vampire’s impossibly beautiful face and a boxer’s fists.
Zaq’s gaze followed mine. His brow creased. “Sure, okay.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Blaise cut through the crowd toward me. I gave a frightened squeak and hugged the backpack to my stomach. Everything depended on Zaq believing I was in danger. I was counting on him not being able to resist playing the hero in this little scene.
On cue, Zaq caught my hand. “Hey, it’s okay.” Out of the side of his mouth, he asked, “What the fuck’s going on?”
Blaise pushed into the line beside me. Nobody objected. In fact, the people behind us edged back a few feet.
The big vampire crowded me with his body. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in French. Meaty fingers clamped around my arm, digging into the soft flesh.
Prick. He knew I couldn’t fight back.
I shrank from, hugging the backpack like a pathetic shield. “Please. I want out.”
Zaq looked from me to Blaise.
“Sorry, little girl,” Blaise said in English. “You don’t get to decide when you leave. I do.” He dragged me away from Zaq and threw my backpack to the floor.
“Let her go.” Taking off his sunglasses, Zaq tucked them into his T-shirt pocket and planted himself in front of Blaise. He was two inches shorter and thirty pounds thinner than Blaise, but he radiated the calm self-possession of a man who knew how to fight.
Not that we intended to give him the chance.
