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You have to stop this.
Right. Now.
He’s a job, that’s all.
I entered the women’s room. Fortunately it was empty. I splashed cold water on my face. Too bad I couldn’t take a cold shower, because right now I could’ve used one.
He’d looked so sexy when he first woke up, hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep. And then he’d licked my wrist…
I stared at my wet face in the mirror. My eyes were wide, my lips red and swollen from his kisses.
You’re not falling for him. You like him, that’s all.
But that was fucked, too. He was my target. I couldn’t like him.
To complete this op, I had to keep my emotions cold and my brain even colder.
After he’d licked my wrist, I’d wanted to pull his mouth to my throat and ask him to lick me there. My skin tingled like he’d actually done it.
I groaned and stuck my head under the running faucet. The cold water didn’t bring clarity, but it did put a brake on my racing thoughts. When I came up for air, I removed my backpack, pulled off my T-shirt and washed more thoroughly. I’d left so quickly, I’d forgotten to put on the wig, so I did my hair in two pigtails.
By the time I left the bathroom, I was calmer.
What was I going to do? One thing was clear—Crow couldn’t know. She’d order me to turn Zaq over to another slayer.
The thought made me a little nauseous. I massaged my breastbone with the heel of my hand.
Another slayer wouldn’t see Zaq Kral as I did. The Zaq who seemed like a decent guy, a man who stood up to a vampire to save a woman he didn’t know, and who genuinely cared about his brothers. The Zaq who wanted his mom when he was sick. Who smelled right even when he was feverish and hadn’t showered for God knows how long.
And that right there was why I should remove myself from Op A.
But I also knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
Okay then. I’d see this through.
And I’d make sure that what had happened back there in my bolt-hole didn’t happen again.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, eager for a distraction.
It was Crow.
Meet me at 3 PM. She named a café near the Louvre.
My stomach did a forward roll and landed somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. I’d wanted a distraction, but not this. She was last person I wanted to see right now.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I blew out a breath and texted back.
Will B there.
I hopped on the Metro and made it with five minutes to spare. Before exiting the subway, I ducked behind a partition and glamoured my appearance. When I re-emerged, I was an American teenager: curly black pigtails, light brown skin, dark eyes. I kept the tactical pants but added a silver unicorn to the center of my T-shirt.
The café was tiny, with a half-dozen tables shoehorned into the interior and another half-dozen outside under a striped awning. Despite the heat, four of the outside tables were occupied: a German family, a pair of French businessmen, three young American tourists, and a lone woman.
I took the bistro chair across from the lone woman. Today Crow was a Parisian aristocrat—short brown hair, a chic blue blazer, and a black-and-white striped Oxford shirt over dark-wash jeans. Cat-eye sunglasses hid her deep blue eyes.
She’d already ordered me a noisette, an espresso with a few drops of steamed milk. A small white cup waited on a saucer with two sugar cubes and a diminutive spoon.
I stowed my backpack under my chair. A waiter arrived to ask if I wanted anything with the noisette and I shook my head. I unwrapped a sugar cube, stirred it into my coffee.
