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Cursing the cheap hotel’s rough, scratchy sheets, she shifted on the bed. She let her head tilt back against the wall until she stared at the ceiling, not caring how the yellow stains patterned the popcorn finish. Sleep had eluded her, despite the exhaustion hanging on her shoulders. She hadn’t been able to wipe away the acceptance in Ryn’s eyes right before she shot him. She rubbed at her gritty, swollen lids. The last time she’d cried was she when killed her mother. Why now?
Non-productive. Don’t answer that.
She’d already picked out her move. From her past life, she’d kept several passports. She’d go to her safe deposit box, retrieve one, and travel human style instead of the convenient Vietnam vortex way. Money went a long way in Southeast Asia. A colony of paranormal expats supposedly accepted stragglers from all clans, as long as they didn’t make trouble. There were several here in North America, though she discounted them as too close. Best to make a clean break.
Should she call Mel next? She hoped the mage would find someone to take her bettas, aquariums and all. She’d paid rent in advance for two more months. Should be enough time to find them new homes. Though she didn’t think she had any tears left, the moisture pricked her lids once more at the thought of having to give her fish away.
Dammit. No more tears.She’d call Mel later when she got a better hold on herself and the rollicking emotions she hadn’t even known she possessed.
The email.Might as well figure out how much she fucked up. She tapped her finger on the screen to open the message.
Her stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat with the information contained in the first line.
‘Don’t attack West’s operations—he’s using blood donated from the humans he saves to not only fund his rescue efforts, but also to undercut the black-market price and weaken other smugglers.’
The phone slipped from Caro’s fingers. Her stomach heaved. She threw back the covers and raced for the bathroom.
Vomiting bile was worse than emptying a full stomach. With a shaking hand, she wiped the back of her mouth, then flushed the toilet. She washed her face in the sink and ran her fingers through her hair. Who was this disheveled, drawn woman in the mirror? A zombie, surely, by her blind stupidity. Her heart grew heavy with the knowledge of what she’d done—probably almost ruined his operation financially and then attacked him…
She went back to the bed, dressed, then began replacing items in her backpack, cursing herself five times a fool. Would he try to kill her? Possibly.
Regardless, she owed him an apology and financial reparations. She zipped her pack shut. After this colossal fuckup, if she had anything left, including her life, she should count herself lucky.
She’d go home, clean up, and call him. Cheese’s information included a telephone number for Westryn Natain. Hopefully, the analyst had the right number. If not, she’d call Miren to take her to him. Hopefully, the vampire wouldn’t kill her upon first sight. Lot of hopefullys in her plan. She left the dingy room and headed for the sidewalk.
Luckily, even in the age of rideshare, taxis still patrolled the streets in San Francisco. Only two passed before one pulled to the curb. She gave her address and met the driver’s startled eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure, lady?”
“That’s the address.” She held up sixty dollars, easily twice what the fare would cost, and pushed the bills through the slit in the plastic divider and into the front. “In case you don’t think you’ll get paid.”
The man shook his head, pushed the button to start the fare counter, and pulled away. Her dread built with each passing minute she drew closer to home.Stop. You messed up. You learned from it. Take your lumps and move on.
All too soon, the driver pulled to the curb next to her apartment. “Be careful, lady. This area isn’t very safe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” She shoved another twenty through the divider’s slot and into the front seat. Times were hard for everyone. She could afford to give a nice, hardworking taxi driver a bit of a tip.
One can be generous going to her executioner.Not productive. She continued up the stairs to her floor and trudged to her door. She entered her apartment, threw the bolts on the two keyed locks, then the deadbolt. With a sigh, she shrugged her pack from her shoulder and set the heavy bag on the floor. The hum of the fish tanks soothed her jangled nerves, and settled her once more into the path she knew she had to tread.
Stopping to feed her fish friends wouldn’t take that much time.
The eerie sensation of being watched crawled up her spine. She spun and found a male framed in the doorway to her bedroom.
Westryn.
He’d crossed his arms and his features hardened to uncompromising. Whatever he’d do to her would be non-negotiable.
Her mouth dried, yet she didn’t dare lick her lips. She figured someone might be watching her apartment. She hadn’t counted on him being inside. Nerves fluttered in her belly, and she shoved her hands into her pockets lest he see them tremble. “I came back to apologize. Well, I was going to call you for a meeting after I cleaned up.”
“Apologize?” His neutral tone hid his real emotion, though what that might be, she couldn’t discern.
“I guess there’s a bunch I need to cover. I didn’t know you were ‘West’ the blood smuggler. My intel analyst…well, it doesn’t matter. I sabotaged your warehouses, like Jenkins said. I had no idea. I should’ve been more careful.”
He said nothing, merely lifted a brow.
The action drew her attention to his forehead, where she’d buried a spelled bullet not sixteen hours ago. He’d used a lot of his own ethically-obtained product to heal in the short span. She swallowed hard and met his gaze unwaveringly. He deserved a true apology.
“And I apologize for shooting you. Again, I was gravely mistaken as to who you are and how you operate. I am profoundly sorry for that. Any costs—blood, healers, whatever—I’ll repay. That goes for the cost of what I destroyed. I mean, I don’t have the money now, but I’m sure I can work off the amount, especially if you don’t mind me taking the odd contract job outside whatever I do for you.”
She stopped her babbling, a sure sign of her discomfort. Westryn’s dark, steady stare without comment unnerved her. She suppressed a bubble of laughter. Hah. She, the CIA officer who had once convinced a man to take off his suicide vest, was unnerved.
