Chapter One
Portland, Oregon
Halloween
His
sun pierced her night.
Valerie Tate stopped dead at the sudden
stabbing pain and clapped her leather gloved hands over her sensitive eyes.
She’d been running full speed from rooftop to rooftop in an effort to bypass
the clogged holiday traffic between her and her destination. Portland’s nighttime rain had merely cloaked
her progress instead of slowing her down.
The
flare of light, brighter than a magnesium bomb exploding in her face, now left
her stunned, blind, and helpless. Anyone looking out over the skyline could see
her. Not something she wanted.
She crouched, one foot poised over the lip of
a building’s crown. One wrong step and she’d fall off. It wouldn’t be a fatal
drop, but it would certainly slow her down. Better to risk being seen up here,
prancing about like some crazed musical number, than sprawled out on the
pavement in the middle of the Halloween crowd.
Valerie probed the skin on her face. Unlike contact
with magnesium and direct sunlight, she hadn’t blistered or
burned in response. Good. That would have ruined her evening’s plans. Much
depended on her appearance not gathering too much attention.
Blood seeped from under her eyelids in response
to the too-bright shine. Under the cover of her palms, she blinked away the
achingly intense spots floating before her vision.
How could this happen? Once, a magnesium bomb
had detonated next to her. Even as her skin peeled back, she had kept going. Nothing
broke her concentration during a mission. Six hundred years of killing had
taught her well.
Shock gave way to curiosity. Curiosity then unraveled
her single-minded determination. She wiped the tears of blood off of her face
and carefully squinted against the glare that surrounded the figure below. As her
vision cleared, she saw him, surrounded by the aura that had halted her.
What was he, this man three stories below her,
innocently checking his text messages on a silver BlackBerry? As her eyes adapted,
she studied him with all her undead senses.
Not soap, not cologne, but his essence was
the second thing that struck her. The aroma of cloves, sweet and hot, rammed up
her nose like a fist, overwhelming the car exhaust and excrement odors rising
from busy Burnside Avenue.
The fiery smell transformed her anger into something far more complicated.
Hunger beyond blood clenched her stomach and parts below. Startled, she stood. She
licked her teeth, swallowed her desire, and studied his face.
The endless Northwest autumn drizzle
plastered blond hair to his skull. He glanced up from his little machine,
obviously aware that someone watched him. To Valerie’s surprise, he found her,
even up high with her black clothes against the black night.
She locked her knees against a shudder when
she saw his blue eyes. Not any shade of blue, but the color of icy seas under
the full moon. Even covered in worn jeans and a frayed but high-end sweatshirt,
his broad-shouldered body made her mouth pucker, ready to kiss. A generous
bulge in his pants caught her attention, lewdly contrasting to the brightness
of his innocent shine.
It didn’t make sense. His perfect, confident
posture and chiseled, patrician features marked him as the kind who should be
swinging a tennis racket on some blue-blood tennis court.
Why this strong of a reaction to this man on
this rainy night? She had sworn off sex for more decades than she cared to
remember. Thousands of handsome, well-built, and brave women and men had passed
in front of her over the years.
The most she’d felt was a few flickers of
interest. Now, her thighs flexed against the hot kernel between her legs.
The headlights from a bus lit him up even
brighter. And she saw his true nature.
A warrior, home from the front lines, sick of
violence but caught in it. That eye-searing shine was not innocence, for lines
of hard-won worldly knowledge bracketed his sensually shaped lips. Exhaustion
creased the corners of those extravagantly gorgeous eyes and lived between his
eyebrows. Instead of purity, he lit the night with the ferocity of his spirit.
He turned away from her to face the door of
the building behind him, denial in every line of his body.
Valerie sucked in an unnecessary breath of
cold, clove-scented air.
Only the best of humanity had that shine:
people who were dedicated to making the world better for everyone, not just
themselves. She’d seen that glow in such disparate people from Mother Teresa to
a pubescent boy protecting two toddler girls from a rapist in Rwanda.
This one had a Higher Calling.
Bad news.
Higher Callings meant certain failure to
their vehicles. She exhaled.
Poverty still ran rampant in Kolkata. Rwanda
still seethed with heart-rending pain, even though Valerie killed the rapist
and saved the children. Valerie twisted her lips at the memory. He’d tasted
terrible. There simply wasn’t enough mouthwash in the world to get rid of that foul
aftertaste.
Worse, those well-meaning Higher Calling
fools always tried to suck her into their causes. Those idiots dared to claim
her fight, her redemption, was less worthy than their dreams.
No promise of sunshine was worth that risk. The
steady rain cooled her arousal. Time to go.
The moon broke through the patchy cloud
cover, illuminating the night. Disregarding gravity’s pull, she leaned forward.
It was too short of a drop to concern her now that she could see.
Darkness lay against his purity like rotted
fruit on snow.
Valerie’s own darkness quickened at what
those throbbing spots revealed. Her damned soul laughed at the irony. It was
inevitable now. This man had secrets of his own. Things he thought no one could
forgive.
Just like her.
As though he couldn’t help himself, he
glanced over his shoulder at her. His own up and down glance caught her as
surely as a wasp in hot tar. She knew what he saw—a slender woman dressed in an
expensive black coat and trousers. Red lipstick, pale skin, nails painted in dark
burgundy. Gray suede designer shoes, from some outrageous but already forgotten
New York
store. Feminine, dark, and very upper-class. This illusion would allow her to
penetrate the security around tonight’s target.
Passion sucked at her skin the moment he
touched her with extended senses. The man was able to search her aura? Her
nipples tightened into tight pearls.
The heat stroked and clung to her, ratcheting
her arousal higher. Only fierce willpower kept her from an orgasm. Two could
play this game. She returned his brazen, searing stare. When she lowered her
eyelids and softened her lips, he shifted to the balls of his feet.
How could this be? Very few humans could
probe secrets the way paranormal beings could. What was he to have such extraordinary
powers?
