Reaping Hell: Kiara Blake Book 2, page 8
“Focus is your favorite word, isn’t it?”
He grinned. It was sexy. My heart thumped in my chest at the sight before he ruined the moment and said, “I’m not going to mention your form because it sucks.”
“Thanks a lot.” I punched at the boxing mitts, giving it everything I had. My body didn’t turn into the hit like Tristan had instructed, but my hand felt satisfied by the resulting sting.
“Weak.”
My shoulders drooped. “Why are you torturing me like this? It’s not as if I can physically fight a ghost’s energy.”
“Yes, but right now you are so weak that a spirit only needs to sigh, and your ass gets knocked to the ground.”
“Hey!” I protested. “It takes a lot more than a sigh.”
“Not much.” He pulled off his mitts and pointed at the bicep curl machine. “Over there. Let’s work on your strength.”
“I don’t need weights. I do yoga.” Hefting out a dramatic sigh—one long and pronounced to ensure he got the message—I yanked off the boxing gloves. “And I’ve got a pendant. You didn’t listen to a word, did you?”
“My guess is you sit through only one class of yoga a month, at best. What if the pendant falls off while getting your butt handed to you during a ghostly encounter? You need muscle.” His hand clamped down on my shoulder, and he steered me toward the torture device he referred to as an exercise machine. He then gave a pointed look, one that made me feel about three inches tall as he said, “The newest client at your office is a total bitch and will cause you to jump off a bridge before year-end in order for you to preserve your sanity. Tell me, is your matchmaking boss really worse than Satan?”
“Only you would ask that question.”
“It’s a valid question.”
I jerked from his grasp and marched over to my assigned destination. I didn’t need to be led, and his question didn’t dignify an answer. “I need help.”
“What do you need?”
His face was suddenly in front of mine, and it was way too handsome to process. My train of thought became lost. “Turn off your vampire charm.”
“My what?”
“Your vampire charm. The mojo you use to entice your victims.”
“Mojo?”
“Stop laughing at me.” I gave him my own pointed look. “You are an Orchid Mantis.”
“Isn’t that an insect?”
“Yes, a deceiving one. Beautiful but deadly. It describes you.”
Tristan leaned back. “I don’t covet your blood, ma chérie. You have nothing to fear.”
Based on the smolder in his eyes, it was never my blood I worried about. “It’s your sexiness.” His eyebrows rose, the smile tugging at his lips hinted that he was intrigued by my words. I plopped down on the seat of the bicep curl and adjusted the weight level to none. “Never mind. Just stop with the smoldering.”
“As you wish.” The heat in Tristan’s eyes simmered as he leaned down to adjust the weight level to five pounds.
“That!” I pointed at his face. “Stop doing it.”
“What?”
Tristan had perfected the look of innocence. I wished the weights weren’t attached to the equipment so I could pick one up and throw it directly at his smug smirk.
“You need to build up muscle before you start tossing around heavy objects, Kiara.”
“How do you do that?” Every risqué, but potentially embarrassing, fantasy I’d ever had about this man flashed through my mind. “Are you a telepathist?”
“No, but when your eyes keep darting between those weights and my head, it’s not a hard guess at your thoughts.” He crouched down in front of me. “Now tell me what troubles you.”
“My visions. They don’t work.”
“It takes time, Kiara.” He poked at my arm. “Think of it like this weak little muscle. In order for you to be strong enough to lift a barbell and bash me over the head, you have to exercise it. Your power developed late in life, and it’s weak. The more you use it, the more your visions will strengthen. One day, you’ll be able to control them.”
“Would that work?”
“What?”
“Bashing your head in with a barbell? Could that kill a vampire or only cause a headache?”
Tristan’s head tilted back, and his gaze stared straight up. There may have been an eye roll thrown in. “Kiara.”
I hated when he said my name in that tone of voice. My fingers tapped against my thighs as I drew in a deep breath. “I know, I just… I’m frustrated. It would help me search for my marks if I could use my vision to see where to find them.”
“Put it into perspective. None of the other Praedators have this gift.”
“But they have other powers I don’t have,” I said. “Are you certain I won’t develop telekinesis? Seriously, I won’t complain if I do.”
Tristan laughed. “I’m not sure of anything regarding you. You’re one of a kind, ma chérie.”
“You know stuff about me, don’t you?” I asked.
Tristan stood. “Only what you wish to tell me.”
“No, something more. What does fáithsine mean?”
His eyes blinked, almost like a flinch… the only indication the word was familiar to him. Had I not closely observed his features, I never would have known. A devilish smile formed on perfect lips, and he said, “That word is not French.”
“But do you know what it means?”
“The languages I speak are French and English. Despite my age, I’ve been too lazy over the years to learn any other.” He walked to the exercise mat. “Now, let’s work on your visions, so I don’t have to suffer any more of your complaints.”
“What about my muscle?”
“Your objections to your muscles are creating complaints, which is causing my head to ache.”
“Are you going to pin me to the mat?”
“Do you want to be pinned to the mat?”
My head shook as I fought back a snicker—and perhaps a little flutter in the heart region as I glanced down at the black mat and pictured us. His flirting left me mystified. I had assumed it was simply his natural predator instinct to charm all humans onto his dinner plate. Today, I wasn’t so certain. However, the one thing I was certain of was that Tristan had smoothly deflected my question. As we faced off, my focus wasn’t on the next vision. Instead, I became determined to gain his unspoken answers.
Somehow.
Chapter Nine
Voices were the only sound I could hear. Words running on top of one another. Like chalk scraping against a teacher’s board.
“The color simply would not look good with my hair.”
“You would look lovely in that shade over there. What is it, puce?”
“I think the dresses should be long. The wedding is in February, after all. Lacey, what do you think?”
My head buried deeper into my arms, but nothing muffled the sound. Rather, sounds. There were many of them. Six voices in total including the bride. All of them speaking at the same time. Most of the names attached to the various degrees of shrill pitches were forgotten. Nothing mattered about who wanted what when the bridezilla was on the warpath to ensure she was the most beautiful of them all on her wedding day. That really said a lot about a bride’s insecurities. But who was I to question my future sister-in-law’s apparent self-loathing? I’d already relinquished my bridesmaid’s duties once, yet here I sat. And watched. And thanked God they no longer made dresses with large butt bows.
“Lacey, I think this is it,” said Elizabeth Andrews, Lacey’s bestie since we were in the eleventh grade. Elizabeth held a dress high, and she must have been in conspiracy with the bride on the hideous bridesmaids’ dress scheme. “What do you think?”
There were so many things wrong with the gown, I could write my dissertation on it should I ever desire going back to school for my Ph.D. Fabric the color of pastel orange with the bodice covered in sequins. Mermaid style cut. And just when I had thought everything was safe… a Grand Canyon-sized bow was spotted adorning the butt region on the back of the dress. Where had Elizabeth found that atrocity? Must have been a return from a purchase made in the early nineties. It’d probably been stuffed inside a closet ever since. Which was irrelevant since I would not wear a gown thrown-up by a pumpkin high on psychedelic sparkles.
This has to be a joke.
“Kiara?” Lacey asked. “Did you have something to say?”
Oops. Maybe I’d said that last part out loud? “I think the dress would detract from the wedding gown.” Like leaving people stunned speechless, and not in a good way. I pointed to a champagne colored A-line with a princess scooped neck. “How about that one?”
Lacey’s nose wrinkled. “No, it’s so drab. I want my girls to look great when they walk down the aisle. Especially you, Kiara. Your mother is still hopeful you’ll someday marry.” Lacey turned back to Elizabeth. “Set aside the orange dress for consideration.”
When had the word great become a synonym for hideous?
“Kiara?” Cold eyes belonging to one Lacey Briggs stared me down. “It would be nice if you’d participate in the dress selection. You’re ruining the mood by sulking here in the corner.”
“I am not sulking. I’m observing.”
“Here.” Lacey yanked a gown off a hanger to my left. “Try on this one.”
Her selection was a slip dress in the colors and design of a peacock. A turquoise shawl accessorized the thin fabric. She couldn’t be serious…
I looked up to blue eyes. A hint of challenge lurked within them. She wasn’t serious. Thank, God. No longer did I have any doubt—at least not for worrying about my future grandchildren seeing pictures of me dressed as a peacock or a pumpkin when it wasn’t Halloween. Whatever dress she’d select for us would be hideous, no doubt, but she’d want us as frumpy background while she basked in beautiful glory, not us being talked about as some freak show. Attention would not be focused on her if her court appeared as if they’d recently walked off the set of American Horror Story.
“Would you like me to try on this?” It was strapless in the color of midnight blue that I pointed to. The skirt stopped above the knee, but it had an illusion overskirt that fell down to the ankles. Not my exact preference, but a lot better than the previously presented choices. “Have you decided on a color?”
Lacey’s foot tapped, and her head shook. “No. That’s… that’s… No. This one.”
She pointed back at the peacock. Suspicions were strong that she wished to humiliate me. My instincts rarely ever failed. The insistence that I try on an ugly dress that I knew she’d never slip an arm through herself was suspect at best. Trauma at worst. Cell phone was probably in hand. I’d step out of the dressing room looking like an attraction in a three-ring circus and snap. Social media nightmare.
Hellhound glanced up from his nap near the entrance doors, the only place in the cluttered rectangular room for him to find space to lie. His head turned from the dress to me. A snort escaped his nostrils. It sounded like a laugh. Flames danced across his back, and I strongly suspected the beast found amusement in my misery. He’d see how funny it was when we returned home and I pointed to the doormat as his bed.
Burgundy caught my eye. A strapless Georgette gown. Simple. Elegant. Knee-high slits in the front allowing the skirt to flow.
I turned to Lacey and instead faced a young man dressed in a tuxedo. His eyebrows raised before giving a silent nod in the direction to my left.
I stared through an open doorway. A church. I stood in its foyer. People filled the pews on either side of the aisle in the nave. My brother, Sean, stood at the far end of the long aisle, near the altar. He wore a cummerbund in burgundy. I bit hard on my lip to hold back the giggle. It was a toss-up for which was more hilarious, my brother getting suckered into wearing a full tux, or him standing inside a church. Lightning was no doubt near, ready to strike. Hell, I was the Blake in the family with the active demon blood running through the veins. Less concern for the kid brother and more concern for my own potentially blistered posterior was required.
“Kiara, go.” A voice hissed. Lacey’s friend Katie stood by my side. She clutched a bouquet of calla lilies in small hands and was dressed in the burgundy bridesmaid gown from the bridal shop. Looking down, the sight of the same dress fabric covered my own legs.
A vision. It was February. Almost six months from my current moment of time inside the bridal shop. Normally, my sight of the future was brief, and only minutes ahead. Everything this vision wasn’t. With a mixture of both dread and interest, I soaked in detail.
Miraculously, a better-than-decent bridesmaid dress selection had been made. Intense was the need to know why the witch I was moments away from calling sister had changed her mind. Music and the crowded heads of guests made it obvious my brother had decided to proceed with the marriage that I gave no more than five years. I knew Sean hadn’t any common sense—the parental unit had never listened. And why the hell was I having a prophecy of Sean and Lacey’s wedding?
Okay, the last was a question rather than an observation. But still… the ceremony was months ahead in time. What was the importance of seeing this event—of acknowledging so much detail—while simply shopping for the dress?
“Kiara.” A not-so-gentle hand pushed at my shoulder. “You’re holding everything up. Go.”
Stepping forward, I walked into a massive room with a high vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows. The sunlight pouring through was colorful, casting a hue across the sanctuary. Rose petals lined the runner down to the alter. A string quartet played soft music. Sean had a what-the-hell-are-you-doing expression written across his face. Or maybe that was just constipation? Only a few more maids until the bridezilla stepped into his view in all of her malevolent glory. Perhaps he’d run, flee right in front of a packed church, and I’d have to reassess the lacking smarts thing.
Wedding guests stared at me in curiosity, and I had to wonder how long my delay in the foyer had been. Eric, Sean’s best man, was shooting flirtatious winks to someone seated in the audience. A hellhound sat on its haunches next to the last groomsman.
It wasn’t my hellhound.
My head turned as I counted a second beast. Followed by a third. Then a fourth… and then Sebastian Balázs stood, leaning with one shoulder propped against a wall. His smile pure evil.
“Kiara, if you don’t want to try the dress on, fine. But stop trying to ruin my wedding.”
Huh?
No evil demon stood in my line of sight, but one pissed-off soon-to-be bride certainly did. I was back inside the bridal shop, and Lacey held the peacock dress in fisted hands. The other women stood around the small dressing area in silence. All pretended to be looking anywhere but at me except for Elizabeth. The hostility in her gaze should have left me shaking. But since nothing in my intentions was to ruin Lacey’s wedding, my conscience remained clear.
“Fine, I will put on the dress,” I said, and then nodded toward the Georgette gown. “Just don’t make me try on that ugly red one.”
Lacey’s head whipped around to look upon hearing my words. Her gaze on the dress was calculating… unwavering. Damn. She was easy to play. What was up with that? Of course, it helped my cause having already seen the future and knowing which gown would be selected. Wait—was that how I scored a decent bridesmaid gown?
Hands trembled as I reached for the fitting room door. Thoughts of the church still turbulent inside my mind. Satan’s right-hand man, along with four beasts, were unofficially on the guest list. Nothing good at all could be said about this. The nagging question was why? Why would a demon show up to my brother’s wedding? Fear clawed at my nerves. Was he there for me? Would the entire church be torched doomsday style leaving everyone inside to perish?
His appearance would happen. I’d already seen it. Only six months were left for me to figure out why. I would need to formulate an attack to put a stop to whatever was planned.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I spotted Lacey and Elizabeth huddled while quietly speaking. No doubt I was their subject of choice. But my attention didn’t remain on them long. A woman was exiting the shop as I looked up. With back to me, her attire held me fascinated. Long, dark hair hung down her back, partially covering a navy pea coat.
Only a Praedator would wear a coat in mid-September.
Pick up dry cleaning in the morning
I stared at the text message on my cell phone. Checking account demanded I hurry back to work, but the unwanted directive had stuck bricks inside my shoes. Never mind that I wore narrow heels too small for blocks of cement.
While Lacey and her friends all had this accumulative bank at their respective jobs called paid time off, I had my grandmother is having surgery unpaid you better return as soon as she’s in recovery leave. Maude didn’t do time off. She also didn’t do that prying-into-employee-lives thing, which meant she hadn’t realized I had no living grandmothers. One of these days, I should probably listen to my mother and get a real job. Then I could afford to take a vacation with paid time off. Bliss.
As for now, Lacey needed to shut her mouth with the trying to ruin her wedding accusations. I was lying through my teeth in order to meet her bridesmaid duties demands. A simple Thanks for sneaking out of work in the middle of a weekday would have been nice. What was wrong with dress shopping on a Saturday?
Bring my clothes around noon and pick up an organic, gluten-free green smoothie
Second text in less than a minute. It wasn’t Maude; it was Desiree. And where the hell did I find something that combined all of those ingredients into a single item? That particular drink had never before made an appearance on my grocery list, and I could guarantee it never would. Yet, somehow, I’d have to discover the organic, gluten-free smoothie hidden location. Maude said to jump, and Maude was the boss.
Apparently so was Desiree.
Damn.
Another text message dinged.
Dinner tonight at 7. My treat. Sergei’s Tuscan Grill
Finally, words I wanted to read. I shot off a quick affirmative to Aunt Kate and reflected on my vision as I headed back to work—keeping eyes on alert for overpriced puréed drink locations. Aunt Kate needed to be brought into the loop. Confiding in her was the best choice of action. Perhaps she was still on friendly terms with members of the coven she’d been kicked out of years ago. Tristan would need to be told. The vampire contained speed, knowledge, and strength. Now to figure out the sunlight issue because plenty of it poured into the nave during my vision, and I would need Tristan inside the church that day. Whatever plan Hell had in mind, I was currently outnumbered. Sidekicks were required… or front kicks, or back kicks, or any kind of kicks. They were all welcome. Lots of them. First, I’d start with Aunt Kate.
