Protector Unmatched, page 4
His mouth gaped open.
Good, he clearly hadn’t expected her to be so direct. She’d thrown him off his game. If all of Guido’s associates were that easy, her brother would be home safe in no time—albeit with a missing finger. However, maybe that would be a lesson to her brother never to get involved with the likes of Guido again.
The stranger finally seemed to find his voice again. “Uh, actually, I’d love a beer with that sandwich.” He stretched out his hand. “My name is Pearce.”
6
Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Zoltan took colored contact lenses out of the box and slid them over his green eyes. Unfortunately, even the lenses he had an optician’s lab custom-make for him—under the pretense of being allergic to all lenses other than the ones made of this special compound—dissolved after about twelve hours. The secretion of a demon’s eyes burned through regular lenses even faster. Those lasted only a couple of hours tops, thus revealing the telltale poison-green eyes branding their owner as a demon.
However, they were good enough for his underlings, since any demon was dispensable. He, the Great One, was not. For him, only the best would do. He’d hired a very talented—and very discreet—scientist to improve the lenses he was currently wearing, so far without success. But he wasn’t giving up. His need to stay up top, in the human world, rather than in the Underworld that he ruled with an iron fist, grew with every day. Here, in the condo that he’d claimed as his own, after dispensing with its original owner, he felt more at home than in the caves that smelled of sulfur and were heated by streams of lava.
None of his demons, not even his right-hand man Vintoq, knew about his abode in the human world. This was his refuge, the place he withdrew to when he was sick of the stupidity of his underlings. The place where he sometimes wondered what life would be like if he weren’t a demon. Of course, those thoughts never lasted long, because he loved being a demon, loved the power, loved the control that came with being the demons’ ruler. And most of all, he loved to feed on the fear of humans when they realized that they had lost, that he would snuff out their pitiful lives. It was meant to fill a void, a void that had started growing bigger during the last few months. To fill that void, he had to feed off the life force of humans more frequently than ever before. His hunger for sex had grown by the same measure. And he didn’t care how he got it. Be it demon or human female, it didn’t matter to him, because deep down, he knew that neither could truly fill the emptiness in him, the feeling that there was something else he needed. Something beyond feeding, fighting, and fucking.
And to top it all off, the crippling migraines he’d been suffering for a long time now showed no signs of waning. He’d tried everything: human medications, street drugs, opioids—hell, he’d even tried weed. But nothing helped. The migraines were unpredictable and often hit him out of nowhere. It was another reason he spent increasingly more time in the human world, where he could hide the attacks from his underlings. He’d had several close calls, but luckily, so far, none of his subjects had caught on to his affliction. If they ever did, his days as their leader were numbered. Nobody wanted a weakling as their leader. And that was what they would see: a man so weak that a migraine could bring him to his knees.
He invented more and more excuses so his absences wouldn’t cause suspicion, but Vintoq was a smart demon, and one day, he would figure it out. And then his loyalty would be tested. Zoltan couldn’t allow it to come to that. What he needed was a decisive victory over the Stealth Guardians, their archenemies, the immortals who stood between the demons and their goal of dominating humans, turning them into their slaves, feeding off their fear. If he could defeat the Stealth Guardians once and for all, his eternal reign would be cemented.
But first things first. Zoltan glanced at his watch. It was time for his meeting. From his bedroom closet, he retrieved a wad of cash, just in case he needed it tonight, then he grabbed his leather jacket and stuffed the money into the inside pocket, before putting it on. A dagger was already hidden on his body—not because he suspected to run into Stealth Guardians, but because he didn’t trust the man he was meeting. Better be prepared.
Ready, he snatched his keys, shoved them into his pocket, and left the condo. As he walked to the elevator, he heard the door click shut behind him. A soft ding sounded, announcing the elevator. The doors opened seconds later, and he stepped into the empty cab. He pressed the button for the garage. The sports car his predecessor had owned, and which now belonged to Zoltan, was parked in the darkest corner of the otherwise well-lit parking garage. Zoltan unlocked it, hopped in, and let the engine roar. Eric Vaughn, whose name Zoltan used while in the human world, had had good taste in cars. He appreciated that about the man. At least he wasn’t forced to drive a pickup truck, hatchback, or—God forbid—a minivan.
The drive to the area where one warehouse bordered another was short and didn’t allow him to really test the car’s speed. One day, when he had more time on his hands, he’d take it out for a spin on one of the freeways that weaved in and out of the city, to find out what this engine was capable of. Maybe he’d even experience the high that racecar drivers spoke of when hitting top speeds. Perhaps the thrill would give him satisfaction.
He brushed the thoughts away and concentrated on the next step in his plan.
At a street corner a block away from the meeting point, Zoltan pulled the car into a parking spot and killed the engine. He exited the car and locked it, then walked, hands in his jacket pockets, to the next intersection and turned right. Two buildings down was a dive bar that had seen better days. He walked to the entrance when he heard a hissing sound. He looked up and saw the neon Open sign flicker, then burn out completely. His presence had done that. It happened whenever a demon got in close proximity to neon or fluorescent lights. Had a Stealth Guardian been near, Zoltan’s disguise would have been blown. But the humans inside the bar had no idea what had just happened and what it meant.
The man he was meeting was already sitting in a booth, a beer that he didn’t drink from in front of him. He never drank during their meetings. Vasili, the dealer in stolen goods, wanted to keep his wits about him.
Zoltan slid into the booth and waved to the bartender, ordering a whiskey.
“What have you got for me?” Zoltan asked.
Vasili cast a quick look around, making sure nobody was within earshot, then said, “I think it’s the motherlode.” His thick accent gave away the fact that he was an Eastern European immigrant, probably Russian. He tried to make up for it with his choice of words. It didn’t work.
“You said that last time, yet nothing came of it,” Zoltan reminded him. Only the fact that Vasili had the best connections among the fences on the East Coast meant he’d let him live after his previous failure.
“I found it, trust me. All I need to do now is get my hands on it.”
Zoltan huffed. “So, in fact, you don’t have it.” Not a surprise.
“I know where it is. I know who’s got it. And I know how to get it.”
“Which means you haven’t even seen it.”
“I know it matches what you’re looking for.”
When the bartender suddenly showed up with a glass of whiskey, Vasili fell silent. Zoltan pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to the man.
“Thanks. No change.” He didn’t want the bartender to come back and interrupt them again.
Once he’d left the table, Zoltan asked Vasili, “Why don’t we make this simple? You tell me where I can find it, and I get it myself.”
“That’s not how it works. I procure things; you buy them from me. I’d be cutting myself out of a deal if I gave up my sources.”
That would have been too easy. Clearly Vasili wasn’t born yesterday. He also knew how to disappear. Once, Zoltan had tried to follow him to find out more about who he talked to, but the guy was as slippery as an eel and had shaken Zoltan off like a speck of dirt on his sleeve. For now, Zoltan had to work with the guy, even though he didn’t trust him.
“You’ll still get paid, even if you give me the location.” Zoltan had to try one last time for good measure.
“Yeah, about the money.” Vasili leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll need some dough upfront this time. This job involves a bit of planning. It’s protected well. I have higher expenses with this job, if you get my drift.”
Zoltan did, but he wasn’t stupid. “You’ll get paid.” He took a short pause. “After I see a picture of it. Gotta make sure it’s really what I’m looking for.”
“But—”
“After,” Zoltan insisted, and downed the glass of whiskey in one big gulp. He liked the burning sensation it created in his throat. He rose. “And this time it’d better be what I’m looking for.” He glared at Vasili. “Do we understand each other?”
Vasili swallowed visibly. “Yes, sure, o-o-of course.”
Seconds later, Zoltan slammed the door of the bar shut behind him and marched outside. When he reached his car, he could feel the first waves of pain bombard his head. The migraine was starting. He managed to get in the car before the blinding pain crippled him. His body convulsed with every wave that pounded his head like a battering ram. One day, his skull would explode. One day, this would kill him.
The pain was so intense that he broke down and whimpered like a babbling fool.
“Please, make it go away! Don’t do this to me! Take the pain away! I’ll do anything for it.”
When he heard his own weak words in his ears, he knew that his days as the Great One were numbered. And that knowledge brought on a whole different kind of pain.
7
Pearce’s hackles had gone up the moment Daphne invited him to her place. Something was up. No woman in her right mind invited a complete stranger to her home mere minutes after meeting him—even if he’d helped her out of an embarrassing situation. A situation he’d caused by swiping her wallet from her messenger bag while she was freezer-diving. He’d been invisible while doing so. Moments later, he’d ducked behind a display, made sure neither a camera nor a shopper saw him, and made himself visible again. His charade had worked. Too well, in fact.
While Daphne’s wallet was burning a hole in the inside pocket of his jacket, he couldn’t get past the fact that Daphne didn’t act like a normal woman. What did she have up her sleeve? Was she some skilled assassin and therefore not afraid of inviting a stranger to her home? Well, he’d be on his guard, not giving her a chance to get the drop on him. He had things up his sleeve too: invisibility and the ability to walk through walls. Besides, he was bigger and stronger than Daphne. And he was armed, though at the moment, he wondered whether it was a good thing to carry a dagger forged in the Dark Days with him. Maybe that was how she would obtain the weapon with which to kill him in the first place, by stealing it from him.
It was too late to change it now. Daphne was already unlocking the door to her second-floor apartment.
“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” she said, and flipped the light switch before entering.
Pearce hesitated for just a moment while he quickly assessed his surroundings, which he could clearly see from the door. It was a one-bedroom apartment. There were only two doors inside, one that stood open and led into a tiny bathroom, and one that was closed and presumably led into the bedroom. Slowly, he crossed the threshold. The large room he stood in doubled as living room, kitchen, dining room, and foyer. In one corner, a computer station was set up. The furniture looked worn, yet comfortable. On the wall behind the sofa hung a psychedelic print.
“Would you shut the door, please?” She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. “Or have you changed your mind?”
He pulled himself together. “Sorry, just admiring your decorating touch.” Yeah, that was smooth. He pulled the door shut and took a few steps into the apartment.
“Very funny,” she commented, and pointed to the print. “If you’re referring to this, that’s only there because the landlord won’t fix the plaster that’s been peeling off the wall. Had to cover it with something. And the store downstairs had a sale.” She shrugged.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” Pearce said, and placed the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. “I have to confess something.”
Daphne suddenly froze as if she expected bad news. The silence that hung between them seemed to charge the air in the room with electricity.
“I… uh, I’m not used to being invited into the home of a beautiful woman. Particularly not after just meeting her.” It was partially true.
“Oh.”
When he saw her hesitant expression, he decided to add a joke. “I mean, you’re not just gonna have your way with me, are you?”
Something flashed in her eyes. “Have my way with you?”
“Yeah, you know, tear my clothes off and all that.” He forced a smile, then a chuckle. “I mean, I’m just a computer geek. I don’t go out on dates much.” That was true. He’d worked far too much in the last few months.
Her face lit up. “You work with computers?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
“Get out! Really?” He’d figured that much when he’d found out where she worked, though he hadn’t done a thorough background check on her yet.
She nodded. “That’s a coincidence.”
He smiled at her. “Sure is.”
“And you can feel at ease,” Daphne added. “I’m not a nymphomaniac who invited you to tear your clothes off. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out in the supermarket.” She opened the fridge. “So you want that beer?”
“Absolutely.” He accepted the beer and winked at her. “And just so you know, it’s not that I’d say no to you.”
Daphne rolled her eyes, but then chuckled and took a beer for herself. “I’ll make a mental note in case the urge overcomes me.”
The situation was defused—however, it didn’t mean he could relax now, because he knew exactly what Daphne was doing. She was spinning her web like a spider ensnaring her prey. But he could be patient too. And vigilant.
Minutes later, they both sat on the couch and chowed down on their dinner, washing it down with bottles of beer. If he didn’t know that Daphne would one day kill him, he would have found the whole situation perfect: a perfect date with a woman who had similar interests, a woman whose company he enjoyed.
Pearce kept the conversation light, made a few jokes they both laughed at, and finished his sandwich. He leaned back on the sofa and looked at Daphne, who was emptying her bottle.
“Hmm, I needed that,” she said, and started cleaning up.
He rose too and took his plate to the kitchen. “I suppose that’s my cue to take a hike.” Even though he didn’t want to leave yet.
“I didn’t say that,” she said while placing her plate and the utensils in the sink.
There was something about Daphne. While she pretended to be unconcerned about having a stranger in her home, he’d noticed the furtive glances she cast him whenever she thought he wasn’t paying attention, and the tenseness with which she held her body. Was she looking for an opportunity to strike, to execute her plan, to kill him? He tossed out that thought. Winter had said he’d be killed in a theater or a film studio, not in an apartment, and Daphne’s hair had been much longer in the vision.
“Do you enjoy the theater?” he asked without thinking.
She turned her head to him. “Are you asking me out?”
She’d completely misunderstood him. He’d simply been looking for a connection between Daphne and the place where he would die. But since she was assuming… “In a roundabout way, yeah. I did mention that I’m kinda shy around beautiful women, did I not?”
“You don’t come across as shy. I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”
He wasn’t all that sure about that. If he knew what he was doing, he’d be eliminating her right here, right now, and not trying to find out why she wanted to kill him in the first place. And a fine mess he was making of the entire situation.
He met her gaze and noticed the odd look she was giving him. Was she suspecting something? Time to play the shy geek. “So, is that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”
“Where’s your phone?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Because I want to program my number in so you can call me and let me know where and when to meet.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Let me get my jacket.”
But she was already heading for the armchair, where he’d deposited his jacket earlier.
Shit! If she stuck her hand into the pockets, she’d find her wallet, and then the jig was up. He hurried to the chair and snatched his jacket before she could lay her hands on it. Quickly, he pulled his cell phone from his outside pocket and unlocked it.
“Here you go.” He handed her the phone and grinned. “And you’d better not be typing in a wrong number in the hopes of ditching me. It won’t work, ’cause I know where you live.”
He saw a shiver run through her and wondered if he’d said something wrong. She turned sideways as if she didn’t want him to see what she was typing, so he took a step closer and looked over her shoulder.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Daphne lifted her head and turned it slightly. Her face was only inches from his now. But she didn’t say anything as if she’d lost her ability to speak.
“Daphne?” he whispered. “Am I coming on too strong?” As he said it, he finally realized what he’d been doing the entire evening. He’d been flirting with her, not because he wanted to know why she would one day kill him, but because he was attracted to her.
“If I kissed you right now, would you regret having invited me?” he asked.
Her lashes fluttered and then swung upward, revealing her eyes fully. Her green irises seemed to shimmer with hundreds of facets. He let a second pass, then another, giving Daphne time to step back, time to tell him that she didn’t want this. She did nothing of the sort, simply locked eyes with him.
