While I’d lain there, sobbing violently, I’d heard a cracking noise, like something breaking apart. At the time, I’d figured it was my heart. But the next thing I knew, I looked down and saw myself. I barely had time to rationalize what had happened before I floated to another room, to Michael.
He’d never known I was there, never known I watched him. He’d been in my bedroom, the bodies and blood gone—as if they’d never been there. Michael drank himself into oblivion that night, his hands shaking, what he’d seen almost too much for him to bear. Later, he told me the killer had been a man who’d intended to rob the house.
He also told me he’d killed the bastard for me.
I’d spirit-walked many times after that, each time beginning and ending of its own accord. My Rakan tutor had vaguely mentioned that some of our kind had this ability, but he himself hadn’t, so he hadn’t known how to teach me. Over the years, however, I’d honed the skill. I now controlled every aspect: when, where, how long.
I’d never told anyone. Not even Michael, though I loved him more than anyone else in the world. I wanted him to see me as human as possible, I guess, like a real daughter. I’d almost told him once, after he’d gifted me with the car I’d begged him to buy me. In the end, I hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment.
Others, well, if people learned I left my body unprotected, unguarded, and vulnerable to attack, I’d fall prey to my enemies. The huntress would become the hunted.
With a sigh, I brought myself back to the task at hand. Right now my physical body was splayed out like the fairy-tale Sleeping Beauty. Utterly still, golden hair spilling around my shoulders and arms. If not for my shimmering gold skin, I could have easily passed for a human.
I closed my eyes and pictured Lucius. Pictured the hard planes and angles of his face, pictured the silkiness of his lips. The width and sinew of his chest. Soon a ghostly wind ruffled my hair. I lost the foundation under my feet. Tugged by an invisible cord, my spirit began to move. Faster. Faster. Lights whizzed past me, twinkling in and out of focus. Soon a mixture of voices—one a rough but cultured timbre, the other a smooth baritone—gained in volume.
I stopped suddenly, abruptly, and gasped.
I stood in a study very much like Michael’s. I knew beyond a doubt, however, that this was not my father’s. The wood paneling was lighter, the furniture different, more modern. A purple and red Lucite column towered over the desk. Bookshelves of fuchsia and yellow lined one wall. Silver-plated side tables and a faux-fur ottoman occupied a corner. Blood red carpet covered the oak floors, and a large portrait of a nude redhead—obviously a natural redhead and Jonathan’s third wife—hung over the unlit fireplace.
My attention slid to the center of the room. Lucius lounged atop a lime green couch, a brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. He’d colored his hair again, this time a rich walnut brown. A scar slashed down his right temple. He wore contacts, darkening his ice-blue eyes to the same shade as his hair. As I’d predicted, the piercings and tattoos were gone. He’d fit his muscled body into an expensive silk suit.
I almost didn’t recognize him. His lips gave him away, though. He couldn’t change the lush, rosy softness of them. I licked my own as a picture flashed through my mind, a picture of him kissing me, devouring me. Setting my body aflame.
Was I destined to always respond to this man?
Another man sat across from him. Jonathan Parker. The self-indulgent, wife-killing playboy. His picture failed to reveal the aura of depravity that encompassed him, a depravity he couldn’t mask in person. Cigar smoke drifted around him as he chuckled devilishly over something Lucius had said.
“So you met an other-worlder who fires your blood, did you?” Jonathan said. He sipped amber liquid from a glass, his feet propped on top of an expensive coffee table. His grin widened, revealing too-white, too-perfect teeth. “And she’s a Raka, at that.” He sighed wistfully. “I’ll be honest. I’ve always wanted to fuck a Raka. All that gold…”
“This one’s mine,” Lucius cut in sharply. His gaze narrowed, leaving no hint of humor. Only deadly menace. “She’s the only reason I came back here. I want her. She’s mine,” he repeated.
Leaning back, Parker tugged at his earlobe with his free hand. “That hot, is she?”
“She’s fire and ice. Lava one minute, glacial the next. And she won’t have anything to do with me,” he admitted, losing his darkness and assuming a sheepish quality.
“Ah, Hunter. I wouldn’t let it worry you. Women like to play hard-to-get. They want us to romance them. They’re desperate for it. How else do you think I won each of my wives?”
“I thought that was what women wanted, too. I sent her three hundred orchids, and she used them as fertilizer. I bought her a ’Vette, and she used it for a crash-test demonstration. I sent her a diamond necklace, and she sent me a restraining order.”
Jonathan chuckled. “If she’s that difficult, why don’t you find someone else?”
“I want her.”
I stepped toward Lucius, coasting my fingertips over the buttery soft leather couch. With each step, I imagined his scent, that soapy pine scent I so admired. I even imagined the heat of him. What are you doing? Stop!
Lucius’s shoulders tensed slightly. Had I not been so focused on him, I would have missed the action. My head tilted as I watched his gaze flicker left and right, as if searching for something—or someone? A cold shiver racked me, and I paused. There was no way he could see me. Right? Was something wrong? I scanned the room, looking for anything that might have raised his guard. I found nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ll win her one way or another,” Lucius said, but there was now an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“I hope you’re right.” Jonathan didn’t act any different. He dropped his head back to stare up at the vaulted ceiling, the action causing the liquid in his glass to slosh. He puffed at his cigar. “If the woman’s as reluctant as you say, she might not like it that you followed her here. Well, beat her here, I should say.”
“I can guarantee she won’t like it.” Determination gleamed in his eyes. “But I’ll persuade her to see things my way, I have no doubt.”
“You’re confident.” Parker straightened and gazed pointedly over at Lucius. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Nothing dampers your determination.”
Lucius nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. I resumed my journey toward him. I hadn’t seen him or touched him in a week. It felt like years. The urge had never left me, of course, but now that I was here—well, kind of here—the craving intensified.
When I reached him, I allowed my fingers to drift through his hair. I couldn’t feel the strands, but I imagined their silkiness and wished I could somehow solidify my fingers. The best I could do was gather energy and push that through his hair. But such an action required more concentration than I was willing to devote at the moment. Besides, Parker and Lucius might wonder at a sudden breeze.
Sighing, I moved to caress his jaw. He stiffened, even sucked in a slight hiss of breath. My hand froze in place. What the hell was going on? He should not feel me. Not even a little. No one, not even Michael, had ever guessed my secret. I hurriedly drew back my hand.
“Do you smell cinnamon?” Lucius asked.
My knees nearly buckled in shock.
“No.” Parker’s brow furrowed. He regarded Lucius silently for a moment, then tilted his chin and said, “Are you all right?”
“Fine, just fine,” Lucius said. “Just thinking of Eden. She’s likely to spit on me when she realizes I’m here.”