“Tripped?” Chandra repeated coldly.
“Over my cat.”
It was more in keeping with Olivia’s image than, say, Oh, I tortured the bastard until he keeled over and bled out at my feet. To my surprise, they all began to nod. Except for the lone man I didn’t know. He just continued to watch me with that cool and steady gaze. Probably not in the ally category, I thought wryly.
“So, you had a warden even before you knew you were a member of the Zodiac troop?” Felix asked. “That means you’re highly intuitive.”
“Intuition is a talent we all share,” Chandra muttered.
Vanessa, either missing or ignoring the venom in her voice, added, “We augment that with other talents that complement our place in the Zodiac.”
“What other talents?” I asked, fighting to keep my eyes from straying to the corner man. With him, I couldn’t even fathom a guess.
“Start with your talisman,” Micah said, standing. “What is it?”
“Your glyph,” Warren said, nudging me.
“Okay.” I unzipped my fitted jacket.
“One guess where her talents lie,” Chandra muttered.
I faltered, cheeks flushing hotly, and began to zip it up again.
“No, it is a talent,” the man told her, and this time when I looked at him, I saw something other than mild disinterest. He pushed off from the wall, moving lithely, almost sliding toward me. In the way of most alpha males, he took up a lot of space.
“People will underestimate you,” he said, coming to a stop in front of me. “They’ll see only the shape of you, the curves and swells and softness. It’s as much a camouflage as fatigues and face paint in the Amazon, because people will see what they expect to see.” He gave me a smile that said, But we know different.
I had a sudden urge to slap that look off his face. Whatever he thought he knew about me couldn’t compare to the reality of who I was, or who I’d been. He didn’t fucking know me at all. But I held still, watching carefully as he reached out and lowered my zipper for me. “And you are?”
“Hunter,” he supplied, as respectfully as a man could when he had a hand on your top. His skin, I noticed, was that pale gold that couldn’t be bottled or bought; the hair, glossy and black and gathered in a low, blunt ponytail. As contained, I thought, as the rest of him. After opening my jacket, he moved to the side so the others could see. I kept my hands steady as I stretched the sport tank down, but it was an effort. The places where his fingers had skimmed my flesh were warm, like little pilot lights had been ignited beneath the surface.
I kept my eyes firmly away from Warren. I didn’t want to see his smirk, or that knowledge in his eyes, because I knew he could feel the effect this Hunter was having upon me. So I just kept my head down as I revealed the skin just above the point where my cleavage began to rise.
“Hunter’s our weaponeer and head tactician,” Warren supplied, a smile in his voice. Bastard. “Anything martial lies in his sphere of expertise.”
I decided a little animosity would go a long way toward helping me regain my equilibrium, so I tilted my head and glanced back up at Hunter. “Anything?”
Hunter shrugged, the slightest of movements. “I’m Aries. Physicality is where my talents lie.”
“Hand combat?” I asked. I tried not to sound challenging. Really, I did.
Okay, no I didn’t.
“Why?” he said, rising to the bait, and I saw what he meant about his physicality. He’d barely moved a muscle and yet there seemed to be less space between us than before. “You like to fight?”
I ignored Warren when he cleared his throat next to me, and shrugged, just an innocent lamb waiting to take instruction from Mr. Martial Arts. I quirked a brow at him. “I like to win.”
“At what? Candyland?”
I whirled to give Chandra a fist-sized example of “at what,” but Warren was there, blocking me with his body, eyes burrowing into mine. “I have to leave now. I have a session with Greta. I trust you’ll be fine without me, Olivia?”
The memory of Warren’s suspicion as it roiled hot in my gut flashed in my mind. One guess, I thought, pursing my lips wryly, as to what this “session” was about. “Then trust must be one of your major talents,” I said, so low only he could hear, turning my animosity on him.
He shot me a look of bland disapproval, which I returned with a wrinkle of my nose and a little finger wave. Just like Olivia.
“So what is it?” Micah said, leaning forward to look at my glyph after Warren’s strange slap-and-slide gait had receded from earshot. I used the opportunity to back away from Hunter, glancing down as the others crowded in closer. The shape of it was pale against my skin, a birthmark in reverse, and I shuddered, recalling how it had burned on my chest, pulsing there like a second heart. “It’s a stiletto.”
Chandra scoffed. “It’s not a stiletto. It’s a fucking bow and arrow.”
I looked again and saw that she was, just possibly, right. Oh, God. Peroxide poisoning. Already. I glared at Micah as embarrassment washed over me. This was followed by a surprising flash of disappointment. A part of me, it seemed, had wanted it to be a stiletto.
“It’s just smeared,” I said stubbornly, and turned to the mirrored wall behind me.
“Chandra’s right,” Hunter said, slipping behind me. Studying him through the mirrored surface, I decided my first impression of him had been wrong. He wasn’t devoid of expression at all. The quirk of his mouth gave away a little spark of humor, and intelligence swam beneath hooded eyes. There was something commanding in the way he’d used up the room when he’d crossed to me, noting everything and nothing at the same time.
And despite the warning bells pealing through my mind, I had to wonder, Was there anything more alluring than a dangerous man?
Hunter reached out, broad shoulders blocking the view of the others, and lifted a hand to trace the lines of my glyph, lighting little arrows of fire along my flesh. “It is a bow and arrow. See?”
Olivia’s voice, a happy twittering bluebird, bounced off the soft tissue of my mind. How lucky am I? It sang. First day on the job and I get a superhero boyfriend!
Meanwhile my own voice had fled me entirely. I just stood there, staring at my chest. Total nipple hard-on. Great. I glanced up into Hunter’s face, now clearly amused. “And what’s your talent?”
He smiled. “I have many.”
I’ll just bet.
“A bow and arrow is a strong talisman,” he continued, his gravelly voice louder now. “Obviously it’s the Archer’s symbol, but it’s a personal motif as well. I’ll bet one of your talents is honesty—”
“To a fault,” Micah chimed in.
“Determination. Loyalty. Pride.”
“Don’t let Hunter charm you,” Chandra broke in. “All Archers have those qualities.”
I turned to find myself facing hollow eyes, and knew then that she and I would never be friends. I raised one slim brow. “Do you?”
“In spades,” she said, her upper lip curling.
“What do you know so far about conduits?” Hunter asked, moving to stand between us.
Conduits are conductors of energy; conductors of the agent’s express will. Each conduit is specifically made for its handler; to compliment his or her talents, and channel his or her will through means of violence, death and gore. Though Olivia, of course, would never have put it that way.
“Uh, well, most of them are pretty sharp,” I said, drawing laughs from Micah and Felix. Hunter narrowed his eyes, Chandra rolled hers. “I know they come in different shapes, sizes, some of them are pyrotechnic, and each one is made to complement the strengths of its owner.”
There. That was a nicely balanced answer. Not too embarrassing.
“That’s right. When I design a weapon, I take into consideration the agent’s particular physical and mental strengths, then fashion a conduit specifically for their hands. It takes on a life of its own that way. Becomes your companion, your match. Of course, that means I need complete honesty if the weapon is to maximize all your gifts. Do that, though, and I’ll create something to suit your temperament, your mind, and your heart.”