I shifted the paint can and continued, “Well, sorry I couldn’t get around to asking you sooner. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not having the best week. Kyle’s been avoiding me. Penny’s hanging out with Tina Conners—”
“Tina?” He scooted out from under the car and spread newspaper in the place he’d been.
“The girl she and Constance sat with in the amphitheater. Worse? They’re not answering any of my messages.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?” I looked up to find him staring at me.
“Let them bring you down. You’re better than this.”
Twisting to my left, I grabbed a bucket and shoved it into his hands. Not in a million years would I give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. But he had a point. So what if they wanted to avoid me? I had no time for this drama. Then a thought hit me. Maybe—considering the threats against me—my best friends avoiding me might not be so bad. If they weren’t near me, the safer they’d be.
“Just answer my question,” I pressed, feeling a ton better.
His brows lifted. “Many.”
At first I didn’t get his answer then I connected it to the question. Duh! I scrambled for my next question. “Like how many?”
“Excuse me while I take a census.” He bent over to slide the bucket under the GT’s oil pan. The move gave me an unobstructed view of his perfectly shaped…I shook my head to clear it. Holy shit, staying focused was harder than I thought.
“Very funny.” I looked anywhere but at him. “Come on, I’m serious.”
After removing the oil plug, he sank to his haunches and placed his hands on my knees. “I don’t know the exact number. But, trust me when I say, enough of us are out there because the world hasn’t gone to shit yet.”
My heart fluttered. From his answer or his hands on my knees, I couldn’t tell. “So, there are just the Arbiters?”
He turned thoughtful. “There’s a hierarchy.”
“Fancy.”
“Now who’s mocking?”
“Can’t help it.” Like metal attracted to a magnet, I touched my forehead to his and closed my eyes. I breathed in a mix of motor oil and his clean smell before pulling back. Having him close tempted me.
“I want to know more,” I said after opening my eyes.
A grin filled with mischief played on his lips. “But then, I’d have to kill you.”
“How unoriginal.” I pushed on his shoulder, which should have been enough to topple anyone backward. It was a testament to his balance that he stayed seated. “So, this hierarchy…”
“There are four classes in the Illumenari. The Arbiters, the Guardians, the Legacy, and the Council.” He switched the socket with an oil filter wrench and scooted under the car again. “The lowest are the Arbiters. They’re sent to settle disputes between Supernaturals or investigate cases that involve maintaining the safety of humans. Think of it like gaining experience points in an RPG.”
“Like right now? You’re investigating what’s been happening to me?” My eyebrows came together. Now that he was far away, I could think. I shuddered at the thought of what else could be out there, and Dillan coming into contact with it. Genuine concern ate at my nerves like termites. I disliked the idea of anyone hurt because of me.
“I’m on vacation.”
“Illumenari go on vacation?”
“We have dental and medical, too, in case you’re wondering.”
I kicked his boot. “Jerk.”
“Admit it. You like it when I get snarky.”
The name of the second class sunk in. The voice in my head—which didn’t bother me as much as it should—had said I needed to find the guardian. Could it mean the Illumenari? “Tell me about the Guardians.”
Thankfully, he moved on. “They guard. We don’t complicate the naming of things.”
“Guard what exactly?”
A grunt then a pause. The plug seemed to be giving him problems. “Whatever’s assigned to them?”
I thought about it. He said he’d protect me. “You’re an Arbiter, right?”
“Yeah.” He tsked like he’d bitten into something bitter. “Now, shut up and let me finish.”
He waited. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from talking.
Only then did he continue. “There’s the Legacy. Almost like special ops. They get sent on the most difficult cases. And lastly, the Council. They control everything.”
“Everything?”
“They assign the cases. Everyone answers to them. They’re the judge, jury, and executioners.” He slid out from under the car, went to the hood, and removed the oil filler cap.
I shuddered at the last part about the same time our American History teacher came to mind. “Is Mr. Sloan an Arbiter, too?”
“No, he’s Legacy.” He placed the cap beside the wrench and the drain plug.
A newfound awe for our history teacher blossomed in my chest. A special ops Illumenari? Could Mr. Sloan be any cooler? “You told me he’s retired. Why? He’s so young.”
A taut silence followed.
Dillan leaned against the driver’s side door and folded his arms. He focused on a point beyond where I sat. “There are many reasons for someone to retire, Selena. Sometimes people burn out. Others get really injured and they can’t function well anymore. Then there are others who lose everything, even their minds.”
“Where does Mr. Sloan fit into all that?”
“The losing their minds part.”
A pinch of pain stopped me from asking more personal questions. I knew what it meant to lose everything. I spent a whole year of my life not really in the present, so I got the “losing their mind” part, too. I moved on to a different question.
“That time you were poisoned” —I shivered— “how’d you heal yourself?”
He rubbed the charm on his cuff until his sword materialized. Dillan, ribbed shirt, sword. I nearly fainted. Oblivious to my reaction, he clutched the grip with one hand and pointed at the opaque gem.
“This stone connects the natural abilities of an Illumenari to the outside world,” he said. “Call it power, magic, chi, whatever. The point is…Illumenari can use the energy within their body to manifest anything needed by using the stone as a catalyst. That afternoon, I used it to heal.”
“That explains the blue sparks.”
“Correct. That was my energy. But at my current rank, I can only heal small wounds. If the scratch was any deeper than it was…”
Our gazes locked then. The steely blue of his eyes turned stormy. With sure movements of his wrist, his sword returned to its charm state. Then he pushed away from the GT and, in purpose-driven strides, stalked toward where I sat.
Not once did I break eye contact. The tip of my tongue darted across my bottom lip. My skin prickled at the raw strength of him barely tamed by the grace of his stride, the confidence of his stance, the arrogance in his stare. He’d hooked me. I saw it in his eyes. I understood then what made wild animals so beautiful. I never wanted to tame him.
I swallowed. Hard. The temperature in the garage rose. The smell of motor oil and metal and sweat bordered on intoxicating.
No smile. Not this time. He bent down until his hands rested on my legs. His fingers gripped my knees, but not hard enough to bruise. He distributed his weight, so I didn’t bear the brunt of it. Tortuously slow, his face inched its way closer to mine. When I shifted to meet him half way, he pulled back and waited until I moved away again. It almost physically hurt to keep still. Whoever said patience was a virtue didn’t have Dillan’s lips so close. I wanted to scream.
His dark chuckle vibrated into me, gathering just below my navel like golden honey. He let the tip of his tongue travel the edges of my mouth, sending a crash of thrilling awareness to the pads of my feet. I gasped, and he charged in. Yes. Got my Pop Rocks fix. He playfully explored the underside of my tongue, finding ticklish corners that had me giggling then moaning into his mouth.