Emma shot Travis a glare.
I straightened, taking Emma’s look to mean I’d been insulted. “My missions take me all over the world, but I do not interact with civilians longer than duty calls for. I speak over fifty languages, not all of them well, but I can navigate any terrain. So no, I do not stay long enough to familiarize myself with eccentricities of any one culture. I show up, I adapt, I hunt, and then I return to the Temple.”
They quieted, seeming to process. I stalked toward the vehicles, feeling foolish. I’d never exposed myself in such a way. It felt like I’d roll over to show them the soft underside of my belly, like a pig unaware it was ever in danger of being slaughtered.
After a brief discussion, we piled into Emma’s black jeep over Travis’s rusted truck, which had only two seats in the small cab. Travis complained that he got carsick and should be allowed to sit in the front. However, I pressed the necessity of my being in front to watch for any impending threats. Plus, it was tactically optimal for him to sit in the back where he would be most protected. He begrudgingly got in the back but only after Emma threatened to slug him again if he didn’t get into the vehicle.
As Emma drove, Travis slumped back and crossed his arms, sulking. “Always believe a pretty face, do you?” he asked me. “Safe house, my ass.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, Emma put her hand on me again, silencing my thoughts with a pleasurable heat that was only intensified by her smile. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just upset he has to sit in the back.”
Travis let out a snort but didn’t say anything else.
After ten minutes, Emma drove up to a three-level brick building. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she said, “It’s just upstairs.”
Pleased to know she also had safe houses at the ready, I followed Emma into the building and up two flights of stairs, Travis trudging behind us. On the stairs, a mother in a long red coat passed us. She held the miniature hand of a child bundled up in a pink and purple coat and snow pants so that the child waddled more than walked down the stairs. I realized what Emma had done.
After we exited the stairs to a hallway, I grabbed Emma’s arm to slow her down, though a small part of me knew I was using any excuse to touch her. I harshly whispered, “We should also not be in a place crawling with civilians in case we come under attack.”
“Don’t worry.” Effortlessly shaking off my grasp, she stopped in front of an apartment door with the number 301 on it and unlocked the door.
“Emma, have you taken us to –” I didn’t get a chance to finish the question before I was interrupted.
“Who’s the stud, roomie?”
A young woman, Emma’s age, was sitting on a charcoal couch, her long, pale leg perched on a dark-wood coffee table. While she struggled to pull on a knee-high boot, her predatory eyes raked me up and down. From her cropped black hair to her revealing purple skirt and low-cut top, everything about her was downright indecent.
The living room she sat in was connected to a small galley kitchen with a large cutout so you could see between rooms. Paintings decorated the beige walls. They were strange, merely globs of color with little form and nothing recognizable to me. Multiple jars of lit candles filled the apartment with the smell of baked goods.
Travis pushed past me to get inside. “Didn’t know you thought I was a stud, Krystan.”
“Didn’t mean you, dick-head,” Krystan said flatly, her disappointment evident with his entry.
Travis put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t know you were still so obviously desperate for attention. Thought maybe it was just a high school phase.”
Krystan gave him a smile that was anything but friendly. “Better to be in the spotlight than stick to the shadows like some spineless little wallflower. By the way, who did you take to prom again, babyface?”
Travis ground his teeth, “We’ve been out of high school for four years Krystan.” Then he added in earnest, “My mom was a teacher so she was a chaperone. She wasn’t my date.”
Krystan went back to pulling up her boot as if disinterested now. “Sure, because all the teenagers took a turn dancing with the Prom chaperones.”
Having had enough of this interlude, I cut in. “Emma,” I said as neutrally as possible through my clenched jaw. “Could I speak with you in private?”
“Oooh, can I come?” Krystan asked, then shimmied her shoulders and licked her teeth.
Travis leaned toward me and nudged me in the ribs with an elbow. “Told ya the pretty ones will mess with you.”
I couldn’t get my brows to unfurrow or wipe the scowl off my face. None of this was helping my focus or calm so I could create a portal that would take us to my Masters.
“Come on Calan, we can talk in my room,” Emma said. I followed her to the room straight back from the entrance. She held the door open for me, so I went in first. She shut the door behind us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emma’s bedroom was a concentrated wave of her intoxicating scent. It rolled over me, nearly sweeping me away. It was a mixture of vanilla and the inviting salt of her skin. It instantly fogged my mind and made my mouth water, so I switched from breathing through my nose to shallow breaths with my mouth.
The walls were painted a shade darker than lavender and the bedspread was a light heather gray. The bed swallowed up most of the space so there was barely room for both her and me to stand with any comfortable room between us. A slim, white oak desk was pushed up against the far wall. Photos of Emma with Krystan were scattered about in ornate frames. Piles of books with broken spines were on the floor, on the desk, and bursting out of the seven-foot bookshelf in the corner by the small window. Almost all had pictures on the front of muscular men holding women in some kind of embrace.
“How could you?” I found my incredulity once more.
