Ouch! Bloody hell, ouch, that stings.
I try to yank the thing off my shoulder as I look in the mirror. One by one, sharp, curved claws extend from both sides and sink into my shoulder. It’s painful as hell as they get a grip on my shoulder and pectoral on either side.It’s nowhere near as sharp and razor-fine as the wife’s claws, so I felt every centimeter latching on. I pull on it, noticing it seems to dig in deeper and hold on. Buggering shit, it’s a paw that’s embedding itself into my chest and back, I growl.
Thin trails of blood trickle from each pointed tip, stopping a few inches below the claws. I’m not bleeding badly, and though the application stung like a bitch, I’ve got to admit that for a cat man like me, it doesn’t feel so unpleasant right now. The bulge in my paint pants says it all.
Crafty nit, that monster.
“You killed aconvent, mass murdered a group of teens, and wreaked havocin New York City.” Her words, spoken in a sardonic, irritated tone, came from the doorway. She’s not disbelieving, only matter of fact. I’d forgotten all about my golden goddess during the shoulder pad incident, so I’m not prepared.
I had no idea which of my illegal capers the old sod had gotten onto, so I couldn’t have prepared to answer this inquisition. It’s good to know that he’s blaming my wife’s capers on me now. I wasn’t present at the horror movie remake she staged in the woods.
Her lips curve up appreciatively at my outfit, giving me a slight reprieve on the answer. That’s the lusty wench I know and love. I take a minute to eyeball her since, although it's not for me, I have to say you could kill me right now and I’d be sodding happy.
She’s standing in a belligerent stance, looking indignant. Her hands are on her hips, legs spread a bit with her head held high and her chin up. Talia has fire in her eyes, and it makes me glad to see it. She’s my mate, though not the one I’m—well, that’s for later. My primary is rocking snakeskin-like they made it for her.
It looks good, especially when there’s little else on her.
It’s yet another Damien-created design. He clothed my primary in an adhesive, reddish-green snakeskin that starts with a knee-high stiletto boot on her right foot and follows a trail of scales that wind around her thigh, up her pelvic bone, and over the important parts. It covers everything, but only just.
The scales roll in a loop around her stomach, wrap around her waist to her back, and then dip over her ass and back up. After that, it coils twice and then drops over her left shoulder.Another loop mostly covers her nipples and breast, then ends in a snakehead the size of my fist. Its fangs extend to penetrate her skin over her left nipple and areola.
I assume it must work a lot like mine with fangs digging into her skin. She has a few blood trails on her, too, and I grin.
She gives me an evil smirk. “Great minds.”
I smirk back, shaking my head. “Sorry to say I had nothing at all to do with this one, love. I think Damien’s been up to his old tricks again, handing out the treaties without explaining the consequences. You should have a talk with that sod.”
She winks and shrugs.
That does unholy things to her body in the getup. Shit; it’s a good thing the minx will be preoccupied with me at the party, because I’m not sure Sampson’s possessiveness will extend the courtesy to her tonight. She has the snake eyes going and slicked-back hair twisted into a serpent-like coil. Her dark, sultry makeup and the blades she never goes without top off a killer ensemble. She got sheaths for all her blades made to match, and she’s got Baby shined up.
I nod, knowing she’s dressed to kill. “Bullocks, woman. You’ll be stopping and starting hearts all over the place.”
Talia looks down at herself, eyes dropping to the ring on her left hand. Her eyes are eerie when they’re serpentine and she looks at me with a seductive smile. “I’ll be doing more than that if anyone thinks this is for anyone but him. That is, if he doesn’t do it first.”
Shoulders squared, she narrows her eyes and sends me an image of pain and death. My woman is beyond able to take care of herself, but with him, she’s even stronger.
It’s good to see.
“Now, about this convent and the rest.”
Bloody hell, I thought she was focused on getting to her mate, and she’d forgotten about the killing-people-not-on-the-death-list thing. “I was peckish, pet, and in a mood.”
She snorts. “I don’t think so. Something of that size wasn’t done alone, much less in a hungry snit. Not to mention that I know for a fact you were in this house when the teens died. NYC reports show more fangs than you possess. Try again.”
“What’d the ponce say, then? I’m on some horrible duty for the next month?”
My minx had a rough night because of a phone conversation that ended with her stomping her phone. She was looking to get bloody, fed, and—well, we’ll leave the convent story for another time. Unscheduled mass deaths in a church do not fly under the radar like we’d hoped. The massacre in the forest was how she coped with a dreadful night, and Central Park was a date night.
Each outing made her happy, and I got laid—life was good until now.
When I break Company rules—which I have to abide by as an agent—I end up teaching some hopeless class of new recruits for a semester. They’re all cut from the same wanna-be me cloth, and it is mind-numbing.
It’s how I learned to knit, for Christ’s sake.
So here I am, being all noble, keeping her name out of it since she’s still all probationary and shit. Unfortunately, it’s not helping because she left her own little mark on the last two events. She’s been keeping her powers under wraps for the general populace at work until she gets the respect she deserves, and I don’t blame her. I also don’t want her trapped in a lab full of needles.
“No,” Talia drawls. “Mikhail got pissed, but they’ve been waiting to see a display of genuine power from your little blood warrior. I think they were soft-balling her missions on purpose until now.”
