“Am I pretty?” the girl asked again, her voice harsh this time. Her pale hand tightened around the hilt of thekatana, and I gulped. Oh my God, she was gonna killhim!
“Yes,” the man said tightly, and I wondered why the hell he wasn’t hightailing it out of there. Why was he even talking to this crazy woman? He should be calling the cops! I had reached for my cell phone to do just that when the woman slowly lifted hermask.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed, stumbling back at the sight of her face. It was absolutely horrific—someone had slashed her mouth from ear to ear, exposing the bloody insides of her cheeks and her rows of back teeth. The loose skin flapped as she whipped her head around to face me, and bile rose in my throat as glowing blue eyes metmine.
A memory flickered in my mind of an old Japanese folktale, but before I could catch it, the gruesome woman raised herkatanaand charged me with a scream of purerage.
“Dammit, no!” the man shouted, chasing after her. The crazy woman slashed at my face with her sword, but I somehow managed to duck. Unfortunately, grace and I aren’t exactly best buddies, and I landed on my ass on thesidewalk.
The woman raised her sword again to strike, but before she could bring the blade down, a glowing piece of paper smacked into the side of her face. Howling, she dropped the sword, clutching at the paper—anofuda, I realized, staring at the Japanese characters scrolled across the vertical slip of paper. Shocked, I turned toward the man, who already had another one in his hand. I thought he was going to throw it at her, but instead, he grabbed my hand and hauled me to myfeet.
“It won’t hold her for long,” he shouted. “Run!”
“My bike!” I cried as he pulled me down the street, but there was nothing for it. Looking back, I saw the monster-woman writhing in the street, clawing at the thing on her face. A chill shot down my spine, and somehow, I knew deep down that she would get it off soon enough, and then she’d be afterus.
“Come on!” the man yelled impatiently, yanking on my hand. I could see him more clearly in the street now—he was Japanese, with tanned skin and long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Good-looking, and that strangesomethingtugged in my chest again, making me want to slow down and study him some more. But there was no time, so I turned around and pumped my legs hard, running as fast as I could. Even so, I tripped and stumbled on cracks in the sidewalk—the man’s legs were much longer, and I couldn’t keep up with his breakneckpace.
A furious shriek echoed down the street, and I looked back to see the monster-woman running after us. Cursing, my…savior? Kidnapper? New best friend? Anyway, he knocked a food cart over, scattering dango and onigiri across thesidewalk.
The vendor swore, shaking his fist at us, but my companion didn’t bother with so much as an apology. Instead, he knocked down two sandwich board signs and a table, then dragged me into an alley and shoved us through a metaldoor.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled as we stumbled into the kitchen of a ramen shop. The heavenly smells of pork bone broth and boiling noodles would normally have made my mouth water, but at the moment my stomach was flip-flopping around in my abdomen like a dying fish. “Whowasthatwoman?”
“I think the more important question,” the man growled, hauling me away from the gawking kitchen workers, “is who the hell areyou?”
“Umm, excuse me,” the chef said, appearing at the man’s elbow, “but this isn’t really the placefor—”
The man slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the metal counter. “Leave usalone.”
The chef scowled, but apparently fifty bucks was his price, because he slipped the money into his apron and slunk back off to hisworkstation.
“Do I get one of those too?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know, since I saved you from that psycho-lady?”
The man scowled. “You didn’tsaveme from anything,” he snapped. “I wasworking, and you screwed everything up by screaming like a littlegirl!”
“Youwould have screamed too if someone who had their face slashed open smiled at you!” Iprotested.
“Except I didn’t.” The man smirked. That stupid curve of his lips made my heart flutter, and a weird sense of déjà vu rippled through me. Slowly, I took him in, trying to figure out who I was dealingwith.
A modern version of Sessue Hayakawa,I thought as I looked him up and down. He had the same intense stare, strong jaw, and sensual lips that had made Hayakawa one of the first male heartthrobs in Hollywood during the silent film era. But unlike Hayakawa, he had shoulder-length hair that he pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, he dressed in modern clothes, and his eyes were a bitlarger.
Those eyes were magnetic—they were the kind of eyes that could hold a woman’s attention whether they sparkled with laughter or darkened with brooding anger. The kind of eyes that pulled you right in and made you feel as if he could see every inch of yoursoul.
And so what if he looks like a celebrity hottie?I scolded my fluttering heart.That doesn’t mean he has the right to manhandleyou.
Depends on what kind of manhandling we’re talking about,a wicked voice in my head said. I shoved that voice back into the dark depths from whence it had come and finished myperusal.
He stood a good six inches taller than me and was dressed in a black button-down that strained against his broad shoulders, jeans that hinted at powerful thighs, and a pair of black boots that looked like they could do some serious ass-kicking. A clunky-looking keychain hung from a lanyard attached to his belt loops, and though I was curious about that, it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the rest ofhim.
“Are you done staring yet?” the man asked, a hint of dry humor in hisvoice.
I frowned at him. “What’s your name, anyway? The least you could do after almost getting me killed is tell me who the hell youare.”
“Getting you killed?” he sputtered. “Why, you—” He stopped himself, clearing his throat. “You’re getting us offtrack.”
“Didn’t realize we had an agenda.” I folded my arms across my chest and leaned my hips against the table behindme.
“Fine. My name is Raiden Takaoka, of the Takaoka Shaman Clan.” His eyes narrowed. “We’re the only shaman clan in America, or so I thought. Which clan are youfrom?”
