I’m aware of his body, but I can’t quite focus on anything but his vibrant eyes, which seem to swirl with green, orange, and yellow hues. Leaning closer, I realize that the colors are actually moving, smooth and enchanting like pools of magic. When the swirling comes to a halt, I lean back, my eyes drifting to his sensual smirk, which complements his high cheekbones. Like his eyes, his hair can’t quite stay one color, and I blink repeatedly before it settles as a light brown, with reddish and blonde strands in the mix. The man’s skin is tan, his body muscular—and big, I realize as he plops down on the stool next to mine, his shoulder brushing my own.

  Damn, how did that drink work so quickly?

  “Equipment?” I ask, suddenly remembering the question that marked his approach.

  He nods to Gwev at my hip.

  “How can you see—”

  “I’m basically a sexy, walking-and-talking glamour,” the man says, his smirk deepening, “so your little charm doesn’t really fool me.”

  I take in the handsome man, trying to get a sense of his identity, but I can't pick up on his species.

  “I’m Chamille,” he says, holding out a large hand. “Short for Chameleon.”

  As in, chameleon shifter.

  Well, not quite a shifter. He probably can’t turn into a chameleon, but he can clearly act like one, blending into his surroundings and modifying his form. His kind have never exactly fallen into a category.

  And they’re very rare.

  Unable to disguise my fascination, my eyes continue to drift over the man’s body. Involuntarily, my gaze slides past him several times, and eventually I look back up to his face, the only part of him that I can really see. My eyes lock with his unsettling, gorgeous ones.

  “Your sword is a beauty. Does she have a name?”

  “Gwev.”

  “Hmm. And what about her owner? Does she have a name?” He rests his elbow on the bar and leans his chin against his fist. His body angles toward mine.

  Shit, he’s flirting with me.

  That was the whole point of coming here, I remind myself. But as the intriguing man leans closer, I can’t help but feel on edge, and I debate fleeing.

  Put your big girl panties on, damn it.

  After a moment of silence, I finally respond. “I’m Rox.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A buzz dances along my spine and I feel my cheeks heat.

  Where is Ru when you need her?

  She could flirt with this gorgeous man without trying. She wouldn’t even think about turning him down; meanwhile, I’m brainstorming polite refusals already, before he’s said anything remotely suggestive.

  I’m not Ru, I remind myself, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to do anything other than drink with this man. It’s not that he’s bad on the eyes. He’s actually far from it, even though he’s a little hard to actually see. And he doesn’t give me the creepy vibe that a lot of guys do. No, he keeps an appropriate distance between us as he watches me with those mystic eyes, not inching closer.

  This is a mistake.

  Just tell him that you have to go.

  A rattling from the bar catches my attention, and I turn to find four martini glasses filled with an orange liquid, each one topped with a cherry.

  I frown at the glasses, but the man, Chamille, takes one. The pretty drink should look odd in his huge hand, but it somehow fits him. He slides his tongue into the glass, scooping up the cherry. He closes his mouth and I watch as a drop of light red cherry juice rolls down his plump bottom lip. When he sees me watching, he winks. I shake my head at the ridiculousness of the whole act.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any cherries for me to pop, would you?”

  I laugh in surprise. “Really?” I can’t resist asking. “That’s your line?”

  He shrugs as a boyish grin crosses his face. “Not typically, but I already know you’re not interested, so why bother wasting my really good lines?” He tips the martini glass back and downs the drink.

  “How do you know I’m not interested?” I question, not denying it.

  “I told you I’m good at seeing through glamours, but I’m also pretty good at seeing through people.” He nudges one of the glasses toward me, inclining his head. “A second ago, you looked like you were preparing to bolt, or maybe run me through with that beauty,” he gestures to the sword at my side.

  I take the glass but don’t bring it to my lips. “It’s not you—”

  “Of course it’s not me,” he says with a smirk, cutting me off. “I’m perfect.” His eyes are swirling again, and I start to wonder if the effect reflects his mood somehow, if the green and orange tones represent this…mischievousness.

  “Not into dick?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Not into anything.”

  Sometimes I pretend to be a normal girl, but when I really think about what that means, I wonder: am I even capable of it? Hell, I’ve never even kissed someone.

  I have a sudden impulse to open up to this stranger and tell him the thoughts ambushing my mind, but I don’t.

  He nods. “I see. Well, as fate would have it, I’m free for the next five minutes or so. Let’s be buzzkills together.” He nods at my glass again. “That will make you feel at least a bit lively.”

  “What’s in it?” I ask with a frown.

  “Hell if I know, but the witches here make expert brews. I’ve been drinking this shit for a week straight. Ever since the club opened.”

  I respond by bringing the glass to my lips.

  The drink is cool, with a kind of spicy undertone that’s balanced out by the pineapple flavor. The mix is actually good, and I start to relax immediately, letting the warmth of the alcohol creep through my body.

  “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “What?” The casual words catch me off guard, and when I look up, I find Chamille watching me curiously.

  “I said, what’s on your mind?”

  I frown at him. “Nothing.”

  He tsks, tapping his fingers against the bar. “Now, Rox, you can’t start a friendship with lies. I told you I can read people.”

  “And that’s genuinely a gift of yours?”

  “I like to think so.” It’s not really an answer, but as he continues to watch me, I start to believe that he is gifted. There’s so much on my mind, so much I’m trying to ignore, and for some reason, he can tell.

  And who better to spill to than a stranger…

  “Tell Papa Chamille everything.”

  The dam breaks.

  “I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand directions. I want to have fun and be normal, but when I try to act like a teenager, I actually fucking hate it, which I’m sure is apparent from how miserable I look right now. But it’s not only that; I also have responsibilities. Responsibilities that require complete discipline. If I slack off for even a moment, like I tried to tonight, everything…it could all be over! And I’ll have wasted my youth on abso-fucking-lutely nothing!”

  I snatch up one of the drinks, throwing it back.

  “And gods, who am I? I’ve dedicated my life to this…responsibility. What if I’ve missed out on becoming the woman I was supposed to be because I thought I had to be someone else?”

  I signal at the bartender for another drink, unable to meet Chamille’s eyes. They’re burning a hole into me, and I know that if I look at him directly, I’ll lose the nerve to say what I’m really feeling.

  “But when I feel like this…confused, and not sure I’m doing the right thing, it feels like I’m letting my par—…my responsibilities down. And I know that I have the right to question things and be selfish sometimes, but it still makes me feel so damn guilty.”

  I’ve never let myself really focus on these thoughts, and having them out in the air, off my chest, feels freeing.

  “Do you want my opinion?” Chamille’s words bring my gaze back to him, and his eyes have stopped swirling. He looks serious.

  I nod. Hearing what he thinks won’t hurt anything; it may even help.

  “Well, for starters, if I knew what these responsibilities actually were, I might be able to help, but I know you won’t tell me.” He makes a brushing-off gesture and offers the barest of smiles. “Regardless, it sounds like you’ve been living this conflicting life for a while. It’s finally reaching a boiling point, and that’s because it’s almost time to decide who you are. You have to throw away one version of yourself to find fulfillment in the other version. You can’t wallow in limbo anymore. Choose one side of yourself and don’t look back.” The bartender places a couple of glasses in front of us, and Chamille slides one directly in front of me, his eyes locking with mine. “No more straddling the line.”

  His words feel right. I need to pick. I can’t be a disciplined warrior who occasionally takes walks on the wild side, shucking my duties. That may work for some, but with my destiny, it’s too dangerous. I can’t live in two worlds.

  I have a decision to make, but it won’t hurt to prolong it for a few more hours. Until then, I’ll try to enjoy my last night in this split life.

  “You know, you’re not just easy on the eyes. You might actually have a brain up there too,” I tell Chamille.

  He grins. “If that’s your way of saying thank you, then you’re welcome.”

  I reach for one of the glasses, but it’s quickly pulled from my fingers. “I’m assuming this is for me,” a deep voice rumbles.

  I spin in my chair, coming face-to-waist with one the biggest men I’ve ever seen. He’s got to be at least seven feet tall. At first I think he’s a Norse giant, but his tawny skin, thick brows, and dark hair suggest otherwise.

  The man glares at Chamille, who smirks at him in return, and I realize they must know each other. The big man turns his head, and I catch sight of an amdridian mark on his neck.

  He catches me looking, trying to figure out which god he’s descended from, and moves his hair to cover the mark.

  “Rox, this is Griz, my jackass best friend,” Chamille says, his tone affectionate.

  Unlike Chamille, this Grizz guy is all business, and he doesn’t spare me another look. “We need to go.”

  “Party pooper,” Chamille whines, but he’s already pushing to his feet as his figure starts to shimmer out again. “Looks like I got to jet, Rox, but it was nice meeting you. Remember my awesome advice, and may our paths cross again in the future.” He bows dramatically and almost falls over face-first. The big man, Griz, steadies him, rolling his eyes.

  Then I blink, and the guys are gone. I frown, feeling like I’ve just met one of the most peculiar men on earth.

  Shouting breaks my train of thought, and I turn to the dance floor, where a brawl seems to have broken out. When I see a flash of flying silver hair, I know exactly who’s causing trouble.

  I push through the crowd, not the least bit concerned about being rude. By the time I get to Ru, a pair of burly bouncers are holding her back. Another girl is being similarly restrained, though I can tell Ru got the better of her by the bruise already forming around her eye.

  Shaking my head, I grab Ru’s wrist as she sputters about the chick pushing her because she was dancing with her girlfriend, or some shit like that.

  “We weren’t even there forty-five minutes,” I tell Ru as I drag her out of the club, trying to figure out exactly how she managed to get sloppy drunk so quickly. She rambles on as I lead her back to the alley where the car is stashed. I’d nearly forgotten about our hostage already.

  “Keys,” I bark at Ru. There’s no way she’s going to drive us home in her condition. We’re going to return the pervert to his house with a threat, and then we’re going to pretend this weird night never happened.

  “Check and make sure he’s still in the trunk,” Ru slurs as she passes me the keys.

  I sigh and pop the trunk. Ru stands beside me, just barely able to hold herself up.

  Then the trunk lid flips up and the hostage comes bursting out, his eyes furious as he launches himself at Ru.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jakob Lowtun gurgles up blood, coughs. The sound echoes around us. His cold eyes meet mine; his body twitches. I take a deep breath, and on the exhale, I dislodge my sword from his heart and pull it free of his body. He falls backward into the trunk, lifeless.

  Silence.

  I turn to Ru. She’s standing up straight now, no longer wobbling.

  Death will sober a person up even quicker than a cold shower.

  “Holy fuck,” Ru says softly, before hoisting Lowtun’s legs into the trunk and slamming the lid. She slumps against the car, pressing her forehead to the sleek metal. Her body convulses, and I watch her try to get her breathing under control.

  I sheathe Gwev and lean against the trunk next to her. “Shit.”

  “This wasn’t part of the plan.” I almost don’t hear Ru’s muffled words.

  “From what I could tell, you didn’t really have a fucking plan,” I snap.

  “Don’t throw all the blame on me, Roxanna. I may have set this whole thing up, but you’re the one who stabbed the guy in the heart.” She turns her head to glare at me.

  “He was going to fucking kill you, Ru!”

  “And you don’t know how to deliver a non-lethal blow? Gods!” She plants her feet firmly on the ground, rises, and stumbles away. Her gray eyes narrow when they meet mine, and I can see her claws start to emerge. Then she catches herself.

  “What the fuck are we doing?” she asks, pulling up short. Her claws retract. “We can’t fight right now, Rox. We’ve got to figure this out.”

  And despite some more arguing, eventually we do figure it out. That’s how we wind up at The Blue Butcher a couple hours later.

  ↠

  Ru bangs on the back door while I keep an eye out for passersby. I have no idea how much evidence we’ve already left behind, and there’s no need to add witnesses to our list of fuck-ups.

  The door swings open. “What the fu—” Butch quiets when she sees Ru and me. Her fingers are clenched around her shotgun, per usual, and her emerald eyes roam over us before hardening. “What did you do?” she asks, her grip loosening a little.

  Ru looks at me and I stare back blankly. She shrugs a shoulder. “Joined the family business?” She tries to offer Butch a smile, but it wavers.

  “Gods.” Butch pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Bring in the body.” She squints at the car as Ru hefts the corpse out of the trunk, throwing it over her shoulder. “That car doesn’t belong to either of you,” Butch states flatly.

  “You’d be correct in that assessment,” Ru shoots back.

  Butch resumes muttering under her breath, and I make out a couple of curses. “I’ll take care of it. Just get in here and put the body on the table.” She steps out of the doorway, allowing us entry.

  I glance around what looks like typical kitchen, knowing it’s anything but. No, animal meat isn’t the only thing getting sliced up in here.

  “I’d ask for an explanation, but I honestly couldn’t give two fucks,” Butch says as she leans over the body, inspecting it. “I just need to know if you covered your tracks.”

  We don’t respond.

  “Fuck,” Butch growls. “I would have expected better from the children of professional killers.”

  “We didn’t mean to kill him,” I protest. “It just sort of…happened.”

  Butch shakes her head, picking up a knife.

  “We didn’t leave signs of a struggle at his place. But there might be some street camera footage.”

  “I need one of you to write out a detailed list of every place you went tonight, and I’m going to make sure this doesn’t come back to you.” Ru quickly locates a pen and paper and starts scribbling the details. “And this man, who is he?”

  Ru doesn’t look up from the paper, and I know she’s avoiding eye contact on purpose. I sigh, taking the bullet on this one. “Jakob Lowtun. Son of a former Synod member.”

  Butch’s knife clatters to the floor. “Just fucking great.” She glares at the two of us, and I almost take a step back at the anger I see in her eyes. Ru has her hands behind her back, trying to appear innocent.

  “I’m going to have to get your mom involved, Ru. If anyone has the connections to cover up a high-profile murder like this, it’s her.” Ru’s shoulders stiffen. “I won’t tell her that you two were involved, and I know she won’t ask for details.”

  Ru relaxes slightly, but I can still see the worry in her eyes.

  Butch crosses her arms over her chest as she looks back and forth between us. “A word of advice?” Ru and I exchange a glance. “Try not to murder anyone else without proper planning. Leave all that to your parents.”

  EPILOGUE: BUTCH

  When Butch hears a knock at her door for the second time that night, she isn’t surprised.

  She was expecting these visitors.

  She pulls the door open, not even bothering to spare her guests a look. “What took so long?” she questions as she returns to her work table, using a bone saw to cut off Jakob Lowtun’s hands.

  “Just wanted to make sure the girls got home without any more problems,” a firm, feminine voice says from the shadows of the shop.

  Butch shakes her head in slight amusement. “Really, I wish I could say I was surprised when your daughters brought me a body. Apples never fall far from the tree. Even when the apples are adopted.”

  “I just wish they weren’t so sloppy.”

  Butch throws Lowtun’s hands into a steel bucket and turns to face her visitors. The woman’s outline is just barely noticeable, her features cloaked in shadows, cigar smoke wafting into the air around her. The man’s arms are folded over his chest, and when Butch looks into his brown eyes, she can see that he’s taking this much more seriously than the woman.

  “How did you guys know?” Butch asks. It was always her intention to call them, despite what she’d told their daughters, but they’d shown up before she’d had a chance.

  “Conrad and Roxanna had an argument recently, so he was already keeping a close eye on her, and I overheard the girls talking at my house,” the woman says. Butch raises an unconvinced brow at that, and the woman responds with a bitter laugh. “Fine, Butch. One of my bugs overheard the girls talking at my house.”

 

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