Riven (Mirus 2)

She stepped gingerly over their captive and into the bedroom.

“Change clothes,” he called. “And do it fast.”

Ian stretched his senses out, waiting for someone to come investigate the noise. It hadn’t been that loud, but these walls were paper thin. The warlock was already starting to rouse as Ian hauled him up, moved him to one of the kitchen chairs. A strike to the temple took care of that. As the other man’s head lolled back, Ian began to pat him down for weapons. No gun. A knife in his boot, which Ian liberated. No garrot. Not even a pair of brass knuckles. This was no Hunter, Council-sanctioned or otherwise. This guy was sloppy, untrained. He’d followed no existing protocols. So what the hell was he doing here? Shoving the question aside for now, Ian raided the room for more bindings and a makeshift gag, strapping him to the chair. It would hold him for a little while at least.

Marley stepped out of her bedroom. She’d twisted her hair up and tugged a tweed engineer’s cap over it. The hoodie she’d slipped on was a nondescript gray, and the shoes were made for running.

Ian nodded. “Good.”

“I’m good at being invisible.”

Never to me, he thought. But humans didn’t have his extra senses. With the bulging backpack thrown over her shoulder, she would blend in with all the other tourists once they hit the capital.

“Do you need anything else?”

She took a quick look around the room, gaze lingering on some kind of artist’s desk before she grabbed a sketch pad from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it in her bag.

The faint glow of purple faded, replaced by steely resolve. Good. He’d need her to hold it together so they could get out of the city.

He slipped the warlock’s knife into his own boot, noting the way her eyes followed his hand before sliding back to his face. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said. I promise. The words trembled at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t utter them. He didn’t make promises. Soldiers didn’t get such luxuries. Instead, he held out a hand.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Marley took it. “Where are we going?”

Ian glanced back at the warlock. No way to know if he was conscious.

Marley followed his gaze. “Oh.”

The edgy fear skittering beneath her skin called to his hunger, urging him to feed. Ruthless, he shoved the desire down. She was not prey. He would never feed on her emotions, never hurt her that way. But he would have to find somewhere, someone to feed on soon. Ian could feel his stores of energy ebbing. Without his abilities, he was little more than a man, and a half of one at that.

He took them downstairs and out the back door he’d scoped on prior recon. The cracked and weedy patio was devoid of any furniture, so he expected no one as they stepped outside. The snap and flash of something white to his left had Ian jerking Marley behind him.

“Heard about you,” said the woman as she attached the sheet to the line with a wooden pin.

Marley peeked out. “Hi, Mrs. Newman.”

“Jumpy,” said the woman, reaching for another sheet. “But good lookin’.”

Marley cuddled close again and smiled at Mrs. Newman. “Isn’t he, though?”

The woman surveyed him from head to toe and back again. “Reckon he’s worth all the noise you made and then some.”

“Uh,” stammered Marley, her cheeks flushing.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. My Johnny was in the service. I remember what it was like when he got home.”

I have stepped into a parallel universe, he thought. The warlock could wake up any minute, and we’re standing here discussing the quickie we didn’t actually have.

Ian glanced at the second floor, but his mind had taken a quick detour from the warlock to an image of taking Marley against the wall.

Mission. Must stay on mission.

The instinct to draw back into the nearest shadow beat through him, but he could hardly take the risk. So he wrapped an arm around Marley’s shoulders and tried to play into the cover she’d established. Putting on an American accent, he said, “I’m taking my girl on a little road trip.”

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.” Ian reached into his pocket and conjured the illusion of a ring box. He just pulled it out where the older woman could see and winked.

The motion felt completely alien, but apparently he pulled it off because Mrs. Newman grinned and nodded in approval. “Romantic getaway. She deserves it. Works too hard.”