Mercy Burns (Myth and Magic 2)

“And where might they be while we’re doing this?”

“The south of France, according to the neighbors.”

“Convenient.”

“Totally.” He glanced at me. “I’ll cook.”

“This morning you said you couldn’t cook.”

“No, I said I couldn’t do pancakes.” He glanced at me. “There’s coffee on the floor at the back.”

I twisted around in the seat and saw two cups sitting in a take-out tray. “You took time to grab coffee? When there’s who knows how many bad guys coming after us?”

“The bad-guy ranks are currently two down. If we keep picking them off, the odds will be on our side sooner or later.”

His voice was philosophical, but it wasn’t something I wanted to think about. I might be determined to find the people behind the cleansings and Rainey’s death, but I really hadn’t gone as far as thinking what I’d actually do once I’d found them.

Perhaps deep down I’d never really though

t that I would. “Is there nothing that scares you?”

He considered the question for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, then simply said, “Yes.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

His gaze met mine, but those dark depths were totally unreadable. Once again I had no idea what this man was thinking or feeling, and in some ways, that was even more scary than the situation we’d found ourselves in.

“You scare me,” he answered at last.

“Me?” I said, surprise making my voice little more than a squeak. “Why the hell would I scare you?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Because you don’t react as expected.”

I had a strange feeling that wasn’t what he’d actually meant, but I also knew he wouldn’t admit to anything else. Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Eleven

I leaned back in the kitchen chair and stared out the dust-covered windows. Damon’s idea of pretty was vastly different from mine—no surprise, I suppose, given he apparently found plain brown draman extremely attractive.

The apartment was part of an old confectionery factory, and it was still very industrial in feel. Old bricks, hard steel, bright chrome, and polished concrete were the flavor of the day.

But it was directly opposite Deca Dent, and provided the perfect refuge to spy on the club. Not that there was anything or anyone to spy on at the moment. The place was as deserted as an old cemetery.

Of course, we still did regular perimeter checks, just in case they used the rear entrance.

“Would you like any more steak?” Damon asked.

He was sitting opposite me, but his bare feet were caressing the bottom of my leg and there was a heated, hungry look in his eyes. The meal he’d cooked had catered to one hunger; now the other had come to the fore. Even after we’d spent a good percentage of the afternoon twined around each other, exploring and caressing and loving until exhaustion hit and the meal was ready.

But as much as I wanted nothing more than to touch and be touched, I also hungered to be something other than just another sexual partner. It might never amount to anything permanent, but I wanted to be remembered as more than just another woman in a long line of them.

So I ignored the simmering desire, and simply said, “If I eat anything else, I’ll burst.”

“What about some more red?”

I shook my head and watched him pour wine into his glass, then said, “Tell me, why do you see yourself as little more than a killer?”

“Because that’s what I do and that’s all I am.”