Frozen Desires (Asylums for Magical Threats 2)

Of course, until he found out what she’d discovered inside the observatory, Cam was one of the reasons he was here. And there was no reason he couldn’t try to have a little fun with her before he went back to hiding behind a fake face and an even faker smile.

The music started up again and he made his way toward Cam, careful to stay far enough back in the crowd to blend in and not draw attention to himself. When she was a few feet in front of him, he pushed up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. She froze and quickly placed her hand on his arm, her nails close to his skin, ready to slice him.

He caressed one of his fingers against her side and leaned close to her ear, catching the wild scent of the jungle. He smiled and whispered, “Gotcha.”

Cam had a weakness for live music.

After her sister had been carted off to the Asylum for Magical Threats’ prison system, or even when her parents had died in a staged car accident, music had been her sole source of healing. Lyrics in particular had often shown her that she wasn’t the only one with painful memories or a difficult life history.

Things were not as dark for her as they’d been five or ten years ago, but music still played a pivotal role in helping her calm down and focus. When she’d heard the music drifting through the window of the bed and breakfast, it had called to her, inviting her to relax for a few minutes and recharge her batteries. Zalika and Jacek had assured her they’d be fine, so after a quick change of clothes, she’d gone to the main plaza where the band was performing in front of the town hall.

The large ensemble was playing some of kind of upbeat Mexican folk song. People were even dancing in the square. A man had asked her to dance, but she’d turned him down. Even if she didn’t have to avoid drawing attention to herself, Cam had a reputation to uphold. The only dancing she did was in her kitchen.

For now, she simply swayed and enjoyed the music guilt-free. After finding people to help translate bits of the message she’d found at Chichen Itza—split into sections for security reasons—she’d discovered that she couldn’t do anything for her mission until tomorrow at the Sunday market near this plaza. She’d also inquired about the shadow-shifter, but no one had spotted him since that first day. She’d decided that if she stayed in the crowds and well-lit areas, she’d be fine, so she had gone out.

The song finished, and she clapped. She could stay for one or two more songs before heading back. The market started bright and early tomorrow morning, and she wanted to double-check her strategy with Jacek and Zalika before going to sleep.

As another song began, two hands circled her waist, and while she should’ve tensed at the contact, the touch felt familiar. She glanced down without moving her head, and noticed that the hands were a rich mahogany color. That ruled out her ex, but not Marco.

She frowned. She knew of his reputation, but honestly, she’d expected better of him in public.

Since she was in the middle of a crowded area full of humans, all Cam could do was lay her hand on the man’s arm with her nails close to the skin, ready to skewer him at the first sign of trouble.

One of the fingers around her waist began gently stroking her lower ribcage. The heat and touch was similar to what she’d felt when she’d been pressed up against Marco’s side back at the observatory. Cam tried to turn and break away so she could see if it was him or not, but the man’s hands didn’t budge.

Her options were limited in this crowded area, but maybe she could stomp on his foot with her shoe and disappear into the crowd. She could easily play it as discouraging a drunken man’s unwanted attention.

As she tried to determine the best way to cause maximum pain, the man shifted behind her, his breath warm against her ear. “Gotcha.”

Cam narrowed her eyes and decided she’d find a way to make him pay for his manhandling, later when he least expected it. “Marco.” She pressed her nails harder against his skin, but not quite breaking it. “You found me.”

He snorted. “Wasn’t that the point?” He kept one hand on her waist, and while never trying to disengage from her grip on his forearm, he sidled to her side. “What were you translating today?”

She looked askance at him. “Who told you that?”

“Only about five different people.” He tugged at her braid with his free hand. “Between your scars and this braid, you’re too memorable. You need a better disguise.”

She had never been a vain person. But people often commented on how women weren’t supposed to have scars on their face, as if she’d had any choice in the matter.

She tried to step away, but Marco’s grip was like steel. She clenched her teeth, hating the reminder that Marco would always be physically stronger than she would simply because he was a man.

He tsked. “I saved your ass, yet you repaid me by ditching me in the jungle. You owe me. The least you could do is tell me what you were translating today.”

He held her gaze, confidence oozing from every pore. No doubt, he expected her to answer him.

She wanted to wipe that look away just to spite him, but she knew that was childish. Despite how much she wished to forget it, he had helped her back at Chichen Itza. Also, he’d passed her second test, proving he was also a skilled tracker. If that wasn’t enough in his favor, his ability to find out information in this neck of the woods was a skill she desperately needed to run a better team.

While she would make him understand that touching her freely in public wasn’t an option, she was smart enough to see the value of Marco becoming one of her assets.

To ensure his cooperation in the future, there was no harm in telling him the gist of the message she’d found, especially since she was the only one who knew the entire contents of the message.

She looked around, but everyone in the surrounding crowd was focused on either the dancers or the band. She leaned in toward him and said, “There was a message in the ruins, written in the old Feiru language. I don’t know enough of the old language to translate it, so I had to get some help.”

He pulled her close enough that she could smell the mixture of aftershave and male. She took a deep whiff, but then realized what she was doing and dug her nails a little deeper into his arm.

Before she could think of another way to put distance back between them, Marco whispered into her ear, “Beauty, if you’d bothered to ask, you would’ve found out that I speak more than just Spanish and English.” He tipped up her chin with his finger, his eyes lowering to half-mast. “I have a very talented tongue.”

Already relaxed by the music, Cam revised her plans to make him a eunuch and snorted. He was hitting on her or at least attempting to. “Does that line actually work on people?”