How Beauty Met the Beast

By Jax Garren

The Beast

Scarred. Damaged. Living with a

terrible secret. Agent of the Underlight
Wesley “Hauk” Haukon has nothing left
but the fight for liberty against the
oppressive Order of Ananke. He’s
starting to lose hope...and then he sees
her.

The Beauty

Despite her night job as a burlesque

dancer, grad student Jolie Benoit has
always played the mostly good girl. That
all changes following a scorching sexual
encounter with a stranger whose face she
doesn’t see. After she’s kidnapped by
thugs and rescued by a man with a very
familiar voice, Jolie becomes a pawn in
a struggle she never knew existed.

Hauk knows he cannot have her,

and resolves to protect his heart and his
secrets. But as they work together and
grow closer, he finds new reason to

keep fighting. Dare he risk hope in a new
life, one where Jolie can see past his
ravaged face and where their friendship
can grow into something more?

38,000 words

Dear Reader,

Exciting things happen in

November. It’s the month we first
announced the creation of Carina Press,
the month of my Harlequin employment
anniversary and it’s the month when we
in the U.S. get gorge-yourself-on-bad-
carbs-and-turkey day (otherwise known
as Thanksgiving). We also get Black
Friday (I think they call it that because of
the color of your bruises after you’ve
been run over by crazy shoppers).

This November, we’re excited to

release our first Carina Press book in
trade print format. The Theory of

Attraction, an erotic BDSM romance
collection featuring novellas from
Delphine Dryden, Christine d’Abo and
Jodie Griffin, is on shelves and
available for order online.

We also have fourteen new stories

in digital for you to enjoy post-turkey
coma, in that long, long line outside the
mall on Black Friday or, if neither of
those is your thing, to enjoy just because
you like a good book! Try to avoid the
crime and violence of some of those
crazy holiday shoppers and enjoy some
on-page suspense instead. Marie Force
is back with her popular Fatal series and
ongoing protagonists Nick and Sam, in

her next romantic suspense, Fatal
Deception. Also returning is author
Shirley Wells with Dying Art, the next
Dylan Scott mystery.

I’m happy to introduce debut author

Jax Garren’s new trilogy, which kicks
off this month with How Beauty Met the
Beast. This novella grabbed my attention
when I read it on submission, with off-
the-charts sexual tension, a wonderful,
character-driven futuristic world, a
smart, sassy heroine and a tortured,
scarred hero who yearns for nothing
more than to keep the woman he’s
secretly falling in love with safe.

Looking for something out-of-this-

world to take you away from the pre-
holidaan %y madness? J.L. Hilton offers
up her next cyberpunk science-fiction
romance, Stellarnet Prince, continuing
the adventures of futuristic blogger
extraordinaire Genny. Meanwhile, Cáit
Donnelly’s Now You See It gives a
paranormal edge to a thrilling romantic
suspense, while erotic fantasy romance
Dark Dealings by Kim Knox is
guaranteed to give you that “take me
away” feeling.

Joining Kim with erotic romance

releases this month are Jodie Griffin
with her next Bondage & Breakfast

novella, Forbidden Desires, and Lynda
Aicher’s first of a BDSM trilogy, Bonds
of Trust. All three books in this trilogy
are both smokin’ hot, while delivering a
wonderful, captivating story.

We have two authors with

male/male releases this month, including
L.B. Gregg’s contemporary romance
Men of Smithfield: Adam and Holden.
Also in the male/male niche, author
Libby Drew has her first Carina Press
release, paranormal male/male romance
40 Souls to Keep.

Susanna Fraser’s An Infamous

Marriage is our lone historical romance

offering this month, but one that won’t
disappoint. Anchoring us in the here and
now are several contemporary romance
titles. Jeanette Murray’s No Mistletoe
Required aims to get you into a holiday
mood and December Gephart bursts onto
the publishing scene with her debut, the
witty, fun and romantic Undercover
Professor.

And don’t miss the upcoming

conclusion of Shannon Stacey’s second
Kowalski family trilogy, All He Ever
Dreamed.

Wherever your reading pleasure

takes you, enjoy this month’s variety of

releases as we gear up for the holiday
season.

We love to hear from readers, and

you can email us your thoughts,
comments and questions to

[e-mail]

. You

can also interact with Carina Press staff
and authors on our blog, Twitter stream
and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press

www.carinapress.com

www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress

Dedication

To Scott, for patience and love.

To Mom and Dad, for not

resembling any

of the parents in this book.

But mostly to Laura, for TV and

cocktails.

Acknowledgments

They say to write what you know,

but I’ve never been good at that.Dadv I
deeply appreciate everyone who helped
me look like I know what I’m talking
about anyway. All mistakes are mine,
but the following people ensured I made
a whole lot fewer of them.

A huge thank you to Lynn Raridon,

Jonny Reynolds and the amazing dancers
and stage crew at the Texas Burlesque
Festival. Volunteering for TBF is the
most fun research I have ever done. A
special thanks to Coco Lectric, Ray
Gunn, Jolie Ampere Goodnight, Goldie

Candela, Dolce Dream, Shannon Doah
and Kristina Nekyia, for answering
questions and being so willing to share
your amazing art form with me. Your
passion for dancing and your incredibly
supportive community are inspiring.

Thanks to Jessica Scott, for being a

wonderful roommate at RWA 2011 and
for answering all my military questions.
You are a fantastic writer and a cool
friend.

To all the brave people who told

their stories of burn survival, who
posted pictures and shared fears and
hopes, I can’t tell you how much I

admire your strength. Thank you from the
bottom of my heart for being so open.
You are amazing.

A shout-out to The Jellyfish: Karen

MacInerney, Emily McKay and Skyler
White. Thanks for letting a n00b join
your ranks and listen to your wisdom. I
love our lunches. Another shout out to
Austin RWA and all the wonderful
ladies and gents who have given me
advice and support and shared your
wonderful stories and sense of humor. I
wouldn’t be here without you. A final
shout-out to Hilda Ollman, Ellen Kunish
and the other ladies I worked with in the
New Jersey Writing Project. You told

me I was good enough to take this
writing thing seriously, and I listened to
you. The right words at the right time can
change a life. Thank you for helping
change mine.

Thank you to Rhonda Helms, my

awesome editor. This book is so much
better because of your work. After all
the wacky editor tales I’ve heard, I
admit I was terrified to meet you, but I
am a lucky, lucky girl. And I love your
caffeinated tweeting.

Thanks to Katherine White, for

being my best friend for, oh lord, almost
half my life. Your photography skills and

your web designs kick ass! You are my
personal PR machine, and I would be
totally lost without you.

Thank you to my family—to my

parents, Robert and Carolyn, and my
aunt and cousins and grandmother—for
being so supportive of a kid with her
head in the clouds. You gave me the
courage to dream big. Thank you to my
husband, Scott, who put up with long
hours, homemaking WTFery and a wife
whose brain is often “elsewhere” so I
could pursue those dreams. You are my
hero.

Most of all, thanks to my sister,

Laura Landstrom, for helping this idea
take root and grow. Hauk may not be a
manimal, but I hope he gives you fever
anyway. I love you, Kiddo.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six
Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

About the Author

Copyright

Chapter One

Hauk’s steambike raced down the

dark highway, seven of those damn
mercenaries from The Hands of Atropos
in pursuit and gaining. “Come on...come
on...” he urged his little steam-engine
that couldn’t.

“If you break your bike, Tally will

kill us!” Brayden yelled over the wind
as he desperately clutched onto Hauk.

“Tally needs to speed it up! I can

outmaneuver, but I can’t outrace a real
motorcycle,” Hauk shouted back.

“This is a real motorcycle.”
“Ninety percent of the time I’d agree

with you.” Usually he appreciated the
genius it took to build a bike that used no
gasoline and emitted no CO2. But right
now the Hands were nigh on top of them
and his accelerator was maxed out.
Practicality was about to all-too-
literally beat the shit out of idealism.
“Just keep hold of that backpack and let
me drive.”

But there was no point. They were

caught on the highway, where Hauk and
his

inferior

speed

were

at

the

disadvantage. Even swerving between
cars he couldn’t pull ahead. The damn
Hands would take the shoulder and press
on, police lights blaring.

Oh yeah, this time they had the law on

their side. Political bastards.

“Godsdammit, Hauk, why are you

slowing down?”

“So you can make a run for it with the

stash. I’ll hold ’em off as long as I can.”

For once Brayden was silent as the

blaring sirens crescendoed.

His silence didn’t last. “Even you

aren’t bulletproof.” He drummed Hauk’s
arm in sudden excitement. “Exit here!
Here!”

Hauk would question later. For now

he veered a hard right that snaked them
across two lanes of traffic and onto the
feeder. Their tails didn’t make the cut in
time. Hauk exhaled in relief, but he knew
their spot of luck wouldn’t last. The
Hands of Atropos would roll from the

shadows like rats in pursuit of raw meat
and continue the chase.

“Under the highway. Head for

downtown.”

“We’re not leading them home.” But

Hauk took the turn anyway. They’d have
a better shot at losing them in the streets
of downtown Austin—as well as a
better chance of wrecking his new bike
or driving amok through unsuspecting
pedestrians. Like the Hands of Atropos
and their bosses at the Order of Ananke,
Hauk and the other Citizens of the
Underlight didn’t like drawing attention
to themselves. It might be the only thing
the warring groups agreed on.

“Catrina’s got her holiday show

tonight at the abandoned electric station

by the lake. She’ll hide us until it’s
clear.”

Fear, irrational and more gut-deep

than what any armed enemy could
inspire, clenched Hauk’s stomach.
Reflexively his hand released the
accelerator and the bike stalled out
beneath the overpass. He bit out, “I’m
not going to Catrina’se. m.”

“You’ll be fine. Just keep moving.”
“Come up with a new plan.”
“Fine. Keep your helmet on when you

walk inside. That’s the new plan.”

Hauk glared at his friend through the

face shield. “Yeah, ’cause that won’t get
us noticed.”

Brayden huffed. “Then take it off. It’s

a flippin’ maze in there. No one will see
you. And she doesn’t care about your
face anyway. Now, for the love of the
gods, let’s get our asses and our ill-
gotten goods somewhere safe.” He
slapped the backpack of evidence they’d
risked their necks tonight to acquire.
“What’s in here is more important than
your pride.”

Hauk clenched his jaw. “Did you

forget the part where I’m a wanted man
and can’t just go gallivanting around in
public?”

A bullet slammed against the pilings.
Brayden screeched, “Get us out of

here!”

Hauk slammed the accelerator and

the bike zipped forward in a cloud of

steam. Maybe he would head to
Catrina’s. He knew her; she wouldn’t
turn him in. And he and Brayden had
worked too hard tonight to get caught
now.

But it wasn’t Catrina who set his

mind on edge. Her “show” was Pussy
Will-Oh! Burlesque, an always-crowded
affair full of jazz music, neon cocktails
and amazingly talented, scantily clad
women. Hauk didn’t like crowds, and
crowds didn’t like him. His face and
body, or what was left of it from his time
in Afghanistan, was a mess of burn scars
and tattoos. He could kill the joy in a
room simply by stepping from the
shadows. And women? He’d take any

amount of physical pain over the
horrified looks his disfigured form
invariably put on their faces.

Add to that, he was wanted for seven

other soldiers on his squad who also
went up in flames—but wound up in
coffins. He didn’t remember a thing
about that night to explain how he was
the lone survivor. Maybe he had gone
nuts and torched a barracks full of his
fellow Rangers. But that didn’t feel
right. He’d fought beside those men,
relied on them. More importantly, they’d
relied on him. He’d know if he’d
violently betrayed his men and his
country.

Wouldn’t he?
Hauk gritted his teeth as he turned his

steambike toward the narrow lake that
wound through downtown, reflecting
neon-illuminated skyscrapers like a
demented disco ball. He didn’t do
public appearances. And he really
didn’t do Catrina’s shows. Except,
apparently, tonight.

* * *

Jolie Benoit’s heart beat an excited

patter. She gripped tight to the silver
lyra, a hoop suspended from the ceiling,
as it lowered between the cement
walkways of the abandoned electric
company and into the spotlight below.
She’d draped herself into the curve, one

knee propped up in sensual invitation
and one thigh hooking the metal for
support. Her very first audience—at
least, for this kind of dancing—came
into view surrounding Pussy Will-Oh!’s
little platform stage as they lounged at
their cafe tables and drank exotic
cocktails. Her obscenely long fake
lashes batted furiously as she not-so-
innocently licked a candy cane.

Jolie had been dancing her whole

life, but while the pointe shoes were
familiar, the rest of her costume was a
far cry from the tights and leotards she’d
worn as a student at the prim and proper
Houston Ballet. Tonight a “Mrs. Claus”
dress hid a red and white corset and a
feathered bustle sittred buskirt. The

white thigh-highs and garter belt was a
combo she’d never worn outside the
bedroom, but she’d proudly show them
off in public tonight.

At seventeen she’d given up her

dream of dancing professionally because
of her parents’ insistence that “Benoits
may study ballet. They attend and
financially support the ballet. They don’t
dance in it.” Such exposure would be
beneath them.

Giddily she grinned and gave the

candy cane one more long lick as the
audience

laughed.

Speaking

of

exposure...if her parents only knew
where she was dancing now. “I’ve been
thinking about everyone’s favorite part

of the holidays.” She pursed her lips and
widened

her

eyes

dramatically.

“Everyone does have the same favorite
part, right?”

The

audience

yelled

back:

“Presents!”

She blew out a breath of mock relief.

“Oh, good. For a moment there I thought
‘hope’ or ‘good will’ was going to come
up. But you’re my kind of audience.
Presents! Yes!” She gave the candy
another thoughtful lick. “But I got to
thinking about it, and presents aren’t my
favorite part anymore.” As the audience
“aww”ed their reaction, she looked up
at the twisting shadows from whence
she’d descended. “Cassie, darling, could
you let me down a little more? I know I

look like I can handle this thing, but
really, I just like riding it. Put me closer
to the floor.”

The audience laughed as the lyra

lowered until she could delicately step
off.

“Much better. As I was saying,

presents are no longer my favorite part
of the holidays. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

The

echoed

response

reverberated around the cavernous
space, filling even the darkest corners
with joyous energy.

She loved burlesque audiences. They

participated. The vibe was so real. So
human.

She wrapped the candy cane and

stuck it in her voluminous skirt.
“Because! I won’t get presents this year.
Or ever again. I had an epiphany. Want
to hear my epiphany?”

The audience shouted an approval.

The piano started playing the intro for
the song she’d written—her songwriting
debut, as well as her debut with Pussy
Will-Oh!.

“We get one day— one day—of

presents for three hundred and sixty-four
days of being good. Boxes of useless
crap for a year’s worth of no fun? What
kind of rip-off deal is that? This year, I
decided...” She slowly peeled down a
glove to cheering applause. “I’m going
to be naughty those three hundred and
sixty-four days.” The glove snapped off.

She let it fall and moved to the other
one. “And when the holidays come
around...” She sang with her best
whiskey voice, “I’ll get nothing, get
nothing...and like it!”

She launched onto her toes for the

striptease, using her classical training in
ways she’d never been allowed as she
sang and smiled and played with her
audience. With the removal of two
hairpins, her red-gold curls tumbled
around her shoulders. The Santa dress
unsnapped from the front to reveal her
corset and bustle. Her toes carried her
into the air again, and she spun and
leaped to the howling appreciation of the
audience. Then the bustle was gone,

leaving her in a corset and ruffled hot
pants. She stepped back onto the lyra.

She’d been lying when she said she

couldn’t use it.

The circle rose back into the air with

her once more on it. She crooned about
all the naughty things she planned to do
as she unhooked the corset. Amidst
escalating cheers the fabric fluttered to
the ground, leaving of nd, leaher in a red
lace bra as revealing as she could find
while supporting her enough to dance.

Now for her favorite part of the

routine. She took hold of the metal,
flipped and swung, piked and did the
splits, flashing the audience in a way that
would’ve made her parents pass out—
all from ten feet in the air and to

resounding applause.

She backflipped off the lyra and

sucked in air to sing the last chorus of
her number: “There may be coal in my
stocking, my old friends may be
mocking, but baby, I lived every day. I
got nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing!
Ow! And I like it this way.”

The crowd hopped to its feet as she

bowed, flushed with her success and
ready for more.

* * *

In the shadows at the back of the

party, Hauk tried unsuccessfully to close
his jaw. He was supposed to join

Brayden in a backroom, somewhere safe
from all the eyes. But his feet were
rooted to the floor, his own eyes locked
on a goddess of beauty incarnate. And
not just beauty. The way she sang. The
way she moved. Every straight man in
the room was praying for a chance to be
on her naughty list, and damn his scars,
he was still a man.

Albeit a foolish one.
The dancer’s bright eyes flashed

across her audience, soaking in their
adulation, but they didn’t penetrate back
to his dark corner. Not that he’d want
them to. Not in real life, anyway, when
they would look at him with disgust or
fear or pity. No, he needed to take his
hard-on back to the office and ask

politely for a cold drink.

But she was sauntering his way. He

sank into the shadows as the dancer—
Jolie, she’d been called—exited through
the audience and back into the bowels of
the building. Exactly where he needed to
go.

He waited a beat and then another,

hoping to give her enough time to reach
her destination so he could remain
unseen.

He

debated

donning

his

motorcycle helmet, just in case, but that
made him ridiculous. He’d stick with
ugly. He pulled up his hoodie to hide the
phoenix tattoo on his skull and shadow
the rippling pink and white welts
dappling his face.

His boots pounded like a machine

press against the concrete as he
followed Jolie’s path. A few steps in he
found a threadbare white sheet slung up
across a wire to make a changing room
out of an alcove off the main path. Light
from behind the fabric outlined Jolie’s
curves as she shimmied out of her shorts.
Once again he was stuck in place, frozen
this time by a shadow.

The shadow laughed a rich sound of

warm honey and forbidden things. “You
know,” she said, “the audience is
supposed to stay in the other room.
Following me back here is against the
rules.”

“I didn’t, er, follow you. I’m looking

for...” Gods, why could he think of
words? “Catrina. I didn’t mean to, uh,
run into you.” Changing, possibly naked.
Behind a thin sheet.

“Aw...” He could hear her pout and it

was damn cute. “And here I thought I’d
inspired anarchy. Oh, well.”

He took a step toward the sheet. “Oh,

I’m an anarchist, all right.” Most people
would call him and the rest of the
Citizens of the Underlight a pack of
dangerous anarchists. Hauk didn’t see it
that way. He loved America, the heart
and soul of her. But the reality of today
was a crumbling façade of the freedom
she espoused, and politicians and CEOs
with an agenda most people knew
nothing about—all members of Ananke

—were holding the wrecking ball.
America had become a valiant soul in a
ravaged boe aa ravagdy.

A lot like him. His own body may be

beyond repair, but he’d be damned if he
let his country rot when he could do
something about it.

A sultry “Hmm,” brought his thoughts

screeching back to the woman in front of
him. “So I was uninspiring, then.” She
bent over to push her feet into boots, and
her backside pressed against the sheet
like

a

perfect

heart.

“How

disappointing.”

“Oh...” The word came out like a

moan as he curled his fingers into fists. It
took all the control he had to keep his

hands off her perfect ass. “You’re
inspiring, all right.”

She froze for just a moment before

she stood, suddenly hesitant. “You have
a delicious voice.” She turned until her
body pressed into the sheet again, this
time from the front.

From the waist up she was naked.

Heavy breasts rounded against the
fabric, soft mounds with the prick of a
budding nipple. The details of her face
were lost behind the sheet, but she
turned her face to the side and the form
was there in shadow: slim, upturned
nose, high cheekbones, hair curling
down the elegant column of her neck and
back down to those breasts. He couldn’t
keep his eyes off their perfection for

long.

“So, anarchist, what rules are you

going to break tonight?”

He took an involuntary step toward

her. He couldn’t see her clearly, so she
shouldn’t be able to see him either, at
least not in a way that would scare her
off. Another step, and he was within
touching distance.

Her hands came up, not to ward him

off but to press against the fabric,
framing her body. Mouth dry and breath
erratic, he pocketed his gloves, reached
a finger up and touched her palm through
the thin cotton.

“Oh!” she gasped as if startled.
He drew his hand away, unsure. He

didn’t mean to overstep bounds.

But she laughed again, low and full of

promise. “Feels nice.”

Nice? It was profound. Even through

the sheet she sparked with energy, with
life. He brought his other hand up and
slowly raked his fingers from her palm
to her wrist and down to her elbow.
“Gods, you are exquisite in every way.”
His voice rumbled low and she
shivered. He smiled, proud of himself,
and braved a touch to her face, fingers
tracing the contours of her brow and
down the plane of her cheek.

She sucked in a breath, and the sheet

quivered between them.

His fingers moved down her neck,

barely touching. He longed to go further.

“Say the word and I’ll back away,” he
murmured.

“Then I’ll stay silent for fear of

saying the wrong word.”

His body leaped to attention, begging

for more touch, more connection. He
pressed deeper and slid his hands down
until his wrists rested against the top of
her chest and he stilled. Her breath
heaved, pushing her softness against him.
With a groan he explored further.

Wrists,

palms,

fingertips,

each

crested the curve of her breast, felt the
rising tip through the thin cotton. The
muscles in her stomach fluttered with
each gasping breath and her back arched,
pressing her tits more firmly into his

hand. He cupped them and let his thumbs
stroke her nipples as they continued to
harden and grow under his touch.

Gods, he’d died and gone to

Valhalla.

Her breath quickened and shallowed.

Lust-drunk, he bent until his lips hovered
over the hard peak of one breast and nge
breastpuffed moist air against the sheet.
At her whimper, he slipped his hand
down to her slim waist and held her
steady. His lips smoothed over her taut
flesh once in a bare caress. Her hands
clawed at his shoulders, urging him on.
He took her more forcefully, tickling her
with his tongue. At her plaintive moan he
sucked the stiff point in, wetting her
through the sheet, rasping her with the

cotton as his tongue played with her.

He moved to the other side and she

began muttering words of praise to God,
to him, to life. He sucked harder. He slid
his fingers inside her waistband,
followed it over the curve of her
hipbones to the button then stopped,
unsure.

Miracles continued as she unfastened

it for him. The sound of the zipper
releasing was like Valkyries singing. But
his hands couldn’t quite reach where
they wanted so desperately to be, not
without endangering the barrier that
made this miracle possible. He nipped
lightly at her breast before letting it go.
He couldn’t help nuzzling the wet circle

of the sheet where his mouth had
covered her, proof that he’d been there.

He had to gulp air before he could

find speech again. “You’re going to need
to push those down for me.” He fingered
her pants through the sheet.

“Oh.” The sound was a sigh. A

breath. She hesitated.

He wanted more; oh, he wanted it so

very badly. But he wouldn’t push. “Or
don’t. I’m happy where I am.” He
nuzzled between her breasts, kissed the
base where hard bone met soft flesh and
sighed at how perfectly she was made.
How amazing it was to touch her.

“I don’t do this,” she said. “With

strangers, I mean.” He sensed that her
voice quavered as much from nerves as

arousal. Maybe he’d gone too far. “I
know I sang that song and talked about
breaking rules, but...” She laughed self-
deprecatingly, and her hand brushed the
edge of the gray hood he used to hide
from the world.

He tensed, but she didn’t push it

away or reach for his skin. He relaxed
back against the heat of her body.

“You know,” she said archly, “I’ve

never been turned on by a man’s
footsteps before.”

It was his turn to laugh. Thank the

gods for small favors; he had nothing
else to recommend him. He brushed a
finger across her slender waist. “I break
a lot of rules, but I’ve never done

anything like this. You’re a dream I
never dared have.”

She groaned. “Oh, hell, I want this.”

She slid her pants down the curve of her
hips.

He dropped to his knees in

supplication, praise, wonder. Her hands
rested lightly against his shoulders. He
kissed her firm stomach, tongued the
indention of her belly button and the
metal of the barbell running from it. He
worked his lips down until they reached
the top of her panties. This close he
could tell they were scarlet. Scarlet and
narrow. He traced his fingers along the
edge until they were between her legs,
two scraps of fabric away from her sex.

She was drenched. Wet and ready for

him. He moaned against her skin, his
own erection hot and harder than he ever
remembered. Not that he’d get to use it,
but touching a woman slick for sex as he
reacted in readiness as a man was a
sensation he hadn’t had in far too long.

He pushed aside the fabric of her

panties and fingered between her folds,
soaking the cotton with her wetness. He
teased her softly, worried about
abrading her delicate skin until her hips
rode forward and back, pushing harder
against him. While his fingers played, he
kissed down her abdomen until he could
slide the tip of his tongue i’his tonnto the
cleft of her sex. She moaned and rode
his fingers as he sucked her through the

sheet.

With one hand he steadied her hips

and pushed one finger, then two inside of
her. She panted and cried out, begging
him for more. His tongue found the tiny
nub of her clit and flicked as his fingers
pressed deeper.

“I’m going to—I’m going to—holy

fuck, I’m going to come.”

He pressed harder, spreading his

fingers as he tortured her sex with his
mouth.

“Holy fuck!”
Holy fuck indeed; nothing had ever

felt this good, and he still had his clothes
on. She came with a cry they could
surely hear in the next room. Her vaginal
walls squeezed him, flooding his fingers

with more of her wet heat. Her hands
gripped his shoulders, squeezing in
rhythm to the pulse of her body. His
fingers and tongue continued their
assault as her orgasm lengthened, forcing
ecstatic whimpers from her mouth. Only
when he’d wrung the last shudder from
her did he ease up. But he couldn’t bring
himself to let her go or back away. It had
been too amazing, too perfect, and he
wasn’t ready to go back to the cold life
he normally lived.

“I have to sit down.” She barely got

the words out, her voice was so
shuddery. How he wished he could lie
down and pull her on top of him, hold
her like a lover.

How he wished he could take his

damn clothes off and ask her to touch
him. But he pulled away from the sheet
and let her sit, proud of himself that he’d
made such a sexy woman come so hard
she couldn’t stand up anymore.

She relaxed for a moment before

kneeling next to him, once more a
silhouette against the sheet. “That was
amazing.”

He smiled and smoothed the fabric

against her cheek, wishing he could
directly touch her skin.

“Do you need me to...I mean...” she

started, hesitating.

The heat in her cheeks radiated

through the sheet to his fingers. The

naughty girl from the burlesque club was
blushing. Hot damn. “I am honored for
what you gave me and don’t need
anything in return.”

“Nothing?”
He sucked in a breath and studied her

silhouette with sharp eyes. “No. I do
have one request.”

She nodded.
With a finger under her chin, he tilted

her face up. “Something I didn’t do
before.” He leaned down and touched
her lips with his own.

It was a chaste kiss through a layer of

cotton, but still it rocked his world. The
heat of her mouth against his, the
softness of her lips as they morphed
from surprise to acceptance to desire

drove him crazy with want. Her hands
pushed through the sheet to rest against
the leather of his jacket front as her
mouth moved against his, insistent.

Gods, a stiff breeze and he’d spill in

his pants. He had to get out of here
before he lost all ability to think straight
and yanked the divider down. He ended
the kiss.

Jolie hummed and licked her lips.

“You continue to amaze me.”

He brushed her face one last time.

“That’s nothing compared to what
you’ve done for me. And I mean that.”
He stood up. “Good-bye, Jolie. And
thank you.” It took all his willpower to
step away, to put the distance he needed

between them to have any hope of
leaving with his dignity intact.

“Wait,” she said, and of course he

stopped, for his world now revolved
around the wishes and whimsShees and
of a strawberry-haired girl. “I don’t
know your name.”

That was one thing he couldn’t do for

her. Wesley Haukon was a fugitive’s
name, and the fewer people who knew
where he was, the better. Lying didn’t sit
right with him though, and it would be
nice to hear his name spoken in her low
drawl. He only knew her first name, and
his was common enough that he didn’t
see the harm in sharing it. “I’m Wesley.”

“Wesley of the Divine Tongue, I shall

remember you as.”

He chuckled. “I like that. But I don’t

think it’ll catch on with my friends.”

He could hear the smile in her voice.

“They don’t know you like I do.”

* * *

Holy crap. Jolie sprawled on the

ground, utterly spent, as the last of
Wesley’s wickedly strong footsteps
faded away.

Had she really just done that? With a

stranger? Who might be the most erotic
thing to ever happen to her? She
stretched like a cat and grinned. Seven
months in Austin and she barely
recognized herself, in a good way.

Her whole life, Jolie had been told

what good girls do and who society
expected her to be, all meticulous
grooming for a public image as fake as
the pearly white caps on her father’s
teeth or her mother’s nipped and tucked
face.

A few months ago she’d gotten her

own first body modification, something
that wasn’t a false front. Her smile
turned more somber as she ran her
fingers over the red and white rose
petals tattooed across her stomach and
hips as if they blew away in the wind. It
was a play on her grandfather Marcel’s
film company, Rosebud media. She’d
gotten it on the morning of his funeral.

Papa Marcel would like her tribute.

With his dirty jokes, his open mind and
his envelope-pushing films that her
father loved to rail against as degrading
public morality, he’d been nothing like
the rest of her family. Despite her
parents’ protests, Jolie had moved to
Austin to spend The End with her
favorite relation, and it was the best
decision she’d ever made.

She shook somber thoughts from her

head. She had happier things to think
about at the moment. God, Papa Marcel
would laugh if she could tell him what
she’d just done—laugh and ask her how
she could leave a poor man hanging like
that. It certainly wasn’t her usual MO.

She typically had as much fun giving as
getting.

But hot damn... She wasn’t kidding

when she’d called Wesley’s tongue
divine.

She glanced at the sheet and blushed

at the soaked-in evidence of the
encounter. When she was done changing,
she should bring it home to wash. Then
maybe have it framed...

Giggling like a girl, she slapped on

her bra. Her skin still ached from
Wesley’s touch, and the lace rasped
against her, sending new shivers of
desire through her. God, with that
explosive orgasm she should be sated,
but she only wanted more.

Like her hands on his cock. Could she

do that without seeing him? Because the
faceless thing, even though she’d give
anything to know what Wesley looked
like, had been damn hot. She shoved her
hands into her sweater and yanked it
over her head.

Or his cock in her mouth. That

sounded good, too. She quirked her lips
as her dirty mind went into overdrive.
She’d bet he was a mouthful. She
couldn’t see details through the sheet,
but she could tell his frame had been
huge, well over six feet tall, maybe
heading for seven. Despite her four-inch
hhe four-ieels, he’d towered above her,
and Jolie was far from petite. And his
shoulders, damn! Broad as a bear,

tapering down to narrow hips. He had to
be gloriously handsome.

What would fucking him have been

like? She’d been so tempted to rip down
the sheet between them and wrap her
legs around those hips. When his fingers
had spread inside her and she’d bucked
against him (wildly, even shamelessly,
she might add), she hadn’t wanted his
fingers. She’d wanted him, hard and full,
driving inside her.

But she didn’t have a condom, and

while she may be diving full tilt into
bad-girldom, she wasn’t going to be an
idiot about it. Plus, that was a new level
of dangerous, a new level of strange,
facing someone she didn’t know as they
made love. Er, fucked. She’d never done

that before, fucked a stranger or had a
one-night stand. That rule made sense
enough that she’d followed it so far...but
maybe there was a guy or two out there
worth making an exception for.

She smiled as she piled her hair on

top of her head and secured it with a jaw
c l i p . Exceptions like Wesley of the
Divine Tongue . She turned her back to
the sheet as she gathered her notes for
tomorrow’s 8:00 a.m. German exam.
Jolie-by-day was working toward a
doctorate in comparative literature at
The University of Texas. As soon as
she’d

learned

of

Papa

Marcel’s

condition, she’d turned down Columbia
and applied to UT so she could stay with

him.

Public education. One more way she

blotted the Benoit family’s good name,
but she’d found herself surprisingly
happy there and had no regrets.

Sighing

for

the

way-too-early

morning, she stuffed the notes into her
leather satchel. With a zip of fabric
across wire, the privacy sheet was
ripped off the line.

Jolie grinned, all thoughts of school

and study gone as she turned around.
“Wesley—”

But it wasn’t Wesley in front of her.

The black-clad man scanned her up and
down with a leer as his two companions,
like a thugee Tweedledee and—dum,
shifted on their feet as if raring for a

fight.

“Audience members are supposed to

stay—”

“I ain’t here for the show, love.” He

swiped for her and she ducked. But the
alcove was tight and she had nowhere to
go. The men closed in.

Wide-eyed, Jolie considered her

options.

There weren’t any. Fucking hell, she

was a damsel in distress. “Wesley!”

Chapter Two

Hauk closed the door to Catrina’s

office, a grin still lighting his face.

“Well, well. Look who’s having a

good time despite all protests.”

Hauk popped Brayden lightly on the

back of the head before dropping into a
too-small and overly cushioned chair.
Not that the chair was particularly small;
few fit his bulk. Tonight he didn’t mind.

Catrina’s burgundy lips curved up as

she leaned on perfectly manicured nails.
Feathered eyelashes, black as her Liza
Minnelli bob, batted coyly at him.
“Enjoying the show?” She was good; if

it wasn’t for her Adam’s apple, you
couldn’t tell she was in drag.

“Like your new girl. You should keep

her.”

A guttural laugh rolled from Catrina.

“I plan on it. Isn’t she something else?
It’s sure good to see Brayden hard at
work while youshe’re off enjoying
yourself.” She raised an eyebrow at
Brayden. “For once.”

Brayden sighed, ever the drama

queen, and turned to Hauk. “Good news.
While setting up for the show, Catrina
found a grid entrance in the facility. We
can get home from here.”

That was great news. It was near

unheard of to find a new entrance to the
underground

tunnel

system

that

honeycombed downtown Austin. But
when the Austin branch of the Underlight
had set up residence in the tunnel
system’s deepest level nearly one
hundred years ago, they’d been careful
to keep off the city’s radar: no
government records, no public utilities,
nothing that would tie them to the
surface. That disconnect, which only got
bigger as the years progressed from no
electricity to no telephones to no
internet, had fostered some strange
phobias in the residents who’d been
born there, including a mistrust of
electricity. It was possible an entrance
from an electric company had never
been used.

“Where?” Hauk asked.
“Happy to show you. Provided

you’re done perusing the ladies?”

Feeling surprisingly like his old self

again, Hauk shrugged nonchalantly. “For
now.”

“You have a nice smile, you know.

You should use it more often.”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m ugly as

Hel’s bad half, and I don’t give a damn.”
His smile grew as he stood up. “But
then, I don’t have to look at me. You
unlucky fucks do.”

Hauk and Brayden followed Catrina

out of the makeshift office and into a
labyrinth of concrete hallways that
crisscrossed the building. She asked

about the mission, and Brayden eagerly
answered, waxing semi-poetic over
tonight’s success. A pharmaceutical
conglomerate under Ananke’s control
was dumping waste into a water supply
that created a swath of dead wildlife and
did who-knew-what damage to the
people who relied on that water. As too
often happened, lawyers, a shit-ton of
cash and the fact that it only affected an
“undesirable” neighborhood had kept the
company out of legal trouble. But after
tonight’s raid, and a little evidence
laundering to disguise its illegal
acquisition, the overworked prosecution
should have more than enough evidence
to shut them down.

Hauk didn’t like it, but sometimes

you had to break the rules to do the right
thing.

He followed Catrina and Brayden

around a corner. The back of his neck
buzzed, pulling his thoughts back to his
surroundings. A sense of unease tickled
his skin and stoked his senses to
hyperaware. “Something’s happening.”

“Violence-dar going off?” Brayden

asked.

“Violence-dar?” Catrina asked.
“Hauk’s got a sixth sense for when

violence is going on or about to go on in
the vicinity. Apparently it started
happening after his accident.”

“I didn’t know about that one.”

Catrina

clicked

her

tongue

in

disapproval. “Violence-dar is a terrible
word for a super-power. You really
should come up with a better one.”

Hauk shook his head at their blasé

acceptance and tried to concentrate
around the prattle. An uneven fight was
happening

in

the

building.

No

bloodshed, not yet anyway, but bad
intentions. He took a step in the direction
he thought it was coming from, but the
maze of hallways made pinpointing how
to get there a challenge.

“He didn’t like blood-dar, and death-

dar isn’t really accurate as he doesn’t
sense death,” Brayden continued behind
him.

, tt size=“What about pain-dar?”
Brayden gave an impressed “Huh. I

like that. Hauk?”

“Would

you

two

shut

up?

Somebody’s getting hurt.”

Catrina and Brayden looked at each

other. “Pain-dar.”

Hauk turned back. “Where’s the exit

to the grid?”

Catrina pointed to an alcove like the

one Jolie used as a changing station.

Jolie. He had to find the fight and

make sure she wasn’t in it. “How do I
get in?”

“There’s a pressure plate in here.”

Catrina lifted the grate off of a drain.

“Then Brayden, use it. Catrina, get

somewhere safe. I’ll be back.” He
jogged off, following his instincts,

hoping he’d reach the scene in time to be
of assistance and that Jolie was nowhere
near it.

Her scream echoed down the

hallway, and the world turned red.

* * *

Jolie had kicked, bitten, clawed and

screamed, but the more she fought the
more her captors seemed to enjoy their
job. They dragged her down blank
hallways toward a back exit, one man on
each arm and the leader striding ahead.

“Hands to yourself, dickhead,” she

spit at the thug on her right when his free
hand strayed to her ass.

The other man laughed. “Ooh. The

stripper complains about inappropriate
behavior? When you got us so wound up
with that, mmm, act?”

“It’s look but don’t touch, asshat.”
The leader kicked open a door and

the outside wind snapped in, slapping
her with its freezing energy. Her coat
was still inside. A white, windowless
van had parked in the alley.

“Oh, hell no.” Jolie dug in her heels,

but Dickhead reached back, grabbed a
handful off her ass and picked her up.

The leader threw open the back of the

van with an irritated jerk. “Alpha party
hasn’t checked in yet. They got five
minutes before we do their job for

them.”

Dickhead tossed her in, and Jolie

slammed backward onto the hard bed of
the van. Her breath left in a burst as her
head exploded in pain.

Her leering captor poked his tongue

through missing front teeth. “I’ve got a
way to spend five minutes.”

“Fine, just don’t leave a mark.”
“No!” Jolie tried to scream, but it

came out slurred. Fear slid through her,
sickly and thick, when it should be
spiking.

Her

head

pounded.

A

concussion? She couldn’t have a
concussion; she needed to fight.

The man unfastened his jeans. She

shook her aching head and kicked out,
but her reflexes wouldn’t snap. He

grabbed her feet and yanked her toward
him.

“No! Lemme go!”
“Hold her.” He nodded to someone

behind her, and hands clamped down on
her shoulders.

“Stop! Don’t!” Her eyes were leaden,

but she wouldn’t close them.

Pants around his thighs, Dickhead

crawled over her and tore the button off
her cargoes. She pulled her knees up to
shove him off, but he laughed and forced
his body between her legs. “You’re a
pretty little whore, aren’t you?”

“Not a whore. Get off me!”
“You smell liin You smeke sex.” He

shoved up her shirt and grasped at her

breasts.

“Stop.” She didn’t have the strength

to fight; the crush of exhaustion
overwhelmed her.

The man’s weight settled over her

body, and with a sick twist in her gut
Jolie realized unconsciousness might not
be such a bad thing.

Something bellowed outside the van.

The alley echoed with the violence of
the sound.

“What the hell?” Her would-be-

rapist sat back, his dick bobbing in the
air in front of her.

She lurched forward and jammed a

fist at it, nailing his balls. He howled.
His arm came back for a punch, and
Jolie covered her face.

But the punch never came. His bulk

flew off her hips and a moment later, a
scream of horror tore apart the alley.
Jolie pushed up on her elbows, trying to
see.

“Oh, fuck this,” the other man

muttered as he clambered into the cab.
The van roared to life. Jolie scrabbled
toward the door as fast as her pain-drunk
body would move. She’d take the killing
machine outside over whatever Asshat
and Dickhead were taking her to.

Her feet touched the alley. She

leveraged herself to sitting and clutched
the van’s cold metal siding for support.
Blackness clouded the corners of her
vision, but she fought the pull of

darkness to see what had made that God-
awful sound.

Three motorcycles surrounded the

biggest man she’d ever seen. Bodies
scattered the ground at his feet, including
Dickhead—who appeared to be missing
his genitals. Good riddance.

“Wesley?” she called, her voice

weak.

Despite the noise of the bikes, he

turned to face her.

Jolie gasped. That couldn’t be

Wesley. Not that horror of a human,
burned beyond recognition. Tattooed and
pierced like a demon. Leather-clad and
blood-spattered.

One of the motorcyclists raised a gun.
“No!” she screamed. The effort sent

a wave of dizzying pain through her.

The man-demon turned and launched

himself at the biker. The gun went off.

Jolie passed out.

Chapter Three

“Do you think we can separate them

yet?”

“I don’t know. You try.”
The voices came in to her awareness,

indistinct at first, but growing in clarity.

“He’s usually inert during this

phase.”

“He was definitely not inert when he

near pitched you across the room.”

Jolie’s head hurt like a son-of-a-

bitch. But she felt perfectly warm.
Completely safe. Her eyes fluttered open
then closed again. She was content to
stay wrapped in strong arms and silk

sheets the color of fudge.

She didn’t own brown sheets.
Memories hit her with the terror of

yesterday, and she gasped awake. Arms
confined her. She was stuck. Under her
rapist? Was she kidnapped? Who had
her?

Where the hell was she?
“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. You’re

okay.” Catrina’s voice broke through the
panic. “You’re safe. Just...lodged under
the arm of a behemoth. WefonF’re going
to get you out. Eventually.”

Her boss sounded quite calm under

the circumstances. “Catrina?”

A disturbingly male version of

Catrina’s face ducked in front of her.
“Hey, sweet pea. How are you feeling?

How’s the head?”

“Where’s your makeup?” Jolie had

known Catrina was technically a he, but
she’d never seen her—him?—look like
one before. The disparity didn’t improve
her mood.

Then Catrina laughed, and the happy

sound Jolie associated with good days
dancing made things a little better. “It’s
daytime. You’re getting the day look. I
try to shelter you ladies from the lack of
fabulousness, but alas, you’ve created
quite the stir and here I am.”

Jolie huffed. “I didn’t do anything. I

got attacked. Who is gripping me?”

Catrina chucked her under the chin.

“The man who got you un-attacked.” Her

forehead wrinkled in frustration. “From
what we can figure, he then carried your
unconscious self back to his room, like a
good caveman, and won’t let go.” Jolie
craned her neck to see her overzealous
savior, but Catrina turned her head back
with one still-painted fingernail. “Why
don’t you just keep facing this way.”

Jolie’s eyes widened at the memory

of the demon fighter. “The burned guy?
I’m in his bed? Did we—did he—he
looked crazy.” A stranger beat off her
kidnappers then dragged her back to his
bedroom? Who did that?

The other voice interjected, “When

Hauk gets emotionally engaged in a fight
he can, er, go a little off-kilter. He’s not
totally in control of his actions

anymore.”

“Oh God. Did he...” her voice trailed

off; she couldn’t finish the thought out
loud.

“Did he what? Oh! Did he... I don’t

think so. Even crazed Hauk wouldn’t...”
the stranger fumbled for words. “I mean,
you would know.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I was unconscious!”

Her voice rose, near hysteria again, and
the demon arm tightened around her
chest. “Oh, God!”

“Jolie!”

Catrina

said

sharply,

bringing her scattered focus back to her
boss’s face. “Stay with me, sister. I think
what the ineloquent Brayden is saying is,
(a) Sid Vicious here tore through seven

thugs and shredded a van to get to you.
Gentle wasn’t in his vocabulary last
night. And (b) judging by the scale of the
rest of him, even gentle you’d still feel it
in the morning, if you catch my drift. So,
you got a hitch in your giddy-up? Rode a
big pony last night?”

Jolie groaned and made a thorough

check of her system. Other than a fading
headache, she felt fine. Now that she
thought about it, the arm clutching her
went straight across her abdomen,
holding her securely without wandering
too high or too low.

She was protectively cuddled by a

demon-man. “No. I’m fine.”

“Then I think it’s safe to assume

you’re in the clutches of a perfect

gentleman. Unfortunately he seems
convinced you’re still threatened and
even in a dead sleep has managed to
keep you in his, ahem, protective
embrace.”

“I have a German proficiency exam.”
“You missed it.”
“Oh.” Damn.
“Cheer up and check the fabulous

room. Usually strangers don’t get to
come down here. Even I’ve never been
escorted down, and I’ve been an
Associate for years.” She pinched
Brayden onledd Brayd the shoulder
without sparing him a glance. “I’m
debating, darling Jolie, if thanking you
would be in bad taste.”

Associate? Jolie took a look around,

too weirded out to ask what that was
about. And it was, indeed, a fabulous
room in the Latin sense of mythic, epic,
fairy-tale wondrous. The dreamy quality
of her surroundings, the comfortable bed
and, now that she was calming down
again, the secure and oddly comforting
presence behind her made the scene
surreal.

“It’s like I went back in time,” she

muttered in awe.

There wasn’t a single piece of plastic

anywhere. No electronics, either. No
computer. No phone. No television or
radio. The desk held paper and a
fountain pen. Candlelight gave the room

a living glow. Damask browns and
burnished gold made up the main palette,
with hints of burnt orange and forest
green filling the room with a masculine
warmth. The furnishings were carved
wood or riveted metalwork; her
corseted and bustled costumes would be
more at home here than her street
clothes. Hardback books tightly packed
a wall of built-in shelves. In startling
contrast, shining swords and axes filled
the wall adjacent. The bed she was
lodged in was a glorious four-poster big
enough for a group.

“A time where things were made

with an eye for beauty, yet nothing was
wasted,” Catrina said a touch wistfully.
“Sounds impossible now, doesn’t it?”

Brayden snorted. “Not impossible.

Just less industrial. Corporations aren’t
making dollars off reused items, so they
love it when you throw your crap away
instead of doing something with it. But
you’d be amazed what you could fix or
repurpose if you tried.”

“Who are you?” Jolie asked, turning

her attention to the stranger.

Though not particularly tall, he was

handsome, with straight black hair cut to
frame his face, skin the soft brown of
chai tea and features poured from a
racial melting pot so unusual she
couldn’t guess at his ancestry. He
grinned at her with the confidence of
someone who knew exactly how good-

looking he was and made a courtly little
bow. “Brayden Gideon, your patron in
the Underlight. At least, until Sleeping
Ugly here awakes, at which point he can
explain your presence to The Thing.”

Though his tone was irritated, the

affection he had for the demon-man
behind her came through clearly, and
Jolie relaxed even more.

“Meanwhile, can I get you some food

or something to drink?” he asked.

At his words, Jolie’s stomach

rumbled. “Please. But what’s the
Underlight? Explain my presence to
what ‘Thing’? Where the hell am I?”

Brayden hissed a pained breath.

“Catrina, can I see you outside? Jolie,
don’t leave the room.”

She frowned. “How would I leave the

room?”

Catrina fluttered fingers at Brayden

dismissively and turned to Jolie. “Will
you be all right for a moment, sweet
thing?”

Jolie settled back into the warm

arms, testing her reaction, and realized if
she didn’t think about what he looked
like last night, the arms were nice.
“Yeah, go ahead.”

Catrina patted her head. “Brave girl.

I’m proud of you.” She followed
Brayden to the door.

“Hey, before you go, what’s clingy-

boy’s name?”

“Hauk,” she answered, more serious

than Jolie had ever seen her. “I’ve
known him a while. Despite the beastly
appearance and what he did last night,
he’s a good man. I wouldngood I woult
leave if I didn’t know you were safe.”

Jolie nodded, and the two left her

alone with her “beastly” savior. “Hauk,”
she murmured. Not Wesley. It was good
to know they were different men. Wesley
had been so gentle and teasing. So
normal, not scary like Hauk.

Even if Hauk had saved her.
“Thanks

for

the

rescue,”

she

murmured.

His fingers briefly squeezed her as if

in acknowledgment and his body
relaxed,

loosening

his

hold.

He

responded to her voice?

“Hauk? I’d like to get up now. Would

you let me get up?” Nothing. She tried
pitching her voice as low and calm as
she could. “Please? Please, Hauk, let me
go.”

His

hand

slipped

away.

The

weightlessness was refreshing as she
took a full breath. It was also cold and a
little empty, as if she missed his
presence even though he was right
beside her. She shook the feeling off and
stood. Time to look at her rescuer. Time
to see that face again, get used to it now
so she could look him in the eye and
thank him properly when he woke up.

Steeling herself, she turned around.

“Oh, God.” She reached out and

stabilized her suddenly jellylike stance
with a hand on the wall.

Asleep on his side among mountains

of soft bedding, he was still every bit as
terrifying as she remembered. Dense
scarring mottled his face in a patchwork
of mismatched flesh tones. The ear she
could see was half-gone and filled with
piercings, from the industrial at the
ragged top to the spikes of silver running
down the lobe. His nose was shrunken,
as if it had started to melt. Only his lips
seemed to have survived the fire, and
even they had one side twisted up in a
slashing scar that ran from his ear to the
corner of his mouth, like a half-Joker.
No hair at all—not on his head, brows
or lashes. But over each eye, four

piercings marked where his eyebrows
should be. His neck was a checkerboard
of damaged and clear skin that trailed
down below the collar of his T-shirt.

He was hideous. And terrifying. Jolie

couldn’t imagine how anyone received
that much damage...and lived.

Tattooed color at his forehead caught

her attention. The hooked beak of a bird
started there and must run down his
skull. She walked around the bed to see
the other side and was surprised by an
intricate piece of art. Something about
the curving lines spoke to her and,
bracing her nerves, she pressed down
the pillows to see it better.

A bird in colorful reds, blues and

golds rose from flames at his neck. Its
wings outstretched protectively around
his head, and sharp eyes and a hooked
beak ended at his forehead, right where
a priest would bless a penitent.

No,

not

a

bird. A

phoenix,

miraculously rising from the ashes of its
previous existence to new life. Like a
man who survived a terrible ordeal and
not only persevered, but rescued
helpless women who were too ready to
associate frightening looks with evil.

She sighed at her own foolishness—

although right or wrong, how many
people wouldn’t be freaked out by that
face?—and turned away to explore his
fascinating room.

When Hauk woke up, she would face

him with no expression but gratitude.

* * *

Jolie was in his bedroom, fingering

the metal-work sculptures he’d created
for his ancestor altar.

Jolie was in his bedroom. Playing

with his stuff and looking all gorgeously
mussed, as if she’d just wo rd ’d juken
up.

And he didn’t remember how she’d

gotten here. Or much of anything about
last night after he’d heard her scream.
He’d forgotten a lot of nights since the
accident—fighting

angry

frequently

triggered a blackout (and a win for the

home team, so he didn’t question it
much)—but the last time he’d woken up
with a beautiful woman in his bedroom
and no memory of how she’d gotten
there was decidedly before the accident
and accompanying scars. And had
involved too much tequila.

What the hell had happened last

night?

And, more pressing, what did he do

now? He wanted to hide his face, but she
had to have gotten a good look while he
was asleep, and she hadn’t run
screaming into the Underlight. Yet. So he
pushed himself up to sitting and tried for
a casual expression. “Mornin’.”

She turned quickly and blinked once

before schooling her own expression

into impassive. No freak out, thank the
gods, but no warmth, either. “Good
morning, Hauk.”

No “Wesley of the Divine Tongue.”

He wasn’t surprised but still couldn’t
stop feeling disappointed. Had she taken
one look at him and forgotten all about
their encounter, when the mere thought of
it had him tenting the sheets? Or did she
not realize he was the same man? Was
she here by choice or had he, gods
forbid, brought her? He didn’t have the
first clue what to say.

Luckily she kept talking. “Brayden

and Catrina are bringing breakfast.
Should I try to find them and tell them to
bring you something too? I don’t know

where they’re at, but I can head the way
they went.” She pointed to the door, and
he couldn’t tell if she was itching to
leave or genuinely offering to help.

But he wasn’t ready to let her go with

so many unanswered questions. “No,
that’s fine. I’ll send them a text.” He
threw the sheets off. He was in his
leathers from last night, and they were
spattered with blood. Great. That was
sure to make her more comfortable. Not.
“How long ago did they leave?”

“Just a couple of minutes.”
He nodded and headed for the teletext

at the door. He needed to order breakfast
(he always woke up from his blackouts
famished), change clothes and figure out
what the hell had happened. All without

freaking Jolie out. Good luck with that.

“What are you doing?”
He looked at his fingers on the

QWERTY keyboard Tally, and her
partner in genius LaRoche, had hung at
the entrance to every room in the
Underlight. “Texting Brayden to include
me in breakfast.”

“On a broken typewriter?” Jolie

cocked her head and walked toward
him, curiosity clearly overcoming her
nerves at being close to him.

He could work with that. “Teletext.

Pull this lever to send it.” He stepped
back, giving her room to try the machine
herself. Sure enough, her hesitation
ended, and she stepped into the space he

had just occupied, within touching
distance of his current location.

Not that he was going to touch. Now

that she knew what he looked like,
comfortable proximity was probably the
best he could hope for. But he’d take
what he could get.

Jolie depressed the lever, and the

gears on the ingenious little device spun
and clacked until a tube sucked up the
metal disk with the message he’d typed.
It would be transported to the kitchen
where Brayden could pick it up on
arrival. After reading, he’d dump it into
the reuse tube, where it would be
cleaned and put back into circulation.
No waste, no od.o wasteelectricity, the
way the Underlight did everything.

Their little community may lack

regular modern conveniences, but it
wasn’t without its own strange and ever-
evolving technology that had diverted
from the world above and never looked
back. Hauk’s fascination with it hadn’t
dimmed in the few years he’d lived
down here, and he doubted it ever
would.

“That’s amazing.”
Hauk smiled. “We think so. After

breakfast I can give you the tour.”

She hesitated, and for a moment he

feared she’d turn down the invitation.
But finally she nodded her pretty head.
“That would be nice.”

He glanced back at his stained

clothes. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Okay.”
They

nodded

at

each

other

awkwardly. Didn’t he used to be
smooth? With a forced smile, he turned
away and removed his jacket.

“Oh!” she said, “I’m in your room.

You need me to go... somewhere else?”

He pointed around a corner to an area

partitioned off from the main room.
“Shower’s around that way. I don’t mind
you staying. I’ll be on the other side of
the screen.”

He’d taken off his boots last night but

not his socks. Usually it was a funny
game, trying to figure out why his
berserk mind had decided to do
whatever he’d done the night before.

Today it was just weird. He sat on the
bed and yanked off his socks as Jolie
watched.

“There’s a shower? Good God, what

happened to your foot?”

He glanced at the metal appendage La

Roche had permanently fitted to his right
thigh. “I lost my leg just above the knee
in the same fire that made me all pretty.
Did you want to use the shower? You
can have it first.” Or we could use it at
the same time. Mm...Jolie, wet and
naked. And he was torturing himself
with these thoughts, why? Oh yeah,
’cause he still had a dick. Which he used
exclusively for pissing. He scrubbed a
hand over his face.

“You go ahead. You’ve got the—”

she motioned at her chest, “—blood. I
may use it after, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded and launched himself

from the bed toward the partition,
yanking his shirt over his head as he
walked.

“G’damn...” Jolie muttered. He had

no idea what that meant.

He felt better when hot water poured

over him, a nice wall separating him
from the angel around the corner. But she
raised her voice, and it carried easily
into the bathroom and over the sound of
the water, like he was attuned to it. “Are
these runes? On the weapons?”

“Yeah. Norse.”

“What’s the arrow? It’s on all of

them.”

“Tyr, god of the just fight. He

sacrificed his right hand to the Fenris-
wolf

to

slow

the

coming

of

Armageddon.” At least Hauk had only
lost a leg. A lost hand would be worse.
Even LaRoche and Tally couldn’t make
fingers that articulated like the real thing,
and while his leg was perfectly
functional, he couldn’t feel anything with
it. The rest of his skin was an
unpredictable mix of sensitive and
deadened

sensation,

which

still

surprised him sometimes, but thank the
gods his fingers could still reliably feel.

“These are poetry books!”

“You sound surprised.” Hauk ran the

soap over his body, trying not to imagine
what it would be like if it were her
hands on theliehands o soap, rubbing the
slick bar across his touch-starved skin.
Trying and failing.

“Axes and Byron make an odd

combo.”

He laughed and rinsed off his face.

“Byron died a soldier in Greece,
preparing to defend them from the
Ottoman

Empire.

They

go

great

together.”

“Okay. Yes. I did know that. But

Viking runes and poetry?”

He shut off the water and grabbed a

towel. He’d neglected to bring clothes

in. Oh, well. Now was not the time to
develop shyness. After a quick dry, he
wrapped the towel around his hips and
headed back into the bedroom.

Jolie curiously played with some

mechanical pieces he was making for
Tally to use in an invention. Everyone in
the Underlight had a craft talent; as
everything was handmade or recycled, it
was a requirement to sustain the
community. They also did a bang-up
business on Etsy and Craigslist, which
allowed them to acquire necessities they
couldn’t make. Hauk had chosen
metalwork to retrain his fine motor skills
after the injuries and to force himself to
get near fire again, which had been
almost as hard as the rehab. The strategy

had worked, limbering his fingers and
easing his nightmares, and after a couple
years of frustration he was a pretty good
craftsman, if he did say so himself.

He smiled to see her playing with his

things. It looked good. “The Vikings
believed a real man could swing a
weapon with strength and write a poem
with grace. Don’t believe those nasty
rumors spread by the continent. My
ancestors saw no reason not to be both
strong and smart.” He motioned at
himself. “And clean. Cleanest Europeans
of the Medieval Era, anyway.”

She stared at him openly, and he

couldn’t read the expression. The wider
planes of his chest made the scarring

less noticeable there than on his face. Or
at least, that’s what he told himself when
he looked in the mirror. And with no
body hair, his musculature, which he
kept up to Army Ranger standards, was
easy to see. He could only hope that’s
what had Jolie’s pretty green eyes
riveted.

He stepped toward her, and she

blushed but didn’t back up. Gods, he
knew better than to stop in front of her,
he knew better, but his feet stopped
anyway. “A look like that could give a
man the wrong impression,” he rumbled.

“Oh. Sorry. I...” Her blush deepened

until her skin nearly matched the
strawberry in her hair. “You came to me.
I didn’t mean to...”

He nodded behind her. “You’re

between me and my closet.”

“Oh!”
“I know the birthday suit’s a hit, but

you’re gonna have to make a decision
here. Step aside, or grab the towel and
check out the rest.” He was flirting? He
hadn’t flirted in five years.

Jolie’s hands clenched. Was it

possible she would consider going for
the towel? Because she wanted to see
him? Or because she wanted to gawk at
more scars? She looked him over and
her eyes settled back onto his, serious.
“It doesn’t bother you.”

His smile faded a bit as he shrugged.

“Never was much of a looker. Didn’t

matter to me before. What good would it
do me to care now?”

“You have beautiful eyes.”
The smile came back. “Yeah, the pink

in my face sets the color off nicely.”

She laughed then slapped her hand

across her mouth, as if disturbed by her
reaction. “You make jokes. That’s
so...normal.”

“The fire burned my sup burnedkin,

not my brain. Contrary to popular
opinion, the explosion did not blow the
human out of me.” Might’ve given him
some weird aftereffects, like blackouts
and a pain-dar, but under the changes he
was the same old Hauk, worshiping old
gods, writing bad poetry and swinging a
fist when the situation called for it.

She bit her lower lip and stepped to

the side, the blank expression she’d
carefully kept most of the morning
replaced with a thoughtful one. Again
came the stupid but uncontrollable
disappointment that he couldn’t have
more with her, that last night’s touches
were necessarily their last. But he left
his Beauty standing in the middle of the
room and strode the rest of the way to
his closet.

“I’m gonna use the shower,” she said,

but her footsteps didn’t retreat.

He nodded without turning around.
“Hauk, I’m so sorry.”
He pulled out a blue shirt (blue for

his eyes? Stupid...) and started to dress.

“For the accident? Unless you happened
to be in Afghanistan five years ago,
committing arson on a military base, I’m
not sure why.”

“No, for the way I reacted to...” She

took a deep breath. “To your scars. I
was an idiot.”

He turned to face her, far more

comfortable now that he had a shirt on.
“Everyone reacts the same, Jolie. The
difference is who sticks around long
enough to get past it. Something it sounds
like you just did. So, far as I’m
concerned, we’re five by five.”

She dropped her gaze then looked

back at him, still so serious. “That’s big
of

you.

Thank

you

for

your

understanding. And for saving me last

night. I’ll admit, I was a little freaked
when I woke up in bed with you. But
Catrina was right. You’re a good man.”

Hauk’s eyes widened in horror. He’d

not only taken her to the Underlight
(nobody brought strangers home to the
Underlight; big community no-no), but
he’d dragged her into bed with him? He
wasn’t sure which was worse: that he’d
effectively kidnapped her or that he’d
managed to hold her for eight hours and
didn’t remember it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean—”

She cut him off with a wave of her

hand. “No worries. I’ll take cuddling
with you over whatever Dickhead and
Asshat were planning any day.”

As compliments went, it was weak.

But he’d take it.

Chapter Four

Tiny clockwork dirigibles with

mistletoe hanging from the baskets flew
lazy circles around the great hall.
Fireplaces in each corner crackled
merrily as they burned real wood fires,
and colorful stockings hung from every
mantel, each with a name embroidered
in a carefully homemade stitch. In the
center of the room a Christmas tree
stretched up to nearly brush the sixteen-
foot ceiling, decorated in lit candles and
metal ornaments that moved like wind-
up toys. A spiderweb of clear pipes
decked with holly and pungent evergreen

zipped more teletext messages up the
walls and across the ceiling. A
gentleman in a jaunty Santa hat scrubbed
the stone floor and discussed politics
with a young woman dusting the wooden
furnishings, and both of them stopped to
wave good morning at anyone passing
through.

Jolie didn’t know which part was

most alien, but she beamed in delight at
the décor and waved back at the couple.
“What is this place?”

“Welcome to Austin’s branch of the

Underlight.

Organized

in

theized

eighteen-hundreds, we fight industrial
control of our media, government and
resources and return the power to the
people.”

Jolie looked Hauk over to see if he

was serious. “That’s some mission
statement. Don’t most communes grow
their own vegetables and call it a day?”

Hauk laughed with a cheerful sound

she found heartwarming. “We do that,
too. There’s a greenhouse out past the
kitchen. They have it set up so mirrors
bring sunlight in from above. The
spinach from this morning’s omelets was
grown there.” He shrugged. “Although
most of our food is from the farmer’s
market. We don’t have the space to grow
enough to feed everybody who lives
here. But there’s nothing wrong with
supporting your local family farms.”

The change-the-world determination

in his voice reminded her of her father in
earnestness, if not in content. Her
father’s rants, however, had more to do
with the trampled rights of business
owners and fighting immorality in
modern society. Papa didn’t know she’d
joined a burlesque troupe, and she was
keeping it that way. Hauk’s form of
idealism sounded closer to her own
politics, vague and unformed as those
were.

“So how do you—” she tried to keep

a straight face and almost succeeded,
“—return power to the people?”

Hauk hesitated, like he wasn’t going

to tell the whole story. Interesting. She
crossed her arms and watched him
struggle for words. Finally he said,

“There are things most people take for
granted as normal parts of living today,
normal parts of progress. Or so-called
progress. And they’re not.”

“Like what?”
“Like environmental wreckage. Like

our health crisis and the insane way we
produce and waste food.” His face
darkened. “Like modern warfare. It’s...
I’m not saying war was ever a jolly
good time, but people who think it’s
more civilized because we have guns
and smart bombs instead of axes and
spears don’t know what they’re talking
about.”

“A pacifist soldier?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.

Anyone excited about war is ignorant or
crazy. But there are things—people,
ideas, freedoms—that are worth fighting
for, and there will always be people
who put these at risk. A good soldier
fights to protect what he loves or to win
something good that can be gained
through no other means. I’m proud to be
a solider. I’m the strongest fighter the
Austin Underlight has, and I choose to
forward her mission as best I can.”

He emphasized “choose,” again

giving Jolie the impression there was a
backstory he wasn’t telling her. So many
secrets down here. If Catrina hadn’t
been so confident in her safety, she might
be worried. Although truly, she didn’t
get anything but good intentions off the

vibe, and who was she to judge what
was normal? Her life was anything but.
“I still don’t understand what exactly it
is that you do or how, say, the
environment—which is a great cause—
is connected to the national health crisis.
Again, a great cause, but...”

“They are all connected.”
“How?”
Hauk

hesitated

again,

looking

anywhere but directly at her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this some

sort of conspiracy theory? Seven men
who run the world, that sort of thing?”
Of course. The most interesting person
she’d met in years, and he’d dragged her
to his commune of conspiracy theorist

nuts. Well, at least that wasn’t
dangerous. Just paranoid.

Before she could tease C cofonhim,

Hauk’s eyes locked back onto hers with
a conviction that sent a chill down her
spine. “It isn’t seven men.”

“What?”
“Who run the world? It isn’t seven

men. It’s—”

A pack of children squealed and

clambered

into

the

ballroom,

interrupting Hauk and breaking the
moment with their jubilant energy.

“Tell me later?” she mouthed.
Hauk shut his mouth and looked

away, already changing his mind about
the confession. She started to argue, but
then her faculty advisor from The

University of Texas followed the
children into the hall.

Jolie did a double take. “Dr.

Echelson?” Catrina joining a cult that
believed in weird conspiracies was one
thing, but Dr. Echelson was one of the
most celebrated historians in the U.S.
and as far from flighty or paranoid as a
man could be. “What are you doing here,
sir?”

He looked every bit as startled to see

her but, after a glance at Hauk,
approached. “I teach humanities to the
children. I didn’t realize you were a
candidate for Recognition by the
Underlight.” He frowned his best
professor glare at Hauk. “And as a

representative of The Thing, one might
think I’d be familiar with all the
candidates.”

He taught elementary kids? Her

professor? What kind of education were
they getting down here? Far from the
prep school propriety bunch Jolie had
been a part of growing up, they seemed
like a normal pack of raucous children,
racing around the winter-bedecked hall
as they dodged dirigible mistletoes.

“There

were,

uh,

extenuating

circumstances last night,” Hauk said,
looking decidedly uncomfortable. Jolie
might even say squirming. Good to know
Dr. Echelson’s imposing brain didn’t
make just her nervous.

Some of the professor’s thaw melted

into amusement, and he turned to Jolie.
“I heard you missed your German exam
this morning.”

“That’s my fault,” Hauk said quickly

then turned to Jolie. “You’re a student?”

“I’m a doctoral candidate at the

university. Comparative Literature.”

“Jolie is focusing on the use of pop

culture for propaganda in the twentieth
century.” Dr. Echelson smiled. “Come to
think of it, she’ll fit right in here.”

“Think you can smooth over the

missed exam?” Hauk asked.

The professor looked between them

again, his thoughts about exactly why
she’d missed clearly written on his face.
Oddly enough, he seemed to find it

amusing she’d missed an exam for a
tryst.

No, that wasn’t it. He was pleased to

think she’d had a tryst with Hauk.
Pleased enough that he might speak with
the German department in her defense.
Well, if it helped her get a second shot at
that exam, he could think whatever he
wanted.

Heck, she wished she was the kind of

person who could get over Hauk’s looks
and give him a chance at something not-
so-platonic. He seemed interested in her,
and his body, from a shape perspective,
was pretty damn incredible. God, those
ab muscles had just about floored her
when he’d stepped out of the shower.
But any thoughts of kissing him, of

getting up close and personal with those
burn

scars,

made

her

girlishly

squeamish.

Even if his voice did sound a hell of

a lot like Wesley’s. And that kiss and
those touches had been incredible.

She bit her lip, push Cher
Jolie stared at her feet. Nope. She

was definitely not the good person Dr.
Echelson thought she was. “You can tell
him what happened.”

Dr. Echelson smiled genially and

raised a hand. “I don’t need details.
Hauk, you think I should talk to my
friends in the German department and get
her a second chance?”

Hauk shifted beside her as his jaw

formed words that didn’t come out, and
it dawned on Jolie that he might really
like Dr. Echelson’s misapprehension.
He probably didn’t have a lot of women
coming down here; maybe having
someone think she was here as his lover
had blown up a bubble of pride he was
loath to burst.

Well, hell. If Jolie could please Dr.

Echelson, bolster Hauk’s pride and get
another shot at her German test, that
made for a rare win-win-win situation.
She curled against Hauk’s side, and his
arm slipped around her as automatically
as the clockwork ornaments that spun on
the tree. “He’d better say yes,” she
purred. “Or I might get real offended.”

The grin that lit up Hauk’s face was

worth it, even if that was her only
reward. But he said, “Second chance.
Please,” and Dr. Echelson laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He left them,

shaking his head and still chuckling.

Jolie snorted a laugh. “What a hippie!

I have a new respect for Dr. E. Is
everyone down here that cool?”

Hauk dropped his arm. “Thanks,” he

said gruffly.

“ T h a n k you. You’re potentially

saving me from two years of German.”

“He would do the same thing if I’d

told the truth, and nobody would think
you and I—”

She punched him playfully on the

arm. “Slept together? We did. Maybe

more literally than my adviser assumed,
but come on. I’m a burlesque dancer. A
scandalous reputation increases the
mystique.”

His eyes locked back on hers. She

hadn’t lied when she’d told him they
were beautiful. A bright, startling blue,
oddly vulnerable in the bad-ass exterior.
She was learning to read the way they
spoke his emotions louder than words,
and the gratitude there was almost
uncomfortable.

Hauk may not mind the way the scars

made him look, but he did mind what
they’d done to his life.

Ugh, too much emotion. She had to

change the subject. “So, how do I
become a candidate for Recognition?

What is Recognition, anyway? I’m pretty
sure I’d like that.” The words were out
of her mouth before she’d thought them
through, but the truth was, with Dr.
Echelson on board, she was suddenly
very interested...and not just because of
how he could help her future career in
academia. He was the best teacher she’d
ever had, and his knowledge and
understanding of Western history was
unparalleled. If he took this conspiracy
theory seriously, there was something to
take serious.

Plus, it would give her a reason to

keep seeing Hauk, and she found she
liked that idea very much.

Hauk smiled and ruefully rubbed the

back of his neck. “Yeah...about that. I’m
going to be in a bit of trouble over
bringing you down here. If we could get
you Recognized ASAP, that would be
nice.”

“So, let’s get started. What do I do C

Whuld get, apply to The Thing? Is that
the governing body of the Underlight?
Isn’t that was they call the parliament in
Iceland? The All-Thing?”

Hauk’s metal eyebrows rose as if he

was impressed.

She grinned. Her dad’s career in

news media had stuffed her brain with
more random facts than anyone should
know. “Yeah, I’ll school your ass at
Trivial Pursuit. Bring it.”

He nodded slowly. “You can school

my ass however you want.”

Jolie nearly choked on a surprised

laugh. She needed to quit being shocked
every time Hauk acted like a normal
male.

Because he was a normal male.
She wagged a finger playfully. “Keep

dreamin’, soldier-boy. Now, you going
to explain your Thing?” His eyes
sparkled roguishly. “The Underlight’s
Thing? Geez, get your head out of the
gutter.”

He forced back a laugh and became

serious again, though the lightness in his
eyes and the quirk of a grin didn’t leave.
“It’s more of an organizing committee
than governing body. And anyone with

enough votes can get on it, and I mean
anyone. In addition to Echelson, the nine
members currently include a thirteen-
year-old and a robot dog.”

“How do they maintain order?”
Hauk shrugged. “They don’t really. I

mean, we only have one hard and fast
rule: Don’t tell the outside world.
Unless it makes better sense to tell, at
which point, do what you have to.”

Jolie shook her head. “So you live in

a slightly organized anarchy.”

“That’s about right.”
“And fight the Enrons of the world

through dubiously legal means.”

“I didn’t say that.” But he grinned.

Apparently that was exactly what he did.

“And

there

are

underground

communities honeycombing the world.”

“Most of the cells don’t live together

like Austin. Being a...a commune, as you
put it, isn’t the goal, it’s the—” he
hesitated, “—the fight. We’ve got an
especially nice setup here, where we
can truly live by the principles of the
Underlight. But it’s also the most
precarious way of organizing. A lot of
the other cells think we’re crazy.” He
gave her a guarded look. “If someone
were to expose us, we would be raided,
wiped out in one attack. Lives would
upended in a government quest to force
everyone into the system. Or worse. As
there is no record of us, there would be
no one to look into it if we simply

disappeared.”

Jolie lifted her brow. “Do you often

carry strangers down in a fit of crazy?
That seems detrimental to the whole
‘guarding a big, important secret’ thing.”

The areas of Hauk’s skin that weren’t

scarred pink colored to match the burns
in the strangest blush Jolie had ever
seen. “I’ve never done that before. No.”

She nodded. “So I’m special? I like

that. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He smiled and there was something

strangely beautiful about it.

“Hauk! We’ve got a decision to

make.” Brayden headed for them as
quickly as a mug full of coffee would let
him, Catrina trailing behind.

Hauk snapped to attention. “What?”

“We got confirmation. The group that

tried to nab Jolie yesterday? Order of
Ananke.”

Cnt 1">“WeHauk’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure?”

“Who are they?” Jolie asked.
Hauk started, “Ananke is the Greek

—”

“Goddess of destiny and bondage, of

choosing between necessary evils. I
know. Are you referring to a modern
revival cult or something? Why would
they try to kidnap me?”

Brayden cut in. “Hauk, are you sure

it’s wise to tell her this?”

“They tried to kidnap her. She has a

right to know.” But still, he hesitated.

So Jolie filled in for him. “Those

seven men formed a club?”

Hauk nodded. “The Order of Ananke.

Last night, Brayden and I ended up at
Catrina’s because we were being chased
by their hit squad, The Hand of
Atropos.”

“The Fate that cuts the thread of life.”

She scrunched her face in thought. In
addition to being a baron of news media,
her father was fascinated with Greek
philosophy and myth. Mathematics,
order, purity of form, imperialist
tendencies—it was all right up his alley.
Her first fairy tales had been G-rated
versions of the legends of Heracles and
Jason and the Argonauts. And then her

father had been shocked and horrified
when in high school she’d decided she
was Wiccan. Apparently, bromancing
Zeus was okay but Celtic gods were
horrifying.

Disregarding her family’s constant

dysfunctionality, she thought about what
Hauk and Brayden were saying. Order of
Ananke? Hand of Atropos? It sounded
farfetched, and yet...she’d been nearly
kidnapped last night. And Dr. Echelson
was here.

Brayden narrowed his eyes at her.

“Do you have any idea why they would
pick you?”

Hauk waved a hand dismissively at

him. “Why would she?”

Brayden shrugged in a poor imitation

of nonchalance. “Just asking. Because
they successfully kidnapped somebody
else.”

“I didn’t take the agents out?” Hauk

asked, as if that was unheard of. “What
the fuck did I do last night?”

Hauk didn’t know what he’d done?

Did he not remember saving her?
Slaughtering those men? “He definitely
‘took them out.’ I saw enough before I
passed out to be sure of that. And there
was nobody else in the van when they
put me there.”

“There was a second team,” Brayden

said.

Alpha party hasn’t checked in yet.

They got five minutes before we do

their job for them. The kidnapper’s
words from last night flashed through her
memory. “Shit. I was the beta target.
There was somebody else.” A cold fear
for who that other target might’ve been
clenched her gut.

Brayden blew on his coffee and

glanced furtively about. “Let’s get
somewhere out of hearing. Jolie, as
you’re astoundingly up to date for
somebody who just got here. Will you
help?”

She nodded and followed the group

to a library. If she were less worried,
she would’ve loved to take her time
wandering the wood-carved stacks of
leather-bound tomes that stretched to the
three-story ceiling, or to stop and

appreciate the unique sculptures that
decorated the space in unexpected
corners. But she quietly trailed behind
Brayden into a conference room and
listened to the door click shut.

Hauk sat on top of the table and

patted the area next to him. With a weak
smile, she hopped beside him.

He clapped his hands together.

“Who’s getting rescued?”

“We don’t even know if this is our

fight. It could be internal politics, which
we don’t typically get involved in.”
Brayden took a tentative sip of coffee
and his eyes shifted to Jolie. “But we got
ourselves involved last night.”

“And I’m quite thankful you did,”

Jolie added.

“Their

other

target,”

Brayden

continued, “was a twelve-year-old girl
extracted

from

Winter

Cheer,

a

cheerleading camp for private school
kids.”

The fear bit deeper and spread until

Jolie could barely keep it at bay.

Hauk frowned. “What do a twelve-

year-old rich girl and a twenty—”

“Four.”
“Twenty-four

year-old

burlesque

dancer have in common?”

Brayden motioned his head at her.

“Our guest looks like she has something
to add.”

Jolie licked her lips. “Tell me the

girl’s name is not Whitney Malcolm.”

Brayden frowned. “It is. How did

you know that?”

Jolie’s hands shook. “She’s the

granddaughter of Reginald Benoit, the
media guy.”

The whole room turned to her as one.

“And how would you know that?”
Brayden asked in an ominous voice as
he set down his coffee cup with too
much care.

Hauk’s hand tentatively touched

Jolie’s back, and she leaned into it.
“Whitney’s my niece. I’m Jolie Benoit.
They were trying to get Reginald
Benoit’s only granddaughter and his
youngest daughter.” Brayden paled in
incomprehensible anger as she turned to

Hauk. “Please, please, help me get my
niece back.”

* * *

Oh, hell, he was so in for it. But

even he was surprised when Brayden
threw a punch at him. Without thinking,
he caught his friend’s fist and spun the
smaller man around. “Are you kidding?
You want to fight me?”

“What are you doing? What’s wrong

with him?” Jolie sputtered, flipping her
startled gaze between Brayden and
Hauk.

Brayden’s face was white with anger.

“You

brought

Reginald

Benoit’s

daughter to the Underlight? What’s
wrong with you!”

“Hey! I didn’t know. So calm the fuck

down.” He shoved Brayden away and
turned to Catrina. “Did you know that?”

She lifted her hands apologetically.

“She’s said her name before in passing. I
didn’t make the connection. I didn’t
think...”

“You didn’t think?” Brayden nearly

yelled. “You didn’t think that bringing
the daughter of a man who wants to
stamp us out of existence might be a
terrible idea?”

Jolie launched off the table at

Brayden. “Excuse me?”

Hauk inserted himself between them.

“Take a breath, Brayden. Catrina didn’t

bring her here, I did. And it’s not like I
was thinking about it. Blackouts,
remember?”

Behind him, Jolie’s voice was livid.

“My father doesn’t know anything about
this place. I agree he’s not a paragon of
virtue, but if he knew about you, don’t
think you’d have, oh, I dunno, been on
the news? Seeing as he owns half the
newspapers, umpteen radio stations and
personally runs the biggest television
news network in America?”

“But the Order of Ananke doesn’t

want the public to know about us or give
our cause any pre Ccauca?ss,” Brayden
countered.

“And that would matter to my father

because...”

“Because he’s on their fucking board

of directors!”

Jolie flinched like she’d been hit.

“What are you talking about?”

Hauk

stalked

forward,

pushing

Brayden back with his presence. “She
didn’t know.”

Brayden snorted. “What, you learned

her tell by osmosis last night? She’s a
performer, Hauk, who wormed her way
into the company of one of our
Associates. She’s working for her father,
probably earning her membership. Damn
it, I thought she looked familiar, but like
a moron I was so happy for you I
ignored it.”

Happy for him because he’d finally

gotten a girl into bed by carrying her
unconscious body there? That was a
new level of pathetic. He slammed two
fingers into Brayden’s sternum. “Don’t
pity me. Don’t you ever fucking pity me
again.”

Brayden’s eyes widened as he took in

Hauk’s fingers. He blushed. “I’m sorry,
man. I didn’t mean it like that.”

But that was a lie. Hauk glanced back

at Jolie, suddenly unsure. If she were a
plant, it would explain why she hadn’t
run screaming from the room when she
woke up next to him this morning. He
certainly wouldn’t put it past Ananke to
use a beautiful girl to sneak into the
Underlight, and it didn’t take a genius to

realize his pathetic ass would be primed
to fall for that kind of bait.

Jolie stepped beside him, finger-

wagging at Brayden in a way that
wouldn’t calm the situation down.
“You’ve lost your mind. You think I
planned my own kidnapping on the odd
hope I would get dragged to a mythical
underground world by PTSD-boy here?”

He whipped his head around. “I don’t

have PTSD.”

“Whatever! You don’t remember that

you killed a bunch of people and then
dragged me into bed with you while I
was passed out. What mental problem is
that, then?”

Damn, that was cold. Absolutely true,

but cold. A real plant wouldn’t be that

much of a bitch, would she?

Brayden’s dark laugh cut through

their argument. “Catrina and I didn’t see
your supposed kidnapping. And Hauk
doesn’t remember it. I don’t know what
really happened last night. It’s not out of
the realm of possibility that you figured
out how to trigger his blackouts.”

“Oh my God. I’m not listening to this.

My father is in some mythical order of
bad guys? You people are nuts. Hauk,
get me out of here. If my niece is in
danger I need to do something other than
waste time defending myself from your
paranoid friend.”

Brayden shook his head. “You can’t

just leave. We can’t risk that.”

“What, I’m kidnapped? He dragged

me down here, and now you’re going to
keep me?” She turned to Hauk, tears
making her eyes sparkle like emeralds.
“Hauk, please. I would stay and work
this out, but Whitney... I have to do
something.

Please.

Help

me

do

something. I have no idea how to prove
to you that I’m not what he says,
but...she’s twelve.”

Hauk stared at the delicate hands

clutching his jacket and breathed until he
found his calm. The right thing to do
became clear. “You don’t have to prove
it. Let’s go.”

“What?” Brayden nearly screamed.

“You’re going to get yourself banned,

Hauk. Over the daughter of an enemy.”

“What are we going to do, Brayden?

Lo C, Brselck her up? We don’t kidnap
people. They do. And this time it’s a
child. I don’t care who the girl’s related
to, we’re here to help people, so that’s
what I’m going to do.” Hauk shouldered
his way past his best friend, making
room for Jolie’s exit with his bulk. “As
far as Miss Benoit is concerned, if
there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past
five years it’s to let people be innocent
until proven guilty, no matter how bad
they look. Banish me when she turns out
a liar. Won’t be the first dishonorable
discharge on my record.” He held out a
hand to Jolie.

Wide-eyed, suddenly solemn, she

took it.

The Underlight was the best home

Hauk had ever known, and pleasing a
girl, even one as pretty as Jolie, wasn’t
worth its loss. But he’d never been good
at following orders when his conscience
told him to go another way.

He led Jolie from the room, hoping

against

reason

his

trust

wasn’t

misplaced.

Chapter Five

Jolie’s hands shook as she slid

Hauk’s loam brown bed sheets into
place and tucked them in tightly. Hauk
was

gone,

ostensibly

gathering

“emergency supplies,” but she thought he
might have taken off to cool down. He’d
left her in his room with nothing to do
but stare at the empty bed they’d slept in
together and worry over her niece. She
needed action to fill the nervous grind of
her thoughts, hence making the bed.

Though not a Zen type, Jolie

considered re-tucking linens back into
place, kneading pillows back into shape

and smoothing her silk bedspread over
the finished product to be a sort of daily
meditation. She’d never had to do it
before living with Papa Marcel, but
despite having a full household staff
he’d never wanted them do this
particular chore. When she’d arrived on
his doorstep with her trunk in tow, he’d
taken her to his best guest room and
admonished with a mischievous grin,
“My bed is my business. Yours should
be too. I won’t ask what you do in here
as long as Miranda and Ellen aren’t
required to clean up after it.”

The memory brought a smile, despite

the drama of the morning.

After gathering Hauk’s enormous

comforter off the floor, Jolie stared at

the expanse of his mattress. Despite her
initial fears, nothing had happened on
this particular bed last night. She winced
at the thought of her rescuer’s mangled
body. It was unlikely much had
happened in his bed for a long time.

That was a shame. Hauk seemed like

a good man, a rare thing in her
experience, and nobody should have to
be lonely.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Sweetie, you here?” Catrina asked.

“Yeah. Come in.”
The door opened and her boss stood

in the frame, hands on hips. Her usually
coiffed hair was loose and softly curling
with the damp from her morning shower,

and her oddly gender-neutral attire of
jeans and a chunky sweater threw Jolie
off.

“She or he?”
Catrina frowned as she walked in and

shut the door gently behind her. Behind
him? “What?”

“What do I refer to you as in this

incarnation? Sorry, should I not ask that?
You look...like a guy. I don’t want to say
the wrong thing.”

She smiled (it was hard to think of

Catrina as a he), and the expression was
so down to earth that Jolie had the odd
feeling a stranger was watching her. “At
the day job I let everyone call me ‘he.’
My

birth FUs0n wname is Carlton

McGregor, and that’s who a lot of

people know me as. But I prefer ‘she.’
With or without the makeup, that’s who I
really am. This one’s just—” she
motioned to herself, “—the packaging.”

Jolie nodded, relieved that her

Catrina was the real one and this
unknown entity the imposter. The world
was

already

upside-down

enough

without adding Catrina as a man with a
day job into the mix.

“You’re doing a nice job.” Catrina

moved to the other side of the bed and
they worked in concert to right the
comforter.

“You sound surprised.” Why did

everyone

think

rich

girls

were

incompetent? Damn reality TV. Jolie

was quite sure she wasn’t that bad. Was
she?

Catrina shrugged. “You’re not who I

thought you were.”

Jolie’s jaw clenched, but she forced

it to relax. “I told you my name when I
auditioned. Besides, it’s not like it
changes who I am.”

Catrina snorted. “If only that were

true. You never seemed... I suppose few
people are exactly what they seem at
first glance.” She stared at the bed, as if
chewing through new information as her
hands mechanically worked. Finally she
said, “You’re a gifted dancer, and I’m
with Hauk. I think this is all a big
misunderstanding. But if I’m wrong and
you’re here to screw these people, you

deserve every smite of bad karma it
brings.”

The umbrage started again, tightening

Jolie’s shoulders as she slapped the last
pillow into place, marring the perfect
bedding with one angry swipe. “I’m not
screwing anyone. I had no idea about
any of this. What I am doing is freaking
out. My niece is missing. I just checked
my phone, and Angela, my sister, has left
three messages about it. And Hauk is
taking forever putting together some
‘emergency pack’ that he insisted was
necessary.”

“You’re going to need it.”
“Huh?”
Catrina came around to the foot of the

bed and sat, then patted the space beside
her. Jolie joined her boss and tried to
still the fidgeting in her fingers and
ankle.

A calming hand dropped onto her leg.

“First off, your niece is fine. She’s the
granddaughter of a member. They’re not
going to hurt her.”

“They were willing to hurt me.”
“You’re an adult. Whitney is an

innocent little girl, and evil masterminds
that they are, her age will still make a
difference to Ananke.” Catrina patted
her knee reassuringly. “I’d even bet they
had someone she knows pick her up
from camp and she’s sitting pretty in a
comfy room with junk food and video
games. She’s not locked in a closet

terrified for her life. Your dad is being
obstinate about something, and as soon
as he gives in, they’ll give him Whitney
back safe and sound. So play this smart.
Not fast. Truth be told, you’d be safer—
and provided your father gives in,
Whitney might be better off—if you just
let them work it out.”

Jolie clenched her jaw. “Nobody’s

better off knowing what convenient
political leverage they are. As just came
up, my father is a powerful man. He has
ties to national leaders all over the
globe. His influence can move world
events.

You

don’t

kidnap

the

granddaughter of a media magnet to
change

a

paper

route...you

want

something big. Somebody needs to stop
them before Papa gives in and Whitney
lives with that guilt.”

“Then at least let Hauk take his time.

You’ll need all the emergency supplies
you can get. Sweetie, they are b Ke,
th="1em">

“Yeah, yeah. Secret boys’ club

directing the motions of the cosmos as
they cackle and crack their knuckles with
Machiavellian glee.”

Catrina hissed an ominous breath.

“Not this boys’ club. They have an
agenda. Some end goal. I don’t know
what it is, but they’re not content to
remain the power behind the throne.”

“And you know this because...?”
She ignored the question, seeming

deep in her own thoughts, before adding
softly, “And they use magic.”

“Magic,” Jolie deadpanned.
Catrina nodded, strangely serious.

“Magic. The real thing.”

Jolie couldn’t help a derisive snort.

“Flinging fireballs? Lightning from the
fingertips? Come on. If they’ve got guns,
they’re scary enough. I don’t need fairy
tales.”

“No, not that Dungeons & Dragons

crap. Magic is about working your will
on the world. It’s about energy. I’d heard
you were Wiccan. How do you not know
this?”

Jolie shook her head. “Used to be, in

my rebellion phase back in high school.

Now I’m firmly in the don’t-know-don’t-
care category of religion. So you’re not
scaring me with the spiritual warfare
business. Sorry, but no way.”

“Magic is real, and Ananke can use

it, and if you don’t watch out—”

“No, they don’t.” The voice came

from the doorway. Hauk strode in and
tossed a rucksack on the bed, further
marring the clean lines. “I’m with Jolie
on this. Magic isn’t real.”

Catrina huffed. “How can you of all

people insist that?”

The hooded look in Hauk’s eyes

betrayed the presence of yet another
deep secret.

“What do you mean, him of all

people?”

His eyes widened in a subtle threat.
Catrina hunkered down but pursed

her lips defiantly. “He’s on the front
lines fighting them. He’s seen it. For
God’s sake, man, you’re Pagan. How
can you not believe in magic when
you’ve seen it?”

He tugged on a hammer-shaped

charm hanging on a cord around his
neck. “I’m Heathen. We’re not into the
woo-woo. I’ve seen nothing that can’t be
explained by science and psychology.
People see weird shit when they’re
fighting. The mind doesn’t have time to
process all the details and fills in with
whatever dogma you’ve got trained into
you—God, magic, universal nihilism—

we see what we expect to see. Me? I
believe in gods. I believe in my
ancestors. I can even buy that some
people have a sixth sense about things.
But hocus-pocus, shake my Anubis rattle
and poof, the world changes? No.”

“Wait a minute,” Jolie inserted and

turned to Catrina. “Why do you believe
they do magic?”

Catrina shot a questioning glance at

Hauk. Jolie looked between them as
something passed again.

Whatever it was made Catrina

grumble under her breath before she
turned to Jolie. “You might’ve heard
someone mention my day job. I’m in
marketing and I work at a funky little
place on the East side. What most

people don’t know is that I used to be
corporate. I’m good. I’m really good.”
She gave a half smile full of pride
without one ounce of pompousness. Jolie
took her at her word, even as the notion
of Catrina as a dude in a cubicle stra K
cufull of prined her imagination. “Good
enough to be noticed by important
people with big connections and deep
pocketbooks. I was courted by Ananke.
I’ve been in their temple—”

“Temple?”
“Temple,” she said firmly. “To that

bitch goddess. But I was young and still
figuring out who I was. It became clear
they wanted Carlton and only Carlton. A
fast track to money, power, success, and

all I had to do was give up this new
person I’d discovered, the one I wanted
to be.” Her eyelashes fluttered before
she looked Jolie steadily in the eye.
“The real me.” She took a deep breath.
“Believe me when I say they can do
magic. I’ve seen it. So has Hauk, even
though he won’t admit it. And that, my
sweets, is more powerful than any gun.”

Hauk shoved a change of clothes into

his rucksack and tied it shut. “You
done?”

Catrina narrowed her eyes at him.

“Bring her back in one piece.”

His expression softened and he

nodded

before

turning

to

Jolie.

“Ready?”

The weight of the question settled on

Jolie

more

heavily

than

she’d

anticipated. She licked her lips. “Yeah.”

He tossed a slip of fabric and it

landed in her lap.

“What’s this?”
“Blindfold.” He crossed his arms as

if daring her to protest.

Jolie didn’t buy the magic bit, but that

didn’t change that she was in some
serious shit and Hauk was risking his
home to help her out. She slipped the
fabric across her eyes and tied it, then
offered Hauk her hand.

The hand he placed in hers felt warm,

even through the gloves he’d slipped on
that morning with the rest of his clothing.
His fingers were gentle as they pulled

her up next to him. Recognition flashed,
blind touches through fabric, heat and
pleasure. But she squashed the memories
along with the blush that heated her
cheeks. Her beautiful fantasy with
wicked hands was not the same as this
mess that Hauk had literally dragged her
into (while saving your life). She shook
her head and squashed that thought, too.
“Lead the way.”

* * *

Hauk’s low voice rumbled, telling

her she could remove the blindfold.
Jolie found herself at the electric
company, standing in front of the

makeshift stage she’d commanded. Was
that only last night? She kicked at the
confetti on the ground, wishing she could
go back to the joyous festivities. “I guess
I should go to the police. My car’s—”

He shook his head. “No police. We

get her back, you and me.”

“How? They should know what

happened to me. It could help.”

His anger sparked. “What are you

going to tell them? How are you going to
explain that you got away and then didn’t
bother to report it until this morning?
The Underlight may have cleaned up the
bodies, but if the police send a CSI team
to the alley, they’ll find something, and
that something may link them back to my
people. You said you’d keep us secret.

That means we work outside the system.
I’m sure that goes against everything
you’ve been taught by good-old-boy
Reggie, but as someone who’s been
burned by that system, inside and out,
I’m telling you it’s corrupt and we can’t
trust it. If you want my help, we do this
my way.”

Jolie couldn’t blame his outburst, but

it riled her all the same. “So can you
explain ‘your way’ before we start?
Because if you think you’re going to turn
me into your little thoughtl Kttlr all
theess servant, you should know I’m not
so good at following orders.”

He rocked back on his heels and

rubbed a hand across his face. “That’s

not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean?”
He studied his boots with the focus of

a man who’d never seen footwear before
as he wrestled his temper back under
control. Finally he met her eyes again
and held up two fingers. “Two things.
First, no involvement of police or other
forms of so-called authority, including
your dad and his media empire. Besides
making me twitchy, involving outside
sources makes it more likely the
Underlight will be found. I want to help
your niece, but there are a lot of children
below who I’m honor-bound to protect.”

Jolie considered that before nodding.

“I’ll try it your way first. I don’t promise
I’ll keep quiet if talking may bring about

Whitney’s return, so I hope you have a
plan.”

Hauk’s lips thinned, but he nodded.
“But if I do talk, I will stand by my

promise to not mention the Underlight.
Or you. What’s the second thing?”

“We stick together. I want to trust

you, Jolie, but I’d be an idiot if I ignored
that Brayden’s solution, that your father
sent you to infiltrate us, may be right.”
He stiffened as if he feared the rejection
of his presence in a personal way. It
reminded her of their earlier interaction,
before Whitney went missing and
Brayden’s accusations, when Hauk first
opened his eyes and was so clearly
terrified of what the girl in his bedroom

would say.

The reminder made her relax. They

were a team. He’d more than proved it
when he’d left the Underlight. “No
problem. Just don’t hog the covers again
tonight.” His jaw dropped, and she
curled her lips, smug. Any male who
thought he could tell her what to do
deserved a little harassment. “My car’s
this way. Come on.”

Truth be told, she felt better with

Hauk on the case than all the police in
Austin and the bureaucracy that got in the
way of effective action. Appearances
could be deceiving; a badge didn’t make
someone a good person, and following
the rules didn’t always lead to success.
But she’d never been around anyone

who

so

completely

eschewed

convention.

Moving from ballet to burlesque was

a tame kitten in comparison to moving
from soldier to anarchist. Hauk may just
be her new hero. And together, they
would get Whitney back.

* * *

Hauk jogged to catch up with Jolie

as she strode from the building into a
nearly empty parking lot. He tried not to
focus too much on the way her firm ass
swayed with each step, but damn, it was
hard. “You were kidding, weren’t you.”
He tried to keep the hope out of his

voice, to make it a statement of fact, but
the image of her sliding under the covers
beside him—because she wanted to this
time—played through his brain in a
tantalizing loop.

“Yup. But don’t worry. My guest

room’s got a big TV.”

The despair was gone from her eyes

as she pulled keys from her pocket, and
despite the small (but expected) rebuff,
he smiled in relief. “No, I meant kidding
about the covers. I’m a perfect
gentleman in bed.”

She lifted one eyebrow and gave him

a mock glare. “I don’t doubt. It’s the
least you can do after conking your date
on the head and dragging her there.”

He stopped, once again horrified. “I

knocked you out?”

“N Kizeth="1o! No. I was teasing.

The guy who—” she hesitated, “—
attacked my person dropped me pretty
hard on the floor of the van. I passed out
from that.”

“Attacked your...” The way Jolie

drew back at those words told Hauk the
story, and a predatory protectiveness
gripped him. He would track down
every last one of the bastards who’d
gotten away and make his destruction
last night look gentle.

Jolie lightly touched his shoulder, as

i f she was comforting him. “Don’t
worry. I think you actually removed his
balls before breaking his neck. He’s

very dead. It was...primal. I’m sure I
shouldn’t be happy to have seen such
egregious violence, but—” she tapped a
fist to her heart, “—I gotta admit that
particular image gave me a warm fuzzy
inside.”

His dark thoughts lightened at her

chipper tone. Damn, she was fearless.
He tried to think of an appropriately flip
response. Instead he noticed someone
snooping around the only car in the lot.
He put a hand up to halt Jolie and
pointed.

Her eyes bugged. “It’s okay. I know

him.”

“Get rid of him. I’ll be nearby.”
“Okay. Just promise me you won’t

solve this hitch in that brilliant plan

you’re

hopefully

concocting

with

violence, okay?’

“Yeah, yeah.” Hauk pulled his hoodie

up to better hide his face and dropped
into the shadows of the building, close
enough where he could still see and
hear.

Jolie strolled casually to her car.

“Paul? What are you doing here?”

“Jolie!” The face that popped up

from studying the lock on her car door
was ridiculously handsome, with dark
hair and perfect skin, exactly the kind of
man a beautiful woman like Jolie should
be dating. A hint of jealousy sparked
through Hauk as he fought to hold still
and let Jolie get rid of the boy.

Then the boy kissed her. And not

some peck-on-the-cheek kiss. No, Paulie
laid a full frontal I-have-seen-you-
naked-before-and-will-again-soon kiss
on her as his hands groped her backside.
Hauk hopped out of his shadows. He
didn’t need violence. Usually the threat
was enough to send pretty boys running.

But Jolie was kissing him back.
He froze for a moment in the

sunshine, watching her lock lips with
another man, and he knew it was the
right thing for her to do. This Paul was
obviously worried about her. He’d come
to search her car because he cared. He
had a normal life and wasn’t burned to a
pink pulp. Two things Hauk could never

be for Jolie.

Or any other woman, for that matter.

For five years he’d been okay with that,
but for some reason the pretty dancer
had made him hope he could have more
than the solitary life he’d been living.

Who the hell was he fooling?

* * *

Paul’s kiss turned Jolie’s insides

into useless static. It always did. But
there was something more this time than
the usual expert liplock. His fingers
curved possessively into her hips; his
lips groped almost desperately at hers.
Like he’d been worried.

He pulled back and studied her face,

his hazel eyes concerned. Jolie bit her
lip where the feel of him still tingled and
tried not to look like the drooling fangirl
she still was around him. Not only was
Paul pants-dropping gorgeous (and he
did drop many pants), he was a
musician. He wrote haunting music,
played piano and guitar and had a voice
that got inside a girl. His band, Spork, K
bahe had a growing local fanbase, and
Jolie knew it was only a matter of time
before they landed something big. Paul
Gellar was destined to become a
household name with his beautiful face
postered across the walls of dorms and
teenage bedrooms everywhere.

Of course, she could help make them

famous.

Paul’s smile, so full of unusual but

welcome concern, tightened the coil of
guilt inside that had been growing
steadily more painful over the past few
months. So far Paul hadn’t asked for
anything—not a loan, not a press review,
not an introduction. She was starting to
hope that this time, the guy with the
come-hither smile thought of her as more
than a well-connected pocketbook
whose nice rack made mercenary
fucking less of a chore.

She’d learned caution the hard way.
So Paul was still a struggling artist

and she was a rich girl who could make

him a star and didn’t. And she hated that
about herself.

“Where’d you go last night after your

show? I called, and you haven’t called
back. I was getting worried.”

“Oh, I...” Nearly got kidnapped then

spent the night in another man’s bed.
Because of her promise, she couldn’t tell
him the first part, and telling the second
was useless, as Paul wouldn’t mind.
He’d been clear from the beginning that
he only did open relationships. It wasn’t
her first choice, but made practical sense
with all the touring Spork did.

“I called after the band finished our

set. I thought we could hang out. Wanted
to hear how your debut went.” He traced
a finger under her chin. “I’m still sorry I

missed that. I bet you kicked ass. Got
your own groupies yet?”

Jolie felt her cheeks heat as she

struggled to quell the dumb grin tugging
at the corners of her mouth. Though she
was trying to “release the shackles of
conventional monogamy,” before last
night she hadn’t found anyone else
interesting. Thanks to Wesley of the
Divine Tongue, she finally had a reason
to be glad Paul didn’t want an exclusive
commitment. “At least one.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think I can

count until I’ve seen a show. Which I’ll
do as soon as we’re not booked on the
same night.”

She gave up the fight and shot him a

teasing smile. “I wasn’t talking about
you. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“N-not me?” Did he look...jealous?

Well, I’ll be damned. But the grin came
back, covering his flash of doubt. “So
that’s where you were last night. And
here I was, pining for you alone at my
apartment.”

“Yeah, right.”
“You busy? Want to grab lunch?”
“Oh! Shit!” Jolie shook her head,

clearing the mental fuzz of proximity to
Paul. “No. I have...family. Family
trauma.”

His concern returned. “Is everything

okay?”

“No. I mean, yes.” She waved her

hands unsure what to say. “I’m sorry, I

just have to go. I’ll call you in a few
days.”

His brow lifted in surprise. “A few

days?”

She hesitated. “Is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly. He

leaned down and kissed her again with a
short but firm press of lips. “The trials
and tribulations of an heiress, eh?” His
voice was teasing, but the hand on her
hip was again oddly possessive, as if he
was reluctant to let her go this time.

She rolled her eyes but

soaked up the extra attention
like a drought-starved plant.
“You know it. One drama

after the next. Now, go home.
I’ll talk to you in a few.”

He gave her a mock pout. “Here I

was, all excited to see you in your
costume, and you’re making me wait.”
He leaned close until his breath was soft
against her ear. “But a private
performance of that kick-ass routine will
go a long way toward soothing my pain.”
He playfully smacked her on the
backside. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He winked and jogged to his car before
calling back, “I’m glad you’re okay!
Call me back next time so I don’t worry.
And call me after ‘family trauma’ is
over and we’ll get drinks. I’ll be sitting
by the phone.”

Jolie watched him go as a slow smile

spread across her face. There was no
way Paul would sit by the phone, but she
had to admit she liked the image. It was
nice to have him waiting on her call for
once.

* * *

Pretty-boy was gone. Finally. Hauk

strolled out to Jolie’s car, a pearly white
Nissan

coupé

(Reginald

Benoit’s

daughter drove a Nissan?) and tried to
keep his stewing thoughts from reading
clearly on his face. “Who’s pretty boy?”

“My kinda-boyfriend.”
Hauk nearly choked. “Boyfriend?

What’s a kinda-boyfriend?” He just
managed to smother the appalled shock
out of his expression, but damn, that took
some effort. “Am I gonna get my ass
kicked for absconding with you last
night?” Or for giving you an orgasm?

He should’ve known someone as

gorgeous as Jolie would have a
boyfriend. But what in hell had she been
doing with him after her show?

Jolie clicked the locks open. “Like

Paul could kick anyone’s ass, much less
yours.” She sounded thoughtful as she
slid into the seat. Trouble in the love
nest? Was he a bad person for hoping
that was the case?

The back of his neck tingled, shifting

his thoughts. Violence. About to happen.

They had to move.

“Start the car. Now.”

Chapter Six

Hauk slammed Jolie’s door shut

and vaulted over the hood. A bullet
exploded the pavement where he’d just
stood.

The engine growled as another bullet

streaked across the roof. “Are we being
shot at?”

“Go! Go! I’m in!” Go little Nissan,

go.

Jolie stared at him with wide eyes.

“Paul—”

“Is long gone.” He shouted his best

drill sergeant, “MOVE!”

With a squeak she jammed the gear

into reverse and the car ejected from the
space. More bullets blasted the ground.
Jolie robotically shifted into gear, and
the car shot out of the lot with surprising
agility.

“Good girl. They might follow us, so

keep moving.”

“Are they after you or me?”
He threw his rucksack into the

backseat. “I dunno. Want to go back and
ask?”

“No!” She took a right without

slowing. Punched the accelerator, and
the car zipped forward. Unfortunately,
three motorcycles picked up their tail.
“Where am I going?”

He looked at her white knuckles.

“Can this car lose ’em?”

“What?” The pale glimmer of a

smirk cracked the freeze of her face.
“Never heard of a Nissan GT-R, huh?”

She liked her car. He could use that.

“Nope. But I’m not impressed yet.”

“Well, prepare to—” More bullets

sang out, and Jolie screamed.

“We’re okay. Zigzag. Turn corners.

Change

lanes.

Get

somewhere

crowded.”

She made a left turn from the right

hand lane. “What if they shoot somebody
else?”

“They’re less likely to shoot in

traffic.”

Another hairpin turn, and they were

on a crowded bridge over the lake. And

the bullets continued. “I thought you said
—”

He growled, frustrated. “I guessed

wrong.” He slid a gun out of his ankle
holster and checked the chamber.

“What’s that? Holy shit! You have a

gun!”

“Yup.”
Jolie juked around cars as agilely as

the motorcycles behind them. Soon they
were off the bridge. “I’m heading for the
highway.”

“Sounds good to me. If cops come,

don’t pull over. Just drive faster.” He
rolled down the window as she slid
across two busy lanes, turned again and
picked up speed on the straightaway.
“So...tell me about this kinda-boyfriend

of yours. Who is he?”

“What? We’re in a car chase.”
“Yeah. No time like the present to get

to know each other a little better. So tell
me about...what’s his name? Paul.” Hauk
leaned out the window and took aim at
the tires of the nearest mercenary.

“Uh...I met him this summer. We’ve

been dating for about five months.” Her
voice sounded less panicked. Good.

But his bullet came up short. “Is it

serious?”

“No, um, Paul doesn’t believe in

monogamy. Uh... Are you shooting? Do
you need me to drive in a straight line? I
don’t know how to do the getaway car
thing.”

“You’re doing amazing. Keep juking.

If I can knock one out, bonus, but not
getting hit is the best plan.” So the earth-
shattering

post-show

hadn’t

been

cheating. Good to know. Awesome as it
had been, Hauk wasn’t okay and had
never been okay with being anyone’s
“bit on the side.” And he hated to think
of Jolie as the cheating type. But she
wasn’t.

“Okay. I’ll keep juking.”
And Paul was a dumbass. “So, ‘Paul

doesn’t believe in monogamy.’ What
does that mean?” The second shot tagged
the pavement right in front of a
motorcycle. The driver swerved so fast
he lost control. One down, two to go.

“It means just like it sounds.

Monogamy is a stricture forced on us by
society. It isn’t natural.”

Ooh, sounded defensive. Excellent.

Defensive was better than scared.

And it might just mean she didn’t

agree with Paul.

“Forced on us, huh?” Hauk’s next

shot popped a tire, sending the next
motorcycle careening off the road. “Or
Paulie likes eating cupcakes when he’s
got a first-class meal waiting at home,
one of the two.” Bull’s-eye. The third
motorcycle spun out and smacked into
the hillside.

She didn’t notice. “He’s bohemian.”
Hauk ducked back into the car. “You

know what ‘bohemian’ means, right?”

Jolie glanced a question at him

before looking back at the road.

“Nineteenth-century hipster.”
She opened her mouth to protest the

derisive moniker, but no words came
out. Instead she said, “Why aren’t you
still shooting?”

“We got away. Nice driving. Keep

the pedal down until we’re clear of the
area—I hear sirens. Get us someplace
we can hide your car and lay low for a
couple of hours.”

“Hours?”
“Yup. Part one of the brilliant plan

I’m concocting won’t start until this
afternoon.” He rolled the window back
up and gave Jolie an appreciative once

over. She was something else.

Something Paul didn’t properly

a p p r e c i a t e . Doesn’t

believe

in

monogamy, my ass. Pretty-boy was a
moron. Hauk could work with that.
“Your car doesn’t suck. So what’s with
the white? I figured a burlesque dancer
would go for red or something nice and
garish.”

She took another corner without

changing their speed, pulling them out of
traffic onto lesser-used roads. “I like
subverting expectations.”

Damn straight.

* * *

Of course Jolie lived in Austin’s

most exclusive high-rise. The skyline’s
tallest building thrust up in curving
chrome and glass splendor, a phallic ode
to capitalist success, dwarfing all lesser
buildings with its height and decadence.

Hauk’s father had been a trucker and

his mom worked in a secretary pool.
They’d never had to worry about where
a meal was coming from, but those
meals weren’t exactly steak and lobster.
In fact, he’d spent more than a few
weeks living on hot dogs and mac n’
cheese when his dad went on one of his
between-gig benders and the majority of
the food budget went to Jim Beam. His
dad hadn’t been a mean drunk or

anything, but family wasn’t his forte.

They’d lived in a modest house that

was reasonably clean and reasonably
comfortable

in

a

tightly

knit

neighborhood. After high school, Hauk
had enlisted and lived in barracks or
CHUs, those nasty aluminum trailers like
the one that had caught fire. He’d always
assumed one day he’d get married and
get

another

modest

house,

also

reasonably

clean

and

reasonably

comfortable, but with less whiskey and
more T-bone steaks.

For him, the Underlight was a

luxurious wonderland.

Looking up at the fifty some-odd

glamorous stories Jolie Benoit called
home, it sunk in with the inexorable

hopelessness of quicksand that she might
be harder to impress.

But money wasn’t everything, and he

refused to be cowed by it. Or, at least,
not to let on when he was cowed by it.
He’d never gotten a personal view of
how the other-other one percent lived,
and he was curious. Like everyone, he’d
made assumptions about thoughtless
decadence and a naiveté about how life
in the real world works. He glanced
from the building back to Jolie and tried
not to make assumptions about her.

She’d been easier to wrap his brain

around when she was dancing with
starving

artists

in

an

abandoned

building.

They pulled up to the back entrance

where a valet—apparently the residents
didn’t do mundane things like park their
own cars—opened Jolie’s door. She’d
called her building’s concierge (or
whatever) and implied Hauk was some
sort of celebrity who didn’t want to be
seen, and they’d taken it all in stride, as
if famous people popping in was a
no r ma l Swaslding backthing around
here. Hell, maybe it was.

“Thanks, Travis.” Jolie knew the

valet’s name.

For some reason that made him

happy. He ducked out of the car, keeping
his face averted, and watched from the
corner of his eyes as Jolie smiled and

joked with the valet, who smiled and
joked right back, dimpled cheeks
relaxed in a casual demeanor Hauk
doubted was his usual resident greeting.

Hauk shook his head. One more

good-looking male making eyes at Jolie.
Paul had better watch out. Not that car
hops or (he laughed at himself) fugitives
were likely to be serious competition.

With a wave, Travis took off in the

car, and Jolie led Hauk up the steps,
through a deserted lobby and into an
empty elevator. A key card swipe
automatically programmed them for the
fifty-fifth floor. “Top level?”

“Second highest. I’m sure Daddy

would’ve been offered the top but I
bought this on my own, so the real estate

agent went down a floor.”

Hauk couldn’t tell if she was kidding

or if that was how it really worked. Rich
people were different. But the disdain in
her voice when she mentioned her
illustrious father made him snort a laugh.
“Daddy” was clearly not a term of
endearment.

She turned on him with fierce eyes,

apparently misinterpreting the sound. “I
don’t live off my father. I don’t like what
he does, and I turned down my trust fund.
So don’t give me that.”

“Where’d a twenty-four-year-old

who turned down her trust fund come up
with the money to buy here? I know it’s
not my business, but that doesn’t add up,

and I’m putting a lot of trust in you right
now.”

She pursed her lips and straightened

her spine. “You’re right. That’s not your
business.”

For a moment she dithered, and

Hauk’s suspicions rose. Maybe she had
a reasonable explanation. Or maybe she
assumed he was too dumb to notice
gaping holes in her story.

Finally she stared at a wall, turning

her gaze from his. “My grandfather
passed away in September. He left me a
large chunk of his assets, including his
home. I couldn’t live there after he was
gone. It was too...” She waved a hand as
she got her expression back under
control. “I sold it and bought this.” A

hint of a nostalgic smile turned up the
corner of her mouth. “Papa Marcel was
my mother’s father, and he had nothing to
do with Benoit Media. He was a film
director. And a really good person.”

If she was faking emotion when she

talked about her grandfather, she was a
damn good actress. Despite his doubts,
his heart went out to her as she struggled
to keep a stoic face. He turned away to
give her grief some privacy.

No

annoying

saxophone

or

synthesizer music played as the elevator
glided up. Not a single smudge marked
the metal doors or wood paneled walls,
and Hauk wondered if they had someone
whose job revolved around keeping

elevator doors pristine. He held back
another laugh, lest he accidently offend
her again. Jolie’s life was nothing like
his.

Her voice was back under brisk

control when she asked, “Do you get
shot at a lot?”

He shrugged and gave her an

encouraging smile. “Every now and
then.”

“Has my...” She chewed on her lip—

gods, it was cute, and brought his
attention to that lovely mouth. Rich girls,
poor girls and every girl in between
could draw a man’s eyes to her mouth
with a simple gesture. Money never did
define sex appeal. Jolie released Slieod
her lip and finished her thought. “Has my

dad ever sent someone who shot at
you?”

Surprised by the question, he pulled

his attention away from her mouth and
back to her eyes. As far as Hauk was
concerned, Ananke and their hit squad
Atropos were one organization, so a shot
from one member was a shot from
another. But she probably wouldn’t see
it that way, so he answered the question
the way she meant it. “No, he hasn’t. I
may not like the way Reginald Benoit
slants the news, but I’m loath to interfere
with the press. Most of what I do
revolves around exposing the crimes of
agriculture giants and other big-business
scumbags who think they’re above the

law.”

“You’re not, like, a—an assassin,

right?”

He laughed, surprised. “No. I’m

Brayden’s bodyguard. You got in an
elevator with somebody you thought
might be an assassin?”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the

relieved breath she tried to hide. “Why
does Brayden need a bodyguard?”

“He’s a computer expert, one of the

only ones the Austin Underlight has.
We...” He shouldn’t be telling her this.
But she was so enticing when her eyes
brightened with interest, and he gave in.
“We acquire evidence of illegal
activities and get it in the right hands,
where it can do some good. Brayden can

break into any computer system invented
—he grew up in the Seattle Underlight,
where they’re not so technophobic—but
he couldn’t save his ass in a tussle with
a ten-year-old girl. I get us into and out
of the building safely.” He straightened
up, unwilling to be ashamed by his role
as the brawn of the operation. It’s not
like being strong made him stupid.

But damn, he was an ugly brute from

working-class Ohio with a crush on a
gorgeous heiress with a perfect high kick
and a penthouse.

“So you’re, like, a spy. Should I call

you Ethan and start the theme music?”
She hummed the intro to Mission
Impossible as the elevator dinged and

the doors opened.

“Thanks. Yeah, it’s just like that, with

wireworks and exploding chewing
gum.” And I’m practically Tom Cruise.

The fifty-fifth floor foyer was

immaculate, all brushed silver and soft
blue walls. Hauk glanced around to
make sure the hall was clear, but Jolie
flounced right in and threw her wallet on
a table. Tentatively Hauk stepped onto
the cherry wood floor. The bank of four
elevators was freestanding in the center
of a spacious living area. To his left and
right, floor-to-ceiling windows looked
down on Austin, giving him the
uncomfortable

sensation

of

total

exposure.

“You have the whole floor?” Holy

shit, she owns the whole fucking floor.
He followed her around the elevators to
a sunken living area that took up nearly a
quarter the length of the elliptical
building. Window walls continued
around, giving the room a 180-degree
view of the city. Late morning light
poured in from east and north-facing
windows, touching expertly arranged
furnishings and artwork that no doubt
cost more than his parents’ house.

She may have turned down Daddy’s

money, but that hadn’t dampened her
lifestyle.

The curving lines and deep colors of

the furnishings reminded him of old New
York City. The pool table had real felt

and tassels on the pockets. Couches and
chairs were straight-backed and slim but
cushioned enough to be comfortable.
Everything had the creative irregularity
of antiques or handmade goods but
without the wear and tear of age or the
imperfections of handcraft.

This is a new level S a ut the weaof

out-of-your-league. Get it through your
head. Alone is fine. Celibacy is... Fuck
it all, celibacy was not fine. Not about to
change any time soon, but not fine.

Jolie looked over her shoulder at

him. “Want something to drink? I’ve
got...” She waved at an open kitchen that
took up the point of the ellipse. “I don’t
even know what I’ve got. How about we
make lunch and you can tell me the plan?

Pizza? I only eat pizza on bad days.
Today counts.” She headed for a
cavernous refrigerator and began pulling
ingredients out with jerky movements
that lacked her usual grace.

Was she nervous? She wasn’t scared

of him, so why would she be nervous?

Hauk followed. “We’re going to

make our own pizza?” He tried for a grin
and a joke. “What, they don’t deliver
this high in the air?”

“I’m a good cook, I promise. I can’t

eat wheat, so I had to learn.” The words
chattered from her. She was definitely
nervous. “Wheat is in everything so it’s
hard for me to order in. Would you
please get out that mixer and set it on the

counter?”

She pointed, and he moved an

oversized mixer to the cool black granite
and plugged it in. “No wheat? No bread,
pasta, donuts...” That would be damn
hard. “No birthday cake?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Celiac

disease. Wheat makes me real sick.
Even just a little bit. So, no roux. No
fried foods. No eating at a restaurant
where wheatless food is cooked on the
same surface as food with wheat, or
where flour particles may blow into
food that doesn’t have flour in it. Hence,
no ordering in pizza. I’m a pain in the
ass to be friends with.” She fluttered a
hand toward the ingredients to her
wheatless dough. “The crust may taste

off to you. Sorry about that. But it’s still
pizza. Enough cheese, and you barely
notice. What toppings do you like? I
have pepperoni, mushrooms, sun-dried
tomatoes, olives, some green pepper,
anchovies...”

“Celiac disease.” He’d have to look

that up. Apparently life found ways to
throw challenges at everybody, even
gorgeous women with money to burn and
a cadre of pretty boys vying for their
time. Hauk grabbed a green pepper from
the counter and slid a knife from her
block. “You make the crust. I’m no
restaurant critic, so I’m sure I’ll like it
however you make it. I’ll take care of
the toppings. Sound good?”

She chewed on her lip again and

studied him, and then smiled as some of
the tension in her shoulders eased.
“Sounds good.”

He chopped as she mixed. The

silence was awkward, so he looked
around the room for something to say.
“Nice tree.”

She shrugged and cracked another

egg into her mixing bowl. “Thanks.”

Unsure how to take that, he continued.

“It looks like a magazine or something.”
The Yule tree (or Christmas tree, or
whatever she called it) was as tall as the
ceiling allowed and had that silver and
blue glittering perfection that every
catalog shows and nobody in real life

actually pulls off. Except, of course,
Jolie Benoit. Then again, most people
had family ornaments, things picked up
on travels, celebratory markers and
child-crafted oddities that made their
holiday tree a thing of meaningful chaos.
Perfect looks came with a distinct
absence of character. He was, however,
smart enough not to say that last part.

Jolie shrugged again, still not looking

at her tree. “I didn’t decorate it. They
have a service. It’s pretty, I guess.” She
started mixing and finally turned to study
the tree, carrying the bowl around with
her and rhythmically whacking the dough
with a woo Sgh or wden spoon. “It
doesn’t look like a Christmas tree to me.
More like a...piece of tin foil.” She

laughed a little. “I left a box of
ornaments out for them to use. I guess
they didn’t fit the scheme.” She rolled
her eyes without looking at him. “I know
what you’re thinking. I could have done
it myself, but it’s depressing to decorate
a tree alone, so I just hired somebody.
Maybe next year...”

Hauk paused in his cutting, surprised.

“Why would you have to do it by
yourself?”

“I moved to Austin at the end of May,

and I didn’t go out much while I was
staying with my grandfather. I don’t
know many people here. I mean, there
was a social circle all waiting for me,
the next generation of my father’s set. I

just don’t like those people very much.”
Her lips made a cute little snarl as she
put the bowl back down. “And they all
had ‘their people’ decorate their trees
anyway, so it’s not like they’d be excited
about helping me with mine.”

Hauk kept his eyes on the cutting

board and his voice as neutral as he
could. “What about Paul?”

“Paul?” She slapped the dough on the

granite and started rolling it out in a
circle. “I don’t know if we’re there yet,
at the ‘holiday decorating together’
phase of a relationship.”

He kept his smirk in check and

merely nodded. Then he pointed his
knife at the refrigerator, where a
handcrafted starburst hung from a

magnet. “That one of your personal
ornaments?” The metalwork was far
prettier and better made than any of the
generic baubles hanging from the tree.

Jolie smiled and her face lit up with a

joy he hadn’t seen since the show last
night. “Yeah. I got that last year in
Heidelburg at their annual Christmas
market. I got my Masters at the
university there. Best two years of my
life! Also the farthest from home.
Coincidence? I think not.”

“You lived in Germany?”
“Yup. Of course, I came back to

Houston a lot. But it was amazing. Ever
been there?”

“Yeah. Landstuhl Medical Center’s

the closest U.S. military hospital to
Afghanistan. Unfortunately I didn’t get
much sightseeing in.”

Her face blanched. “They flew you

from Afghanistan to Germany when you
got burned? How many hours away is
that?”

“About seven. After stabilizing they

sent me immediately to Brooke Army
Medical here in Texas. Not many people
go on a multi-continent jaunt without
their

luggage.

Or

skin.

I

don’t

recommend it.”

Jolie’s eyes widened and her jaw

moved like she had something to say
before she shut it tight.

He silently cursed his big mouth. He

should know better than to say shit like

that in front of someone who didn’t
know him. But that was how he dealt. He
joked.

Deciding to take a risk, he set the

knife down and looked her in the eyes.
“Look, it’s okay. I’m okay. You can ask
me questions, and please just say what
you’re thinking. It trips me out when all I
can do is wonder what the hell is
running through someone’s head. Spit it
out. I’ve lived with this damage for five
years. I was an Army Ranger and I’m a
war veteran, whether or not I get the
benefits. I’m not fragile. Don’t treat me
like I am.”

Jolie rinsed her hands off, breaking

their eye contact and studiously keeping

her face averted as she took an awfully
long time at the sink. “All my questions
are really stupid. I have nothing
intelligent to say.”

“Then ask a stup Sen . “Alid

question. But don’t look at me mutely,
like you’re afraid of saying the wrong
thing. That’s worse than anything that
could come out of your mouth.”

She wiped her hands slowly and

drew herself up in front of him. And this
was that moment people had, the one
where they either dropped into a shell
and the two of them pretended life was
always beautiful, or they mangled their
way through an ugly conversation—one
that actually meant something. She
looked utterly lost for a moment, and

then her thoughts coalesced into: “How
much did it hurt?”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. After

all the frightened insults he’d been given
and intrusive questions he’d been asked,
the daughter of the world’s most
infamous newsman came up with that?

She threw her hands in the air. “I told

you I only had stupid questions.”

He laughed harder. “It hurt a whole

fucking lot. Are all your questions this
hard-hitting, Miss Benoit?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, but there

was no insult in her eyes. She put the
pizza on a kitchen island and started
spreading tomato sauce on the crust.
“Wanna help top it?”

He moved to the opposite side of the

island and laid down provolone over the
tomato sauce.

“So tell me something I can’t figure

out for myself.”

“Okay. Burns hurt. Treating them

hurts worse.”

Cheese down, they each grabbed a

handful of toppings and started an epic
pile on top of their wheatless, extra-
cheese pizza. “How so?”

An invitation to grisly details? So far

she’d been pretty tough, so he gave her
the Halloween version, ghoulish voice
and all. “They scrub all your skin off.
Repeatedly, to prevent infection. Getting
flayed is every bit as fun as it sounds.”

Her face scrunched up. “Ew.” Her

eyes widened again. “Sorry.”

“Nuh-uh. Sorry is not allowed. Got

any other questions?”

She scowled. “Did you look like the

pizza? All mottled red sauce? That a
better question?”

He pretended to contemplate it.

“Actually...”

She waved her hands. “Whoa! I was

kidding. I don’t want to know. I want to
eat our pizza.” But she snorted a laugh as
her

shoulders

relaxed

completely.

“Okay, so how long were you in the
hospital?”

“Five months in the burn unit before I

went into rehab. Thirty-two surgeries. I

apparently

had

a

near-miraculous

recovery rate.”

“Five months is near-miraculous?”
“When eighty-two percent of your

skin has third-degree burns and you lose
a leg? Yeah.”

She paused for a moment to blink

down at his legs, and he realized she’d
forgotten one was made of metal. Most
people didn’t even realize his right was
missing, but she’d seen the mechanical
replacement this morning. He liked it
that she forgot so readily. If only he
could hide the scars on his face as
simply as the rest of his mangled body,
he might be able to live a more normal
life. Eat at a restaurant or something.

Although apparently, Jolie had a hard

time eating at restaurants too.

Her face took a far more sober

expression, and her next question caught
him by surprise. “What’d your family
say? Do you still see them?”

He leaned back against the counter

and let her find room on the pizz Sm o
liked ia for the last of the olives. That
question wasn’t really about the burn
scars. But he answered it anyway. “Mom
came down. Freaked out on a grand
scale. I hate to say I was happy to see
her leave because my mom’s a good
woman and I love her, but at the time I
wasn’t able to deal with her pain. Dad
came down twice and made me laugh for
the first time since the incident. He’s a

crude SOB, and I needed that bluntness
and that humor.”

Jolie picked up the pizza, now

sporting more ingredients than one pizza
should have to carry—hopefully a
wheatless crust was up to the load—and
pushed it into the oven.

“I haven’t seen either of them since I

deserted. I don’t want to lay that on
them.”

She snorted. “I’m pretty sure I would

go nowhere near my dad in those
circumstances.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty

sure I would go nowhere near your dad
in any circumstances.”

“This Ananke business may be real,

but I’m still unconvinced my father is

part of it.” She set a timer, her thoughts
once again buzzing silently through her
head. Instead of returning to him, she
pulled the Heidelberg ornament off the
refrigerator.

“What ya thinking?”
She walked to the tree and dusted

tinsel off a branch. “I’m thinking I’d
rather have things I care about on the
tree than have it look like a magazine.”
She shot him a small smile. “And you’re
here, so I’m not decorating alone.”

She

hung

the

ornament

up,

unbalancing the tree’s perfection, and
grinned. When she came back, she
squeezed his shoulder like it was the
most natural thing in the world, which,

of course, it wasn’t, and she looked him
full in the face like she didn’t even
notice the scars. “If you don’t mind, I’m
going to go change into something I
didn’t sleep in. Try a beer. The gluten-
free stuff’s pretty good.” She dug in the
fridge, lobbed a bottle at him and headed
off, those pretty hips swaying in a
graceful rhythm that was utterly absent of
her earlier nerves.

They were verging on friends, and

that was so much more than he’d
expected when he first saw her swinging
from that hoop. So he should probably
quit looking at her ass.

But his friend had a really hot ass.
He twisted open the top of the beer

and took a sip. He could get used to

gluten-free beer.

He took another sip. He could get

used to gluten-free beer if it meant he
was hanging out with Jolie. Otherwise,
no way.

A buzzer rang.
“Would you get that?” Jolie yelled.

“It’s the doorbell.”

He snorted. “Are you sure you want

me to answer it?”

“If they’re here to kill us, don’t let

them in.”

A monitor near the elevators had a

blinking light. Figuring that was this
place’s version of a doorbell, he trudged
over, muttering, “I meant, are you sure
you want to scare the crap out of your

guest with my pretty face answering the
door?” But if she’d somehow managed
to forget what he looked like, he wasn’t
going to remind her. A quick survey of
the complicated keypad showed a likely
button and he pressed it.

To his surprise, Travis the valet was

on the other end. “Can I come up? You
left your phone in the car.”

Apparently he could see Travis, but

Travis couldn’t see him. “Sure. Do I
have to punch a button?”

Travis’s demeanor snapped from

casual to proper as he worked Hauk
through the process of granting access. A
minute later the elevator pinged and the
valet walked in.

“I apologize for the interruption, sir, I

—” Travis saw him, hesitated and, to his
credit, his eyes widened but they didn’t
drop. “I have Jolie’s phone. Is she
here?”

“She’s changing.” Hauk dropped onto

a sofa like he belonged here. “Want to
wait?” The kid could just hand him the
phone, but he looked disinclined to
leave without seeing Jolie, probably
worried the scary monster had eaten her
for dinner.

And he was back to reality, where his

scarred face mattered.

Travis’s eyes darted back to the

bedrooms, apparently he knew the layout
of Jolie’s condo, and back to Hauk.

Hauk huffed in irritation. And

explained. “Afghanistan. My CHU
burned down while I was in it. That’s a
—”

“Containerized Housing Unit.” Travis

relaxed and sat down across the coffee
table from Hauk. “You’re military.”

Hauk nodded. “You don’t strike me

as military.”

“I’m not. I spent a year in Mosul

covering events for an online journal.
Made real good friends with the
soldiers, who saved my ass more than
once. Found it was better for my health
to stick near the military.”

“A war correspondent? And now

you’re hopping cars? Who’d you piss
off?”

Travis chuckled as he checked the

time on his phone. “My parents. I took a
trip instead of going to college. Spent
five years backpacking from Lhasa to
Istanbul and kept a blog. Trust me when
I say I’ve had far worse jobs than
valeting cars. But the blog was how the
guys at Saoirse found me for the Mosul
gig. You heard of Saoirse? It’s a
political blog. ‘Saoirse’ is Gaelic for
‘freedom.’ Kinda radical, definitely not
the Benoit cup of tea, but it’s worth a
read. They have some interesting points
and do some smart stuff.”

Hauk blinked. “Yeah. I read it.”

Religiously, in fact. Saoirse Press was
run by the Boston Underlight. Most of
Saoirse’s articles were freelance and

few of the reporters actually knew about
the Underlight. But it took a sharp mind
and a suspicious streak for a writer’s
work to be deemed fit. The same
qualities it took to get an invite to the
Underlight.

Travis didn’t know it, but they were

on the same team.

“So now I’m part-time at UT working

on a journalism degree and full-time
here paying for it.” He leaned in
conspiratorially. “I gotta admit though,
it’s usually not as pleasant a job as
certain redheads make it. Except when
she’s trying to pawn off the gluten-free
beer.” Travis wrinkled his nose. “Sorry,
man.”

Hauk laughed, but before he could

confirm Travis’s opinion, the pretty
redhead in question entered the room.
He grinned and said loudly, “How dare
you insult this fine beverage.”

Travis mouthed, “Asshole,” but his

smile showed he wasn’t offended.

“Travis! You bad-mouthing my beer

again?” Jolie shook her head and feigned
offense. “Some people have no taste.”

The buzzer went off on the pizza as

Hauk tried to hide a laugh.

“Want to join us for lunch? I’m pretty

sure we made plenty,” Jolie added.

“Wish I could, but my break’s about

over. Gotta get back.” Travis hopped up
and tossed her the phone. “You leav S.
nt e this everywhere, you know that?”

“I didn’t have pockets earlier,” Jolie

protested.

“It’s a six-hundred-dollar phone with

your personal information stored in it.”

“At least I got it to my car.” At

Travis’s look, her voice quieted. “This
time.”

“Uh-huh. Good to meet you...?”

Travis quirked his head.

“Hauk.”
“One word? Like, Prince? Madonna?

Just ‘Hauk’?” Before Hauk could come
up with a suitable reply, Travis
shrugged. “That’s cool.” His face turned
more serious. “Thanks for your service,
man. I know that’s not much to say, but
after what I saw? There aren’t sufficient

words.” He turned away and raised one
arm. “Penthouse Princess?”

Jolie rolled her eyes but squeezed

him in a quick side-hug.

“You have a good afternoon.”
As the elevator shut behind Travis,

Hauk turned to Jolie. “I like him.”

“Yeah. He’s pretty cool.” Jolie’s

smile crumbled. “You know, for a few
minutes I forgot what we were doing this
afternoon.” She took a deep breath and
headed for the buzzing oven. “Want to
start telling me the plan?”

Hauk took his own deep breath as

Jolie pulled lunch out of the oven. “No.”

She stood, pizza in hand. “Huh?”
“I’ll tell you what you need to know

when you need to know it.” He grabbed

a dishtowel, took the pizza, and set it on
the counter.

“Wait a minute. That’s not right. Are

we working together or not?”

He frowned and started slicing thick

triangles. “See, that’s the real problem,
isn’t it? I think we are. I want to think
we are. But what if I’m a bad judge of
character? What if you’re working for
Ananke? I’ve caused a helluva lot of
havoc over the past few years. Hell, I’m
Austin Underlight’s best line of defense.
They’d love to take me out of the
equation. So, say I tell you where we’re
going to be and when we’re going to be
there, and you report back to your boss,
and I walk into a trap. The less you

know ahead of time, the less warning
they have.”

Frustration squeezed her shoulders

and turned her beautiful mouth into a
scowl. “Except that I’m not going to do
that because I’m not one of them. I didn’t
even know they existed until this
morning. How many times am I going to
have to say that?”

He set down the knife and raised a

hand. “For what it’s worth, I believe
you. But it would be irresponsible to act
as if I’m incapable of making a mistake.
It’s not just my safety that’s at stake here.
I know things that can hurt a lot of
people.”

“So basically what you’re saying is, I

have to trust you but you can’t trust me.”

Hauk took a step toward her, feeling

as if a field of land mines separated
them. Was that what he was saying?
Maybe so. But it wasn’t that simple. “If
you don’t want to come with me, I’ll try
to get your niece back on my own. But I
think you deserve to see what I’m going
to show you. I think you deserve to see
for yourself that everything we said this
morning is true.”

She looked at the floor as conflicting

emotions warred in her expression and
posture. But he could see the moment
when she gave in. When her eyes found
his, her sense of humor was back, and
she poked him in the chest. “This
adventure Shisld see the runs your

way...but only because I understand your
point. Next one’s my way.”

Hauk tentatively curled his hand

around her accosting finger. She didn’t
pull away. “Mm, I like a woman who
knows how to take charge.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Jolie

drew in a sharp breath and Hauk could
swear her eyes darkened as she looked
up at him under those long lashes. Just
like that, the room charged with new
energy, and his head clouded with an
urge to lean down and kiss her. His
fingers shook as they reached up to her
hair and smoothed one long strand.

She cleared her throat. “Why do you

wear gloves all the time? Your hands
aren’t that bad.” Her eyes widened in

embarrassment, losing any hint of that
beautiful lusty darkness. “I mean,
damaged. I mean...I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean—”

Hauk dropped her hair and looked at

his hands, bare since he’d pulled off his
gloves for food prep. The backs were
lightly scarred and one palm had a knot-
work pattern of burns that had been a
bitch to rehabilitate back into usefulness,
but she was right. They were nowhere
near as bad as the rest of him.
“Temperature sensitivity. The grafted
skin lets in the cold.”

“Oh.”
She seemed at a loss for what to say,

and the moment was busted anyway, so

he turned to the pizza. “Lunch?”

She flashed a smile and busied

herself finding dishes and napkins and
filling two glasses with water, while he
watched her lithe form bustling about the
kitchen. When she finally stopped and
presented lunch, her nerves were gone,
replaced by a hearty smile. “You know,
you’ve made my life awfully interesting.
I haven’t decided yet how I feel about
that.”

Hauk took the pizza and with some

effort, put a damper on the last of his
hormone rush. “Stick with me, beautiful.
I can’t promise a good time, but if
history is any indicator, I can promise
it’ll always be interesting.”

Chapter Seven

“Don’t get me wrong. I want to get

Whitney back ASAP. But don’t you
normally sneak into evil strongholds at
night?”

It was the blazing middle of the day,

and Hauk had a Batman-esque rope-and-
claw launcher out as they faced a wall
nearly twice his height.

Lunch had been surprisingly fun.

Turned out, the raging warrior she’d
labeled demon-man was a friendly guy
with a quirky sense of humor and deep
sense of loyalty to his friends in the
Underlight.

So

much

for

first

impressions. After eating, they’d hopped
back in her car and he’d directed her to
head into west Austin’s hills, down
backroads and over creek beds until they
pulled over at a location she could only
describe as “the middle of nowhere.”

A short walk through the trees,

however, had proved that to be far from
true. A giant wall blocked any further
progress toward a Grecian temple.

She looked up the hill again, half-

convinced her eyes had to be deceiving
her. Nope. Still a big-ass Grecian
temple. Gleaming white on the hilltop,
its columns rose in marble glory from a
pristine platform to a vividly painted
frieze and triangle pediment. “I think it’s
bigger than the Parthenon.”

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Hauk

answered. With a whump of air, the rope
launched out and latched onto the top of
the wall. “They keep more guards at
night. I feel reasonably certain I can beat
our way out right now. Less so after
dark, when their secur Vgain, ity kicks
into high gear.”

“You know, I’ve been to the

Parthenon several times. We took lots of
trips growing up, but Greece was Dad’s
favorite.”

Hauk shot her an “I-told-you-so” look

before tugging on the rope. “I’m
assuming after your acrobatics on the
hoop last night that you can climb a
rope.” He reached into his bag and

pitched a pair of gloves at her. “This
one’s not too easy on the hands, though.”
With a heft of his impressive arm
muscles, he pulled himself up.

Jolie put the gloves on. “‘The hoop’

is called a lyra, and it’s my specialty.
But yes, I can dance on a rope, too.”

Hauk’s progress stopped. “Dance?”

Jolie gave him a not-so-innocent smile,
and he got that dazed look again that
made her all warm inside. “Fuck me,” he
murmured before continuing up the rope.

“You wish.”
“Jolie,” he growled.
“You have a great ass. Has anyone

told you that lately? You’re at the perfect
angle to really admire it, too. I just want
to reach up and...” She reached out and

squeezed the air in front of her as Hauk
mumbled something unintelligible. “I
figure a good perusal of your ass-ets is
only fair, as you got to see mine
yesterday. Without paying for a ticket.”

“Peruse all you want, sweetheart. I’ll

be back for your next show—without a
ticket—to get another eyeful. But do me
a favor this time and go for a thong
instead of hot shorts.”

“Ooh! A throwdown from the peanut

gallery.”

He heaved himself on top of the wall,

shoulder muscles clenching nicely under
his jacket. “Takes a real woman to wear
a thong in public.”

Jolie grabbed the rope and climbed

as Hauk pulled from above, making
quick work of the distance. At the top
she grabbed his hand and he hoisted her
up. “I rock a thong.”

The look he gave her sizzled. “I’ve

no doubt.”

She waved at the faux-Parthenon.

“So, we just gonna stroll in there like we
own the place, or is there a more sneaky
plan? You do realize I’m not so much
with the spy skills.”

He crossed his arms. “You drive a

mean getaway car and scale walls.
Princess-rescuing should be right up
your alley.” He tipped his head. “You
absolutely sure you’re not a plant?
’Cause g’damn, woman. You got mad
spy skills.”

“Not a plant.”
“And also ’cause I’m about to walk

into the snake den with you.”

She shook her head and dropped any

teasing from her voice. “I just want my
niece back.”

He studied her intensely for a moment

before nodding. “Then let’s get inside.”

Without further hesitation he turned

away, and Jolie looked over at the
fucking Grecian temple they were
breaking in to. The one that had sent a
bunch of guys to shoot at them earlier
today.

The one Hauk thought her father

worked for.

God, he really was trusting her. He

was breaking into an enemy stronghold
with the daughter of his enemy to rescue
a girl he’d never met. While Jolie had
been living an easy life, he’d been
getting himself burned nearly to death in
a war zone. Then he came home,
recovered (she didn’t know what went
into burn rehab in addition to repeated
flaying, but it couldn’t be pleasant), and
went right back to [ighe drisking his
neck for other people.

Grade-A hero was what that was.
Oblivious to her admiration, Hauk

landed on the ground inside the wall and
let go of the rope. As Jolie swung
herself back onto it his voice rumbled
beneath her. “You got a problem with
me saying you’ve got a mighty fine ass

yourself?”

She landed and arched an eyebrow at

him. “I told you. I rock a thong. Now, me
and my planless ass are going to proceed
blindly toward that building, unless you
care to fill me in on any more details?”

He grinned. “Nope.”
“You’re loving this power thing way

too much.”

“Yup.”
The closer they approached, the more

the temple struck Jolie with awe. The
marble columns soared above her head,
each thicker than a man and topped with
a Corinthian crown of leaves. The
building had a double row of them
surrounding an inner temple with solid

walls.

“Inside, is it structured like the

Grecian temples? Just three rooms?”

“The upstairs, yeah, but there’s a

whole below-ground compound.”

“When were you inside?”
“Five years ago, right after I got out

of Afghanistan. At the time I had no idea
who they were or what I was getting
myself into.”

“They wanted you to work for them?”
“That they did.”
Catrina and Hauk had both been

recruited? And both turned them down.
Interesting.

They approached the back corner of

the building, but Hauk stopped at an
olive grove about a hundred yards away.

“Better entrance.” He brushed aside a
net of fake leaves to reveal a trap door
buried in the ground.

“They don’t guard this one?”
Hauk popped the door open and

reached in. When he brought his fist
back, a man’s neck was caught in it, his
mouth gaping and gulping soundlessly
for air. “Yeah, they do.” Hauk rubbed
something beneath the struggling man’s
nose until he passed out. “But he’s not as
hard to get past as the retinue at the front
door.” Hauk set him to the side and
proceeded down a narrow staircase. “I
hope you don’t mind, but I’m going
first.”

Jolie forced her eyes away from the

unconscious man and managed to keep
her voice light. “I admit I usually
appreciate ladies first. But we’ll make
an exception for sneaking into enemy
territory.”

“Smart girl.”
The tunnel Jolie found herself in was

more like a hallway in Versailles than an
underground lair. Red carpet, low
electric lights and plush furnishings in
Neo-classical style lined the walls.
Innumerable doors led off into who
knew where, and the passageway
continued both behind and in front of
them. “Geez, this is huge. Where do you
think Whitney is?”

“This way.” Hauk strode forward

like he owned the place, a slight

lowering of his voice the only sign that
he didn’t belong here.

“If my dad’s a member, why did they

kidnap his granddaughter?”

“There are warring factions within

The Order of Ananke. Your father
must’ve pissed somebody off. Or they
need him to prove his loyalty. Or there’s
infighting. Who knows? They’re not
always so good at working in harmony.”

Muffled voices sounded from around

a corner and Jo [cor so goolie froze.
Hauk opened a door, shoved her inside
and followed behind. The door shut just
before the echo of the voices changed,
indicating the men had turned into their
hallway.

Jolie took a quick breath as her eyes

adjusted to the new dimness. They’d
jammed themselves into a closet. Ritual
equipment,

like

candlesticks

and

banners, hung from the walls and was
stacked on the floor, giving them barely
any room to stand. Hauk pulled her away
from a wall where several stanchions
precariously balanced.

Leaving her nuzzled up next to him.

The heat from his body warmed her cold
skin, and once again she felt stupidly
safe in his presence—literally stupid, as
they had no idea who was on the other
side of that door.

She

turned

her

face

away,

embarrassed by her desire to burrow

closer to Hauk like a frightened kitten.
He pulled his hoodie tighter around his
face as his lips pinched together in anger
or embarrassment. He’d gotten the
wrong idea.

Honestly, by the time lunch was over

she barely noticed his scars anymore.
She should do something to make him
realize that. Like touch him. If she tipped
his chin down to look at her, and if she
touched his burned skin and not the
fabric he blocked out the world with,
that would show him she wasn’t afraid,
right?

But she was afraid of taking that step

from sight to touch. He didn’t look
strange to her anymore, or more
accurately,

she

didn’t

notice

the

strangeness. But what would his
damaged skin feel like? Would the
ripples be hard ridges or give under her
touch? Would it feel waxy like it
looked? Or scaly? Or...

There was only one way to find out.

She reached two fingers up—

“This is outrageous. I told them we

could swing the vote without their
horseshit. And what do they do? Kidnap
my goddamn granddaughter.”

Jolie froze at the sound of her father’s

angry voice. He was really here. She
dropped her hand and stared at the door
in shock and outrage.

“Isn’t Andrew supposed to be on duty

here, sir?”

Her father’s harsh breath blew in a

sound of frustration she knew far too
well. “Andrew? That boy needs to have
his balls screwed to a wall somewhere
so he can concentrate. Call him. Get his
ass here.”

“Yes, sir.”
“And get that goddamned trial

started! I want Whitney’s memories of
this incident wiped away, and I want her
home with my daughter where she
belongs.”

* * *

That snippet was all Hauk needed

to know he was heading for the right

place. When the footsteps faded, Hauk
opened the door and glanced both ways.
“Let’s keep moving.”

“That was my dad.”
He stopped. Jolie’s face was so pale

he almost put a hand out to steady her.
But he remembered her aversion to his
closeness in the closet and restrained
himself. “I figured, based on their
conversation.”

“He’s really here.”
“He’s going to get your niece back

and she won’t even remember this. You
sure you don’t want to just let him?”

“It’s not money. It’s never money

with him. It’s news. They want him to
print something.”

Something in her cold tone gave him

a bad feeling. “You say that with
conviction.”

“Yeah, well, it’s why the Benoits get

kidnapped [getfee. Trust me on this
one.” She turned toward the inner
sanctum and started walking.

Hauk followed. “This has happened

before?”

She looked straight ahead and didn’t

answer the question as their pace
quickened. “News is power, you know.
People trust the news. They vote
because of it. The tone of a country
changes because of it. My father and I
may disagree about, oh, everything, but
he

is

honest.

He

really

thinks

corporations running the world will

work out better for people in the long
run. He really thinks we’ve gone too far
with free speech, because ‘encouraging
immorality’ isn’t what the Founding
Fathers meant. Oh, and that we need to
fund the space program so that when
we’ve destroyed the earth through
environmental waste or nuclear disaster,
we can go somewhere else. There are a
lot of planets out there. If we can reach
them, ours is expendable. On Scotch and
Cigars nights he waxes eloquent about it.
We’ve had screaming matches about his
batshit ideas. But the one thing I can say
for him is he doesn’t put lies on the air
or in the paper. He’s crazy, domineering
and arrogant, but not outright dishonest.”
She looked down, sadness replacing the

cold recitation. “It’s his best trait. I want
him to keep it.”

She crossed her arms defensively and

looked so beaten, Hauk wanted to touch
her. But that wouldn’t comfort her, so he
merely concluded for her, “But he’ll
print lies if they threaten him with
Whitney.”

She nodded.
“And you know this because?”
She studiously didn’t look at him.

“He did it fifteen years ago for me, and
it changed the outcome of an election.
Let’s get Whitney so he doesn’t have to
do it again.”

Any lingering doubts Hauk might’ve

had about Jolie evaporated at the pained

sincerity in her voice. After rescuing
Whitney, he wanted to see her again. He
didn’t know how he was going to
convince Brayden, but he’d make it
work out. He was going back to the
Underlight, and somehow he’d keep
Jolie in his life.

As a friend, of course.
She stopped. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Do you think he’s erased any of my

memories? That’s what he said he would
do, right? Erase Whitney’s memory of
being here?”

Hauk wanted to say something

comforting, but in this case anything she
wanted to hear was a lie. “I have no
idea. I didn’t know they could do that. I

didn’t know it was possible.”

He could see it in her eyes when she

remembered Catrina’s claims about
magic. He didn’t want to believe in
magic. Not some amorphous mind-
altering kind, anyway. It added a whole
new arsenal to what he fought against,
one he didn’t know how to defend his
friends from. One that could make him
and his blackouts a dangerous weapon
for the wrong side.

Good thing magic was crazy talk. He

took a deep breath. At least, that was his
hope.

They reached the stairs to the temple

anti-chamber with its white marble,
precise carving and bright paint. Of

course, the crowning glory was the two-
story statue of Ananke lording over the
inner chamber. From this hallway they
could just see her raised hand and
spindle dropping a thread that snaked all
the way to the ground. The statue was a
monstrosity; one look at that thing and
he’d known this was not his tribe—and
that was before he’d understood that
“thoughtless killing machine” was the
job they wanted him for.

“Jolie, meet Ananke. Or her h

[nkeughtlesand, anyway. We’re not
going that way. Come on.” He pushed
back his sleeve to uncover his Atropos
tattoo, the same one every member of the
hit squad sported.

“What’s that?” Jolie asked.

“A convenience,” he said, and

scanned the tattoo against a hidden panel
under the stairs.

A door opened, and Jolie looked

from it to him, wide-eyed. “The tattoo is
a key? You...”

“I told you they tried to recruit me.”

As far as he knew, he was the only
recruit to refuse their offer—and live.

“What, they hand out keys to

applicants?”

She looked afraid. Of him. He hadn’t

wanted to get into this; it was the less-
important reason he hadn’t gone into his
plan ahead of time. But if she’d whipped
out a key to their underground chamber,
he’d have questions too. He spoke

quickly. “A doctor from The Order of
Ananke offered to get me out of the
hospital after my court martial.”

“You were court martialed?”
“I’d just been promoted to staff

sergeant when the fire happened. I was
the only one to survive, and I was in
charge. Something was up, though, that
night and during the trial, so when a
guilty verdict and life sentence got
handed out after a minimal investigation
—I was still in the fuckin’ burn unit
when they convicted me—I took the
doctor up on her offer. That was before I
realized what The Order of Ananke was
about or that a group like this could even
exist. But they treated me as if I was a
sure thing.” He touched the tattoo. “They

were wrong.” He strode into the
stairwell that led down to the Order’s
most sacred space. “You coming?”

“Did you do it?”
He froze two steps down as once

again frustration overwhelmed him that
he couldn’t remember that night. “Would
I tell you the truth if I had?” He turned
back to see her reaction.

She slowly nodded, accepting his

non-answer. “Why haven’t they changed
the locks since you left?”

He gave a grim chuckle. “They can’t.

The dye in the tattoo is special. Catrina
thinks it’s magic.”

Jolie’s eyebrows rose almost to her

hairline. “This is what she was talking

about? Magical tattoo keys? What are
you not telling me?”

He leaned against the wall and

crossed him arms. “Come on inside, we
should—”

“What. Are you not. Telling me?”
He should have left her at her condo;

this was not going to go well. “She
thinks the tattoo was put on my arm as
some kind of mystical mind control, and
that’s why they trusted me with ‘the
keys,’ because they thought the tattoo
would make me their man.”

“Wouldn’t you have taken the job

offer if you were under their mind
control? Or is she worried that you’re
some sort of double agent?”

“She thinks that instead of the mind

control working like it was supposed to,
the spell short-circuited or blew up or
something, and that’s why I have
blackouts.”

Jolie stared at him for a long moment

with an unreadable face before shaking
her head. “Thanks for telling me. Next
time, don’t wait so long. Let’s go get
Whitney.”

To his shock, she followed him down

the

spiral

stairs

and

into

the

underground.

The underground temple was exactly

as he’d remembered, with smooth
obsidian replacing the upper temple [
upont size’s shining marble. A red
Ananke stood at the apex of the

colonnade, a serpent coiled around her
torso and feathered wings spread like a
demon. Two stone circles on the floor,
formed out of Ananke’s scarlet thread
wound into an infinity sign, represented
a choice between two evils that fate
sometimes forces on men. In those
circles, The Order would place objects,
or people, representing a choice they
were about to force on a member. Like
they’d tried to do to him.

Hauk leaned on his cane as he stood

behind

a

black

railing,

uncomprehending exactly how he’d
gotten himself into a freaky-ass cult.
Sure, his rehabilitation under their
care had been medically astounding.
And yes, they’d saved his life when they

extracted him from the hospital, where
the doctors helped him gain enough
strength to start a life sentence in
prison. Plus, Hauk had been a
polytheist since he was sixteen, so
goddess worship was nothing new.

But what the fuck was with the

twelve-foot-tall, snake-eyed, winged
lady? ’Cause she was disturbing.

His theoros, the contact they’d given

him within the order, whispered in his
ear, “Ananke has seen fit to give you an
easy choice, my friend. You must be
blessed.”

“Uh-huh.” In one circle at the foot

of the statue, one of his doctors sat,
nodding arrogantly. In the other circle

was a man with a rifle. Aimed at Hauk.

H i s theoros continued, louder this

time, “Wesley Haukon, you have long
been destined for initiation into the
mysteries of Ananke, called into her
embrace for special duty as a Hand of
Atropos. Accept your destiny, and we
shall repair your body and give you a
new face, one you can show in public.
Or fight your fate and, like many
heroes before you, lose.”

Hauk took a new look at his doctor.

They were going to fix his face? Make
it one that wasn’t hunted for mass
murder and desertion? Make him able
to live a normal life again? At Brooke
Army

Medical

he’d

been

told

reconstruction was impossible, that he

would be hideously scarred forever.
But he’d seen strange things here. They
might be able to do it.

He looked at the statue again with

new eyes and saw the beauty and
pristine detail that had gone into her
carving.

Since

he’d

been

here,

everyone around him spoke of fate,
destiny and necessity as if each life was
planned meticulously in advance. Hauk
believed in a type of fate, insomuch as
most of life was out of his control and
no one could entirely leave the past
behind. But he also believed that the
choices

he

made

based

on

circumstances out of his control, or no
longer in his control, were what made

him a worthy or unworthy man.

A pretty-boy assassin at somebody

else’s beck and call, or an ugly dead
man? His fate sucked either way. But
that didn’t deny him the ability to
choose.

And he didn’t take well to men

claiming friendship while pointing a
gun at him.

“What say you, Wesley?” The

theoros sounded so smug, so sure of
Hauk’s answer.

Hauk turned with a friendly smile

and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I
say you and your little toga club can go
fuck yourselves. I’m out of here.”

He launched himself over the rail as

the gun went off.

The bullet had grazed his hip, and

that was the last thing he remembered
until members of t [ me/i>

And now, here he was again,

watching preparations for Reginald
Benoit’s own choice between two evils.
That bastard deserved the mental torture.

The girl locked in a gilded cage

surrounded

by

Ananke’s

thread,

however, did not. He pulled one of
Tally’s special keys out of his rucksack
and pressed it into Jolie’s hand. “Put this
in the lock on Whitney’s cage. Turn the
dial until the cage opens. Get the girl out
the way we came in. If it gets bad in
here, do not wait for me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Create a distraction.”

Chapter Eight

Hauk strode to the center of the

room, all cocksure swagger, as one by
one the agents milling about like drones
turned to look at him.

How many men just waltzed right in

to enemy territory, outnumbered and
with no evident exit plan? He was either
stupid as hell or his absolute command
of the situation was hella sexy. Jolie
wasn’t quite sure which. But when every
eye had turned to him, she ran the path
between the black columns to get to her
niece. “Whitney!” she stage-whispered
as her fingers fumbled for the lock.

“Aunt Jolie?”
“Sh-sh-sh. We’re getting you out.”
“Holy shit!”
“Language, missy! You’re twelve.”

The key fit in the lock, but nothing
happened. Jolie clicked the knob blindly
as she turned to see what Whitney was
cussing about.

Hauk was surrounded. No guns were

out, thank God, but the cultists
brandished tripods and censors and
other detritus from the room, while Hauk
was barehanded.

A cultist swung a metal pole. Hauk

ducked. Grabbed it. Yanked.

The cultist landed on his face, and

Hauk now had a weapon.

The lock clicked. Jolie stashed the

key in her pocket and opened the door.

Whitney leaped out into her arms.

“Aunt Jolie! Thank you!”

“Let’s give Hauk a moment and then

we’re outie, okay?”

“Is that Hauk?” she pointed and Jolie

nodded. “What’s wrong with his face?”

“He was in the Army and got hurt

fighting for us in Afghanistan.”

“Oh.” Whitney’s nose scrunched in

disgust. “I guess he’s a good guy, then.”

“The best.”
Whitney hopped out of the cage and

flipped her black hair back into perfect
place. Hauk was handling his opponents
handily. They were going to do this.

“Stop!”
Jolie rubbed her brow. She’d thought

too soon.

The speaker stood in the doorway

with the commanding presence of a
prince. Steely gray hair set off an
aristocratic face, which his high-dollar
suit supported. Jolie vaguely recognized
him from her father’s dinner parties as
one of the rhetoric-spouting jackasses
she avoided. She’d always thought of
him as relatively harmless compared to
most of her father’s powerful friends and
business associates.

But something about the way he held

and caressed a golden drop spindle,
much like som ^ me/ier beone would a

pet cat, gave her the wiggins.

“What’s that?” Whitney whispered.
“I have no idea.”
The combatants stopped in midfight

to look at him. Hauk lowered his
weapon.

“Jolie. How kind of you to join us

after declining the invitation last night.”

She laughed bitterly. “After your

boys were so kind, I simply couldn’t
stay away.”

She could swear he smiled, though

the twist of his thin lips was hardly
friendly or kind. “A bit rough with you,
were they? Considering where they
found you, can you blame them?”

“Yeah. I can.”
Hauk made his way to her, casually

twirling the pole as he moved. “We’re
leaving. The three of us. Is this gonna be
a fight, or are you going to do the smart
thing?”

Now it was definitely a smile

twisting his mouth up, but Jolie didn’t
like it one bit. “Yes, we have learned
from our mistakes, and this time we’re
going to do the smart thing.” He held the
drop spindle aloft. “Ananke, we your
servants call upon your power. Bind
your followers to your will and ours by
the thread that you spin.”

He released the spindle. Instead of

crashing to the ground, it spun and
dropped slowly as a glowing scarlet
thread stretched from nothing.

“What’s that?” Whitney asked, her

voice thin and face pale.

“I have no fucking clue.” But he’s

standing between us and the door. Jolie
looked around for a second exit.
Nothing. She looked up the statue.

There. Behind Ananke’s head, a

skylight glowed with afternoon sun.
Nobody had a gun or other projectile
weapon. She bet she and Hauk could
climb faster than anybody in the room.
She squeezed Whitney’s shoulder.
“Think you can get up the statue?”

The girl’s eyes widened, but she

nodded.

“Go.”
Whitney sprinted for Ananke’s foot

and hoisted herself up. Hauk strode for
the man, murder in his eyes.

The glowing spindle touched the

ground.

Luminous red strands shot from the

spindle to Hauk and to the other men in
the room, catching them all in a web.
Hauk kicked the spindle. It crashed to
the ground and careened around the
room, shooting red thread likes sparks.
Jolie ran to her niece and propelled her
up to the goddess’s belt. From there, it
was an easy climb to the shoulder.

Hauk grabbed the old man around the

neck. “You will let us pass.”

“No,” he choked out. “You will do as

I command. Seize the woman and put her
in the cage. Then seize the little girl.”

Fat chance of that happening. Jolie

grabbed the obsidian thread and pulled
herself up, aiming to meet Whitney at the
top.

Someone grabbed her by the hips.

“Get off me!” She kicked out, but he took
the impact without shifting and roughly
yanked her from the statue. She fell back,
sprawling painfully on her ass.

Hauk stood over her, eyes glowing

crimson.

“Hauk? Hauk! What the hell?”
He reached down to grab her again.

She slapped at him. He ignored it and
jerked her to her feet. Had Catrina been
right? If Hauk switched teams, they were
screwed.

His empty stare and rough

touch shot panic through her.
“Stop! Hauk. Please. You’re
hurting me.”

He paused, shook his head as if trying

to clear it.

“That’s right, Hauk. It’s Jolie. We’re

on the same team.” Oh, please...please
listen...

“Jolie, Jolie,” the head priest

intoned. “Our normal methods of
persuasion may not have worked on him,
but he can’t resist anymore.”

“Why? Because you have red yarn? I

have a red corset. Corset trumps yarn in
the male brain.”

Hauk’s

fingers

squeezed

her

shoulders painfully, but he didn’t push
her toward the cage.

“Come on, Hauk,” she murmured to

him. “No thong in the next show if you
lock me up.”

“I have the power of a goddess. He

will obey me.”

But Hauk still froze, fighting for

himself.

The crazy guy huffed in irritation.

“Fine. Wesley Haukon, get that brat off
the statue. Everybody else, get Benoit’s
slut of a daughter and cage her up.”

The slur was lost on Jolie at the

sound of that name. Hauk was his last
name?

He had been her mysterious

stranger behind the sheet. The fantasy
and the nightmare were the same man.

Hauk’s shoulders slumped and his

grip on Jolie slackened as the other thugs
surrounded them. He was losing.

Steeling herself, Jolie trapped his

chin between her hands and forced Hauk
to face her. “Wesley of the Divine
Tongue, I need your help.” Closing her
eyes, she kissed him.

Hauk stilled again then leaned into

her touch.

“That’s right. Come back.” She

kissed him more forcefully, trying to get
through—

—and was grabbed again. Two men

had her arms, dragging her away from
Hauk. The kiss broke. Hauk stood before

her, confused as the red evaporated from
his eyes and the iris of one became a
ghostly ice-blue. He saw the men
holding her.

And went nuts.
His kick caught one man behind the

knee, sending him sprawling. A punch,
and the other’s nose exploded in blood.
Hauk pushed Jolie down, grabbed a pole
from the ground and swung.

“Grab the kid! Do what I say!” Gray-

hair screeched.

Hauk threw the pole like a spear.

Gray-hair’s assistant knocked him to the
ground just before he was impaled, and
the two crawled for the door. Hauk took
a step to follow.

“Hauk! Up!” Jolie grabbed Ananke’s

red thread and climbed.

He

stopped,

gut-punched

an

approaching cultist, grabbed a censor
from the ground, swung the chain and
nailed another combatant.

Marching footsteps approached from

the hallway. Troops, probably armed.

“Hauk! Let’s go!” She reached

Whitney, who cowered behind Ananke’s
wing. “Window. Go.”

“It doesn’t open.”
“Shit. Lemme see.” She would break

it if she had to. Jolie climbed over
Ananke’s shoulder to where she could
reach the glass.

Thick and sealed solid.

“Hauk!” she screamed. And turned to

find him right beside her.

He reached in his backpack and grab

cpace screambed another mechanical
doohickey. Slammed it on the window.
Dove on top of her and Whitney,
covering them with his bulk. A blast sent
glass flying outward into the yard.

Hauk scooped up Whitney and

pushed her through then helped Jolie
manage the small gap between statue and
window. He turned back, as if to go
down the statue and keep fighting.

“No! Hauk. Stay with me.” She

grabbed his shirtsleeve, tugging him
back to her.

He looked down at her hand, then

back at the fight.

“Please don’t leave us. There might

be guards outside.”

He nodded, somersaulted through the

window and came up on his feet.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to

you?”

Of all things, he smiled at her. “I

have a god, too.”

“And he hands out PCP. Excellent.

Let’s get the hell out of here. Whitney.
Come on.”

Hauk grabbed her niece’s arm and

ran, and Jolie sprinted to keep up. Their
rope was where they’d left it. Jolie went
up first. Hauk tried to pick Whitney up to
carry her, but she squirmed out of his
grasp.

“I got this.” To Jolie’s pride, the girl

hauled herself into the air.

Gunshots sprayed the wall. Jolie

yelped and climbed faster. She mounted
the top and reached down. Whitney
grabbed her wrist and Jolie yanked her
up.

She looked over the other side. The

wall was high, but any lyra dancer knew
how to take a fall. Jolie jumped. Rolled.
Came up. “Whitney, hang off the wall! I
can catch you.”

“Cheer camp, Aunt Jolie,” the girl

grumbled and then dropped off the wall,
landed in a safe pile and rolled up to
standing. “Geez, I’m not a kid anymore.”

Jolie grinned as Hauk crested the

wall. She took a moment to admire the
breadth of his chest as it rose above her.
God, his shape...

“Aunt Jolie? Where to?”
“My car. It’s...” She pointed toward

it as Hauk’s legs pushed over the wall.

A shot echoed. Hauk stiffened and let

go. His body dropped to the ground, out
of control.

“Hauk!” Jolie dropped beside him.

“Where are you—” Blood soaked his
shoulder. He could recover from a bullet
to the shoulder, right? “Can you get up?”

He pushed himself up painfully and

lurched forward. “Go. I’m fine.”

Jolie pressed her key ring into

Whitney’s hand. “Start the car.”

“Got it.” Her niece sprinted off in the

direction Jolie had pointed.

Jolie slung an arm under Hauk’s good

arm and helped him up. Together they
jogged forward as his pace accelerated.
When they reached the car, Whitney was
in the back with both doors open and the
engine roaring. Within seconds, the little
GT-R was blazing around the hairpin
turns of the country road on their way
back to Austin.

Hauk settled back into his seat

uncomfortably,

muttering

in

some

language Jolie had never heard before.

“How’s your shoulder?”
His fingers twitched, nervous energy

rolling off him. His bulk seemed to fill
the car even more than before. His hand

slapped down on Jolie’s thigh as his
eyes turned to her drunkenly. “No
doctors. Lemme sleep.”

“No doctor? You got s cor?his

eyeshot!”

“No. No doctor. Go someplace safe.”

With those words he passed out.

“Hauk? Hauk!”
“Oh my God! Is he unconscious?”

Whitney leaned forward. “He’s not
bleeding anymore!”

Jolie took her eyes off the road long

enough to check Hauk’s shoulder. It was
hard to tell, but it looked like Whitney
was right. His chest rose and fell in an
easy rhythm, and he looked awfully
peaceful for someone with a gunshot
wound.

“Who quits bleeding that quickly

after they get shot? And what was up
with him? His eyes were all whacked
out! And what was up with that
creeptastic place with the ugly statue?
And how did you know to find me
there?”

Jolie took a deep breath. “Hauk knew

to find you there. As for the rest of it?
The world just got a lot bigger for me,
too. How ’bout we keep all the weird
parts between you and me?”

In the rearview mirror she watched

Whitney nod a slow assent. “We’ll need
a good story to tell everybody.”

Jolie couldn’t help a small smile.

Looked like her niece just might be a

bad girl, too.

* * *

“Next time you need to sneak an

unconscious two hundred and fifty pound
man into your fifty-fifth story apartment,
don’t ask for me.”

Jolie propped Hauk’s hip against her

own as she inserted her keycard into the
elevator, then shot Travis a saccharine
smile. “And here I thought you liked a
good story.”

Whitney flipped her hair and grinned

at Travis, whom she clearly thought was
cute. “It’s not so bad. But I’m strong. For
a girl, I mean. I’m a cheerleader.”

Travis snorted. “You also have his

feet. I have his shoulders.”

The smiled dropped. “Yeah, I have

h i s fake foot. Did you see that he’s
missing a leg? Every time my hand
slips, I bruise myself on the weird metal
thing he has instead of a leg.” She used
her elbow to poke Jolie. “And Aunt
Jolie’s got his butt. I’m gonna tell him
you grabbed his butt. No, I’m gonna tell
him you volunteered to grab his butt. I
bet he’ll like that.”

Her smile was back. It was good to

see Whitney taking the day so well. As
the half-hour car ride had progressed,
she’d gone from overwhelmed to proud
of herself, a sentiment Jolie had

encouraged. It had taken Jolie years after
her own kidnapping to release all the
feelings of helplessness, and she
couldn’t stand the thought of Whitney
going through the same thing.

Although Catrina hadn’t been wrong;

Whitney had been picked up by someone
she knew and kept in a room with food
and a stack of DVDs. Jolie hadn’t had
quite the same experience.

Whitney prattled on. “All the guys

think Aunt Jolie is super-hot. It runs in
the family. I already have a boyfriend.
Sort of. And when I make varsity they’ll
be fighting for me. Aunt J was on the
dance team, and they’re almost as cool.”

Some

statements

even

not-so-

frightened kidnapping victims didn’t get

away with. “You did not just say that,
girl. Dance team is way cooler than
cheerleading.”

“Pshaw. I’m gonna be at the top of

the pyramid. That makes me way way
cooler than anyone on the ground.” Her
eyes widened. “Ooh! Speaking of. You
should teach me how to use that hoop
thing! Travis, have you seen cave
anyoneher dance on it? I’m not supposed
to know this, but she’s a burlesque
dancer. I had to look that up. It means
she’s a stripper but, like, classy. I bet
she’s really good. You should go to her
show. I’d like to see her, but there’s no
way I’m getting in until I’m older. But by
then she may be too old to do it

anymore.”

“How old do you think I am? When

you turn eighteen I’ll have just turned
thirty. I’m going to dance until I’m a hell
of a lot older than that.”

“Okay, just don’t be a stripper when

you’re old and have a plastic face
because that would be gross and you’d
be my embarrassing aunt instead of my
cool one.”

“I’m not a stripper now. And I’m not

getting plastic surgery. I plan on aging.”

“What? Who does that? Even Mom

gets Botox, and she’s your sister. I mean,
I know she’s a bunch of years older
because you were an accident and
everything—the best mistake ever made,
don’t get me wrong—but you should

probably start getting that soon, too.”

The elevator dinged and the doors

opened, and the three of them moved in
concert into her home, lugging Hauk.
Jolie grunted, partially from the load but
mostly from that piece of unsettling intel
about her sister.

“Angela gets Botoxed?” That didn’t

sound like Angie. They’d made fun of
their mom, behind her back of course,
for every nip and tuck. Then again,
Angie hadn’t been the same since she’d
gotten married and had Whitney, in not
quite that order. Now the former wild
daughter and Jolie’s childhood idol was
hosting

cocktail

parties

wearing

Grandmama’s pearls, while Jolie, the

good daughter who’d given up her
dreams of dancing to please the family,
was in Austin “embarrassing” everyone.
She barely talked to her sister anymore,
and it made Jolie sad.

“She didn’t tell me about that. She’s

too young. That’s injecting poison into
your skin—you do realize that, right?”

“It can’t be that bad. Everybody does

it. Oh! And Dad’s giving her a boob job
for her birthday. She’s so pumped, no
pun intended. Mom blames me. She says
she should’ve taken Grandma’s advice
and formula-fed, but I think she just
wants big boobs like yours. I hope I got
the big boobs genes like you did, not the
little ones like Mom did. Inserting sacks
of whatever into your chest kinda squigs

me out.” As if embarrassed by that, she
added quickly, “I mean, but I will if I
need to. I’m not like afraid or anything.
It’d just be easier if I didn’t need to.”

“Jesus Christ, my family is nuts.

Whitney! Nobody needs a boob job. No
matter what genes you get.”

Whitney looked her up and down, one

eyebrow arched. “Easy for you to say.”

Travis cleared his throat. “Do you

really dance burlesque?” He made an
effort to keep his face pleasantly blank
but couldn’t keep all the censure from
his eyes as he watched Whitney, or
interest from his voice when he
mentioned burlesque.

Jolie smiled grimly, glad to change

the subject. “Yup. With Pussy Will-Oh!.
We advertise in the Chronicle if you
ever want to come see a show.”

“He’ll be there,” Whitney said.
“Bedroom?” Travis asked. A blush

hit his cheeks. “For him, I mean. Hauk.”

Jolie looked down at Hauk’s barn-

door-broad shoulders and six and a half
foot height. “We’ll put him in mine. I
don’t think he’d fit on the guest bed.”

“Is Travis blushing? Oooh. Y chinly,

glad ou like Aunt Jolie, too. Better
watch out though. She’s got a boyfriend
who’s a rock star. And despite the hot
rock star, she kissed this guy. Even
though we were in the middle of a fight
and he has a seriously gross face.”

“I thought we talked about keeping

what happened to ourselves.”

Whitney shook her head as they

maneuvered Hauk’s bulk into a hallway.
“Hauk isn’t in the story we’re telling
people. The valet’s already in on the
lie.”

“The lie?” Travis raised an eyebrow.

“Where were you three?”

“Oh, shit,” Jolie murmured.
Whitney snorted.
“Can we talk about this later?”
“I was kidnapped. All this weird shit

happened. They saved me, her and Hauk.
And Hauk got shot, but we’re not
allowed to call a doctor.”

“He got shot?”
Jolie used her hip to open her

bedroom, and Travis and Whitney both
headed for the door, nearly folding Hauk
in half with her in the middle. Hauk
grumbled the first sound he’d made since
he passed out, and his hand slipped
around her hip.

“Wait!” she said.
They paused.
“Travis first.”
“Hey, look! He’s grabbing Aunt

Jolie’s butt!”

“Whitney...”
“You know, I bet he’s cute under all

those scars. And he did get them fighting
for America and all. And he did help
rescue me. Paul’s cuter, but he didn’t do
any of that. I mean, I don’t think I could
kiss Hauk or do anything else with him,

’cause ew, but you already did, so...”

Jolie glowered at her niece. “Can we

just get him on the bed?”

With the alacrity and grace of a

drunken three-toed sloth, they made
progress.

Whitney

continued

her

monologue as Travis watched with
increasing fascination, as if observing a
disaster in slow motion. Jolie couldn’t
blame him.

On the other hand, she couldn’t blame

Whitney. Jolie doubted she’d sounded
any different at that age.

But then Whitney said, “Think Mom’s

plastic surgeon could fix it? Well, I
mean, his face. The leg is gone.”

They spread Hauk on the bed.

Whitney carefully arranged his feet as
Jolie helped Travis remove his jacket
and blood-spattered hoodie.

“You could take him out in public if

his face was fixed,” she continued. “I
had no idea he was missing a leg until I
had to carry it.”

“He should be able to go out in

public no matter what he looks like,”
Jolie snapped. But even as she said the
words, she knew how idealistic they
were.

And Whitney, young as she was,

looked her in the eye and called her
bluff.

“He could. But he probably

doesn’t want to. I wouldn’t. People
would really stare. I could pay for the
surgery, I think. From my trust fund. Not

that I can get to that yet. But in a few
years. Like, as a reward for rescuing me.
Think he can wait a few years? I could
try to get the money as a Christmas
present, but that could be tricky to hide
what I’m doing with it from my parents.”

Jolie laid Hauk back down and

couldn’t help taking another close l
cothh it from ook at his face. It didn’t
scare her anymore. He was a really nice
guy. A good man. Once again her fingers
hovered over his skin, nearly touching,
and once again she pulled them back. “I
don’t think this can be fixed. Some scars
are too deep. But it’s nice of you to
offer.”

“This doesn’t look like a bullet

wound,” Travis said as his fingers gently
lifted the torn fabric of Hauk’s sleeve.
“I’m no expert or anything, but I did see
more than a few in Mosul and this
doesn’t look near bad enough.”

Jolie leaned over to look at the bullet

wound. Not that she’d have anything
even vaguely intelligent to say about it,
but she still wanted to see. Travis was
right; the wound didn’t look that bad.
Certainly not like the bloody explosion
that had knocked him off the wall.
Maybe in the heat of their escape her
mind had played tricks on her? But as
Travis leaned him forward, sure enough,
there was a matching exit wound where
the bullet had pushed clean through.

Whitney tried to shove between them.

“Lemme see! I told you it quit bleeding
awfully fast. Think he heals quickly?”
Her eyes glittered. “He could be some
sort of superhero. I mean, magic was
real in the cave. Why not superheroes?”

Jolie blocked her path to the bloody

shoulder

and

tried

a

distraction

technique. “Like Thor?” With his
collection of Viking weapons, she
thought

Hauk

would

like

that

comparison.

“Um, no. Thor’s cute. More like the

Hulk.”

Jolie frowned. Hauk wouldn’t like

that comparison. Even if it had merit.
She put her hands on her hips. “Hauk
isn’t green.”

Travis straightened up and stepped

away from the bed. “I hate to interrupt
pop culture warfare, but I should get
back to work. Will you two be okay? Do
you have a plan?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thank you

again, Travis. And if you could—
Whitney!”

Her niece had taken his place by the

bed and prodded at the skin around the
gunshot wound. “I told you it wasn’t so
bad. I could cover that with my thumb.”
She demonstrated.

So much for shielding her niece’s

not-so-delicate eyes.

Travis snorted. “Not mention it?

Yeah, sure. Don’t make me regret that,

okay?”

“I’ve got people to call.”
Travis nodded sardonically. “I’m

sure you do.” He cocked his head and
studied her coolly. “You’re gonna tell
me what really happened.”

Jolie hesitated.
“You asked an RTF major to carry an

unconscious man who may have a bullet
wound up to your room. Your niece
claims she was kidnapped and you’re
both going to lie about it. You didn’t
think I’d want to know what happened?
If I wasn’t on the clock, I’d stay here
until you told me or got me physically
ejected from the building.”

Jolie shook her head. “This story is

not for public consumption. Even your

crazy conspiracy theory website—” that
may not be that off-base “—wouldn’t
run this.”

“Even better.” His mouth curled into

a smile that was a little too arrogant for
Jolie’s comfort. “Thursday’s my day off.
I can take you for coffee after we’re both
done with classes and you can pay for
my silence with a completely off-the-
record story. You get out at two, right?”

“Yeah, but—”
“But you have somewhere else to

be?”

e="-="-1">“No, but—”

“Then I’ll meet you in front of The

Tower at two.” He turned to her niece.
“Whitney, it’s been...interesting meeting

you. Your aunt is even more of an
anomaly than I realized.”

“Huh?” Whitney said.
Travis winked and took off.
“What did he mean by that? Did he

insult me? What’s an anomaly?”

Had Travis asked her on a date?

Hopefully not. Regardless she’d deal
with it later. “An anomaly is an oddity,
sweetie. He meant that I don’t live up to
expectations.”

“What? How is that possible? You’re

the coolest person in the entire family.
Like, even including me, and that’s
saying something.”

Whitney’s outrage on her behalf was

sweet. Despite her bizarre ideas,
Whitney

pulled

through

when

it

mattered, and Jolie smiled at her. “He
didn’t mean it as an insult. Some people
think being different is good.”

“Oh. Weird. Well, I guess being a

classy stripper is pretty different.”
Whitney sat on the bed next to Jolie and
grabbed her arm. “I want to be an
anomaly, too. Maybe not a stripper, but
something else cool that Mom will freak
over. Maybe I’ll learn to do magic like
that guy in the temple, but not actually,
you know, join a cult. I have a friend
who’s a Wiccan. She has a spell book
and everything. You think Travis would
call me an anomaly then? He was cute.”

“I have no idea what goes on in that

boy’s brain.” She glanced back at Hauk,

wishing she could get a better idea what
went on in his head. From his frightening
looks to his unpredictability to his
unwavering loyalty, Wesley Haukon was
unlike anyone she’d ever met.

Whitney tugged her sleeve. “Aunt J,

you promised me ice cream and a
manicure before my parents got here. We
should get started.”

“Why don’t you call the concierge

and tell him what you want. You go to
the panel in the living room and—”

Whitney huffed an offended breath

and hopped up. “Please. I’m younger
than you. I know how to use technology.”
She headed for the door then turned
back, eyes narrow. “Wait a minute, why
are you sending me off? You want a

private moment with boyfriend number
two here?” She smiled again. “Is Travis
boyfriend number three? You are so
cool.”

“Travis is not boyfriend number

three. Paul isn’t even boyfriend number
one. I have no boyfriends.”

“Whatever. Well, just don’t kiss this

one while he’s unconscious, ’cause
that’s weird. And not cool-anomaly
weird. Besides, I’m sure he’d rather you
do that while he’s awake.” She
scrunched up her nose. “I’m going to go
out on a limb and say he doesn’t get
kissed a lot.”

Jolie threw a pillow at her.
Whitney chuckled as it bounced off

her shoulder and hit the floor. “Don’t be
too long, or I’ll wonder what you’re
doing.” She glanced down the hallway, a
frown darkening her face as she
hesitated. It would be the first time
Whitney was alone since the kidnapping,
and Jolie felt for her. But she was a
strong girl. It was good for her to face
any lingering fears quickly.

“Hey.” Jolie grinned encouragingly at

her niece. “You did great today. I’m
proud of you.”

Whitney flashed her a crooked smile.

“Yeah. We all did pretty good.”
Straightening her shoulders, she marched
down the hall.

Jolie made a quick call to

Catrina, explaining the barest
details of their success and
Hauk’s injury. Assured that
help would be on the way, she
hung up and contemplated
Hauk again.

Comforting silence cocooned them in

a little bubble of peace. She had kissed
him

tonight.

Thoughtlessly,

almost

instinctively, when everything seemed
lost. He’d barely responded before
she’d been yanked away, but he had
responded. Molded his lips against hers
for such a brief moment filled with heat
and naked want.

Paul never kissed her like that...like

she was salvation.

Feeling like a thief, Jolie reached out

and stroked a finger down his forehead,
tracing the head of the phoenix tattoo. It
didn’t feel as strange as she’d thought it
would. Smooth. A little tough, maybe, as
if the skin was thicker than normal skin.

He rumbled something unintelligible.

Jolie jerked her hand away, afraid of
being caught.

Ridiculous. He’s in one of his

blackouts. He’s not waking up.

But maybe she shouldn’t be touching

him; it was an invasion of his privacy.
She thought about the toes-to-neck
clothing he wore, the gloves and jackets
even indoors, the hoodie. Sure, she’d
woken up in his arms and that morning

he’d let her see quite a bit of him, but
he’d been in one of his fits when he’d
grabbed

her,

and

the

morning’s

awkwardness had shocked them both
into unusual behavior. Since then he’d
been covered up and hands off unless
necessity or surprise dictated otherwise.
He’d stiffened like a cat when she
clapped him on the shoulder at lunch.
And the joy on his face when she’d
grabbed his arm in front of Dr. E, well,
that had been angelic.

The realization hit her. He never got

touched. Not anymore.

She could see the vicious cycle. He

feared people’s reaction, and when he
finally trusted someone enough to reach

out, they reacted, because it was a
natural thing to do when confronting
something unusual...which confirmed his
fear that he shouldn’t let anyone touch
him. Well, she’d taken a good look at
him while he was asleep to get over her
first reaction without worrying over his
feelings. Invasion of privacy that it might
be, maybe she should get a feel for him
as well, in case she was ever one of
those people he trusted enough to reach
out to.

Besides, she was hella curious.
Fortified that she was doing more

good than harm, she scooted next to him.
After a brief thought for the glorious
musculature beside her (marred by more
scarring, but still, g’damn) she crossed

her arms and stared down at him. He
grumbled, and she frowned, worried he
might be muttering instructions to get
away from him.

His hand meandered across her thighs

to rest on her knee, and he pressed her
leg tighter against him.

Okay, unless his mouth and hands

were at odds with each other, those
were definitely not instructions to leave
him alone. Taking his movements as an
invitation, she picked the linear scar on
his cheek to start with. She placed her
fingers on the skin right next to his lips,
lightly touching, then smoothed up the
unnatural crease.

He mumbled again. The muscles in

his jaw unclenched and his whole face
relaxed in an easy sigh as he squeezed
her knee. He was definitely okay with
this. She smiled and let her fingers
wander, feeling each inch of his visible
skin from the top of his head to the base
of his neck, adjusting her fingers to
differences that didn’t matter anymore as
he sighed and muttered and tucked her
closer to h cr ce base im. With a
relieved laugh, she reached back and ran
her hand down his forearm to the hands
that weren’t so bad. His fingers
intertwined with hers, and she pulled his
hand up to place against her heart.

“These hands, on the other side of a

sheet, were pretty damn amazing. I’m
sorry I couldn’t see that before. But I can

picture it now.”

The incoherent words coalesced into

two distinct syllables: “Want you.”

She huffed against his hand, startled.

“What? No, we’re friends now. That
was just a... Wait, you’re asleep and
don’t know what you’re saying. Why am
I answering you?”

But she couldn’t help a curious

glance down. The evidence of his
arousal bulged against the front of his
leather pants, and a question she hadn’t
admitted to having was answered in the
most physical way possible. Whatever
damage he’d sustained didn’t affect his
ability to make love.

“Want you,” he said again, more

insistent.

She leaned forward. “Do you even

know who you’re talking to? Or any
hands in a dry spell?” Not that she’d
blame him for the latter, but still. Used
for sex was used for sex, no matter how
understandable a man’s motives were.
Besides, now that they knew each other,
it wasn’t some game behind a sheet. It
was personal. And she had a kinda-
boyfriend. And—

“Aunt Jolie!” The door slammed

open and Whitney stood in the
doorframe, blinking as her mouth gaped.
“Aunt Jolie! What are you doing?”

Fabulous.

Jolie

shrugged

and

decided to go for honesty. “I’d never
touched his face. I wanted to see what it

felt like.”

“So you climbed on top of him?

Besides, you kissed his face.”

“I’m not on top of him, I’m beside

him. And I kissed his mouth, not his
face.” She tried to stand and found an
ironlike arm preventing her escape.
Again. “Hauk, honey, lemme go.”

He spoke again, wordless sounds of

obvious protest.

Whitney sighed. “I told you not to

kiss him while he was asleep.”

Was she getting chastised by a

twelve-year-old? “I didn’t!”

At the raised pitch of her voice,

Hauk’s arm clenched tighter, nearly
dragging her down.

She forced her voice to calm. “Hauk,

Wesley, I’m asking you to let me go
please. Please release me.”

He uttered another string of noisy

protests, but his arm relaxed enough that
she could slide from the bed.

“Well, whatever. Just more stuff for

me to tell him about how you molested
his unconscious body. Now, let’s go.
The nail tech’s here.”

Jolie froze. “Don’t you dare. Not

this.”

Whitney looked startled and turned

wide eyes up to her. “Oooookay. I just
think it’d make him happy. And
embarrass the heck out of you, which is
about as perfect as it gets.” She

squeezed Jolie’s waist in a friendly half
hug. “But I’ll keep it quiet if it means
that much to you.”

“Thank you.”
“Can I still tell him you carried his

butt? Because that’s just funny.”

Jolie relaxed and followed her niece

toward the door. “Yes, you can tell him
that part.”

With a voice full of condescending

indulgence, c inward Whitney shook her
head and announced, “You are such an
anomaly. You know that, right?”

* * *

Smell came back to him first, with

the apple scent of Jolie’s hair. Hauk
nuzzled forward and the silky strands
caressed his face. His shoulder ached,
but not too badly. And it didn’t matter
because that arm was draped over Jolie.
He opened his eyes.

Twice now he’d slept next to her and

didn’t remember it. At least this time he
got to wake up to the experience. She
slept on top of the sheets while he was
under

them

and

apparently

he’d

traversed three quarters of the bed to
reach where she was curled up at the
edge. But who could blame him for that?
Her hand clutched his hand against her,
her bottom pressed into him, and she
smiled so peacefully, giving every
impression she didn’t mind.

What was it about sleep that made

every woman so damn pretty? Not that
Jolie needed the help. Long, cinnamon
eyelashes graced cheeks with a hint of
freckles. Her mussed hair scattered
around her pillow and wrapped around
her other hand, the one tucked beneath
her chin. Her breath softly pushed in and
out of her, filling her lungs with the
gentle rhythm of life.

She was precious. And he was

holding her.

He briefly glanced about, and the

curtains across a wall of floor-to-ceiling
windows told him what he’d already
guessed: they were at her place. More
crazy avant-garde artwork. Wood floors.

Feminine, but not girly colors.

He turned back to Jolie, as she was

much more interesting than the room.
Then did a double take at her bed, a
metal four-poster with an empty canopy.
It had the modern, clean lines of
Scandinavian furniture, but something
about the sturdy construction set his
mind spinning in a very naughty
direction.

“Hauk?” she murmured.
He turned to her and tried very hard

not to picture Jolie, her bed, her itty-
bitty burlesque costume and a pair of
handcuffs. He was not successful.

She squirmed around until she faced

him with sleepy eyes. “You moved your
arm! Bad Hauk.”

Her finger waggled at him, and he

wanted to nip at it. Draw it in between
his lips and suck... Wait, she was talking
to him. He should listen. “Hm?”

“You got shot. You should keep your

arm still.” She glared at the arm across
her slender waist. “It’s not going to heal
right if you keep moving it.”

He grinned. “Then you shouldn’t

leave temptation within reach.” A bad
thought, and not the fun-kind-of-bad
thought, crossed his mind. “Wait. I
didn’t drag you here this time, did I? I
don’t think I’d drag you to your place,
but...” He’d assumed her place, her
choice, but just in case he pulled his arm
off her.

And did she say he’d gotten shot?

That wasn’t possible. Sure, his arm was
tender, but not bullet-wound tender.
Maybe she meant a bullet had grazed
him?

He rolled his shoulder; everything

worked fine. Jolie gasped and he looked
back at her.

“You can...do that? Don’t hurt

yourself.” She sat up and raised her
hands, as if preparing to catch him when
he fell over.

He reached over and grabbed his

shoulder. It felt fine to his prodding
fingers. He pushed up the T-shirt sleeve
(how did he get into a T-shirt?) and
found medical dressing. A rip, and the

dressing was off.

“Don’t—” Jolie started then stopped

with a gasp.

casprip, anp>

A small wound was scabbed over.

He checked the back of his shoulder and
found a matching scab. But there was no
way the two scrapes were a bullet hole.

“Oh my God,” Jolie muttered.

“You’re healed.”

“This is not a bullet wound. This is a

scratch.

I’ve

seen

bullet

holes,

remember?”

She shook her head. “I have now, too.

You got shot going back over the wall,
but you told me not to call a doctor. I
called Catrina, who sent an Underlight
doctor. He came here and dressed it. He

said you were going to be fine and not to
worry, but I...”

She hesitated, and the concern in her

eyes tempered the feelings of unease the
miraculous healing gave him. He’d
gotten shot? Okay. Nobody should heal
that quickly, but somehow he had. It was
a good thing to be healed, right? A bullet
hole would put him out of the game for
precious weeks. He just had to add one
more thing to the ever-growing list of
post-fire issues he couldn’t explain and
not think about it too much.

Jolie slid off the bed and cleared her

throat, as if to signal the transition from
another night of sleeping side by side to
another day of being just friends. Or
whatever they were now that the mission

was done. At least, he assumed it was
completed. “How’s Whitney?”

Jolie

smiled,

a

big

genuine

expression of joy that made all darkness
go away. “She’s wonderful. Better than.
And most importantly, she’s home. I
think you have a fan for life.” She
blushed and averted her eyes. “Two,
actually. I can’t thank you enough for
what you did.”

Heat crept into his cheeks, and he hid

it by hopping out of bed. “Aw, it’s cool.
I’m just glad she’s okay.” He was
wearing jeans. He didn’t own jeans
anymore. Did Jolie buy him new
clothes? Did she put them on him? No,
the doctor must have. That was better.

The doctor had seen all his scars
already.

Jolie had seen almost all his scars

because he’d been a dumbass and
walked out of the shower, back before
he thought he had a chance with her. Not
that he had a chance with her now.

Did he?
“Want some breakfast?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He smiled. “I

suppose you don’t have wheat-free
pancakes?”

“Actually I do! I make them with

bananas, eggs and almond flour. They’re
really good!”

He nodded his head, trying to imagine

that. “How about bacon and eggs?”

“I can do that, too.”

He followed her to the door, but she

paused before exiting. She turned and
caught her lip between her teeth, and he
held back a sigh at the exquisite beauty
of her in the morning light.

“When will I see you again? Before

my next show, I hope?”

“We have a Yule party in two weeks.

You could...” He trailed off.

“I could come if I’m recognized by

The Thing? Brayden came with the
doctor, and he said he’d start my
campaign. He also said you’re welcome
back to the Underlight as soon as you’re
up and moving. He even apologized for
being a dick. My opinion of him has
mightily improved in the last ten hours.”

Hauk should have known Brayden

would come through. He was quick to
anger but usually saw reason once he’d
calmed down. But that hadn’t been why
Hauk had hesitated. “The Yule party,
well, it’s actually called the Winter
Ball. It’s a costume thing, and it’s th
candd come ife one party every year we
can invite anyone we want, even people
who haven’t been formally recognized.
Everybody gets a date.” Her eyes
clouded ever so slightly, and he
amended, “Friend-date. Not date-date. I
wasn’t—”

“That would be wonderful.”
They looked at each other a moment,

and there was so much more Hauk

wanted to say. So much more he wanted
to do. Take her hand. Touch her face.

Kiss her.
But he couldn’t do the thing that

mattered most: promise her she would
get past his scars and see him as a man.
Because the hard truth was, most people
wouldn’t.

And as Jolie could have any man she

wanted, he saw no compelling reason
for her to try.

“Breakfast?” she said, breaking his

reverie. “I think we deserve Bloody
Marys. You up for vodka at ten in the
morning? I’ve got this great one distilled
from potatoes.” She turned back toward
the kitchen, her voice light as the sun
streaming through her fifty-fifth story

windows.

“Yup. I’m pretty much always up for

a drink.”

“You are my kind of man.”
He could only wish.

Chapter Nine

Hauk smoothed the sleeves of his

leather driving coat and stared at himself
in the mirror. “Are you sure I shouldn’t
go with a gas mask?” He was only half
kidding.

Brayden chuckled and adjusted his

own immaculate suit. “For the five
thousandth time, she’s seen you. You
slept in her condo. No, she slept next to
yo u in her bed in her condo. She can
handle you.”

“She hasn’t seen me in two weeks.

The whole shock and adjustment period
will start all over again. This has

happened before.”

“I don’t think Jolie will do that. Much

as it pains me to admit it, I was wrong.
Benoit’s daughter is as solid as they
come.”

“And you’re sure she didn’t say

anything else about what happened
during my blackout? What she told me at
breakfast that morning seemed to be
missing some pieces.”

“For the last time, I told you

everything I know. You took out a bunch
of mooks, climbed a statue, blew out a
window, and the three of you ran for her
car where you passed out, which is
exactly what she told you.” He frowned.
“Wait, I take that back.”

Hauk stopped futzing with his stupid

tie that would not form a normal-looking
knot. “What?”

“Apparently she, Whitney and that

Travis-guy you asked us to check out had
a helluva time getting your fat ass to the
top floor of her building unnoticed.”
Brayden snickered.

Hauk tried to frown but couldn’t.

“You’re a dick. You know that, right?”
He yanked the knot out and started again.
“Wait, Jolie didn’t say I have a fat ass,
right?”

“You sound like a girl. And no, she

didn’t. That was my addendum. You get
all huffy when I call it a cute ass—which
is far more accurate, by the way—so I’m
trying to refrain.”

The last thing Hauk remembered was

throttling the gray-haired theoros. But
instead of the typical nothingness of his
blackouts, he’d dreamed of black walls
with red eyes. And of Jolie, naked and
vulnerable in his arms. The drive to
protect her from those eyes, to keep
fandd lie didnher safe, had overwhelmed
him. And then the dream cut off into the
usual blank passage of time.

He had it bad for that woman.
And she was in love with somebody

else.

Two quick raps at his door preceded

Catrina’s fluttering entrance. “Darlings,
the party is in full swing, and the most
beautiful girl in attendance is alone.”

Brayden winked at her. “I’ll be right

with you.”

She slapped him playfully on the

shoulder. “Aren’t you too much. You
know whom I meant.” She shoved a half-
full martini into Hauk’s hand. “Drink this
if you need it, and let’s get a move on!”
She did a double take. “After I fix your
tie.” With swift movements, she made
tying the damn knot look easy.

Hauk downed the gin in two gulps

and gave his mangled appearance a final
inspection with the improved tie. At
least the old-fashioned suit fell perfectly
across his shoulders, highlighting the
shape he’d worked his ass off to
recover. It was as good as he got.

“Top hat!” Catrina slapped the near-

forgotten accessory on his head.

Hauk picked up a little wrapped

package, and the three of them
proceeded to the main hall.

Where it was snowing. “What the

hell?” Hauk lifted a hand up in wonder
at the white flakes swirling through the
sky. They evaporated at his touch.

“Tally

and

LaRoche.

Isn’t

it

fabulous?” Catrina gushed. “The beauty
of snow without the damp. What will
those brilliant little urchins think up
next?”

Hauk smiled despite his nerves. “I’d

heard they were working on something
special for the party.” He wondered

what Jolie thought of it and scanned the
floor for her, hoping to see a smile. Her
family had more money than Croesus. If
she wanted snow, she probably hopped
on a private jet and flew to Aspen. Or
Switzerland. And while Hauk wouldn’t
trade his life in the Underlight for all the
riches of the world, he knew most
people couldn’t see the beauty in a group
that so thoroughly eschewed convention
for conviction. The family he’d made
down here were rare birds, and he loved
them all the more for it.

He found Jolie by the Yule tree, eyes

closed and chin tilted up. Pure joy lit her
face, making her glow. To her beautiful
red hair she’d added strands of sepia
and black. Half of it was piled abstractly

on her head, held in place by a black
orchid set at a jaunty angle. The rest
spilled down to her waist in thick and
glorious waves. She wore barely any
makeup, but her flawless, pale skin
didn’t need it.

He had to admit, however, he had a

difficult time staying focused on her
face. He’d never been jealous of a dress
before, but the silky, red Marilyn number
caressed her figure like he’d dreamed
about doing for two weeks. The neckline
dipped just enough to grant a tantalizing
hint of cleavage, and the modest hemline
made his fingers itch to get beneath it.
Even in sky-high red and black heels,
she was more graceful and grounded

than any woman he’d ever met, and
seeing her again sent his heart stuttering.

Nut up, soldier. Now or never. Hauk

took a deep breath and headed across the
room. “Holy hell, woman. How many
heart attacks did you cause on your way
here?”

Jolie grinned at him with no hint of

shock or fear at his appearance, and he
breathed a small sigh of relief. “I dunno.
Can I include you in my total?”

He couldn’t help smiling back.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.” He looked at his
feet and back as k anl?a wave of
jealousy passed through him. Every man
she’d passed tonight had wanted her; he
had no doubt about it. And stupid-ass
Paul, the one man who could have her

whenever he wanted, didn’t appreciate
her. “So, the kinda-boyfriend let you out
for the night?” Hauk knew he shouldn’t
have said it but couldn’t help himself.

She shrugged. “Paul has a show. Poor

man’s stuck with a cadre of adoring
groupies. Such is the sad life of a
wannabe rock star.” She looked around
again, her smile growing. “Besides, I
couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see
this again.”

The Underlight. He was glad she

loved his home, but it hurt to hear the
location was her real reason for coming.
That it had nothing to do with—

“And I couldn’t pass up the

opportunity to see you.”

His eyes jerked back to hers, trying to

discern if she’d realized her mistake and
was taking pity on him or if she meant it.

“Look at you, blue eyes deep as the

cold ocean.” She put a delicate hand on
his jacket front and looked up at him, her
own eyes sparking intently. “We’ll
continue to see each other, right? I’d
really like to stay friends.”

The light emphasis on “friends”

wasn’t unexpected, and he couldn’t
decide if he was more disheartened by
the slight rejection—she had to know
how he felt about her—or elated that she
wanted to keep him around at all. But
she was being honest with him, and that
went a long way in his esteem. Friends

they would be. He could control his
hormones.

He took her bare hand in his gloved

one and bowed over it. “I would like
that very much.” When he straightened
up he presented her with the little
package.

“What’s this?”
He shrugged as nonchalantly as he

could. “Oh, just something I cobbled
together.”

Or

spent

two

weeks

meticulously crafting, to the howling
delight of Brayden.

“I didn’t bring anything for you. I

didn’t know this was a present sort of
occasion...” But she took the package
and ran a gold-painted nail around the
hemp bow.

“It isn’t. I just... I mean, I didn’t think

you would bring me something. I just had
some spare time, and...”

The box opened and she caught her

breath; Hauk shut up to watch. With
careful fingers she pulled out the palm-
sized ornament. “It’s my car!” she
practically squealed. “Oh my God! You
made this?”

He shrugged again, trying to stay

casual, but her glee as she rotated the
tires and admired his metalwork from
every angle exceeded his hopes.

When she smiled at him again, eyes

shining with admiration, he knew he
would take on any pain, any struggle, any
ordeal to have her look at him like that

again.

Damn, he had it bad.
“So when are you coming over so I

can hang it up?” Her smile turned coy.
“You may remember I don’t hang
ornaments up by myself.”

Oh, he’d remembered, with every

pass of his torch and beat of his hammer.
“Schedules around here are pretty free-
form. I can come over whenever you’d
like.”

“Tuesday? Lunch? But no pizza,

’cause that’ll be a good day. New York
strip and a salad? You strike me as a
steak kinda guy.”

“Absolutely perfect.”
Music began, an old waltz on new

instruments, and couples took to the

floor, spinning through the sn khro

He raised his hands in self-defense.

“Oh...I’ve seen you dance. I barely know
the steps.”

“But you know them? At all?” She

looked impressed.

“Uh, yeah. Tally made me learn to

waltz before she’d give me my teletext.”
It had been the first time a female, other
than a nurse or his mother, had touched
him. He’d held out for four months
before finally giving in and letting a girl
hold his gloved hand and touch his
leather-and cloth-covered shoulder. And
she’d been so sweet the whole time, not
mentioning a thing but steps and turning.
Then she’d gone back to her boyfriend in

the lab to work on their next project, and
the next day a teletext had arrived in his
room.

He’d make Tally any metal pieces

she needed for the rest of his life.

Jolie hung his present on the tree and

squeezed her hands in supplication. “It’ll
be safe there until I leave. Now, please!
Please dance with me. You know I love
dancing.” Green eyes begged him from
under those long lashes.

There was no turning that down.

“Jolie Benoit, may I have the honor of
this waltz?” He would hold her in his
arms and try not to step all over her feet.

She looped her hand through the

crook of his elbow. “Why, Wesley
Haukon, I thought you’d never ask.”

He stilled. She’d just used his first

name. He’d only told her that when they
first met across a sheet in a sexual
encounter she hadn’t yet acknowledged.

A light blush feathered her cheeks as

the realization hit her, too. She brazened
it out though, arching an eyebrow as she
tugged him toward the dance floor. “One
can only hope you waltz as divinely as
you do other things.”

His mouth went dry and his pulse

hammered in his ears as he pulled her
close to him and they took their first
step. “I fear dancing is not my strength.
I’m better in a clutch situation.”

She laughed.
“You know, like fighting for our

lives. Or other things which might come
to mind.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Mm-hmm.”
“But I’ll do my best to get through the

steps.”

She shook her head and placed it

against his shoulder, her cheek at his
chest. He held a breath at the
unaccustomed contact, but as she
relaxed, so did he. The music swelled,
and he held her tightly, loving the press
of her perfect body, the sharpness of her
mind and the bravery in her soul.

The mythical snow of the Underlight

fell around them, the candlelight from the
Yule tree glowed against their skin, and
on the year’s longest night, Hauk let the
light of hope be reborn.

* * * * *

Craving more classic fairy tales

with a sexy twist from author Jax

Garren?

Then don’t miss

How Beauty Saved the Beast

When danger draws a burlesque

dancer and a scarred ex-Army Ranger

together in the heat of battle, sparks

ignite. But it will take more than an

almost kiss to convince Jolie that her

feelings for Hauk extend past friendship.

It’s not until Hauk is kidnapped that

Jolie re nhro an almoalizes her true

feelings. Now she must break the curse

of her fear to save him…

Available from Carina Press

February 2013.

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About the Author

Jax Garren is descended from

Valkyries and Vikings (she’s part
Swedish) but was raised a small-town
girl in the Texas Hill Country. She
graduated from the University of Texas
with a degree in English and a minor in
Latin and stayed in Austin to teach high
school. During her eight years in public
education she was in a riot, broke up
fights, had cops storm her class with
guns drawn...and met the most amazing
young people who taught her more about
life and hope than she taught them about
any school subject.

Jax believes in happily-ever-afters.

She married her real-life hero, a
handsome engineer who is saving the
world through clean energy technology.
Her heroine is Marion Ravenwood from
Raiders of the Lost Ark, the perfect
blend of tough and feminine. Jax blames
Marion for her dream of traveling to
Nepal to experience Himalayan palaces
and monasteries and to drink yak butter
tea. Jax can be found at

www.jaxgarren.com

or on Facebook.

She would love to raise a glass with her
readers to toast courage, adventure and
love.

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ISBN: 978-14268-9466-4

Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer

Hinson

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