Sabrina's Clan (2 page)

He crossed his arms, the thick wrists flexing at the movement. “You’re a foster child, probably abused by the system and therefore bitter and determined to make your way no matter what. It’s why you’re a drone in the corporate world, fighting for your corner office and the success you think comes with it. You gave up your child to live the dream, only you can’t quite stay out of her life, so you live in the apartment beneath her, despite the neighbors you find so distasteful. You’re not a happy woman but you think if you work harder, sleep less and avoid anything resembling a life, you’ll win the happiness you think your fat salary will buy you.” His smile completely lacked the warm humor he had showed Damian. “I don’t think you’re shallow. I
do
know you.”

Sabrina began to tremble. “You’re the rudest man I have ever met.”

“I’m not a man, as you’ve pointed out.” His shoulders shifted. It was a tiny shrug. “The thirty years you spent learning to be a functional adult, I spent learning how much this world and the humans in it have changed in the last two thousand years. I understand you far better than you will understand me, so why should I bother with soothing your feelings? You’ll be gone in a few minutes and you can ignore me just as you wished you could when you first spotted me from the stairway.”

Sabrina pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and curled them into fists to combat the trembling. “No wonder you’re lonely,” she breathed.

His eyes widened and his lips parted. “
What
did you say?”

“Here, Sabrina,” Damian called from behind and she thankfully turned to face him and put the despicable, odious vampire behind her.

Damian was holding out printed photos of Chloe.

“Oh, that’s great, thank you!” Her hand shook as she took them, so she didn’t try to flip through them. She wanted to return to the sanctuary of her apartment downstairs so badly she was aching with it. “I’m running late,” she added and shoved them into her pocket. “I’ll have to look at them later.” She gave Damian as warm a smile as she could manage. Nyanther might feel as though manners and politeness were a waste of effort. She believed there was no need to hurt people’s feelings unnecessarily. The world was a harsh enough place already.

Then she climbed back down the iron staircase to her apartment, her relief building with each step down.

* * * * *

Nyanther watched the tall brunette leave and cursed silently to himself. What had gotten into him? True, he was back in New York for the last time, but it didn’t mean he had to take down other souls in the process.

“Most people find her to be a lovely person,” Damian said softly.

Ny glanced at him. Damian stared steadily back.

“You speak, of course, of more than just her appearance,” Nyanther said.

“Then you noticed her looks, too. There’s hope for you, Ny.”

He hadn’t failed to notice her exotic beauty. Scotland had its share of stunning woman with clear eyes and soft skin. Sabrina was of another class altogether. The olive skin and big, dark eyes were a powerful combination. He had not been immune to her impact. On the other hand, she had failed to see him at all. In any way. He had been an irritant to her.

Nyanther shoved the shirt into his jeans with rough movements. “I don’t have time to coddle a mere human’s sensibilities,” he growled. “You and Nick should have alerted me about the gargoyles weeks ago. There’s no time to waste.”

“I wanted to let you know,” Damian said flatly. “Nick and Riley want to hunt them by themselves. It’s personal, now.”

“Because you nearly died? People die all the time, it’s part of the business,” Nyanther said. “You know better than most I would want to see them ended. With Azazel gone, we can rid the world of them and this time there will be no coming back.”

“I know,” Damian agreed. He rested his hand on Nyanther’s shoulder. “I have just as much reason to want them gone, Ny.”

“The reports that got me on the plane spoke of upstate New York,” Nyanther said. “You say Nick and Riley are there now. Has anything happened while I was flying here?”

“I just got a text from Riley,” Damian said. His hand reached back to the cell phone in his back pocket, but he didn’t pull it out. “They found Ingong.”

“They’re going to kill him?”

“He’s already dead,” Damian replied. “Someone had already seen to him.”

Nyanther frowned, putting it together. “Not a hunter any of you know, then, or you wouldn’t be following his trail. Ingong is the gargoyle that doesn’t crumble until later, yes?”

“He holds together until you touch the corpse. Then he disintegrates. It’s how they know which one it was,” Damian replied.

“I should go and meet them there.”

“They’re coming back. There’s no trace of the others.”

“Just a trail of eaten humans and puzzled authorities,” Nyanther pointed out.

“Not in the last forty-eight hours. They can’t linger in the area. The local police are watching them suspiciously.”

“Ah.” Yes, it would force them to leave. The endless dance to disguise their true identities. How he hated it! Oh, how weary of it all he was. Still, it would soon be ending.

Damian shifted on his feet. “They’ll be back for dinner,” he added. “So you can smack them around for not telling you, then. You’re staying?”

“I can find a hotel, if it’s easier.”

“We’ve got nothing to hide from you, Ny.” Damian seemed amused. “And you should get to know Riley again, too.”

Nyanther shook his head. “You and Nick…and Riley. I confess I still don’t understand how it could even happen. You used to change her diapers, Damian.”

He grinned, not showing the slightest discomfort. “It’s a long story and you’ll understand it better once you’ve met her.”

“I’ve seen the photos. She looks exactly like her mother, except around the eyes. You always were half in love with Tally.”

Damian’s smile didn’t shift. This was why Nyanther preferred dealing with people in the hunting world. There was very little they bothered to hide from each other because three-quarters of their real life was hidden from the world at large. Plain speaking was a relief to them.

“Photos don’t explain it,” Damian said. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

“Then, if it’s no bother, I’ll stay and meet your wonderful Riley,” he said.

“There’s just a small hitch, though,” Damian added.

“I can wear earplugs, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nyanther said, with a grin, although he was amazed someone like Damian would be self-conscious about sex.

Damian’s smile broadened. “Not even close, Ny.”

Sabrina had spoken truthfully about running late. She had a three p.m. committee meeting on policy administration she was chairing and at this time of day it would take thirty minutes to get back to Wall Street from here. Her day didn’t end there. She had a routine medical follow-up at four-thirty for the appendicitis she had suffered through last year, a dinner meeting with some clients and a casual, let’s-have-coffee meeting at Pinocchio’s at nine, with a potential network contact. That was all before she could get back to her desk tonight and finish up some of the paperwork sitting in her in-tray.

Cory Morse, the overweight and red-faced Chief Financial Officer and her boss, might praise her daily on her management of the three major projects on her desk, but she also knew he would quickly off-load her from his personal team if she back-slid. It took major effort to stay abreast of the other two managers on his team, who were both male and much older than her, with extensive personal networks of their own to call on.

All the time she had been going through college, she had never properly understood how much business management was about relationships. She had spent all her time studying finance and economics. Sometimes she suspected a few years of charm school and a good social intelligence textbook would have given her better skills to navigate the shark-infested minefield of corporate politics.

However, she was gaining ground, day by day. She was the youngest senior manager at Wentworth Kumatsu and Cory Morse had spoken once about preparing her for a vice president position in a few years. Just thinking about it made her pulse quicken. Once she made VP, then she could truly say the last ten years of sweat and study and living on beans and toast would have been worth it.

She hurried through her shower and picked out a suit and shirt that could convert to a business evening outfit with some costume jewelry and a change of shoes. As she did almost weekly, she sighed over the gender differences. Men could go from breakfast to bed wearing the same suit and be perfectly attired for any occasion. Only women had to adjust their clothing and appearance according to the time of day and location, yet never giving any man any reason to think of her in a sexual way, while also appearing attractive.

She was too rushed to worry about the hypocrisy today.

She had showered and dressed and was redoing her makeup when she heard footsteps on the iron staircase. She went out to the living room where the stairs wound up to the next floor.

It was Damian and Nyanther…and Nyanther was carrying a backpack.

Her heart sank.

“Can he use your spare room, Sabrina?” Damian asked. “Miguel and his kids will be here by the weekend and we promised our rooms to them.”

Nyanther’s expression as he climbed down to the floor and hefted his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders was utterly neutral.

“Of course he can,” Sabrina said stiffly. Damian would never say it and he didn’t need to—her apartment was actually his and Nick’s. She lived rent-free beneath their apartment because of their relationship. Nick and Damian and Riley had adopted Chloe, although they never failed to acknowledge Sabrina was Chloe’s birth mother. The apartment had been part of the deal.

So Sabrina could not possibly refuse to let Nyanther use one of the two spare bedrooms. It would be churlish at the very least, although she really wanted to tell him to get a damn hotel room. Unlike Miguel, he could probably afford a room at the Four Seasons and it would keep him out of her apartment.

“You know the way,” she said and stepped aside. “Take your pick. I have to get going.” She went back to her bedroom to finish with her makeup. At least there was a bathroom attached to her room. She wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with him.

She picked up her briefcase bag and her coat and turned to leave.

Nyanther was standing at the open door to her bedroom, a shoulder against the doorframe and his arms crossed.

Sabrina gasped. “What do you want?” she demanded, her heart racing.

“I think we got off to a rough start.” His voice was back to deep and rumbling once more. “As I’m staying on this floor with you, I thought I should try to amend that.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be sleeping here,” she pointed out. “You just need somewhere to park your clothes and shower and change. We don’t have to be best roommates. I am running
very
late.” She moved toward the door, hoping he would naturally step out of the way as she got closer.

His arms dropped and he did straighten up. He just didn’t move from blocking the doorway.

She stopped, frustrated. “You need to let me leave.”

“You’re a woman of contradictions, aren’t you?” He was staring at her with a slight frown as if he really was puzzled.

“As I’m beneath your level of caring, I don’t have to answer. Will you move?”

He did move. He stepped in front of her. Very close.

Too close.

She tried to move back. He caught her arm. “Shh…” he said, almost absently. He was staring at her face. Then he did something unexpected, something she would have said he was incapable of doing, given what she knew of him so far.

He brought his hand up to her face and very gently, so softly she almost couldn’t feel it, he ran his fingertip over her cheekbone, just under her left eye. “How did you get it?”

She hadn’t covered it up properly with the makeup. Damn. She had been too hurried. She was
still
hurried. Time was ticking on.

Because of her acute awareness of passing time, Sabrina dispensed with all her usual sidestepping and social considerations. “When I was eleven, my foster father tried to rape me. I hit him over the head with a bottle. He punched me in the face. I had eight stitches. They said it was my fault, that I had been provocative.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Does the corner office help balance it out?” he asked curiously.

Her breath shuddered as she drew it in. “It helps,” she said softly.

“I would have killed him. My tribe would have applauded me for it.”

Her heart squeezed again.
I wish you had, too.
And for an instant, deep satisfaction touched her at the idea of the monster she had been forced to call “Paul” lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes open and still. Then horror rose in her at the animal reaction. “I don’t have a tribe,” she said stiffly. “I’m an orphan.”

“You like the idea of me killing him, don’t you? Blood vengeance is one of the most primal human instincts. The tribes understood it. Now, it’s considered vulgar.”

“Your whole profession is an ode to ancient history,” Sabrina reminded him.

“You can tell yourself that, if it lets you sleep. Without us, your world would be far less civilized.”

Sabrina wanted to refute him, except that in the last year or so, since she had found out she was pregnant and had stepped half-way into Riley’s strange world, she had seen and heard things that would have given her nightmares. The only reason she could sleep at night was knowing that Riley and Nick were out there most nights, getting rid of the freaky shadows.

“Do you resent that no one gets to know who you are?” she asked him. “That you have to creep around pretending to be human and no one thanks you for the job you do?” It was a blunt question, but he wasn’t being delicate, either.

“It is what it is,” he said.

“Bullshit. You don’t
accept
any of it. You hate it.” She didn’t know where her certainty came from. Perhaps her people skills had improved since she’d started her job. There was a cynical edge to Nyanther that underlined his words and behavior and his expressions and spoke of tightly held emotions.