Spirit Song Page 9

This and so many other fanciful and girlish questions warred in her mind as she poured her spirit into her words. The heat from his eyes bore through her mile-high hairpiece, and she imagined his deep and seductive voice calling her to raise her gaze.

  Invisible fingers edged her chin up as the song spiraled to a close, the light touch so real she expected to see him looming above her. But no shadow was cast, and when she found the courage to open her eyes, he was still seated, his table miles away from her. Yet his amber eyes told a different story.

  Dimly aware of the distant applause, she dipped her head to the crowd, her eyes scanning in a panic for any trace of her boss or his henchmen.

  “If I see that mook making eyes at you…”

  Fear trickled down her spine the longer her gaze remained lost in the eyes of her beautiful stranger. As much as she wanted desperately to run to him and beg him to take her away from here, she could not place him in jeopardy.

  With a heavy sigh, she broke the spell, turning her eyes once again to the worn parquet at her feet as the next song began.

  I’m sorry. I can’t let you be hurt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bastian blinked in disbelief at the whispered words in her mind.

  She couldn’t let him be hurt?

  He would crawl across razor blades on his hands and knees for the chance of seeing her smile. Only discipline ingrained through years of training halted his body from lurching out of the worn leather booth. Yet her thoughts hinted that she knew evil dwelled in this place and she sought to protect him.

  Protect? Him?

  His brain refused to put actual meaning to the two words, their definitions so completely out of congruous context that only his heart was able to decipher them. Never before had anyone worried about his safety, much less a female. His mother had long since given up on him with his “wicked ways” and dangerous associations while still a young boy. Accuracy with weaponry, a general lack of regard for human life, and a knack for swift violence came easy to him, largely in part to the guidance of his father and uncle, both of whom served as capitano for Rinaldo degli Albizzi after the Volterran revolt. She’d believed him to be wholly evil from birth, and when the Medici’s assassins made their unsuccessful bid to take his life, she’d washed her hands of him. Her final words would always ring in his ears, especially when he had a woman between his legs.

  “You are a monster, Sebastiani. Your father gave you all his evil, and I do not have enough love to balance it. God will finish what that assassin’s rope did not.”

  Yet, before him, in the glaring spotlight, an angel feared for his safety. Did he dare pin his salvation on her? Would she see more than just the monster?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the empty glass on the table vanish, replaced by his third double bourbon on the rocks. All the while, his soulful songstress mourned the loss of happiness and extolled the joys of love through each new tune, her eyes sadly hidden from him. Vibrations buzzed like an annoying gnat from the phone left idly on the wood. The distraction both angered and centered him, drawing his mind to the task at hand. Perhaps if he discovered the source of the Rogues’ interest, he could bring her some measure of peace.

  He skimmed the text from Viktor, hoping his friend was having more luck at the scene at the train tracks. The message did not bode well. Only two words appeared. “Call me.” He cursed under his breath, snarling as he took a needed sip of bourbon. His gaze rose as the latest song was ending. Her sad and forced smile painted her ruby lips, and she announced the band would be taking a short break. His heart skipped a beat as her eyes found his on her last line. “Don’t go anywhere.” Her eyelids lowered, but not before he captured her brilliant blue orbs once again, her message received loud and clear. A reassuring grin curved his lips, and he dipped his chin. The answering relieved smile told him that she understood his response.

  Darkness flooded the stage and the chatter around the bar began anew, growing in the overhead fluorescent glow. Left in relative privacy, he dialed Viktor’s cell. As he waited for his friend to pick up, he wrapped the booth in silence, careful to keep the net close and low in level. The last thing he wanted to do was to tip off the enemy of his whereabouts and his intentions. He didn’t have to wait long, the second ring just beginning before Viktor’s voice echoed in the background, finishing another conversation first.

  “What short straw did we draw?” Frustration bled through the rhetorical question, coloring the weak attempt at humor.

  “Are you kidding me?” Bastian growled over the line. “Again?” Apparently, the fates opted to screw them both royally.

  “Yup. And they really fucked up this time. I mean, as if leaving body parts strewn around the city like toilet paper on the dean’s lawn after Homecoming wasn’t bad enough. This time, they broke the Cardinal rule.”

  Bastian sat up straighter as the knowledge that the only unshakeable law between Guardians and Rogues had been breached. No witnesses. Ever.

  “Please tell me they didn’t get caught on video.” In this day and age of cameras on every street corner and anyone over the age of eight with the capacity to catch people behaving badly on their phones, it was imperative for them to stay out of the limelight. If word ever got out that immortals existed, hell would be a welcome vacation compared to the tortures and torments that would greet them at the hands of those they sought to protect.

  “No, thank the gods. But two young boys who saw the fight claimed to see blasts of light and bodies disintegrating.”

  “How old?” He tried to keep the hopeful tone to a minimum, apprehension seeping through his snarls.

  “Seven and nine, so that’s a point in our favor. Since the details were so fantastical in the eyes of the cops who spoke to them, they left out a lot of the supernatural elements from the final police report.” Viktor paused, and Bastian’s jaw was agape. “Yeah, I can hear you from here. What the hell were a seven- and nine-year old kid doing out in the middle of the night. But did I mention the brawl happened in East Garfield Park?”

  Bastian ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. Great, just what that neighborhood needed: another murder to add to the decades-long list.

  “Please tell me something good came out of all this.” His gaze drifted from the empty stage back down to his watch. A repetitive sound beat at his brain, and he growled to find the source was his foot, tapping impatiently as he waited for her next set to begin.

  Viktor scoffed. “Yeah, we’re not dead yet.” The lingering silence proved his glare could even reach across the airwaves. Seconds ticked before his friend continued. “The skirmish was between Rogues from Pieter’s group and probably a few of Viggo’s recruits, but one of the splattered potentials had a matchbook from your girl’s club.”

  Bastian edged forward, intent of causing some level of violence. “Anything else?” The lights around the room dimmed as the spot bounced off the black baby grand. He picked out the swish of the sequined fabric, her steps bringing her closer to the waiting pool on the stage. “And make it quick.”

  Knowing laughter poured from the phone just as his angel stepped into the light. He probably should have been paying more attention, but he distinctly heard a good-bye, or something like that, before the line went silent. Her skin shone like polished alabaster, and the midnight black dress clung to her curves as the band played low and sultry in the background.

  He sat still as he patiently waited for her to see him. Her gaze lingered down, unwilling to leave the comfort of the battered stage beneath her heels. Imagining his hand brushing along her jawline, he smiled and sent waves of affectionate courage. His message must have reached its destination, and her lips curved upward as her eyes met his. Nothing could stop the hungry growl that escaped his lungs as her cheeks took on a warm glow, her well-rehearsed opening speech more sultry than before.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to jazz night at Francciolli’s. Thank you for spending your evening with us
.” Her smoky eyes burned, the clear blue orbs boring into him with the intensity of the sun as the piano player plunked the recognizable intro to “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

  The rest of the room vanished, leaving only the two of them lost in the words and the music. A sly smile slipped over his face as he let his powers do a little slipping of their own. In his mind, he stroked her cheek and trailed his fingers along the tempting column of her throat while his astral self stepped behind her. He imagined kissing his way to her pearl-clad earlobe as he wrapped his arms low about her waist, pulling her soft curves against his rock-hard cock.

  From the widening of her eyes, he knew she’d received his mental meanderings. Yet when her voice caught, stumbling over the lyrics, he forced his mind back home. But not before he flashed her a devilish smile, winking as he took a cooling swallow from his half empty bourbon. One of her gracefully tapered eyebrows arched up, her gaze inquisitive as she sang the last refrain. The light crowd showed a proper degree of enthusiasm, but his deliberate applause was only for her ears alone.

  The night wore on and he sat entranced, sipping whatever refill the waitress placed in front of him. Each new song conjured pictures of bodies entwined, skin on skin as her porcelain legs wrapped about his waist, blonde waves cascading down his back as he drove his cock deeper and deeper inside her. His jaw nearly cracked as she crooned “Under My Skin,” envious of her graceful fingers resting on the standing mic and wondering if the chromed steel knew how lucky it was.

  While he basked in his erotic daydreams, a niggling voice in the back of his head reminded him of his duty. He gritted his teeth as he disengaged his libido and he redirected his brain to seek out any traces of Rogue activity. Shifting his vision to single out the distinctive glow of his enemy, he scanned the room, keeping an eye on the trails vanishing through the front doors. But the one that piqued his curiosity was the bold path leading down the hall to the door marked “Employees Only.” Someone here was playing for the wrong team, and he was damned sure he wasn’t going to allow his angel to be in any danger.

  “Um, excuse me?”

  A voice off his left drew him out of recon mode. The buxom blonde that graced Viktor’s lap stood next to him, a fresh drink on her tray and a sly smile on her face.

  “I didn’t order anything.”

  She winked, tilting her head toward the stage. “This one’s from the lady at the mic, sugar.” She leaned in, making certain her cleavage was placed directly at eye level as she set the drink down in front of him, along with a napkin scrawled with a private message. “Tell your friend not to be a stranger.”

  The swirling script on the small white square flowed warmly, the simple words making him smile. Hope you enjoy the show. Miranda.

  As he traced his fingertips across the delicate lettering, the tactile connection locked in and he watched through the distant lens as she sat in a dingy back room, a thoughtful frown on her ruby red lips as she gnawed on the end of the pen. Around her, he saw the members of her band laughing and enjoying the lightness of their break. The bass player moved to sit beside her. His ebony skin shone in the overhead light. A halo of pale salt-and-pepper curls ringed his head as he set a wrinkled hand on her knee. Only the fatherly smile on his face curbed Bastian’s overwhelming urge to charge the stage in the middle of their set and remove the man’s hands from his body.

  More applause signaled the end of another song, and he brought his attention back to the beautiful songstress as she announced the end of their set. A quick glance at his wrist confirmed the lateness of the hour. Still no new message from Viktor, which was either very good or epically bad. Growling half to himself, he pulled out his wallet, tossing down a c-note while he sent a short text to his friend.

  “No activity on this end, but the place crawls with Rogue energy.”

  He slid from the booth, gathering up his coat and scarf as the response pinged. “The bad guys can wait another night, lillebror. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

  The corners of his lips curled up in a wicked grin. “Oh, I plan to.” He whispered the gravelly answer to the empty stage, his fingers retrieving the napkin with her simple message before he headed toward the front door, opting to wait outside by the employee’s entrance in the alley.

  “I plan to.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He stayed.

  Miranda could barely contain her joy as she removed her make-up in excited swipes. Her mysterious admirer didn’t leave. Giddiness bubbled in her heart as she contemplated the possible ramifications of this knowledge. Did Leslie deliver her note? Thinking back on her lame message, she wished she had been more honest and less cryptic. However, the fear of endangering both of them if the napkin fell into the wrong hands forced her to keep the words simple and superficial.

  During the remainder of her show, she constantly had to remind herself that others were in the bar, namely those who reported to the man holding far too much sway over her life. Each time the darkness of her current situation threatened to drag her down, the fluttering brush of an imaginary pair of lips on her bare skin would draw her eyes back to predator just beyond the surrounding halo of light.

  And predator he was, his lethal power apparent even from her safe distance on the stage. His confident walk, the way one arm rested on the low back of the burgundy leather booth as he followed her every movement. As she poured her heart and soul into each new song, she basked in the warming glow of his intent stare. Instead of her standard clientele and their lascivious leers, his focused attentions made her feel cherished and desired.

  With Slick Sal’s veiled threat echoing in her ears as she approached the stage, she knew she should warn her handsome admirer away from her. But all her good intentions melted the moment she locked eyes with his bottomless pools of amber whiskey. His hot gaze stroked her skin, raising a trail of tingling chills that crept the length of her arm.

  Now, as she removed the last pin holding the platinum blonde wig on her head, she hoped to test the truth of his touch as it compared to her imagination. Careful to keep her nightly regime routine and unassuming, she checked the clock on the wall as she stuck her feathery lashes onto the mirror. 1:45 a.m. Damn. How did it get to be so damned late?

  Could she even begin to believe that somewhere outside, in the frigid night, he waited still? Did he want her as much as she wanted him?

  A couple farewells aimed at her back shook her out of her musings. She offered her bandmates a controlled smile and a wave as she rose to head out herself. One word spun on an endless loop in her brain as she donned her coat and crammed her mussed hair beneath her beanie. Please. Over and over, she sent the silent prayer to the heavens as she wrapped the knit scarf around her throat and continued down the hall. When she saw her trembling hand reach for the exit door, she groaned and rolled her eyes at her own juvenile behavior.

  “Get a grip, Andy,” she murmured, giving the innocent doorknob an angry twist and she stepped into the cold dark. Sloppy snow crunched under her boots and the frosty wind off Lake Michigan bit through her threadbare woolen coat, freezing her breath before it even left her lungs. She managed two steps toward the street before a shadow darkened the dingy white at her feet.

  “Boss wants to see you now.” The hulking gorilla in the black trench hovered over her, his short phrase laced with an unspoken threat of violent repercussions. Yet tonight she was in no mood to be ordered into obedience like some well-trained dog.

  “I’m off the clock. I will talk to him tomorrow.” Her attempt to sidestep the man did not meet with success. He dug his fingers into the meat of her bicep and yanked her to a sudden stop. Her gaze shot up; the muddied brown eyes above her regarded her with open disdain and no room for debate.

  “Boss says now.”

  Her heart began to pound as she frantically searched for a way out. “I’ve had a long night. I’m tired and I want to go home.”

  Salvation came in the form of a deep and growling voice that flowed over her shoulders and
a forceful physical presence at her back. “I believe you have your answer, signore.”

  She struggled to keep her gaze forward, the urge to sneak a peek behind her powerful and compelling. The voice was harsh and gravelly, drawing to mind images of a giant bear rudely awakened and none too pleased about the prospect. His tone was commanding and undeniable.

  Her face stared intently at the goon sent to retrieve her, watching as the snarl grew then melted, repugnance replaced by apprehension. The man’s eyes lost focus, a frown pulling his thick brows together in confusion.

  Again, that powerful voice rolled over her shoulders. “I think it would be best if you got back into your car and told your boss that you were unable to catch her before she went home for the night.”

  She fully expected a brawl to break out around her. However, what she did see was a thousand times more frightening. Sal’s lackey let go of her arm and turned away, heading toward the black Mercedes on the curb. Her jaw hung agape as the man simply drove away. Just like that.

  This time, curiosity outweighed her sense of self-preservation. She had to see what kind of man could order around the meatheads that served as muscle for Francciolli. She spun around, eager to get a better look at her timely shadow.

  The fierce scowl aimed at the receding lights softened as he shifted his whiskey eyes to meet hers. His face was cut straight from some ancient battlefield. A strong, square jaw dusted with the day’s stubble supported defined cheekbones chiseled out of the most intriguing shade of sun-kissed marble. A faded scar ringing his throat peeked from under the collar of his expensive-looking black sweater, further cementing her opinion of his true nature. Another jagged pale line trailed from the center of his left eyebrow to terminate somewhere in the thick hair.

  “Are you all right?” His voice rumbled low, gravelly and intoxicating.

  His amber eyes remained passively attentive as her gaze roamed across his face. Her head bobbed slowly as his words wove their way into her ears between the rapid beats of her heart. He was alpha male all the way, a predator who had seen the deadlier side of life and come out on the winning side. She wondered how many bodies he had crawled over to stand so casually before her on this cold night, one hand tucked into the front pocket of his black slacks.