Ecstasy in Darkness (Alien Huntress #5)(33)
Author: Gena Showalter

Her gaze flicked up to him, amber fury glowing within. “The favor you have bestowed upon me? And did you just call me a food-slave?”

“Yes to both. Time and time again, you have hurt me, yet I have never retaliated. I only give you pleasure.”

She didn’t face him again, just increased the speed of her stride. “Pleasure? Ha! You are such an egomaniac.”

“And you’re deluded.”

“Expectant bastard.”

“Ungrateful harpy.”

“Pig.”

Silence.

The names they’d shouted at each other echoed through his mind, and he blinked in shock. He’d just slighted his woman. Twice. And he wasn’t sorry. He actually felt … better. Calmer. How odd. A vampire female would have broken down and cried, had he said those things, and he would have wallowed in guilt. Perhaps even have been executed by the king for the disturbance to their world. Ava merely hurtled another insult at him. And yet not once had there been hate woven into her tone.

Yesterday, hell, an hour ago, he hadn’t understood how Ava and Noelle could call each other names yet still claim to love one another. Now, though, the truth was so clear. They had simply been expressing their discontent. And it was nice. To never have to hold back for fear of hurting someone’s feelings, something he’d always had to do with his vampire lovers…. It was freeing.

Because vampires lived in a small, underground world, escape rarely an option, peace was essential. Hurting feelings could lead to discord, discord to war, war to total elimination of the people. Therefore, his every word had been measured. Speaking his mind, the truth, had never been an option. When execution had been the most likely result, burying his emotions had seemed prudent. He simply hadn’t realized the weight that kind of existence had pressed upon his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he told Ava, unable to mask his awe.

Her steps slowed, and he received another flick of her gaze, minus the anger “Thank you? Is this a trick?” She frowned, slowed even more. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just … put your game face on.”

Game face?

They stopped in front of a red brick building with two guards posted at the entrance. Both were men, and both were holding pyre-guns. AIR agents, no question.

Ah. The bar. Now he understood.

He could smell every weapon in the vicinity. The soot on the barrel of the guns, the metallic twang of blades, the bloodstains on the tips of throwing stars, a piece of sharpened wood, poison, the sour motes emitted by grenades. For a moment, he wondered if this was some sort of trap to imprison him so that Mia Snow could finally speak with him. Kill him.

Ava was tricky enough to plan something like that, but why would she need to? he wondered next. He’d fallen asleep in her home. She could have cornered him then. Could have removed his heart, even, and he would have been defenseless.

He schooled his features, revealing no hint of his emotions. Not that he knew what he was feeling at the moment. “Game face on,” he said.

Ava pointed a finger into his chest, her brown eyes suddenly unreadable. Or … dare he hope he saw concern in those sensual depths? “Behave.”

“I will if you will.”

She squared her shoulders and faced the guards, flashing her trainee badge. “I was called in,” she said, “and he’s with me.”

They moved aside, allowing her to pass. McKell followed her, the men watching him through narrowed eyes. Did they know who he was? Probably. They reeked of anger and hints of fear.

Just to be on the safe side, he stopped time for them, not releasing them until he stepped through a set of double doors. The bar was small but well lit, with a concrete floor painted to look like grass and gravel, and walls painted to look like a haunted forest. The many tables and chairs littering the area looked as if they were comprised of real wood, but they smelled like metal.

Civilians had been ushered into the far corner, guards watching their every move and ensuring they remained docile. In contrast, agents bustled in every direction, taking samples from the pool tables, running tiny, beeping machines over the walls. He recognized a few of those agents, and made sure to stroke his necklace when they glanced his way. A pointed reminder of the consequences of messing with him.

Each had the same reaction. The bleaching of skin, the increase in heart rate, and the profusion of sweat. Excellent. Finally, reactions he expected.

Someone he didn’t recognize muttered, “Vampire,” and then the word spread like wildfire, echoing all around him. Soon, those who possessed all ten of their fingers stopped what they were doing and stared over at him, unaware of the danger they courted. A few even withdrew their guns.

Just as he geared up to stop time, and perhaps slap them around while no one could see him, Ava stepped in front of him and spread her arms, acting as his shield. “He’s come in peace,” she announced.

At first, the thought that she wished to protect him delighted him, even though he should be offended that she doubted his ability, his skill. She might not want to discuss her feelings, but this proved she did have them. Why else would she place herself in danger to keep him safe?

But then, the thought that she had placed herself in danger had him wishing for a hacksaw. No one placed his woman in danger. Even the woman herself.

McKell pushed her behind him, blocking her from view.

“We need him for the investigation,” she finished, moving to his side.

With those words, any lingering delight evaporated like mist. She hadn’t shielded him because of her feelings, as he’d supposed, hoped, but for her precious investigation. Yes, a hacksaw would be nice. Still. He tried to push her behind him again. She resisted.

“I don’t want to brag,” Noelle said, disrupting the terse quiet. She had been hidden in the shadows of a far corner, and now strode to the bar, lifted one of the overflowing shot glasses resting on a tray, and tossed back the contents. “But my friend just did what no one else could. She brought in the wicked vampire of the far south.”

The wicked vampire. He liked that.

“I could have done it, too,” someone muttered.

Ava stiffened.

“Who said that?” he snapped. How dare anyone question her skill!

No one stepped forward.

Ava relaxed, so McKell tried to force himself to do the same. The urge to kill continued to simmer, unwilling to be bottled. As he well knew, there was one thing guaranteed to put him in a better mood. “You should kiss your friend hello,” he whispered to Ava. “It’s the polite thing to do.”