Chapter 11
Kenzi hunched her shoulders against the sharp wind and strode down the street towards the spot where she had left her car. Several years ago a night out on the town, a fancy car and a sizeable wad of cash in her pocket would have meant infinite opportunities, but now the only emotion heating up the night for her seemed to be the muted sense of purpose and a post-vodka warmth spreading in her stomach.
Yet, Kenzi had to admit to herself that the deadness in her soul seemed to be a tiny bit livened up, whether by the feeling of being out and unsupervised or from a sparkle of excitement that the whole wolf-business was giving her.
She knew why she had let him go – revolted by the idea of having a person, an animal tortured in a filthy cage right underneath her feet, prodded on by the thought that every next slave was another nail in her sister's coffin. She didn't, however, know why she had just instructed Dima to find the man she saved.
"It certainly can't be just because I want to see him again or see him out of his wolf skin. Kenzi doesn't do this kind of schmaltzy, fall-for-the-hot-guy under extreme circumstances thing any more," she assured herself, "But he might be instrumental in my cause."
"And he might well want to kill Lori," she added immediately, "So how do I get him to fight our joint battle but by my rules?"
Wrapped up in her complicated musings, she didn't hear the footsteps until they were right behind her and a heavy hand landed on her shoulder jerking her around.
"Bruce?!" she cried out indignantly going by the weight of the muscled limb and the force of the spin given to her, "Did Lauren tell you to follow me? What a two-faced controlling …"
But the proper epithet for a promise-breaking sibling trailed off as Kenzi looked up into the face of a man, who, though bearing a pronounced resemblance to the giant fae in Lauren's service, was obviously a complete stranger with a cold predatory glint in his squinting eye.
"Steve, not Bruce," the man muttered, sounding as if he had already been taken for Bruce before and was much less than amused by it. His other huge hand took a grip of the girl's slim neck and gave it a tentative squeeze, "Bruce died and so will you."
Kenzi's wide open eyes did not reflect fear but a profound resentment at going in this way – in a dirty side street with a sweaty paw wrapped around her neck – and at the point in her life when she still had a huge, hanging loose end to tie.
"Wrong, Bruce is alive," she wheezed pushing air beyond the thick fingers on her larynx.
"He's as good as dead to me," the man hissed back, his eyes distinctly bloodshot but his hand momentarily relaxing, "She took my brother and turned him into a mindless puppet."
"Oh, I can spot the family resemblance," the girl rattled out, "and not like he was a mindful personality before."
"Poor choice of words," she chided herself mentally as the fingers curled tighter again.
"She said to get you alive but I much rather prefer you dead," the fae leaned to exhale the words into the girl's face and she flinched not so much from the threat as from his fetid breath.
Seconds before the brute strength could crush Kenzi's throat, a strength an iota greater or simply more focused ripped his hand from the girl and another body inserted itself between the fae attacker and his tiny prey. As if mesmerized, Kenzi, who had staggered back a few steps, was watching the fight that was short but spectacular as the tall figure of a man took Steve down with precise, honed hits and blows until the giant slumped on the ground in a huge heap of quaking damaged muscle. An arm rose for the final strike and Kenzi saw the glistening of claws in the gathering dark, knew immediately who it meant, what it meant. "Don't," she rasped out and repeated with more stress and volume, "Don't kill him!"
The man turned to face her and his eyes glowing yellow faded to blue. "Why would you ask to spare him?" he asked, curt and weirdly polite at the same time, "He wanted to kill you".
"Someone sent him after me," the girl explained, words coming out unsteady from her bruised throat, "Besides, he might have had a good reason."
Conceding her point, the man bent down and lifted the half-conscious fae off the ground.
"You heard the lady – who sent you?" he inquired, the tone level but the menace reinforced by the flash of amber in his gaze and a fine set of claws pressed to the other's carotid.
"My mistress," the fallen fae stumbled out.
"There are so many of them these days," the wolf's tone was getting impatient and the tip of a claw penetrating the skin.
"Evony, my dark Morrigan," Steve spat out in a hurry, clearly unwilling to play the loyal hero.
"What does she want with the human?" Dyson kept on interrogating but the fae only shook his head.
"I swear I have no idea, she just told me where to find her and to take her," he murmured nasally and was spared further explaining as a new smell wafted onto the scene – the delicate jasmine with a trace of fresh nail polish that made Dyson punch his captive out and spin round to face the new menace.
"Fleurette," he drawled instilling the name with derision, "Sorry, can't call you the Morrigan any longer or claim to be happy to meet you. Wait, not actually sorry."
"Easy on the eye as you are, dog without a master, I am below thrilled myself," the woman made her slow hip-wagging way to stand by her defeated henchman. Instinctively Kenzi moved to take position behind the wolf's broad back.
"I didn't tell the stupid piece of meat to kill her," the woman flicked her dark curls and beamed what would have been a seductive smile had it not be so predatory, "I want her alive and I want her now."
"Why?" the wolf asked what was his question of the night with open curiosity.
"Because I need her and I am stronger and older than you are, dumb wolf," Evony sighed as if chagrined by his slow-witted lack of grasp of the situation.
"Older you might be, crow feet showing, but I am ready to argue the first point," the man replied without moving an inch.
"You're obviously hurt," the woman nodded to the wolf's arm pressed against his side and went on ticking off the points on her fingers, "You've just expended your strength on my moronic lackey protecting a human you know nothing about. And I am so charged to melt you into a puddle."
This time the attempt at her life and freedom was slow-moving enough for Kenzi to get her purse open and fish around inside but inquisitiveness overwhelmed for a few more seconds the natural survival imperative and she paused waiting for the man's answer, breath held, gun poised.
"Tams says you've got too lazy and too slow over the years, Fleurette," Dyson growled not budging, his claws extending again, "I won't rate you chances that high. One touch is all it takes for both of us and I have longer arms."
Fury lit up the huge brown eyes but caution won as the ancient powerful woman took a step back and made a show of inspecting her nails.
"I'll have my chance soon enough," she stated, "And I'll have my girl without having to ruin my manicure."
As the slim figure swaggered off scene, the gun disappeared back into the purse bare seconds before Kenzi was lazered with the shrewd blue of her rescuer.
"What the hell was that about?" the wolf barked out, "Why does everyone want a piece of you as if you're a succubus? How are you involved with the fae? And why don't you look afraid to die, human girl?"
"And why did you trot to my rescue?" Kenzi shot back, gathering her wits.
"Don't like unpaid debts," Dyson muttered, not sure if the girl recognized him from the photo or from the snarling clawed animal she had seen.
"I saved you, you saved me, let's call it quits," Kenzi shrugged and straightened her clothes with the air of someone ready to call it a night.
"You were looking for me – I heard you talking to that Russian informant of yours," the wolf didn't seem willing to let her go yet.
"And you were obviously spying on me," the girl replied in kind, "Don't think you usually hang out in human bars. So, as far as we have established that we have been looking for each other and that I am not afraid to die, you can stop looking intimidating and I can drop my it's-too-late-and-i-want-to-go-home act and talk for real."