The Keepers: Declan. Rae Rivers
tucking their entwined fingers between them. The impact of their closeness stirred the heat between them. She drew a sharp breath, lifting her head to meet his gaze, and he almost grinned when he felt the quiver through her body. He inhaled her scent, allowing it to wash over him. Her lips were full and ripe with promises of more. Lips he’d devoured many times over.
“Declan … ” she whispered, but didn’t pull away.
She was so close and for an insane moment, he had the urge to kiss her.
Their differences be damned.
“You lied to me, misled me, attacked me,” he murmured, dipping his head toward hers, “but what we had three months ago wasn’t fake, was it?”
Her gaze faltered to his lips, heat pulsing between them. But she didn’t deny it.
“I thought so.” Grinning, he released her, not missing the way her armour slid back into place the moment he took a step back. He reached for the gun, masking his surprise when he found it wasn’t even loaded, and returned the useless weapon to her. “You don’t need this with me.”
Dropping her shoulders, she nodded.
And so a truce was made. A shaky one, but it was good enough for now.
“How did you find me?” She took the gun from him. Without breaking eye contact, she moved back, still keeping her distance, and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“You stole from me, left me buck-naked, and returned to trash my house. You really think I’d let that go?” He glanced at the bag at the front door. “Going somewhere?”
“I never unpack.”
These three simple words arrested Declan for a moment.
“That’s what you get for messing with Crème de la Creepy.”
“I wasn’t messing with anyone.” Her expression remained blank. “Why are you here, Declan?”
“The key and the daggers. Shall we start with that?”
“Would you have given me either if I’d asked?”
“Depends why you wanted them.”
“Yeah, right.” She flashed him an irritated glance and bent to retrieve an overturned lamp. He didn’t miss the slight wince when she straightened or the attempt to cover it by turning away.
He edged forward. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He went to her, felt her stiffen before he even touched her. “Kate, are you hurt?”
She turned slowly around to face him, touching the square band-aid beside her throat. Damn, how had he missed that?
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” He didn’t bother keeping the agitation from his voice. Reaching up, he peeled her fingers back and frowned when he saw the bruises around her neck. Shit.
She was hurt. A flash of anger reared up in his gut. Attacking her earlier was hardly his proudest moment, but damn it, someone had cut her. The idea summoned a range of emotions he was quick to dismiss. Why it bothered him remained unclear. In a world where malice lurked behind every corner, it wasn’t surprising she sported war wounds.
Kate swiped his hand away and covered the white patch with hers. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“When did this happen?”
“Two nights ago.”
“After I lost you on Bourbon?”
Her face brightened. “You were there?”
He cocked a brow.
“Max found me when we split up. He’s a Mimic and imitated you, led me to a back entrance of a hotel. He almost fooled me but I spotted his tattoo and got away. I wasn’t sure you’d been there at all.”
“I was there,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off her. “Max is a Mimic?” The last Mimic he’d seen had been Mason Brogan. The night Sarah had died.
He held up the hand that bore his Keeper ring. “Mimics are dangerous and it’s not the last time they’ll fool you. But they can’t imitate the mark of a Keeper.” He flashed his ring at her, and then reached up to touch the wound on her neck. “Why hasn’t this healed completely yet? Your Keeper powers should’ve healed that by now.”
Irritation tightened her brow, hardening her expression. “I’m not as strong as you.”
“Very few Keepers are, honey.” He grinned. “But it’s not often a woman has the strength of Hercules and magical joo joo combined. What’s with that anyway? Are you a hybrid?”
“Barely.” She looked at him, realising he was waiting for an explanation. “My father was my mother’s Keeper. When he died, she used a spell to bind the Keeper side of me.”
“Didn’t look bound the night you attacked me in my living room.”
“The spell broke when she died. My witch side – the Null in me – is more powerful.”
That explained why he hadn’t sensed that she was a Keeper when they’d first met.
And two dead parents. They had something in common. He’d lost his parents in a fire caused by Warrick Brogan. He wondered about hers but bit back from asking.
“Does Harper know this? Is that what he wants with you?”
“No one knows.”
He reached for her wrist. “Harper knows you’re a Null and he’s figured he has a use for you. Do you have any idea what that means?”
She yanked her hand away. “Of course I do. I’ve spent my entire life hiding from men like him.”
“Then what made you waltz into his club?”
“I had my reasons.” She ducked her head, her long, lowered lashes signalling a closed book. It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she still considered him the enemy.
And maybe he was.
Declan studied her, aware of the slight crack in her voice. He shouldn’t feel sorry for her, shouldn’t have the urge to help her, but she looked so miserable, so lost, an unmistakable sadness in her brown eyes.
Oh, hell.
She blew out air and looked at him. “Okay, so you tracked me down. I’m assuming you’re here about my magic?”
“Partly.”
“My mother was right. No matter which way I turn, there’ll always be someone waiting for me.”
“You’re so sure I’m here to harm you?”
She pointed at the door he’d destroyed. “You broke down my door. I have a mean landlord.”
He almost smiled at her words. “I’d say after the crap you’ve pulled on me, we’re even.”
“So what now, Declan?”
He had no idea.
His aim had been to find her, to talk to her. Now that he had and he knew that she was marked by Harper, he had no idea what to do with her. And being at a loss with a woman was not something he was familiar with. Ever.
But if Harper wanted her, then Declan wanted her more.
“You need help –” he began.
“I don’t want your help.”
“– and I need answers.”
“And you thought you’d simply waltz up my driveway and I’d spill?”
“You came into my home uninvited. I figured