Chapter Six

It had been a freaking long-ass day.

Iliona rubbed tiredly at the back of her neck as she switched the lights off in the main office and headed out the front door. Marion had already gone, reception lights off and the desk shut down. All emergency calls would route to the operative on duty or Iliona herself.

She hoped not. Not tonight. The call at lunch had taken her to the warehouse surveillance job. Drugs had been confirmed at the location but no paranormal involvement whatsoever, so she’d had to head in and sort the handover to the police department. There was no way she was leaving that delightful task to any of her agents, not with the way the PD was about paras.

Really, it should have been a routine task. The trouble was trying to explain to human cops who didn’t understand that paranormals weren’t routine was like beating her head against a brick wall. It was mind-numbing and gave her a damn headache.

The detectives on the case couldn’t understand that they’d have to wait for the final member of the surveillance team to make the shift tonight and be in human form before they could take his statement. And that, no, they could not call him Spot and throw a stick for him to chase. Not unless they wanted it where the sun didn’t shine.

They were only just used to dealing with werewolves, not that they liked them either. Werewolves spent most of their time in human form and had a sense of humor, though, so the switch to dealing with wolfweres—who spent most of their time as animals and, as far as Iliona could work out, wouldn’t know a sense of humor if it bit them on the ass—was painful.

Added to that, her sexy rescuer from last night had acted very strangely when she’d gone to see him at lunch. She’d really thought he was into her last night, but at lunch . . . not so much. He’d looked at her like he didn’t know her at all. She shook off the hurt that lurked in the back of her mind and wanted to take hold as she set the alarms by the front door and stepped out. A chill wind tried to sneak under her jacket, and she shivered as she turned the key in the lock.

She’d probably imagined his interest last night, what with the adrenaline after nearly becoming demon food, or bait, or whatever it was that sort of demon did to its victims. Some paras had good reason not to like or trust humans. From what she’d read of gargoyles, they’d been created as a slave race, so she couldn’t really blame Calcite for being hesitant around her.

“Hi, darling. Missed me?”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a second as a familiar male voice sounded behind her.

Kenneth. Great. Just what she needed after a day like today.

She gave a small, polite smile as she turned around.

“Hi, Kenneth. I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

Kenneth Lewis hadn’t changed in the months since they’d split up. He was a little below six feet, and his expensive suit covered the physique of a soft-around-the-edges man who spent all his time behind a desk. The job wasn’t to blame, though. She knew other men who drove desks and didn’t let it make them soft.

Jai Bourne, Evie’s business partner, was the same . . . spending all his time in his office or in court, but the guy was ripped, with a capital R-I-P. Tall, dark, and handsome. On him, a suit was to every red-blooded woman what lingerie on a woman was to a man. Absolutely panty-wetting hotness. And hardness.

On paper, they were the same . . . but there was no contest between the two. Jai was one half of Bourne & Brooks, the most successful law firm in the city, while Kenneth was still a very junior partner in an old-money outfit that cared more about bloodlines than actual ability. The difference between them was that of a minnow compared to the shark Jai was often called in court.

“You didn’t? I got back a few days ago. Been texting you but you didn’t answer.” He gave her his little boy lost pout. Once she’d thought it cute. Now it just pissed her off. “Didn’t you get my flowers either? I sent you flowers . . . a huge bouquet.”

He stepped forward, an ingratiating smile on his lips she wanted to slap into next week. It was all an act, one designed to get him back into her panties and one she’d fallen for too many times in the past.

“Possibly?” She shrugged as she answered noncommittally. She didn’t want him to be an asshole to the delivery company, which was very likely with Kenneth. Sometimes he was an ass. Period. “I haven’t been in the office all day.”

His gaze flicked to the office with distaste, but he recovered well, sliding forward and reaching up to tuck a lock of her stray hair behind her ear. It was so predictable she almost laughed, sidestepping him easily.

“Let me stop you right there.” She put a hand in the middle of his chest. “We are not catching up, going over old times, or anything of the sort,” she said bluntly. “I am not a booty call, for you or anyone else.”

She wasn’t hurt anymore over their breakup, just tired. Tired that she’d fallen for his spiel, tired that she hadn’t seen what he was doing . . . altering her perceptions of events and reality . . . twisting things until she hadn’t known which way was up and had seriously started to consider giving up work after their inevitable marriage.

Until she’d come to her senses and realized he was doing a number on her.

“Get lost, Kenneth,” she said, sighing. “I don’t want to see you. Not now, not ever.”

“What’s the matter, Iliona?” he hissed, his expression turning ugly. “A mere human not good enough for you now?”

She should have expected that one. Kenneth hated paranormals with a passion. So when they’d all “come out of the closet,” ten years ago, his daily life had gotten a hell of a lot more difficult.

“Kenneth, I’ve had a long day, and it’s late.”

She didn’t bother to moderate the sharp tone in her voice. An ex-boyfriend showing up on her office doorstep was a problem she didn’t want to have to deal with after a day like today. Or ever. Folding her arms, she gave him her best “I don’t want to have this conversation now” look. Like seriously. She’d rather eat razor blades and gargle bleach than rehash why they’d split up.

He just stood there, a twisted expression on his face. “So are you going to answer the question?”

His voice rose in volume as his carefully tanned face took on a hint of red. Kenneth was naturally pale with dark brown hair. He used tanning beds and bleached his hair, terrified someone would mistake him for a vampire. Didn’t matter how many times she told him vampires tanned well and that Rupert, the PPA’s in-house vamp, loved garlic chicken pizza, the idiot insisted on frying himself on a regular basis.

She massaged the bridge of her nose and fought down the urge to murder him with one of her shoes. Since she didn’t wear stilettos, it would have to be blunt force trauma. Fortunately for Kenneth, she really didn’t have the energy now. “When you ask a sensible question, I might see my way clear to answering it.”

He chewed on nothing, a vein pulsing in the corner of his eye. Bless him. Little Kenneth Lewis had been brought up to be master of his destiny, a man . . . the be-all and end-all of his little world. A world his parents hadn’t anticipated containing a) werewolves or anything that went bump in the night or b) anyone more intelligent than their son running rings around him.

She wondered what would happen if someone took a pin and pricked that little vein. Would he deflate like a—

“Which abomination are you screwing?” he demanded, crowding her into the doorway. “It’s that bloodsucker, isn’t it? Or is it the fucking dog?”

Forget the pin, he was lucky she didn’t have a meat cleaver. She matched him glare for glare and refused to back down. She’d learned that much, working with the guys she recruited for protection work.

“You mean Rupert . . . Who’s gay. And Kevin, who’s mated. Twice.”

Kenneth sneered. “Doesn’t mean he can’t fuck around. I hear that’s all they do.”

“Says the man whose sole knowledge of anything paranormal can fit on a postage stamp, as long as it’s a small one.” She smiled sweetly and shoved at the center of his chest. Hard. He staggered backward, almost falling on his ass. “A bit like something else we can mention, eh, Kenneth? Now kindly get lost. I’m busy.”

“You fucking bitch!” he hissed, backing up. “You’ll regret this. Mark my words!”

“Promises, promises!” she called after him, shaking her head as he flipped her the bird before he turned the corner. “Fucking asshole.”

After checking the door was locked, she shoved her hands in her pockets and turned to walk the other way. She needed a drink, a tub of ice cream, and a foot massage. Not necessarily in that order.

Human men were weak and soft.

Anger and frustration surged through Cal as he slammed through the front door in his apartment complex and took the steps two at a time. His booted feet thudded into the dank concrete steps, the floors flying by. He’d dropped by the PPA offices to see if he could catch Iliona before she left, only to find her all up close and personal with some human guy in the doorway.

A growl escaped his lips. The guy had been weak-jawed and bed-tanned with a pudgy physique that said he was way too fond of food and didn’t get enough exercise. Just looking at him, Cal could hear the cholesterol making his heart begin to struggle.

He’d been frozen in place for a moment, unable to believe that she’d prefer a guy like that . . . right up until the human had stepped in, hand raised to cup her cheek. Disgust filling him, he’d bailed right there and then. There was no way he was hanging around to watch them kissing. He might do something he’d regret. Or worse, enjoy. Like smooshing the guy over the wall like human jam.

He smiled grimly, imagining the feel of the asshole’s flesh and bone oozing between his fingers like jelly, and then sighed. If he did that to Iliona’s lover, there was no way she would help him with the murdered women. Anything between them . . . well, that would just have to remain a fantasy best kept in the back of his mind.

After reaching the level for his apartment, he shouldered his way through the door. It slammed into the wall behind him, drawing a shouted complaint from apartment 10 C. Cal flicked the wall the bird as he stalked down the hall. The walls in the block were paper-thin, and since his bedroom was just on the other side of theirs, he had to put up with them arguing and fucking at all hours of the day and night. And she was a screamer.

The carpet clung to his boots as he walked down the hall, the paper peeling off the walls on either side of him. Coughing from 10 G made him frown. The damp and mold didn’t bother him. He wasn’t human, so his lungs didn’t work quite the same way theirs did, but Mrs. Rogers was getting worse. The old lady had lived here all her life. Had seen the block when it was new and the epitome of luxury. It must break her heart to see it as it was, home to the dregs of society and the hopeless. And paranormals. Most humans didn’t like his kind or others like him. Despite the antidiscrimination laws, it was still difficult to get employment . . . which was why both he and Gran worked at Frankie’s. She was one of the rare few who didn’t care what a person was, as long as they showed up on time and put the effort in.

The PPA employed paranormals as well.

He ignored the little voice as he shoved his key into the lock and turned it to let himself in. The apartment was dark, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Gran wasn’t in. After what he’d witnessed at the PPA, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with his brother’s issues as well. Gran had always been the more intense and dark of the two of them, and Cal ignored his little gabbro habit most of the time.

He’d always known Gran had . . . issues. Created first, he’d mentioned suffering before Cal had been created, but had never gone into detail. Whatever it was, he often woke from nightmares screaming. And Cal looked after him. They weren’t brothers in the biological, human sense of the word, but they were just as close, if not closer.

Right now, though, Cal didn’t want to be the sensible one. He wanted to snarl and rage, put his fist through concrete blocks, and stomp in fury. He wanted . . .

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as he ran his hand through his hair. He wanted something he couldn’t have, could never have . . .

But it didn’t stop the yearning in his stone heart.

He stalked through to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator, staring inside blankly. He had no idea what he wanted. Even the lure of cake, a human treat neither he nor Gran could resist, didn’t hold his attention.

“Wanna tell me about your little girlfriend?”

Cal yelped at the growl behind him, slamming the fridge door shut as he whirled to find Gran leaning in the doorway behind him, a dark look on his face.

“Would you bloody well quit doing that?” he demanded, his heart rate spiking. There weren’t many creatures who could sneak up on him, not even other gargoyles. Some species of fae, deities, and Gran . . . it was a short list. “And what girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Gran looked unrepentant, his gaze level. “Iliona Graham.”

Shit.

“Who?”

Gran snorted. “Don’t try the innocent act with me. I was a protector before you were created.”

“Yeah, yeah . . . for all of a few days,” Cal threw back. This was an old argument, rehashed over the years. Gran wasn’t that much older than he was, but he acted like Methuselah at times. “Practically no time at all, Gramps.”

Gran grumbled in the center of his chest. “Well? Do you know what Iliona Graham was?”

“Other than a hot as hell chick?” Cal tried flippantly.

“She was on a paranormal hunting team with the military,” Gran growled. “She hunted people like us, killed us. Your girlfriend is a murderer.”

“No way. She’s not like that.” Cal shook his head, backing up. He couldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . believe that. “She runs the PPA . . . they help paras.”

“Guilty conscience,” Gran said, his expression focused and an intent look in his eyes that said he wasn’t going to be derailed.

“No. I don’t believe that.” Cal folded his arms, mirroring his brother’s movements. Seemed Gran wanted to get into a fight tonight, which suited him just fine. He had some excess energy to work off anyway.

Gran leaned forward and sniffed. Then his expression changed. Became fiercer. “Stone dust . . . you’ve been tracking down those damn statues, haven’t you? How many times have I told you they’re just freaking ornaments? There’s no way they’re our kind.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Cal hissed, his anger flaring to match that in Gran’s eyes as he stepped forward, squaring up to the other gargoyle. “They are our kind. I saw the magic over the remains.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Gran scoffed, his lip curling. “That magic was destroyed centuries ago. You’re losing it, an addle-brained child clutching at straws. You’ll be believing in human myths next. Shall we invite the Easter Bunny to dinner as well?”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Cal shoved his brother out of the way, storming across to the window. He almost broke the latch as he pushed it open and swung out onto the ledge. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wasn’t going to!” his brother called after him as he fell from the ledge, letting the stone flow over his skin and changing his form as he caught the fire-escape opposite and swung himself onto the roof and then into the city beyond.