Whisper Kiss Read online

  "But . . ."

  "But nothing. I gotta go, Rox. Ciao."

  As Rox watched, stunned, the hulk of a man who had been the greatest make-work project of her life strode out of her apartment.

  Just when she'd been within an inch of making something of him.

  The door clicked behind him and she heard T leap down the stairs, as if he'd broken free of a prison.

  Whistling, dammit.

  Trusting in someone.

  Someone other than her. She was perfectly prepared to help her projects find their wings, so to speak, and loved watching them take flight into their own futures.

  But this was different.

  Something was wrong.

  Rox stared at the business card and felt sick with concern. She wondered whether Niall Talbot had ever even heard of Thorolf.

  Rox was going to find out.

  There was trouble on the wind.

  It was late on a Saturday evening and Niall was walking home from the gym. He'd left Thorolf at a cafe; already he needed a break from spending every moment of the day with the Pyr's newest recruit. The fact that Thorolf was driving Niall nuts within mere hours of Thorolf's having moved in with him wasn't a very good portent for this mentorship.

  There had been a partial eclipse in the morning, one that had been mostly visible over the Pacific. Niall hadn't needed to see it to feel his body respond. If nothing else, it reminded him of his self-imposed deadline. In December 2010, the first of three total eclipses would occur. The three firestorms linked to those eclipses had to be key to the Pyr, and Niall was determined to ensure that the world was devoid of shadow dragons by then.

  He had roughly six more months to destroy all of the shadow dragons. The Dragon's Blood Elixir that had been used to create the shadow dragons was destroyed, and Magnus, the leader of the Slayers who had raised dead Pyr and Slayers with the Elixir, was dead. Niall had volunteered to clean up the details.

  He had expected the cleanup to be quick, but it had been an ordeal. The shadow dragons had been unpredictable.

  Niall hadn't thought they had it in them. In the past, they had been robotic, mindlessly following the commands of Magnus until they were incapable of doing so. With Magnus gone, they should have attacked in unison, keeping at it until they were dismembered and their ashes scattered.

  But they hadn't. Niall couldn't figure out what had changed.

  Worse, Erik, the leader of the Pyr, had insisted that Niall and Thorolf work together. Niall had eliminated twenty shadow dragons, sometimes with Thorolf's help, including another the night before. But Thorolf was less than reliable, and Niall was sick of having to track down the other Pyr. He was fed up with Thorolf's being out partying when he needed him. The shadow dragons tended to appear suddenly, as if conjured from nowhere, always having the element of surprise on their side.

  Niall had lost it the night before. Thorolf had arrived so late for the surprise attack that Niall had given up on him. They'd argued after the shadow dragons were destroyed, Niall insisting that Thorolf move in with him or quit. He'd known it wouldn't be easy to live with Thorolf, but he needed eyes at his back.

  He needed a fighting partner he could rely on.

  He needed some sleep.

  And that meant he had to keep a closer eye on Thorolf, whether he liked the prospect or not.

  Niall walked quickly, fighting that sense of being watched. He still couldn't get the smell of incinerated shadow dragon out of his nostrils. Maybe it was the scent and the reminder of that near loss that made him feel vulnerable. Maybe it was a lack of sleep that left him feeling stalked.

  Maybe he shouldn't have left Thorolf behind.

  The streets were oddly quiet, the wind making little gusts that sent the dust scuttling in the gutters. The vegetable stalls and tables of fresh fish that crowded the streets of Chinatown in the daytime had been packed up and towed away, and the evening crowds were surprisingly thin. There was a bit of litter blowing across the pavement and the neon lights seemed to be advertising to no one at all. The wind was a cold one, unseasonable, more like a September wind than one he'd expect in June.

  But it was more than the cold. The wind smelled to Niall of decay and death and destruction. The wind was wrong and unsettled, unnatural. The scent of rot riding the wind made him think of Slayers, although he couldn't sense any in the vicinity.

  Niall caught glimpses of the sky between the buildings and didn't like the way the clouds were dark on their bellies, roiling. The sky was simmering.

  He supposed that even humans with their less-sharp senses of smell might find the weather unsettling. Niall found it downright disturbing. He asked the wind for tidings--politely, because its mood was unpredictable--but received no response.

  At least, there was no direct response. A swirl of wind ripped down the street immediately after his question. The awning over a Thai restaurant's street-side patio snapped hard, as if it would be ripped free of its support. The metal brace creaked and groaned, and the only couple on the patio stood up with alarm. Their table flipped, and a pair of glasses shattered on the concrete as the wind snatched the tablecloth away.

  The cloth sailed down the street, flipping and whipping, wrapping itself around a light standard before it tore free and disappeared. When Niall looked back at the restaurant, a busboy was sweeping up the broken shards of glass and the couple had gone inside.

  The power went out; all of the street plunged into sudden darkness. It was odd to see Mott Street without the pulse of neon.

  The wind stopped completely, the air turning still.

  The hair on the back of Niall's neck prickled and he felt a shiver slide down his spine.

  Something had arrived.

  Niall began to run toward his studio loft. He didn't need the wind to deliver this omen. He had booked a lot of business this week, and even though his computer had a surge protector, even though he had backed up his files, he had a really bad feeling.

  He felt targeted. Niall wasn't going to question that sense--he'd defend himself first and ask questions later.

  Could the shadow dragons communicate with one another?

  Were they gathering to destroy him before he finished them all off? Had they worn him down with exhaustion just to end the battle when he wasn't at his best?

  It was a crummy moment to be alone, and he sent a summons to Thorolf in old-speak.

  Of course, Thorolf didn't respond.

  Niall ran as fast as he could, down the street and around the corner. His loft was over a store, intended originally as the owner's apartment, but long since sold off as a condo.

  There were three condo units in the old redbrick building, two small studios on the second floor, immediately over the Asian furniture store on the street level, then Niall's combined living and work space on the third floor. The furniture store owner used the quieter back studio on the second floor once in a while, whereas the front unit was owned by an artist who traveled frequently. A door to the left of the shop's windows led to a staircase that accessed all three apartments.

  Niall turned the corner just in time to see someone enter the door that led to the staircase. It was neither the older shop owner nor the burly artist.

  There wasn't a candle or a flashlight shining from the windows of the artist's loft, a reminder that Niall's neighbor was to be in Europe until July.

  The door had been locked when Niall left.

  Maybe the threat he sensed was human. Maybe it was a simple case of someone intending to rip him off. A thief might know his routine, know that he usually stayed later at the gym.

  Niall raced to the door. He caught it just before it closed and he slipped into the darkness of the small foyer without interrupting the door's slow, steady swing.

  The lock clicked as the door closed behind him, and the darkness in the stairwell became more pronounced. He glimpsed someone climbing the shadowy stairs and knew his keen Pyr senses were giving him an advantage.

  It was one he would use.<
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  He moved silently, leaving his bag of gear across the bottom of the stairs. If he spooked the thief, the intruder would trip, giving Niall another advantage.

  He inhaled deeply, surprised by the mingled scents of leather, body lotion, blood, and a dark undertone.

  Ink.

  Then he caught the waft of perfume, a floral scent with the richer base note of a woman's own skin.

  His intruder was female.

  Niall suddenly felt warm in the stillness of the entry. He knew it was because he was out of that erratic wind, because the building was folded protectively around him. The building had a quiet aura about it that he liked a lot, maybe because it was so old. He narrowed his eyes, noting that the intruder was at the top of the stairs.

  She had great legs.

  Niall frowned at the golden glow between the two of them, the one that had let him see her legs. She rounded the corner without looking back, taking the route to Niall's apartment.

  The light disappeared.

  Had he imagined it?

  He followed the thief silently, his suspicion growing even as he wiped a bead of perspiration from his lip.

  Who was she?

  Just as he'd suspected, she continued to the third floor. She was targeting him. He heard the steps creak, just as they always did, and was surprised at her lack of hesitation. She moved decisively, quickly, knowing her destination, and certain she wouldn't be interrupted or caught.

  Maybe she didn't care.

  Maybe she was strung out, desperate for money or alcohol.

  Then why break into a flat on the third floor?

  No. She was specifically looking for him.

  Niall climbed, finding it warmer with every step he took. The heat always rose in the stairwell, wafting up from the hot water radiator just inside the exterior door, but Niall couldn't remember it ever being this hot.

  Plus the furnace was turned off in June.

  Niall heard her knock once on his door, then try the knob. He smiled at the expectation that anyone would leave a door unlocked in Manhattan. She jiggled the knob then more vehemently and he thought she swore.

  "Liar," she muttered. "Liar, liar, liar."

  Then she kicked the door. Hard.

  Niall frowned, reached the top of the stairs, and eased around the last corner. She was trying to peer through the lock, her skirt rising high in the back.

  She was petite, her hair dyed black with fuchsia tips and moussed into spikes. She wore a black leather biker jacket liberally embellished with studs, a black and yellow tartan skirt, biker boots, and black fishnet stockings. He could see tattoos through her stockings and noted her chain-mail gauntlets. On her left hand, on the smallest finger, a silver ring gleamed.

  She was tiny, but her legs were lean and muscled--remarkably so. Niall shook his head at his own awareness of her gender, then stepped around the corner.

  She was just about to give the door another kick.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Niall demanded, and she jumped, pivoting to face him. The spark that leapt between the two of them shocked Niall in more ways than one.

  He froze at its sudden brilliance and felt dizzy at the heat it sent rocketing through his body. He understood immediately that he was experiencing his own firestorm.

  With a punk chick who was trying to rip him off? Just one look at this woman told Niall she was as unlikely a companion for him as could be imagined. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, seeming to share his perspective. Her eyes were lined with black, her lips painted burgundy, and her gaze filled with hostility.

  "What the hell was that?" she demanded. Her voice, the low, throaty purr of a jazz singer, was her only asset.

  "Who are you?" Niall said at the same time.

  "Who are you?" She put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. He was surprised that she was undaunted--she couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds and he was fully pumped after his workout. "Are you some low-life jerk from the burbs who buys rental buildings and doesn't keep the wiring to code?" It was clear she had an opinion about that, and it was one Niall shared.

  But then she cast a disparaging glance over him and shook her head. "You probably think people who live in the city don't deserve to have safe wiring, especially if it cuts into your profits. . . ."

  Niall interrupted her. "Who are you and why are you kicking my door?"

  "Your door?" She blinked. "So you're Niall Talbot?"

  How did she know his name? "Who else would I be?"

  Her sudden laugh took him completely off guard and transformed her features. She fell against the wall as she laughed. She looked young then, mischievous, and unpredictable. Sexy. Niall checked her legs again, without meaning to do so. He felt something tighten within him, something he wasn't inclined to heed.

  He knew the kind of woman who was right for him, and it wasn't this troublemaker. The firestorm could be wrong; it could be misguided, but it was not going to persuade him to make a dumb mistake.

  Especially not right now when he had so much else to do.

  "You mean you really exist?" She shook her head in rueful amusement. That long silver earring on her left ear sparkled as she moved. Niall couldn't see a mate on her other ear. "Because that would really take it, if that big dope wasn't lying to me, after all."

  Then she swore with an earthiness that made him blink.

  Niall took a step closer and the firestorm's heat flared between them with unmistakable intensity. "Why wouldn't I exist?" he asked, wondering what she knew about him and his nature.

  He noted the curve of her jaw, the soft line of her throat, the fairness of her skin, and he swallowed. She was pretty--prettier than he had initially realized.

  As if she wanted to hide her beauty with her heavy makeup and rebellious clothing.

  Niall was intrigued.

  And that made him angry. The firestorm was not going to mess with his game. He had enough responsibilities, more than enough jobs to get done, without any distraction.

  All the same, her perfume teased him, making him keenly aware of her femininity--even if she tried to hide it. She would have been undeniably alluring, dressed conservatively, wearing pearls, her hair flowing loose instead of being sharpened into spikes.

  "I just thought T--I mean, Thorolf--was lying to me. Again." He saw her grimace, as if hurt, before her expression turned insouciant once more. It was astonishing to Niall that any woman could care enough about Thorolf to be hurt by anything he said.

  That glimpse of her vulnerability, and her struggle to hide it, made Niall wonder what other secrets she had. He was surprised by how much he wanted to know.

  "I guess he was telling the truth. There really is a Niall Talbot." She folded her arms across her chest and smiled at him. "Who knew?"

  "Who are you and why are you here?" His tone was more challenging than he'd meant it to be, but she didn't appear to be intimidated by him. He found himself arching a brow. "A friend of Thorolf's isn't necessarily a friend of mine."

  She laughed. "I hear you. He hangs with some serious losers." She lifted her chin, her gaze sliding over him, and he wondered whether she put him in that company.

  "I'm Rox," she said with pride, and another piece of the puzzle slid into place for Niall. Thorolf had mentioned someone named Rox before--in another time and place, Niall might have found it amusing that he'd assumed no person named Rox actually existed. She wrinkled her nose. "Is it true that he's coming to live with you?"

  "Yeah." Niall nodded, knowing he looked rueful.

  She laughed again, looking so mischievous that Niall took another step closer. A spark flashed between them. It shot to the ceiling, making an arc of brilliant yellow, and cast sparks toward the carpet.

  "Holy shit," she whispered as she stared at it. "You ought to do something about the wiring in this place."

  "It's not the wiring," Niall said flatly, but she shook her head.

  "Bullshit. This place is a firetrap, and T shouldn't be coming t
o live here. I'm going to tell him so. It's not right or safe. . . ."

  "You'll tell him no such thing." Niall hated how much he sounded like his father, stern and unyielding. He had no right to tell Rox what she could do.

  And she knew it. Her manner turned hostile again. "What do you want with him, anyway? He says you're going to mentor him, but he won't say in what." It was clear that she had a low view of this plan. She shook a finger at him. "If it's illegal--"

  "It's not." Niall declined to tell her about the Pyr.

  Rox was undaunted, striding closer to him as the firestorm lit the hall with a brilliant yellow glow. "Because, you know, if you're intending to take advantage of him, you're going to have to deal with me first. He might not be the sharpest guy, but he means well, and he trusts people too easily."

  Niall shook his head at her fervent defense of Thorolf. There was something particularly bittersweet about the notion of his destined mate being smitten with Thorolf--the bane of Niall's existence--but Niall had no time to express his irritation or defend his own position.

  Because the earth heaved.

  The building cracked like a walnut.

  And Niall shifted shape to defend the human in his company, without a second thought.

  Chapter 2

  Niall Talbot was just like Thorolf.

  It was incredible. Rox had taken one glance and assumed he was precisely the kind of straight-and-narrow uptight person she hated most, and exactly the wrong person to teach Thorolf anything. It was annoying, actually, that she found him attractive. She'd been sure Thorolf had lied to her again, not about Niall's existence but about their common abilities.

  But this guy, who looked as if he'd just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue, had a hummer of a secret.

  When the building shook to its foundations, Rox had half a beat to be afraid. An earthquake? Here and now? And she was trapped in this crappy old building? Then Niall had shifted shape, right before her eyes, becoming a massive amethyst and platinum dragon.