Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

Donovan Caine, smash my fist into his nose, and feel his hot blood spurt out onto my fingers. Another part of me wanted to pull him toward me, plant my lips on his, and melt the gold anger in his eyes into liquid passion.
    Finn cleared his throat. “If you two are done with your little spat, we should go. Things to do and all that.”
    Donovan Caine glared at me a moment longer, then stalked over to the car, got in the back, and slammed the door shut. Finn and I followed him.
    “By the way, good call on the castle, Gin,” Finn said as he reached for the wires to start the car. “You were right. Much better than the stuffed dog I wanted to buy.”
    “You picked that out?” Caine asked. “That pink, plastic toy?”
    I turned to look at him. “I happen to have been a little girl, once upon a time, detective. I know what they like. Every little girl wants to be a princess.”
    A thoughtful frown overcame the angry tension on Caine’s rugged face. “And what happens when they grow up?”
    I thought of my mother and sisters and all the horrors that had happened the day they’d died. A bitter laugh escaped from my tight lips. “Then they just want to be little girls again.”
    Using all the usual precautions, we went back to my apartment. Finn headed to his computer to see if his contacts had found out anything more about Captain Wayne Stephenson. Donovan Caine sat on the sofa and turned on the television. The detective didn’t speak to or look at me, and Finn was too engrossed in his e-mails to engage in substantial conversation. I took a nap, resting up for what was sure to be a long night.
    Around seven, I got up, took a shower, and girded myself. Tight black jeans, leather jacket, boots, and a long-sleeved, black T-shirt with a pair of sequined cherries on the front. I grabbed my silverstone knives and even took the time to put on some makeup. My lipstick matched the scarlet color of the cherries.
    I stepped into the den. Finn sat at his computer, sipping his fifteenth cup of chicory coffee of the day. He wore black pants with creases as sharp as my knives. A button-up shirt in a dark emerald covered his broad shoulders, while a black tie hung from his neck. Finn never dressed down.
    “That’s a rather dark outfit. Are you trying to imitate our Goth friend?” Finn asked, referring to Sophia Deveraux.
    I shrugged. “She does have a certain style. Besides, I imagine things will get rather messy before the end of the evening. Hence, the black. Where’s the detective?”
    Finn jerked his head. “Just got out of the shower.”
    Donovan Caine naked, water droplets sliding down his lean body, his muscles clenching and relaxing as he washes himself. Mmm. Nice image. Despite our earlier confrontation, I still found the detective extremely sexy. He’d be even more attractive if he’d lose the righteous anger and the stick up his ass. But no man was perfect.
    I strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a blackberry yogurt from the fridge, and dug a spoon into the creamy concoction. I was halfway done when the bathroom door opened, and Donovan Caine stepped into the den. He also wore a T-shirt and jeans, although his were baggy and frayed around the seams. A battered, brown leather jacket, not unlike my own, hung off his shoulders.
    The detective stared at me, his hazel eyes fixed on my lips. I ran my tongue around the silver spoon and took another bite of yogurt. Gold desire shimmered in his gaze, followed by a flash of guilt. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who’d been turned on before. Maybe I’d do something about that this evening.
    Maybe I’d do a lot about it.
    Finn boosted another car, a Cadillac with a spacious trunk, and we headed for the nightclub. Northern Aggression, of course, was located in Northtown. The building itself was nothing special—a large warehouse with an anonymous, glossy, officelike veneer as blank as a vampire hooker’s face. Drive by it during the day, and you’d think it was another anonymous call center staffed by corporate drones.
    But at night, it was a different story. A large rune hung over the entrance—a heart with an arrow through it. The neon sign flashed red, then yellow, then orange, highlighting the long line of people waiting behind a red velvet rope. Guys in suits, girls in next to nothing, and everyone in between, all sizes, shapes, and colors, all eager to get inside, get drunk or high, and indulge in their fantasies.
    The nightclub catered to a wealthy crowd,