Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

keep going, and his only thought was the vampire. If he could have, I imagined Xavier would have crawled over to her and cradled her in his massive arms. Xavier’s being in love with Roslyn was going to make all this that much more difficult.
    “Xavier.”
    The giant’s head swiveled back around to me.
    “I want you and Roslyn to come down to the Pork Pit tomorrow for lunch so we can talk about some things,” I said. “Understand?”
    Xavier slowly nodded. Surprise flickered in his black gaze, along with another emotion that made my stomach twist. Hope.
    “Let’s make it a late lunch, say around two o’clock.”
    The giant nodded again.
    “Good,” I said. “See you then.”
    It wasn’t long before the music cranked back up, and everyone returned to their previous occupations. Smoking, drinking, dancing, fucking. As though the events of a fewminutes ago had never happened. Some folks in Ashland had real short attention spans.
    Finn came back in with the ointment, which I slathered on Xavier’s throat. In addition to healing with their hands, Air elementals like Jo-Jo Deveraux could also infuse their oxygen-rich magic into certain products to give them an extra kick, like antibiotic ointment. Xavier sat still while the shiny grease worked its magic. Less than a minute later, the ugly, purple, fist-shaped bruise on his throat faded, the swelling went down, and his breathing eased into a wheeze-free pattern of inhalation and exhalation.
    As soon as he could, Xavier got up and went over to Roslyn, who was still talking to Bria. Or rather still not answering Bria. The vampire had pulled herself up into a booth, where she sat staring off into space. Bria perched beside her, speaking in low tones. Probably talking to Roslyn about Elliot Slater and trying to get the vamp to press charges against the giant. But Roslyn wasn’t answering.
    Frustrated by the vamp’s lack of response, Bria got to her feet and paced back and forth in front of the booth for the better part of a minute before sitting back down next to the vamp and trying again. Her mojito and night of clubbing were long forgotten. My sister seemed to take her job as a member of the po-po seriously. As proud of her as that made me, I also knew it was something that could be problematic for me later on—for any number of reasons.
    Since Roslyn was otherwise occupied, Owen Grayson drifted in my direction. By this point, I’d moved over tothe Ice bar and ordered another gin. One that tasted even more bitter than my first two. But it didn’t much matter, since Finn had gone out to get his car and take me home. I’d seen what he’d wanted me to see. No more reason to stick around the club tonight. Besides, I’d never been one to stay and gawk at the messy aftermath and cleanup. My former profession as an assassin had precluded that sort of thing anyway.
    Grayson took the stool next to me and ordered another scotch. His violet eyes cut to his sister Eva, who was once again grooving with the rest of the folks on the dance floor. After he’d made sure she was okay, Owen turned his gaze to me.
    “You know, Gin,” he said. “You never did answer my question.”
    Owen Grayson was persistent, if nothing else. I thought of the way he’d been ready to back me up against Elliot Slater—and how he’d caught Roslyn after the giant had shoved her away.
    “All right,” I said. “I’ll have dinner with you, Owen.”
    A smile stretched across his face, softening the hard cut of his features. “Excellent. One night this week?”
    I shrugged. “Sure. I’ll call you.”
    “Try not to sound too enthusiastic,” he replied in a dry tone. “Or I won’t be able to contain myself. My ego might get inflated or something.”
    I grinned at his sardonic humor. My eyes drifted over his broad shoulders and strong body again. I remembered the way Owen had held my hand—and the surprising warmth it had stirred in me. I finished the rest of my gin and got to my feet.
    Then I leaned over and put my mouth close to Owen’s ear. “Actually, I prefer to save my enthusiasm for more worthwhile pursuits—like those in bed.”
    “Can I get that in writing?” he murmured.
    Owen turned his head so that his lips were an inch away from mine. I stared into his violet eyes, and his scent washed over me—a rich, earthy aroma that made me think of metal. I leaned forward and brushed my lips over his. It was a light, brief contact, and nothing like the frenzied, tongue-driving