Elemental Assassin 04 - Tangled Threads

all I saw was the same simple, familiar furniture. Lots of pieces done in dark, heavy woods, thick rugs on the floor, iron sculptures standing in the corners. Everything in its place for the night.
    Except for me, who felt decidedly out of place.
    I reached the doorway to the downstairs living room. The music was louder here, though not unpleasantly so. Still staying well back in the shadows, I peered into the room.
    It looked like a Christmas fairyland. An enormous Fraser fir reached almost to the ceiling in the corner next to the gray stone fireplace. Its crisp, clean, woodsy scent tickled my nose, even out here in the hallway. Twinkling white lights had been wrapped around the tree, and a variety of jewel-colored ornaments glittered on its thick emerald branches. More decorations spread out through the rest of the room—holly leaves clustered on the mantel, candy cane–striped candles on the end tables, a fat ball of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling.
    Eva Grayson stood in front of the tree, a large box of silver tinfoil icicles in her hands. Given the late hour, she wore a pair of pink flannel pajamas, cute and sexy at the same time. The fabric showed off Eva’s tall, lithe figure to its full advantage. The bright color also brought out the exquisite contrast of her features—blue-black hair, blue eyes, and flawless pale skin.
    Eva plucked a single icicle out of her box and tossed it at the tree. She cocked her head to one side, making sure the placement was just so, before grabbing another piece of foil and throwing it onto the tree as well.
    “Are you going to put those on one at a time? Because we’ll be here all night,” a man’s voice rumbled.
    Owen Grayson moved out from where he’d been standing behind the tree, another box of silver icicles in his hand. Like Eva, Owen was dressed down for the evening in a black T-shirt and pair of gray pajama pants. The cotton stretched over his broad chest, highlighting his compact, sturdy frame, one that always reminded me of a dwarf’s stocky physique. But at six foot one, Owen had more than a foot on most dwarves. He had the same blue-black hair and pale skin that Eva did, although his eyes were a light, piercing violet. His face was also blunter and rougher than hers, with a thin, white scar that slashed down his chin and a slightly crooked nose. Somehow, the small imperfections gave his face a hard, dangerous edge that only made him that much more appealing.
    At first glance, most people wouldn’t consider Owen to be a handsome man. Not like Finn, with his classic good looks, easy charm, and slick smile. But the more I looked at Owen, the more attractive he became to me. He was impressive in his own way, doing everything with a strong, authoritative air. I’d always been drawn to confident men, especially those like Owen who actually had something to be confident about. Even wearing pajama pants, Owen seemed ready for anything the world could possibly throw at him, from decorating a Christmas tree with his kid sister, to an unexpected business meeting, to a dangerous assassin lurking in his house. There was a quietness to Owen, a calm inner strength that I recognized and admired. He knew his power and his place in the world, and he didn’t try to hide it.
    And the rest of him was pretty easy on the eyes too. My gaze drifted over his broad chest once more, then down to the flannel pants that hung loosely on his hips. Warmth bubbled up in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with the orange flames crackling in the stone fireplace. Mmm. Maybe Finn would be right about the booty call after all.
    “You want the tree to look good for Gin, don’t you?” Eva replied, picking out another icicle to place on the green branches. “Where is she, by the way? I thought she was supposed to be here by now.”
    “She’ll get here when she gets here,” Owen replied in his deep voice. “She had another assignment tonight.”
    “
Assignment
. Right,” Eva drawled. “You don’t have to sugarcoat things for me, you know. You can just come out and say it. Gin’s off killing someone. Another one of Mab Monroe’s men?”
    A faint wince crinkled Owen’s face at his sister’s blunt tone. At thirty-three, Owen was several years older than his sister and was the consummate, overprotective big brother. Even though she was nineteen, he still wanted to shield Eva from everything—including what I did late at night.
    “I believe that was the plan, yes,” he