Inked

woman.”
    “Filthy windwalker.” He fumbled for his weapon, but his eyes were so glazed over from the opium that he couldn’t get a good grip on the hilt. I knew the look, though, and it wasn’t a safe one. Junkies were dangerous. “You should be grateful for any attention you get—”
    “I suggest you apologize to the lady right now, unless you prefer to make an intimate acquaintance with my blade.”
    The voice came from behind the Sawberry. It was smooth and calm, like silk drawn across skin, and set up a vibration in the air that rolled through my senses like a wave. I slowly turned my head to see who was speaking.
    The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen was standing there, serrated dagger out, the tip lightly pressed against Mr. Fingers’s ribs. He wasn’t even looking at the Sawberry, but instead, was staring at me—his gaze fastened on my face, not my breasts. His eyes were the coolest shade of blue I’d ever seen. Ice blue. Glacier blue. Blue like a frosty morning in autumn. They stood out against the onyx color of his skin, as did the shock of silver hair that flowed down his back, shining with cerulean highlights. His face, though…damn, he was beautiful . More handsome than any man had a right to be, with a refined nose that led narrowly down to thick, luscious lips.
    My breath caught in my throat. Touch me, kiss me, hold me, and help me get out of my head.
    The Sawberry glanced down at the blade, then at the man holding it and fear flickered in his eyes. He held up his hands. “No harm, no worry,” he said, sitting back down. He swallowed his anger and added softly, “I’m sorry, miss. I won’t bother you again.”
    Taken aback by the sudden turnaround, I looked back for the man who had cowed the giant but he’d vanished. Blinking, wondering if I’d imagined the entire incident, I hurried over to the counter.
    “Petre bothering you?” Jahn, the bartender, wiped the polished wood in front of me. “He’s harmless enough, though when he’s hurting for another fix, I wouldn’t lay odds on his behavior. I cut them off around dawn. They haven’t paid their tab from last week yet, so they’re probably ready for more.”
    “I almost had to cut him, but that man…Something about him scared the dude and he stopped right in his tracks. Apologized, too.”
    “What man?” Jahn reached for the brandy bottle. I shook my head.
    “No brandy tonight.” I looked around the bar, but didn’t see the man who’d come to my aid. “I dunno, I don’t see him now. He just…appeared from out of nowhere.” I glanced back at the bottle he was holding. “I’m in the mood for something different. Something a little more…exotic.”
    Jahn let out a grin. “The day you’re not in the mood for something kinky is the day I close this place down. What’s the matter, Camille? Rough day?”
    “Rough week.” I shrugged, scooping up a handful of the torado nuts and popping the salty treats into my mouth.
    Lately, my life had been a long string of one bad day after another. My job sucked. I sucked at my job. My father was on my case again about how I was running the house. Hell, I was a Moon witch, member of the Coterie of the Moon Mother, and I worked for the YIA. Between work and Coterie meetings and running with the Hunt, I barely had time to sneeze, let alone help the housekeeper keep things tidy at home. Not only that, but I was worried about my sister Menolly and the new job the agency had assigned to her. It was dangerous—too dangerous, and I had the uneasy feeling they were setting her up for a big fall.
    “What happened?” Jahn tossed the bar rag over his shoulder and rummaged through the bottles on the shelves behind the counter. He held up a clear bottle, filled with a chocolate brown liqueur. “Here, try this. Straight from the Nebelvuori Mountains.”
    “Dwarven? Won’t that be a little raw?”
    He grinned. “Dwarves may be crude in the bedroom and at the dinner table, but they like their liquor, so the drink should be smooth and rich.”
    I actually laughed for the first time in days. “Set me up, babe,” I said, resting my elbows on the counter as I glanced around the bar. Still no sign of Roche. He was supposed to be here. My supervisor had practically guaranteed it. And I had a tight deadline. Find the perv before he struck again.
    He shook his head as he filled a small cognac glass. “You use the oddest expressions, Camille. But they fit you somehow.”
    “I have my