Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

a word he said. Something was off about him, about the room, about her memory. She didn’t always trust her senses, which occasionally produced some odd spectacles, especially lately, but her instincts were usually dead-on.
    Khan stripped off his slim-fitting black leather jacket and tossed it across a fat chair. The long-sleeve gray shirt beneath was molded to his body, while the cut of his slacks skimmed over his admirable physique. His build was long and tall, thickening just enough for bulk and tone. His features were foreign, almost Asian, uncanny eyes glinting, but with Western dimensions and sculpting. And in this light, his skin had the faint teak of some other nationality.
    Again she was aggravated by a sense of displaced familiarity. He was beyond hot—he was lust-cious—so if she’d seen this man before, she was sure she’d remember him. She’d sure remember the curl of want in her belly and the finger tingles that urged her to stroke his ridiculously long hair. He wasn’t even her type.
    â€œYou don’t believe me?” He raised a brow. The tilt of his head sent that black hair sliding over his shoulder, and she had to admit it suited him. Some women might like it. Some men, probably, too.
    She shrugged. “I’m listening.”
    He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I can’t tell you much, as most of what occurred must remain secret, but I will say that the spread of the wraiths halted two years ago because Talia Kathleen Thorne killed their maker.”
    Layla’s mind briefly flashed blank in shock, then worked furiously to assimilate and judge his statement. The wraith spread did seem to halt about two years ago. But the rest? Talia had killed someone? Could it be true? Was that the reason Adam Thorne kept her hidden from the public?
    â€œYou know Talia Thorne?”
    â€œCertainly.” He smiled a bit. Drew out the moment as if to prick her interest.
    â€œHow?” Her interest was pricked already.
    â€œI’m her father.”
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    Rose Petty dug her nails into a rotting wood post, slipped on the slimy wet mud, and buried splinters in her hands and bare feet as she climbed from the river. She crawled onto a ratty dock on her elbows, her hands too bloody to hold her weight, and collapsed into a fetal position. Her naked body quivered in the chilly air and her teeth chattered kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat.
    Stupid, stupid. She never should have made for the river. The burn of her reformation had been excruciating, but no water could possibly douse it. She’d only drown herself and die forever . That’s what you risked when you came back. Soul dead. Even Hell was better, not that she’d ever belonged there. If she’d screamed it once, she’d screamed it a thousand times: There’d been a mistake. She had to do those things. It was self-defense. She didn’t belong in Hell.
    Never mind. She was out now. No rivers. Lesson learned.
    Her new body shook with the cold— kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat. Her muscles cramped in contraction. Gooseflesh swept viciously across her skin.
    Warm. She had to get warm.
    Trembling, she pulled her feet beneath her, pushed herself up a bit by her wrists, and careened to standing.
    Docks. An empty gray expanse lay before her, dotted with orange and blue cargo containers piled up among rotting pallets, decaying in the cold, wet air.
    She needed clothes. Shelter. Food.
    She wiped her running nose on the back of her damp arm and stumbled forward. Across the lot she could make out a door. An office.
    Okay, knock on that door, get help. Get warm, she told herself.
    Sheeeiiiiit, nice little piece of ass.
    Rose turned, belly clutching, and put an arm across her breasts and a shaking hand splayed at her crotch as she looked for the voice. Saw no one.
    Pretty titties, too. Gots to get me some o’that.
    What the—? She stopped herself before she swore; a lady didn’t swear, no matter how pressed. But this was too strange: The voice was in her head, though not hers. Like maybe her mind got wired wrong when her body reformed itself. Or maybe she just came back different.
    Her gaze flicked from glinting window to dull doorway, but she found the source sitting in a car, lighting up a cigarette. A paunchy old man, skin going yellow. Tsk. Tsk. Probably too much drink. Had to be him, what with the way his beady eyes stared at her. Maybe this mind-reading trick was okay. Might