Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

toward the door, and Khan allowed him to pass, his estimation of the mortal now at dust. Layla said nothing but watched while Ty turned the corner out of the apartment. Her silence followed the tread of his feet down the stairs and only broke when the downstairs door slammed shut.
    â€œYou didn’t have to be a jackass,” she said.
    â€œGet your things.”
    But her chin dimpled with fury. “The last thing I want to do is hurt him any more. So thanks.”
    Her reasoning was insane. “You seek out wraiths, and he leaves you to do the work alone? If he cared, he’d be by your side to see that you do not get attacked on the street, dragged into an alley, almost raped, almost killed. And you don’t want him to get hurt?”
    Layla’s mouth compressed with obstinacy. “He didn’t know where I was, or what I was doing.”
    â€œBy his own admission, he had an idea. And he left you to it.”
    â€œIt’s not his job to shadow my every step.”
    That’s right. It’s mine.
    She swiped a hand across her eyes. “And I’m my own person. He’s tried to stop me, but I felt that the story needed to be told. I can’t seem to let it go. Leaving was his way of taking a stand, of showing me how much he loves—”
    â€œDon’t.” Khan couldn’t bear for her to finish the sentence. There was no defense for such inaction. How long had she braved the deathless ones alone? She’d have been dead and “Ty” would have preserved himself. “Get your things. We go.”
    â€œFine,” Layla bit out, leaving the room. Khan stood fast against the gale of anger behind that short word and almost lost cohesion as he battled for control. He’d been weakened by the gate already, and by Layla even more so.
    An enlarged but blurred image of Talia was pinned to Layla’s wall, and its presence steadied him. Amid the clutter of her life, the urgency of her story about the wraiths, Talia was at its center. Talia, her daughter. Talia, their daughter. The thought cooled Khan and allowed him to shift his gaze from the picture on the wall to take in the rest of her home.
    Papers and books littered every surface—table, couch, counter, floor—with an odd empty pocket here or there, the places for her body as she worked. There were few personal touches. A framed photograph caught his eye. The image revealed the break of dawn reflected on a worn, urban doorway, the citrine colors of morning simmering on its surface, making new what was old, regardless of the peeling blue paint. An artist had to have snapped this shot, one with the vision to thumb her nose at Time as she captured a moment of magic. It was signed Layla Mathews, but it bore the stamp of Kathleen’s soul.
    What was she doing following wraiths when she should be at her art?
    A sudden cry brought him swiftly into the room. A large bag, spilling with possessions, sat on a messy bed. Layla was on her knees on the floor, her head in her hands, breath hitching, broken. She screamed again as a loud, metallic clang sounded. The molecules of the room shuddered outward from a point of impact: her.
    What was—? No!
    Her scream devolved into a low moan as Khan gathered her into his arms and threw his head back to curse Heaven. The angels had no idea what they were doing. They rarely did. And the bitter irony was, Khan himself had given them the means to Layla’s destruction.
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    What Rose needed was a good deed. A big one. Something to prove, should she be caught, that she didn’t belong there . Because she didn’t. She’d been forced to take care of some rather ugly business from time to time, but that wasn’t her fault. She had a right to defend herself, didn’t she? A good deed would prove once and for all that she was good, because that’s what she was—good.
    kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
    First thing, though, she had to wash the blood off her hands—those women at the Walmart were just rude —and then find Mickey. According to the newspapers, twelve years had passed, but she was sure he’d been faithful. Would probably be at home in Macon, missing her. Mourning her. On the drive down, she’d make a plan for a good deed on a far larger scale than what had transpired at Walmart. And how selfless of her, too, because others might not understand what had just happened and blame her instead. Selfless, that’s what