an ointment to see the sidhe. I’m not sure how she saw me or the collectors, but she did, and...” He sipped again. He probably shouldn’t tell Kristine everything. But then, she was a confidante, and he trusted her with the information about his nature. “She was scratched by one of them. Would have died had I not rushed her to a healer. By the way, I need to send Hestia a million-euro check.”
Kristine sighed. “Really? The old girlfriend? I’ll take care of that.”
“She was not a girlfriend. More a—”
Kristine put up a palm. “Nope. Don’t want you to mansplain that one to me. So, what happened after that big adventure?”
“I took her home with me, and she spent the night on the floor under the coffee table.”
“Ryland Alastair James.”
He winced at the admonishing tone. “I put her on the couch, but she wouldn’t stay there. She was drunk and...the healer drugged her with some wacky faery stuff. I’m surprised she could even stand to run away from me this morning.”
“You let her run away? Without making sure she got home safe? Who are you?”
He sighed heavily. Kristine knew him well. Normally he would never allow a woman to run off like that without seeing to her safety. But she had been freaked by him. And he’d not been given an opportunity to explain the cut on her chest, which might have been a good thing, all things considered.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “And both collectors are dead. No babies stolen last night.”
Kristine crossed her arms, and her dangling foot increased in bobbing speed.
“I don’t know her last name, so it’s not like I can look her up and check in on her. She was dressed fancy and I think she’s probably well-off.”
“Doesn’t mean she made it home safely.”
“I accept your admonishment, and confess I’m worried about her, too. But there’s nothing I can do now.”
“Can’t you track her down with your sniffer? Didn’t you once tell me you werewolves can smell a peppermint candy five miles away?”
“She wasn’t wearing peppermint. She smelled like champagne and roses.” And not just any kind of rose perfume. She’d smelled like fresh-from-the-garden roses.
“Was she pretty?”
“Does that matter?”
“No, but she’s going to stay in your brain until you know what became of her after she fled your place. Fled! Seriously, Ry, what did you do to her?”
“I offered her coffee.”
Kristine chuckled and turned back to her work. “Only you can manage to simultaneously slay weird faery marauders and hook up with a pretty young thang.”
“We didn’t hook up. I set her on the couch and...in the morning I found her under my coffee table.”
Kristine raised an eyebrow in judgment.
“And that’s the end of this conversation. Did you compile research on the Severo Foundation?”
“I did. And I’ve a report for you. I’ll print it up and bring it into your office in two twitches. This is a good one, cher. You’ll want to donate to them.”
“Thanks, Kristine. Give me ten minutes before you come in. I need to—”
“Think about the poor sweet thang that fled your place this morning?” She winked at him. “You have some weird problems.”
Ry entered his office and closed the door behind him, thinking Kristine was right on. But oddly, the human interference last night had been the weirdest. Not the faeries.
Only a desk, a chair and a couch decorated his tiny office space. The far wall opposite the door was completely window, and no cabinets blocked the view of the nearby Seine River. He didn’t do the fancy. Much as his multibillion-dollar philanthropic foundation could afford it. He wasn’t into the bling or showing off his riches. It wasn’t him. And while he could put on a suit and blend in with the wealthy at the snap of a finger, he preferred the casual look and lifestyle.
Yet he did do the expensive watch. He liked to know the time to the exact second. And right now it was eleven fifteen, on the nose.
He sat on the leather sofa and stretched his arms along the back of it. Clouds were rolling in, and rain was in the forecast, yet the color of the sky was wildly vivid.
“Indigo,” he muttered.
Interesting name for a woman. She’d been more of a soft pink last night, mixed with a few streaks of jet-black mascara. Poor thing.
Kristine was right. He should have followed her out of his building this morning. But he’d watched from his loft and seen the waiting cab. She’d beelined into it and it had pulled away. She’d made it home safe.
What hell of a hangover would she have? If not from the alcohol, but from the mysterious concoction of herbs and who-knew-what Hestia had given her?
“Should have gotten her last name,” he said with a regretful twinge that he felt in his heart. “She was pretty.”
And she had seen too much. That wasn’t good. He needed to keep his secret, and the secret of FaeryTown, from the human public. And if she had seen him in those few moments when his rage caused him to partially shift, then he needed to make sure she thought it was just an effect of the alcohol. Not the truth.
Because his truth always managed to fuck things up.
* * *
Indi lifted her head from the alpaca rug. It was dark. Really dark. She was lying on the floor in her living room for reasons that escaped her...
“Ah, really?”
She dropped her head and realized she must have slept the entire day. Twenty-four hours had passed since Todd dumped her last night. And what had happened after that had been even more remarkable. She’d watched a handsome man with P90X abs and biceps kill weird sparkly creatures with a sword. And then she’d woken up under his coffee table.
“This is definitely one for the diary,” she muttered as she sat up. “Oh, my aching bones, have I become an old lady?”
She pressed a hand to her back and winced as she stretched. Either she was growing old quickly or sleeping on the floor was no longer something she could do and recover from with ease. Her college days had often found her sleeping on the floor, or a table, or even in a big box once.
“Shouldn’t have sucked down all that champagne.”
With some groans and grunts, she managed to stand. Inspecting her tattered and dirty gown made her moan. “It was so pretty. I was pretty. Asshole.”
Grabbing her phone from the couch, she intended to call Janet, but...
“It’s ten at night?”
Now
