Oh, gods. Weakness? Here? Now? Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
Strider took a menacing step toward her, then froze in place. “Paris, dude, let her go,” he snarled, and Paris immediately obeyed. Navy eyes snapped to her, more animal than man. “When did you last eat, Kaia?”
Thank the gods. He thought her weakness stemmed from a lack of nourishment, not the irresistible sight of him. She shrugged, happy she remained on her feet under her own steam. “Don’t know.”
As she had chosen not to steal or earn one of the bowls of slop given to the residents of Cell Block B, and as she’d been in the slammer for two days … well, she was starved.
Fine. She could have eaten. Bianka had come to the rescue, as always, eager to bust her out and feed her. She’d shooed her sister away with a stern warning—followed by a figurative bitch slap—not to return. Otherwise, Kaia would ensure the nickname Heavenly Hills Ho spread and stuck. Forever.
“Damn it, Kaia. You’re shaky on your feet and you can’t concentrate worth a damn.” His gaze shot to Paris. “Phone Lucien for pickup. I’ll meet you in Buda. I want to feed her, and then we can—”
Paris was shaking his head. “I’ll phone Lucien for pickup, but I’m not waiting for you in Buda. When you finish your business, if that’s what the kids are calling it these days, have Lucien or Lysander bring you to the heavens. Either one will know where I am.”
Strider gave a stiff nod.
Paris ruffled the top of Kaia’s head before striding off and disappearing around a corner, leaving her alone with the warrior of her dreams. Exactly what she’d furtively hoped and prayed for as she’d shoved Bianka out of the cell and locked herself back inside.
They stared at each other for a long while, neither moving, neither speaking. Tension spreading, thickening. His warrior nature had never been more evident. He stood with his arms at his sides, his hands inches away from the now-visible butt of his guns, and his legs braced apart, ready to spring into action. Against her? Or anyone who thought to hurt her?
Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. “You’re going to the heavens?”
He nodded, his skin like polished gold in the sunlight. The vibe of animal savagery left him, and he actually relaxed. She liked this side of him, too.
“Why?” What she really wanted to ask: How long will you be gone? Are you meeting a woman? An angel? His friend Aeron had fallen in love with a goody-goody with wings. Why not Strider, too?
I’ll kill the bitch.
“Sure you want to know?” he asked. “It involves Paris and another woman. A woman he wants.”
Relief bombarded her. “Sweet! Gossip.” Grinning, she rubbed her hands together. “Give me.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I never repeat gossip, Kaia.”
“Oh,” she muttered, shoulders sagging with disappointment.
“You didn’t let me finish. I never repeat gossip, so listen closely.” He was fighting a smile, and the knowledge delighted her. “The woman Paris loves … hates, whatever. He wants her, like I said, and she’s being held prisoner up there.”
Sooo. Strider was going to war to aid his bro, not to give some wide-eyed, ripe-for-the-plucking winger a booty call. Her relief tripled. “I could, I don’t know, help you help him. I have connections up there—” not necessarily a lie “—and I—”
“No!” he shouted, then more calmly stated, “No. Thank you, though. But … Do you really not care that the man you desire now desires someone else?”
“Wait. Who says I desire him?”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
His expression didn’t change, but he did clear his throat. “Not that it would have mattered either way, you understand. But as I was saying, he’s already spoken to Lysander about getting a little angelic help, and gotten a no-can-do.”
“Of course Lysander won’t help him. He’d help Bianka, though, and Bianka would help me.”
“Nope. Sorry.”
Stubborn brute. He was so desperate to get rid of her, he wouldn’t even consider using her. Another rejection; how quaint.
Motions stiff, he waved her over. “Come on. Let’s take care of your hunger.”
All I want is a few nibbles of you. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but I’ll stay until you’re fed. I want to make sure you aren’t arrested again.”
Her Harpy squawked inside her head, a command to prove to Strider just how capable she was, just how worthy. Are you? “Fine. Oh, and here’s a truth missile for the demon who always wants to win. I doubt you can keep up,” she taunted, more out of habit than anything.
He huffed out a breath, and she figured this was round two of pissed-off mode.
“Lead the way,” he snapped before she could apologize.
Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have pushed so hard. My bad. “I will.” She didn’t take him hunting, though. Not yet. She took him to the cabin she and Bianka shared a good distance from civilization. Thankfully, her sister was nowhere to be found. “Feel free to look around. I need to shower and change.”
“Kaia,” he began, following her down the hall. “I’m kind of pressed for time here and because of what you said, I need to keep up with you and—”
She shut her bedroom door in his stunned face, heard him snarl low in his throat and grinned. The grin vanished as a thought occurred to her. There was plenty of stolen food in the kitchen. If he noticed, there’d be no good reason for her to take him hunting.
Have to risk it. I smell. Kaia hurried through a shower, grateful as the grime and total body makeup that had caked her washed away. She almost raced from her room after changing into a glittery pink T-shirt that read Strangers Have the Best Candy and short jean shorts, but caught a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror. Outfit was fine, but not her hair. The red mass was sopping wet and practically glued to her head and arms, making her resemble a drowned clown.
Back to the bathroom she raced for a crucial blow-dry. She thought about applying another layer of makeup to her exposed skin, wanting Strider to want her for her, not any other reason, but discarded the idea. Let Strider see. Let Strider crave. Right now, she’d take him however she could get him. Later, they could work on their reasons why.
If she decided to give him another chance.
Finally, she raced from the bedroom. In record time, too. Just under twenty (forty) minutes.
A trail of fragrant steam followed her as she strode down the hall. No Strider in the living room, where she kept her life-size hula dancer lamp and the castle she’d built from empty beer cans. He must be looking around. She wondered what he thought of her place, her things, and tried to see the room through his eyes.
Besides the coffee table, which was carved to resemble a hunched over wooden Sumo wrestler with a sheet of glass perched on top, and the chair with arms that were actually painted to look like humans legs that stretched to the floor, the furniture was beautiful, pieces she and Bianka had stolen throughout the centuries.
History was a scent that clung to almost every polished piece. Okay, maybe not the white rug with two yellow pillows sewn at one end, so that the whole thing looked like eggs in a frying pan. Or the hamburger beanbag chair, complete with lettuce, tomato and mustard layers, but that was it.
And okay, maybe the couch and love seat had been chosen for comfort more than anything else, and