Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Who was she?
With a swipe of her hand, the tingle of magic, the blood was gone. Her clothes gone, replaced with clean ones. It was like it had never happened.
But as she peered into the mirror with the same aquamarine eyes as his, she still saw the blood in her hair, even though it was gone.
Who was she?
She didn’t know anymore.
All she knew was that she wasn’t the woman she used to be.
Raising her hand, she gave her wrist a flick and magic transformed her hair color.
She was now a brunette.
You couldn’t see blood spatter on dark hair, could you?
A chill shuddered through her at the wicked thought.
1
February
Moscow, Russia
It had been many years, but he still remembered winter in Japan during his mortal life. The icy burn of a brittle wind on his cheeks, the heavy wet of snowfall soaking his clothes, and the tingling sensation from the relief of fire from the hearth they called an irori.
Now Kiyo didn’t feel the cold as he had when he was human.
Then again, he’d never experienced a Moscow winter.
For the first time in a long time, he felt the chill. Not as the humans did, but still … the icy dampness tried to invade him as he stalked through the well-lit darkness of the Kitay-gorod district.
To blend with the humans he wore a winter coat and scarf, forgoing a hat and gloves. His feet were sure and steady on the paved ground of Manezhnaya Square. Although the square was mostly clear of snow, small patches of ice and muddy rocks of frozen, dirty water lingered here and there.
As he neared the hotel his quarry resided within, Kiyo slowed.
His timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
The tall brunette stepped outside the entrance of the Four Seasons and forged out into the subzero temperatures without a glance left or right.
He narrowed his eyes on her short dress, her legs bare and uncovered except for her calves, protected by a pair of knee-high wedged boots. She turned left, walking with a steady grace, uncaring of the weather. Her conspicuous behavior knew no bounds, apparently. Humans shook their heads at her supposed stupidity as she walked through Moscow without a coat.
They didn’t realize that as fae, although she felt the freezing temperature, it didn’t affect her.
Following, Kiyo tried to keep enough distance between them that she wouldn’t sense him. He’d been told that her kind had a radar for fellow supernaturals.
Impatience niggled beneath his skin. He wanted this part of the job over with.
At first, he thought she was heading north, but then she took another left, leading them east. He had a sneaking suspicion regarding her destination. As difficult as it had been these past few weeks to keep up with her, reports placed Niamh Farren at nightclubs throughout eastern Europe.
Either the fae-borne woman liked to party after playing Superwoman, or she was still playing Superwoman at these bars. As cliché as it was, vampires loved a dark nightclub.
Kiyo knew Niamh was rescuing people from bus crashes and burning buildings, but if she was also playing dark hunter, she was in more trouble than he’d thought. And according to his employer, Fionn Mór, Niamh was already buried under a pile of enemies. The last thing they needed was the Consortium coming after her on top of the Blackwood Coven and The Garm.
Twenty minutes later, he watched from a distance as the brunette disappeared into a club not far from the Kitay-gorod Metro station. Kiyo waited a minute and then followed her in after two huge doormen gave him a once-over. He hated clubs. He much preferred the ruckus of an underground fight.
He immediately felt enclosed by the dark, concrete walls of the venue. Kiyo paid the entrance fee and took the stairs upward to an open landing. Music pounded and pulsed behind a set of double doors guarded by two men as large as the doormen outside. To the right was a cloakroom where clubbers removed their layers of winter clothes to reveal uniforms of mostly jeans and T-shirts.
Relieved to be rid of it, Kiyo removed his coat and scarf and took the ticket he’d need to recover them, already knowing he’d have no time to.
He pulled out his cell and typed a quick message to Val to let him know which club he was in.
Stepping inside the main venue, Kiyo scowled as he tried to focus out the noise of the rock band playing on stage at the north end of the room. It wasn’t a huge space, and it was crammed full of mostly young people. He looked up into the darkness; lights flashed overhead, revealing a U-shaped gallery crowded with more humans.
From the ages of the average patron, the kind of music the band was playing, and the low-cost entry to the club despite its location in the most tourist-driven area of the city, Kiyo would guess this was a local student spot.
Ignoring the jostling of the surrounding bodies, Kiyo grew very still as he attempted to filter out the band and zero in on his prey.
His cell vibrated in his pocket.
Val had replied. He’d hired Val, a local criminal with a reputation for keeping his mouth shut, to drop the car where he’d need it. There was a parking lot behind the club, used for its employees and those of the businesses in the surrounding buildings. Val had left the keys on top of the driver’s side tire.
With his exit strategy confirmed, he slid his cell back into the ass pocket of his jeans and pushed into the crowds. With his nose and ears on high alert, he scoured the throbbing space for the fae.
A whiff of familiar caramel caught his attention and his head snapped to the right.
There.
She stood in among the crowd as the humans jumped around her, fists pumping in the air, voices rising with the music as they sang along with the band.
Her base scent was the same as Fionn’s and his mate Rose. Rose’s and Fionn’s individual scents had joined, proclaiming their identity as true mates. The notion of true mates was ridiculous to Kiyo, but he couldn’t deny that such a thing existed—two souls fated to be tied to one another for all eternity.
It sounded like hell.
Niamh’s base scent held the same heady caramel sweetness as the fae couple, but it was overlaid with something spicy. Almost like cinnamon, but not quite.
It was such a distinct scent that it would make it easy to keep track of her from now on when she was in the vicinity.
Niamh had no apparent interest in the band.
Instead, she stared intently at something in the middle of the crowd.
Kiyo followed her gaze, searching … searching … and then he spotted what had her attention.
There was a man harassing a young woman in amongst the revelers, and no one seemed to be paying attention except Niamh. The girl kept trying to push his wandering hands off her body, but he was having none of it. He laughed like it was a joke.
Looking back at Niamh, Kiyo caught the hardness in her expression as a beam of light lit her face.
Fionn had explained that Niamh was psychic. That she’d spent most of her life following her visions. Is that what was happening here? Had Niamh seen something that brought her to this nightclub, to this girl and this man?
Moving toward the couple, Kiyo lifted his head and sniffed the air. They were definitely both human.
But if Niamh was here to stop something from happening, then it was his opportunity to divert her attention. A werewolf stalking a human would be of much more interest to her, no matter her visions. She’d probably even think he was the reason her visions had led her there.