Then I pivoted.
One hand thrust out to throw the hot coffee on whoever was behind me.
The second came up to swing a strong left hook on what I hoped was a head.
The coffee stopped midair. A masculine hiss of pain registered right before my fist contacted with something hard.
A man blinked into existence, wearing said hot coffee as my punch to his jaw sent him reeling. I registered that he wore dark clothes. Nothing that would help distinguish him.
Before he could recover from the hit, I slid my foot back and then aimed a low roundhouse kick for his thigh.
My mystery man let out a howl, his leg buckling. He teetered sideways and then dropped onto his injured side. Now that he was kneeling and no taller than my chest, this was getting fun.
Part of me was a little disappointed that someone who had gone through great lengths to track me wasn’t skilled enough to handle me even without my magic or guns.
I stepped forward and aimed a knee shot directly into his chest. I could have aimed for the jaw, but I needed him conscious. The chest, however, worked to my advantage. Air left his lungs in a strangled exhale that sent him backwards. His back hit the ground, and he wheezed hard, giving me the first decent look of his face.
Dark hair. Blue eyes. Red marks lining the left side of his chiseled jaw in the shape of my knuckles. He might have been pretty if not for that.
Such a shame. Or maybe not.
The pretty ones often liked to stay that way.
I dropped down on top of him, planting one knee on his chest. I used my free leg to pin his left arm to the ground, my foot crushing his wrist. My right hand came down on the other, holding it down next to his face.
I leaned close, the scent of coffee and cologne washing over me.
“Now that we’ve got that unpleasantness out of the way—”
He reared back and then his mouth jutted forward. A wet glob of spit smacked me in the face. My eyes hardened.
Using my free arm, I brought my elbow down on his jaw in the same place I’d punched him, eliciting a sound of pain. Then I followed it up by pressing my forearm into his neck, cutting off his air supply.
“Buddy, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. How messed up you are when I walk out of the alley is all on you.”
He glared back, cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson.
“I don’t have forever, and I’m not dumb enough to wait around for whatever backup you have. I’m going to ask you a question. You get one shot at answering before I stick my thumbs through your eyes and blind you. Hopefully. May kill you if I’m not careful enough—and let’s be honest, I haven’t done this all that often. It’s been a while since the last one, so it’s really in your best interest if you want to keep your vision. Got it?”
His glare sharpened, but he nodded once, just the slightest dip of his chin in acknowledgement.
“Good,” I said, easing off his throat just enough to let him speak. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you tracking me?”
5
He started to speak.
“I’m just the—”
His words cut off in a pained cry. He seized upwards, as if pulled by an invisible string. His eyes rolled back in his head. Then his skin started to burn.
It turned red splotchy, steadily darkening until embers formed and ate away at the flesh. The edges glowed hot and the burning spread, melting his skin from his bones in seconds.
I jumped back before the fire could catch on me or my clothes, and I watched as some magically induced curse killed him. There was nothing I could do. No magic I possessed to save him. No action I could have taken to prevent his death.
When the screaming stopped, there was nothing left but a pile of ashen bones and flakes of skin in the wind. Whoever he was, he wasn’t the mastermind. That curse was meant to prevent him from talking.
I pressed my lips together, lost in thought as I turned over what I just witnessed.
I didn’t notice the air around me. I didn’t sense the thickening of power or brush of dark magic over my skin.
I didn’t know he was here until he stepped out of the shadows.
Ronan’s eyes flashed, and thunder clapped overhead. The winds stirred, lifting my hair from the nape of my neck.
I glowered.
“What are you doing here?”
“Powerful magic,” he said, eyes scanning the alley then landing on the blacked spot of cracked pavement. “Not your magic,” he added, “but powerful all the same.” He leaned down and swiped two fingers over the dead man’s ashes. Black soot stained the tips as he lifted them back to his face and sniffed once.
His nostrils flared.
Magic pulsed once in warning.
He stood, wiping the remains on his tailored black pants.
“What did you learn?” I asked him, slightly begrudging I had to ask to begin with.
“I’m not sure,” he mused. “I’ll let you know once I follow up.”
Ronan-speak for I’m not telling you.
My lips thinned.
“Or you could tell me,” I said pointedly, not letting it drop. He smirked once, eyes raking over my body. I wasn’t wearing anything particularly attractive or revealing, but you wouldn’t know it with the way he perused, as if he owned every square inch of it.
Although, I suppose in his mind, he did.
Asshole.
“What happened to staying in the apartment?” he said, voice condemning even if his gaze seemed more interested in undressing me. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I never agreed to that. You ordered it.”
“For your safety,” he said, steel-gray eyes coming back to my face. Some of the heat drained in place of frustration. “I assumed you were smart enough to leave this be until I figured it out. You ignored my order to stay in your apartment and then went the opposite way on your morning walk. Almost like you were . . .” His eyes flicked down to the blacked patch and hardened further.
“You’re not the only one capable of tailing me, Ronan. I took a gamble that whoever our mysterious attacker was might be as well. Looks like I was right.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched. “The curse that killed him wasn’t some weak witch. You could have been hurt—”
“Yet, I’m not,” I pointed out.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even carrying this morning.”
“Obviously,” I said. “Having a gun strapped to my side wasn’t going to lend to my attacker being sloppy.”
“You used yourself as bait,” he said softly. Anger permeated his expression and flashed in his eyes. “That was—”
“Smart.”
“Stupid.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You underestimate me. This conversation is getting old.”
He chuckled, deep and dark and sinfully attractive. “I don’t underestimate you. Yes, you were fine this time. You didn’t end up needing your guns. But what about last night? You were thrown from the boat and almost drowned. What if it had been more than one man? What if the curse was meant to target you as well?”
He took a step closer and my hackles rose. I hated it when he tried to intimidate me.
“I hate to break it to you, but my guns aren’t my only weapon.”
He lifted a hand to cup my cheek, and then roughly changed his grip to grab my chin and tilt it up. “Yes. Your other weapon. The one you detest, yet also rely on to get you out of a pinch. The one that’s slowly robbing you of time and eating away at your psyche.”