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Khaos

S he’s staring at me.

In the twenty-four hours since I first laid eyes on her, I’ve come to the hard-won decision that I need to keep my hands—and everything else—to myself. At least until I discover a lot more about what I’m dealing with.

But she wants me.

I can feel the intensity of her need, and my body hardens.

I squint open my eyes and roll my head to the side so I can see her. She hasn’t noticed I’m awake, and her expression is… hungry. My tongue flicks out to lick the silver ring at my lip. Her gaze follows the movement, heat flushing her skin a pretty pink, and she leans just a little bit closer.

My nostrils flare as I breathe her in. She’s like the sweet, sultry aroma of jasmine on a hot summer night. Fury almost purrs. He wants to roll in that scent, absorb it into his skin, so it’s with us always.

And I go still as realization washes over me. She reminds me of all the things my beast dreamed of when we were locked in that fetid dungeon all those years ago.

She reminds me of freedom.

Shit.

Not happening. I can’t let her have any power over me. Who knows how she would use that power—for good or evil—or just to break me.

“Don’t look at me like that, little girl,” I growl.

“I’m not little,” she snaps.

That’s not true. The top of her head doesn’t reach my chin when we’re standing.

“And look at you like what, Khaos ?” Her eyes narrow on me. “Can I call you Khaos? It does seem to suit you.”

Hopefully, she will never experience just how well it suits me. “Like you think I’m the answer to every one of your romantic dreams,” I say. My eyes narrow on her . “I’m nobody’s fucking dream.” And that’s the gods-damned truth.

“Hah,” she mutters. “Tell me something I don’t know. Yeah, you might be pretty to look at, but that hardly makes up for your personality disorders.”

My lips twitch. She has no clue as to the extent of my disorders. Then I shrug. “Just be warned—don’t offer anything you might regret.”

“Ugh,” she mutters. Then she straightens and backs away. Very sensible. “I wasn’t offering anything.” She closes her eyes, and I can almost hear her counting in her head, getting that temper under control. Finally, she opens her eyes again. They’re a brilliant green. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that intense before.

“Who am I?” she says.

I frown at the question. It seems an odd thing to ask. Is she testing me? “I already told you. I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

She almost growls. Then her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Okay, so let’s try an easier one. Who are you?”

“Khaosti.”

She looks daggers at me. “I could really do with a little more than that, Mr. I’m-a-werewolf.”

“I’m not a fucking werewolf,” I snap.

She gives me a bland smile. “You looked like a werewolf to me.”

I snort. But I’m actually enjoying the interaction. Strange. But then again, my reputation usually precedes me, and it would never occur to anyone who’s heard of me to try and tease me like this. “Yeah,” I say, “because you’ve seen so many.”

She sniffs disdainfully. “I’ve seen lots of movies. And you pretty much fit the bill.”

For a moment, I allow my beast to rise up, to seep into my eyes, and a low growl—or is it a purr?—rumbles in my throat.

Her eyes widen, and I presume she’s going to be sensible and back off. Instead, she grins. “Who’s a sensitive puppy dog now?”

I bite back a laugh. Gods, when was the last time I actually laughed? But I have to remind myself again that I know nothing of her, who she really is, what she is. Why Khendril sent her to me. And until I do, I can’t afford to let my guard down. I look her over and purse my lips. “You’d better be worth it.”

She sighs. “What can you tell me?”

I just stare at her—trying to figure out if she really is this clueless or if it’s all an act and she’s hiding something.

She gives another exaggerated sigh. “Okay, how about I start? And here’s something I suspect you don’t know about me, so I’ll want something equally interesting in return.” I don’t respond, and she continues, “I have absolutely zero memory of my life before three years ago.”

What?

That wasn’t expected but would go a long way to explaining a lot of things. “Go on…” I say.

“There’s not a lot else to tell. I was found three years ago in London, unconscious. There was nothing to identify me—no purse, no money, no clothes—that’s something that weirds me out—nothing. Except this.” She reaches up and tugs a pendant from under her T-shirt. It’s amber and about the size of a walnut. Her fingers stroke it almost lovingly, and heat washes through me. “Apparently,” she says, “it was clasped tightly in my right hand, so tight the people who found me couldn’t remove it until I awoke. It’s the reason I was called Amber.”

I study it. I can sense no magic, but something tells me it’s more than it seems to be.

“Anyway,” Amber continues, “I was in some form of coma, though they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with me. I woke up in the hospital a week later with no memory of who I was or where I came from.”

She’s still stroking the stone. It seems to be glowing slightly.

“Put it away,” I say. “And I suggest you don’t show it to anyone else.” Until I can find someone who might cast some light on the matter. Maybe the Crone? She was said to be one of the most powerful witches to have lived.

“Why?” Amber asks. “What is it?”

I glance away for a second. “I don’t know.”

She scowls. “Is that your freaking answer to everything? I don’t know. I was really hoping you’d be a little more useful. How about you just tell me something you do know?”

Instead of answering, I get up, cross the room, and pour myself a whiskey from the decanter on a side table.

I go back and stand in front of her, sipping my drink and turning over what she has told me in my mind. It would explain why she didn’t turn up as expected and also why she knows so little.

“Do you believe me?” she asks. “About my not remembering?”

“Actually, on balance I do. It explains why you come across as so clueless. I was beginning to worry you were handicapped in some way.”

“You’re such an ass.”

I ignore her—probably correct—assessment of my character and continue, “What I do know is that three years ago, I received a message from my brother. He was sending a girl to me. I was to keep her safe and take her to the Crone. No one else.”

“The Crone?”

“She’s a powerful witch.”

She snorts. “Of course she is.”

“She’s always been considered a legend by my people,” I continue. “A figure to scare children. Someone who perhaps lived and died a long time ago.” I sip my drink and eye her over the rim of the glass. “That’s presumably not the case. I was given directions—” sort of “—but you never appeared.”

“Your brother is this Khendril person?”

He gives me a sharp glance. “You remember him?”

“No. Your… Sheela mentioned his name. Is she your sister?”

“My cousin. So you have no memory of Khendril?”

“Not really, but I had this strange feeling when she said his name, like I should know him.” She shakes her head. “But when I tried to remember… nothing. You haven’t heard from him since?”

“No. He’s likely dead.” I keep my tone blank, but something flickers in her gaze. Pity?

“But you don’t know for sure?” she says.

“If he were alive, I would have heard something by now. He has to be dead.” Though he managed to go twelve years without communicating with me. Why should I expect any different now? My hand tightens on the glass as old bitterness threatens to engulf me.

”I’m sorry,” she says. She’s silent for a minute, nibbling on her full lower lip. I concentrate on that and push the dark emotions back down deep inside me. “So he sent me to you. To keep me safe, obviously. But safe from what?”

I shrug, and she scowls.

“Did he not say anything else?” she asks.

I’ve been of two minds about whether to reveal this next bit, but I want to see her reaction.

“Come on, spit it out, wolf-guy,” she says.

I bite back another smile and decide… “He said you had to find Lucifer’s Mirror. And that the Crone would help you.”

She frowns. Clearly, she has no more clue than I do as to what Lucifer’s Mirror could be. I’d thought maybe a mirror into Hell. But my father is adamant that there are no mirrors into Hell. That it’s not possible.

I watch as the thoughts swirl in her head. I try to imagine what it would be like to wake up with no memory of who or what you are. No past. It sounds fucking wonderful to me.

“What did your brother’s message say?” she asks. “Exactly.”

I can see no reason not to tell her. And maybe it will trigger something in her mind. “The message said: I’m sending you a girl for safekeeping. She must find Lucifer’s Mirror. Take her to the Crone—Thanouq will help you find her. He’s in Zandar Aurion. Tell no one .”

“Not even my real freaking name,” she mutters. She gazes off into space, but finally, looks back at me, a resigned expression in her eyes. “I’m guessing you have no clue what Lucifer’s Mirror is.”

“I’d never heard of it before. I was hoping you would know. Clearly, that was expecting too much.”

“Duh. Amnesia.” She frowns. “By ‘Lucifer’ do you mean the devil?”

Clueless.

But still, she’s my only chance to find out the truth about Khendril and maybe finally put the past to rest. That’s why we’re here. Not to help her. Certainly not to fuck her. But to get the answers I need.

She jumps to her feet. “So what are we waiting for? Why don’t we go find this crone? Maybe she’ll have some answers for both of us.”

“I needed to be sure you are the one. That I could trust you. That you weren’t some kind of…”

“Spy? Undercover agent? Werewolf hunter?”

I scowl—because I know she said that last bit just to piss me off, and part of me likes that. She tosses me a smile, then considers me, head cocked to one side. “Can you do it at will?” she asks. “The wolf thing. Can you change whenever you want?”

“Yes.”

“Will you change for me now? Hey, I like dogs.”

This time I don’t have to fake my outrage. “I’m not a fucking performing animal.”

I toss back the last of my drink and glance across to find her gaze fixed on my mouth. She’s just as intrigued as I am. And probably just as happy about it. It’s an inconvenience I don’t need. All the same, I flick out my tongue and lick the taste of whiskey from my lips.

She mirrors my action, her pink, pointed tongue swiping across her plump lower lip.

A low growl rumbles between us, and she goes still. “I told you not to look at me like that,” I murmur.

She presses her lips together. “I’m not looking at you like anything. Well, I am looking at you, I mean, but you are standing right in front of me. And you’re pretty big.” She looks me up and down. “It’s not as though I’ve got an option.” She takes a deep breath. “So, are you satisfied that I’m me, even though neither of us knows who me actually is?”

I give a brusque nod.

“Then can we go? Because I’d really like to get this over with. I have a life, you know. I’ve made a life, and it wasn’t easy.”

“A life?” I say. Not something I’ve considered.

“A job. And I’ve got a place at university, starting in a month or so. I need to—”

“Forget that life. It’s over.”

Her jaw clenches. “Of course, it’s not over. Obviously, I want to meet my family and find out where I came from—I’ve been dreaming of that for three years—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up everything I’ve worked for. Do you realize how hard it was for me to catch up with everyone else? Freaking hard. I’m not throwing all that away.”

“Forget the last three years. That’s not what matters. It’s what happens next that decides who you are.”

She looks like she’s going to argue some more. And I realize I want her to. It’s refreshing. But instead, she gives a shrug—maybe she’s accepting the futility of not doing exactly what she’s told.

“So, can we go?”

I glance across to where her friend is still unconscious. What is he to her? She was willing to risk her life to save him. Maybe I should have just broken his neck. “As soon as your friend wakes.”

“He’s coming with us? What if he wants to go home?”

“That’s really not an option.”

“Why?”

At last, a question I can answer. “Because he’s dangerous.”