Instead, here I was. A failure. Partnered. Lusting after a human.
Rakas were sensual by nature. Creatures of peace, pleasure, and decadence—qualities I’d battled for many years, and thought I had conquered. Or rather, killed, along with all of my victims.
I sighed. I hadn’t set out to become an assassin. I asked to train with Michael and his agents simply to spend more time with my father. To impress him. He respected his men, and I’d wanted that respect for myself. Wanted to be more than his spoiled, pampered,lazy daughter—something he’d been teased about often. He’d never complained, had actually taken pleasure in indulging me, but I had begun to notice the difference between his men and me.
Reluctantly Michael agreed to let me participate. Throughout training, I was pushed as hard as the men. I fought, I hunted, I learned the intricacies of weapons. Afterward, I watched my male counterparts leave and return from assignments while I remained behind. I heard them discuss the atrocities being committed by their targets, and I felt their pride at protecting those weaker than themselves.
Becoming an agent soon became my real goal. As the days passed, it was less about Michael and more aboutme. What I could do to help.
Finally Michael allowed me a chance to prove myself. That first kill had been less difficult than I’d expected. Less difficult than everyone expected. I was a Raka, sensual, a peace lover, true, but I had easily taken life. That’s when I realized the destruction of evil was a sensual dance and my means of keeping the peace. Killingwas my nature.
Lucius stretched out his long, thick legs, eating my personal space. He sat across from me, no part of our bodies touching. Still, I felt the heat of him, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like him, period. He upset my inner balance. An inner balance I desperately needed. After all, I destroyed aliens and humans for a living, violently, without thought or regret. One single distraction could getme killed.
Iknew that. I did. Yet here I was, consumed by a man who made me ache in ways that had nothing to do with physical injuries.
I stole a quick glance at him, my gaze locking on his lips. Though pink and lush, they somehow appeared hard just then. Abrasive. Just like the rest of him. But I didn’t think they’d be hard when kissing a woman. No, they’d be tender and silky. Hot. Perfect. Utterly perfect.
A man who looked like he did, comprised of razors and nails, muscle and sinew, belonged in wars. Not on top of a woman, giving untold pleasure. And yet I’d be willing to bet he excelled at both. Not that I would ever find out first hand.
Shifting to the side, I allowed myself to take in the rest of him. The change in his appearance still surprised me. The man had somehow transformed himself before leaving New Mexico. After ourinnocent tussle in Michael’s basement gym, we’d gone our separate ways to shower and change clothes. Lucius had emerged with his dark hair bleached completely white, his left eyebrow pierced, and the base of his throat sporting a skull tattoo. He looked sexy as hell.
“Want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” he asked casually.
My heart hammered at the sound of his voice. Like I was going to admit that little gem.
He hadn’t said a word about the change, and neither had I. I could guess why he’d done it. Obviously he’d been to New Dallas before—under a different identity.This identity. He’d probably worked with the men we were meeting, and they knew him as this man.
Lucius continued to watch me, I noticed, his ice-blue gaze intent. At least his eye color hadn’t changed. That sexy, electric blue should never be concealed.
“You might as well tell me,” he said. “I’ll get it out of you sooner and later, and you’ll be doing yourself a favor if it’s sooner.”
“I’m just imagining your failure with Sahara Rose,” I lied.
His pierced black brow arched, raising the silver stud. “If the thought of my failure is what put that ‘fuck-me-now’ expression on your face, keep thinking about it. Please.” The last word sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he’d never spoken it before.
I fought to keep my expression neutral, to keep from scowling. With his words, he placed his pleasure-giving image right back in the gutter of my fantasies.
“Must you be so crude?” I ground out.
“We kill people for a living, cookie, and you’re balking at my language?”
We might both be killers, but we were different on so many levels. I worked for peace, for the good of the people. He worked for money. My allegiance would never waver. His probably shifted with the wind.
“Oh, wait,” he added. “You’re a princess, a spoiled little rich girl. And don’t try to deny it. I’ve heard stories about your teenage years. Crying and pouting when you didn’t get what you wanted. ‘I asked for a blue dress, Daddy, not green,’” he mimicked in a high voice. “Boohoo.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re balking at my language. Girls like you can’t be happy, no matter their circumstances.”
My eyes narrowed. I wasnot that girl anymore. I hadn’t been for a long, long time. When I began my agent training, I’d even stopped calling Michael “Daddy.” I’d called him what every other agent called him. “Too bad there isn’t a price on your head,” I muttered. “You’re one target I’d take great joy in destroying.”
“Who says there isn’t a price on my head?”
My brows arched. “Is there?”
He shrugged. “You’re the hotshot tracker. You tell me.”
Our gazes clashed and held. Some invisible force refused to release me from its grip as I studied him. His features were as granite-hard and unreadable as ever. Nothing about his expression or body language betrayed his thoughts.
“Okay. Maybe there’s more than one,” I said. “You’re not the kind of guy who knows how to play nice. Most likely, you have enemies in every city, country, and hellhole you’ve ever entered.”
The moment I spoke the word “play,” his eyes dropped to my lips. The word actually hung between us like a living, breathing thing. Was he imagining naked, sweaty bodies? Drugging kisses and pleasure?
I glared at him, silently commanding him to look away. He didn’t. In fact, his stare became more intently focused on my mouth. Such intense scrutiny unnerved me, but I was used to controlling my actions. My body would obey the will of my mind, not my lust. I wanted to squirm and turn away, but I forbade myself even an inch of movement. For my job, I’d often sat in one place for hours, surveying my prey, not giving away my location by a single breath.