indigestion from the spicy chili she’d eaten earlier and had nothing at all to do with emotions. She didn’t have those. Not anymore. Couldn’t afford them. They’d only get her killed.
But a mutual sexual itch—she was professional enough that she could scratch that and still take him down.
Keep on telling yourself that.
She ignored the inner taunt as she followed him across the city.
He stepped out onto a busy city street. People were everywhere, but he didn’t once change course or step to the side. She followed in his wake, much like the tiny boat having the path cut by the much larger icebreaker, those powerful ships used to open channels in the Arctic ice.
After the quiet back alleys they’d trekked, the din of the traffic, the bright lights from the buildings, and the claustrophobic crush of the people was almost too much to bear. She ignored the panhandlers inhabiting the shadowed doorways, the street vendors hawking their goods, and the smells from the food trucks and focused entirely on Maccus.
Don’t lose him.
She lengthened her stride and kept her eyes glued to his broad back. For once, she didn’t worry about running into a demon or other paranormals. Maccus gave off vibes that would keep even the nastiest of them away.
So what did that say about her intelligence that she was following him?
No choice.
They walked several blocks before taking the stairs down to the subway. He stopped and purchased them both MetroCards. It seemed incongruous for someone as dangerous and deadly as him to pay the fare just like everyone else.
What did you expect him to do? Jump the turnstile?
Not paying would only draw unwanted attention, not that they weren’t garnering their fair share of it.
People stared. Some people had resting bitch face—he had resting badass face.
She snickered as she swiped her card and followed him onto the platform.
As they stood waiting for the train, he glared at her, his brows low, his forehead lined. “What?” she demanded.
He reached out and tugged the lapels of her jacket together. Glancing down, she swore under her breath. She’d been so intrigued by Maccus that she’d forgotten her own state. She quickly zipped the jacket to her neck to cover the blood splattered on her skin and rubbed her stained fingers on her pants. At least the dark clothing hid the worst of it. The last thing they needed was to attract the notice of the authorities.
A subway cop strolled toward them, and Morrigan took a half step back, putting the bulk of Maccus in front of her. But the cop didn’t even glance in their direction.
With a whoosh of air brakes, the train arrived. Everyone took one look at Maccus and sidled past or ran for another exit, all except one elderly African American lady, who slowly made her way toward the door. Maccus held out his hand and offered it to the woman. She glanced up at him, her eyes widening. But she took his hand and allowed him to help her onto the platform.
“Thank you, young man.” She gave a brisk nod and headed toward the stairs. The corners of Maccus’s mouth twitched as though he was amused. Morrigan held her breath, willing him to smile, but the moment passed almost before it happened, and he was back to his usual stern self.
He motioned to an empty bench but remained standing. No one sat next to her, but there were still people around. It took a lot to unsettle New Yorkers.
The automated voice over the speaker told passengers to step back from the doors. Then the train was moving along the track, creaking and squealing as it gained speed.
Since she had no idea where they were heading, she sat back and enjoyed the ride. Maccus was proving to be quite the enigma. He’d stopped a demon without blinking an eye. Then this big, dangerous man had calmly paid the subway fee and helped an elderly woman exit the train.
Call her crazy, but she liked that he was complicated. Demons were such simple creatures, driven by very basic needs—sex, power, and violence.