seemed to mind before.”
“Mark,” I said. “Don’t—”
He turned to me then, and I saw how thin the thread holding him to his humanity had grown. His amber eyes had gone molten copper, his nostrils flared, his muscles jerked. Every cell of his massive body warred against his mind, wanting to transform into the iteration that would better serve his revenge. My interference would only make it worse.
I slid back against the door and was silent.
Morrison struggled to his feet and took a couple steps toward Mark, squaring his jaw, straightening his spine. “So you’re letting this cocksucker make your decisions for you now?” he accused, circling Mark but looking at me.
“Get out of my gallery,” Mark said, a predator’s stillness pushing unnatural calm into his voice.
“Or what?” Morrison challenged.
“Or I’ll break you.” The knuckles of Mark’s hands were bone white as they flexed at this sides. “Don’t mistake patience for weakness, James. Just because I haven’t yet ripped your intestines from your ass and made you wear them like a necktie doesn’t mean I can’t. In fact, it would give me great pleasure.” A small, angry smile curved Abernathy’s lips as he mentally pondered this image.
I cleared my throat and tried to speak as calmly and serenely as possible. “I would really prefer that we leave everyone’s internal organs where they are for the remainder of the gallery show, is all I’m saying. The guests are hard enough to clean up after as it is.”
If either Abernathy or Morrison had heard me, they gave no outward indication.
“Remember that time in your apartment,” Morrison said, completely ignoring Abernathy to turn to me. “When I bent you over the couch—”
Morrison’s question ended abruptly with Mark’s hand closed around his throat. Which was deeply problematic, as milliseconds earlier, he’d been across the room next to me. I’d never seen Abernathy so much as hint at any of his powers with a human present as it was a whole-ass no-no within the paranormal world.
Against my better judgment—if I could be accused of having any—I crossed the room to them and put a gentling hand on Abernathy’s back.
“Mark,” I said, hoping to bring him back to his wits. “Morrison is shit-faced drunk. Maybe we should wait to have any serious discussions until he’ll actually remember them?”
“I remember how you taste,” Morrison said, completely eradicating my attempt at brokering peace.
Abernathy’s hand tightened on Morrison’s stubble shadowed throat. “Say another fucking word and so help me I’ll—”
“Kill me?” Morrison croaked out.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mark asked. “Maybe then you’d actually be right about me for once.”
“I was sure right about your assistant.” Morrison attempted a grin, which quickly vanished with the blur of Abernathy’s fist and the sickening sound of teeth clacking against teeth. A thin line of blood worked its way down Morrison’s chin as he looked around, wild-eyed and disbelieving.
“What the fuck are you?” asked through bloodied teeth.
“You’d better hope you never have cause to find out.” Abernathy’s lips pulled back, revealing his own sharp snarl. He released Morrison as quickly as he’d grabbed him and stepped back, clearing a path for flight.
Morrison refused to give him the pleasure. Instead, he met Mark’s eyes with a clarity he hadn’t managed all evening. “Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find out. And when I do, I’m going to burn your entire fucking world to the ground.”
With this, he turned and shuffled back toward the gallery, presumably to collect his tipsy, tottering Tinkerbell twat of a date.
“That went well,” I said, hoping to ease the tension billowing in the air like smoke. When his shoulders lowered a fraction, I breathed a little deeper.
“You couldn’t have listened to me when I told you not to get involved with him.”
“Excuse me?” I turned to face him, my hand fixed in its usual position on my hip. “When did you ever say that?”
“Well, maybe I didn’t say those precise words,” he admitted.
“Damn right you didn’t. I mean, when you think about it, you’re the one who practically shoved me into his arms in the first place.”
“The hell I—”
I held up the Shushing Finger. “Who was the one being all obscure and creepy when there was a murderer tear-assing around town ripping out women’s throats? Who was the one who was all Hanna, you don’t know what you’re talking about but I can’t tell you anything. Hanna, I’ve got this book full of dead women’s pictures but I’m totally not a murderer.” My neck cramped from bunching my shoulders up by my