"You are most welcome." A slight smile touched his lips, and just for a moment lent his austere features a surprising warmth. "I actually enjoy this duty. It makes a pleasant change from bloodshed, and you are certainly never boring."
I half smiled. "You obviously haven't been following me around for long enough, then."
"Perhaps not." He touched my shoulder lightly as he stepped past. "Be respectful. At least until this killer is caught."
"I will."
He nodded and walked away. I turned, watching him move through the crowd with ease, wondering how long he'd been a Cazador. He certainly wasn't the cold-blooded killing machine I'd grown up believing them to be—not on the surface, anyway. Of course, neither was Uncle Quinn, and he'd been a Cazador for centuries.
But that, I knew, was a rare feat. Most either died on the job or were killed by the council after the endless killing sent them insane.
I headed back upstairs. Azriel still sat on the sofa, and I shook my head as I walked over to my desk to grab my coat, purse, and keys. "Don't you ever get bored, sitting there doing nothing?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was doing nothing?"
I glanced around. "Well, that's what it looks like from where I'm standing."
"Well, perhaps you should stand a little closer."
I grinned. "I keep trying. You keep pushing me away."
He rose and plucked the jacket from my grip, holding it out for me. "I did not mean in the physical sense."
I snorted softly as I shoved my arms into the sleeves. "Well, I can hardly get close to you mentally. The connection isn't two-way, remember?"
"I was not talking about either physical or mental connections."
I swung around, but he didn't move his hands, and his fingers trailed across my skin. His touch was warm, electric, and stirred to life the unsatisfied embers of desire once more. "What other connection is there?"