Through a Crimson Veil by Patti O'Shea Page A

Mika had insisted on leaving the door to his bedroom open—said it would make her feel safer. Talk about bullshit. It had been another invitation, pure and simple.
    Conor brought his knees up and rested his forearms on them. Every time she’d shifted in bed last night, he’d heard. And as the hours passed, resisting the pull he felt to Mika had become tougher and tougher. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. The time spent lying awake had allowed him to think, and he’d come to a realization: Despite her behavior, despite her willingness, Mika wasn’t as experienced as she wanted him to believe. There was something in her eyes, a watchfulness maybe, that made him think she was studying his reactions and learning from them.
    And damn, if that wasn’t an even bigger lure.
    She liked to play games; he was aware of that. And demons lied. He knew that too. But her lust for him was real and unconnected to the reason she’d sought him out—it was a truth he could sense. Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t use it to her advantage.
    When the water went off, he stood and stifled a groan as his body protested the movement. Conor eyed his shirt and decided to leave it; Mika wouldn’t be offended by a bare chest and he didn’t feel like pulling it on.
    He stopped short when he saw his home comm was blinking, indicating he had messages. Swallowing a curse, he sprawled in his desk chair and brought the unit online. When some slick salesman went into a spiel about home siding, Conor minimized the window and pulled up the day’s headlines. Demons tended to do things that got them noticed, and part of his plan to hunt down the Kiverian after Mika was to scan the news.
    Maddox Clan Denies War Prep Rumors . Conor snorted. Like the dogs were going to tell reporters anything different.
    Donner: “Business As Usual.” Donner might head B-Ops, but he was a politician, not an agent. He had no clue what usual was. At least he knew enough to keep his nose out of operations. Conor grimaced, scrolled down the page.
    Strange Events West of City . He skimmed the article. It didn’t say much, but it sounded like someone was shapeshifting or maybe creating illusions. Definitely worth checking out.
    Finally, the siding salesman ended his pitch and the comm unit beeped. When McCabe heard the next voice, he brought the image back to full-screen. Ben looked older than the last time Conor saw him. His mentor’s hair was more gray than brown now, the skin wrinkled and sagging around his face. It gave Conor a pang to see how his friend had aged in only a few months, but he reluctantly smiled as Ben muttered about “all the damn technology.”
    Ben ground to a halt, shook his head, and said, “I was hoping to talk with you, but I should have realized you’d have your comm turned off. Kid, you can’t stay so isolated. It’s not good for you.” There was affection laced with the exasperation in his voice. “Never mind,” he said, “I’ll lecture you in person when you call me back. You know my code.”
    There was a close-up of his mentor’s nose and more complaints about “gizmos” before Ben managed to disconnect. The double beep signaled the end of messages, and Conor leaned forward to return the call. The last thing he wanted was a reprimand about being such a loner, but he owed too much to his friend to blow him off; he’d endure the speech, even if he’d heard it so many times that he had it memorized.
    No answer. A glance at the time told him Ben was probably at his usual afternoon poker game. Conor left a message and pushed to his feet.
    He entered the kitchen grimacing, and not just from the late afternoon sun pouring in through the uncovered windows. His next—and final—project for this house was remodeling this room. Conor hated the yellowed linoleum, and the way it had started to curl near the walls, but time had been hard to come by lately. He couldn’t remember when more vampires and werewolves were listed as wanted by