Broken Soul

EPILOGUE Bound by Oaths of Loyalty

It was one week from the day Bruiser had taken me to Arnaud’s. It had been a week of battles, death, and funerals, and I was sleep deprived and sad and . . . close to depressed. I hated being depressed. I’d been depressed once and it sucked.

Yet here I was, sitting in the Clover Grill, staring at the sign reading, DANCING ONLY IN THE AISLES, NOT ON THE TABLES, courting depression.

I had gotten to the diner early to scope out the place and had taken the table farthest in. There were only four so it hadn’t been a hard choice, my back to a wall, facing the door. Waiting. For an hour now. Checking my cell for messages every few minutes. Bruiser was late. Or worse. He wasn’t coming. The place was filling up with lunch customers. I held up a finger to the short-order cook and he nodded, throwing my burger on the grill. Even if I had to eat alone, I was eating. But my heart hurt.

I twirled my beer on the table, making smeared rings. Trying not to think. In the days since the death of Peregrinus and his pals, Bruiser and I had talked a lot, but only on the phone, not in person. We’d both been busy, long hours and long days, me and Wise Ass getting security totally stripped and rebuilt at fanghead central and in Leo’s new house. Getting the new system up and running, and tracking down leads to make sure the city’s vamps were safe. Fixing the electricity problem by disconnecting the wires in sub-five from the rest of the system. Finding Peregrinus’ stuff and taking it. Trying to figure out what some of it was. Bruiser had been doing Onorio things.

Most of our convos had been about Bethany and Leo and Bruiser’s life, which was way more complicated than mine was. He might not be Leo’s primo anymore, but he was bound by oaths of loyalty to the vamps in New Orleans. He wasn’t free to move around the country, not for years. My contracts would be up in a few months or a year—assuming I survived the EuroVamps’ visit and the coming war. I didn’t have plans yet, but staying around New Orleans without work wasn’t in the cards. Bruiser and I had talked around the big question of us, but hadn’t really talked yet. Had settled nothing. Talking didn’t really ever settle anything. It was doing that mattered.

My food was deposited in front of me: wonderfully greasy burger and greasy fries, pickle. I tossed a scalding-hot potato into my mouth and picked up my burger. Another meal was placed in front of me, across the small table. “Starting without me, my Jane?”

Mouth open for the bite, I looked up and watched as Bruiser lifted a jeans-clad leg over the back of the chair across from me and settled into place. He dropped flowers on the table, a bouquet of nonaromatic lilies and fresh tea leaves, which were almost impossible to find. A smile crossed my face, as I remembered him telling me that men should always give me flowers.

He picked up his burger and said, “‘I eat at diners and fast-food joints and drink beer. My dates and I talk about guns and the newest horror or action flick. I wear jeans and boots and no makeup.’ I believe that was the exact quote. And yet, you are wearing lipstick in that amazing shade of red that makes me want to take you right here, on this beat-up old table.” He bit into his burger.

Heated chills raced through me as I watched his hands cradling the burger. And . . . Bruiser in jeans and Western boots. And a button-up shirt, crisply starched. Sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned arms. Oh . . . my . . .

Talking around the ground meat, he said, “Eat up, Jane. We have guns to talk about and then the entire Kill Bill series, which I watched last night in preparation for our date, just so I would be ready for today.”

I bit my burger, hardly tasting it. I chewed and swallowed and said, “You’re going to spend the day with me. Talking about Kill Bill.”

“And eating.” He swallowed and reached out, tracing my jaw with one long, heated finger. “And making love. Hurry up, Jane. Today is going to be quite . . . busy.”