Marcun (Sky Warriors Book 1) Read online

  “It is if you were checking out my ass,” she snapped back at him. “What do you think you were doin’?”

  “I wished to know what it was.”

  “Marcun, maybe we should move to a different line,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her. “And wait even longer? No.”

  “Hey, I was talkin’ to him, bitch.”

  “What did you call me?” Eden drew herself up to her full height. She might have been raised to avoid confrontation and to never draw attention to herself, but she’d lived in Brooklyn long enough to know that you couldn’t leave a challenge unanswered.

  “The markings are very unique, I wished to know what they meant.”

  Markings? What was he talking about?

  “You mean my tattoo?” the woman asked. Suddenly, the defensive attitude disappeared and she gave Marcun a sly grin. “You like it?”

  “Does it have a meaning?”

  “Sure, they’re old Chinese symbols. Meant to bring good luck.”

  Right. They probably translated to ‘where is the toilet?’—if they were Chinese in origin at all.

  The woman turned, pointing out the tattoo on her upper ass. She dragged her pants down, which really wasn’t necessary since they’d already been halfway down her ass. “See this symbol? It means that I’m gonna come into a great fortune.”

  Uh-huh, and if that was true, Eden was going to start investing in that unicorn fund one of the kids in her apartment building had started.

  “Really?” Marcun asked, looking interested. She gave him a sharp look.

  The checkout cleared and the woman hitched up her pants and stepped forward with her purchases.

  Before leaving, she turned to Marcun. “Anytime you want to discuss tatts come find me. I work at the tattoo parlor on Fulton Street. We do it the old-fashioned way, with needles. Catch you later, sweetheart.”

  His eyes wide, he turned to her. “Sweetheart?”

  She shrugged, feeling irritated with him. She turned to the checkout machine. She swiped the barcode imprinted on her wrist over the scanner so it automatically deducted the amount of the purchases. He didn’t once offer to pay. She took a deep breath. She needed to stop being so negative. She wasn’t upset over the money. It was silly to feel upset that he was checking someone else’s butt out. He wasn’t hers.

  And she really needed to start remembering that.

  8

  He was starting to think the female was irritated with him. Again.

  He could not understand why. He had gone to the Walmart with her. It had not been as bad as the place called the Mall. But perhaps that was because she was with him.

  Unfortunately, she did not seem to have a good taste in clothing. Maybe that was why she was angry with him, because they had disagreed about what sort of shirts to buy.

  He looked over at her where she was checking off supplies back at the bakery. Everyone else had left for the day and it was getting close to the time to reopen.

  “The shirts are suitable,” he told her.

  There, that ought to appease her. Then she could return to smiling at him and giving him warm looks. He had not realized how much he enjoyed her smiles.

  “That’s good.”

  Barely any reaction. She wouldn’t even look at him. Was it not him? Perhaps it was her upset from this morning. He scowled. She had been terrified. He should not have let the male leave. He should have cracked his head against the pavement and then he would no longer be a threat to the female.

  The desire had been there. But killing the male might have brought attention he did not want and he had to remember his mission. Only now, after seeing the fear on the female’s face, the way she had shook, had cried, he believed he may have made the wrong decision.

  “Do you want me to find him?”

  “Find who?” She did not look up from the tablet she held.

  “The male who threatened you. Scared you.”

  Now she glanced up and over at him. “No. I mean, how would you even do that? You don’t know where he lives.”

  He could find him. He’d trailed the male for long enough that he had a fair idea of where he resided.

  She sighed and rubbed her eyes, looking tired. “What’s done is done. I’m grateful to you for trying to protect me and for retrieving my stinger. I shouldn’t have left it there. I just have to hope that he doesn’t decide to retaliate.” She looked a little ill.

  “If he does, I will hurt him.”

  “No,” her voice was emphatic. “No. Violence isn’t the answer.”

  But he was good at violence. At fighting. Threatening.

  “You are not upset with me for not killing him?”

  “No.” She gaped at him. “Of course not. I would never want you to kill someone for me. Oh God, I don’t want you to kill someone full stop. You don’t do that, do you? Kill people?”

  The way she stared at him in horror told him to be careful. He didn’t kill that often.

  “Only those that deserve it,” he told her.

  She stared at him for a moment. Those big blue eyes were filled with a touch of horror. And then she threw back head and laughed.

  He was puzzled. He didn’t understand what was so funny. Killing people who deserved to die was amusing?

  Humans were very strange creatures.

  She wiped into streaming eyes. “You really had me there for a moment. Good one.”

  Good what? Good killer? Yes, he was a good killer. But how did she know that?

  And now he was just as confused as ever. If she wasn’t upset with him for the shirts and she wasn’t angry with him for not killing her attacker, then why was she upset?

  A sudden knocking at the door had them both turning. He moved out of the supply room. “Wait here,” he told her before walking into the shop. A short man dressed in a brown suit and white shirt stood at the door. He held a black suitcase under one arm as he knocked steadily on the door with his other hand. When he saw Marcun, he stopped knocking and pushed his glasses up his nose. Sunlight reflected off his smooth, bald head.

  “Oh wonderful. This is just what I need,” the female muttered from behind him.

  “I thought I told you to wait in the supply room.” He didn’t look back, just kept his gaze on the male who watched them both.

  “This is my bakery,” she retorted. “And you are my employee. If there is a problem then I should take care of it.”

  “He is a problem?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s a big problem,” she replied. “I don’t know why he doesn’t get his eyes fixed. Two minutes with a laser and he’d have perfect vision. The bald spot is a bit harder to fix but it can be done as well. I think he likes to live up to a stereotype.”

  He wasn’t sure what she was talking about but from the tone of her voice he understood that she knew this male—and did not like him.

  “Do you wish me to get rid of him?”

  She snorted. “I wish. No one gets rid of the IRS. We get him to leave and tomorrow there will be three more just like him on my doorstep.”

  There would? Could they clone people? He made a mental note to ask Tecan.

  She went to walk past him and he grabbed her arm. “Is he dangerous?”

  “Who him?” she said with a laugh. “I could take him with one hand tied behind my back.”

  Marcun glanced from her to the male glaring at them through the window. Hm, she was probably right. He looked soft, round, his skin pale white as though he never saw the sun.

  “I thought you shouldn’t go out at this time of the day,” he told her.

  She snorted. “Pollution wouldn’t dare harm the IRS.”

  What did that mean? Were the IRS a special branch of the military forces? Were they immune to the effects of pollution? Was the male even human or some hybrid? Maybe some sort of robot?

  She walked over to the door. Marcun followed, giving the male an assessing glance. He didn’t appear to be some sort of elite fighter, but then appearances could be de
ceptive. The male stared back at them.

  She tapped the monitor beside the door. “Pollution level is low enough now, you might as well head back to your apartment. This could take a while.”

  “Are you not going to open?” This was close to the time when she would re-open for the evening crowd.

  “Unfortunately, the IRS waits for no man, even those desperate for their cupcake hit.”

  Eden took a fortifying breath as she opened the main door to the bakery. This is just what she needed to made a horrid day even worse.

  A visit from the IRS.

  She’d rather have all her teeth pulled. Without pain relief.

  But there was no getting out of it. She’d been dodging his calls and emails, she’d expected a visit in person.

  “Mr. Jones,” she said in greeting. The auditor shuffled his way inside and she shut and locked the door behind him. She didn’t think she’d be doing any business this afternoon. This whole day was a complete write-off.

  “Mrs. Lonefield,” the man said. He avoided her gaze as he pushed his glasses up his bulbous nose. A large wart sat near the tip of his nose, and she always found herself staring at it, unable to help herself even though she knew it was rude. “This is the second time you have forced me to visit you in person.”

  “Actually, it’s Ms. Summers,” she told him.

  “Oh, I was not aware that your circumstances have changed.”

  She grimaced. “I’ll be divorcing Barry soon. It’s been close to a year.”

  “Indeed.” Jesus, he was a condescending ass. She’d love nothing more than to wipe that superior look off his face.

  Be polite.

  She smiled at him. A completely fake smile. “Can I offer you a brownie? We have a delicious raspberry and white chocolate one today.”

  “I’m diabetic.”

  Well, shit. Of course he was.

  “Is there someplace we can talk?” he asked, looking impatient. “Alone.” He sent Marcun a suspicious look.

  “Yes, come into my office. Marcun, go home. No doubt I’ll be caught up with Mr. Jones here for an hour or so.”

  Mr. Jones snorted. “An hour? If only.”

  Eden sighed. “Please, come this way. Marcun, don’t forget your brownies.” She might be irritated at him, but a deal was a deal. He’d earned his brownies.

  “So she has been with this little male this entire time?” Sacaren asked around a mouthful of brownie. Crumbs dropped from his mouth onto the dirty pavement. The two of them were standing in the shadows of an alleyway across from the Mad Batter. He had sent Tecan around to watch the back of the bakery. The other male had grumbled until he had handed him a small brown bag filled with brownies.

  He didn’t like that she was alone with the male. He had tried to stay, but she’d urged him out the door. And he had no good excuse to remain, other than the fact that the male made his skin itch.

  Marcun nodded. “Yes. I do not trust the male.”

  “Do you think he has anything to do with her mate or the jewel?”

  What? No. Why would he think that? Oh yes, because that was their primary mission. Not keeping the female safe. He rubbed his head. She was affecting him. Blurring his focus and making him forget why he was really here.

  “I do not know,” he told Sacaren.

  “At least you got more brownies.”

  Yes. She could not sell it as she could not open her bakery.

  Darkness was close to falling and a number of people had approached the bakery only to turn away when they found it locked up. She could not afford to turn away business.

  Why was she allowing this male to monopolize her time?

  “He seemed to be someone important. From an organization called the IRS.”

  “IRS? Strange name.”

  “She is upset with me.” He did not mean to say that.

  “Upset, why?”

  “I do not know. I thought it could be because I did not kill her attacker this morning.”

  Sacaren nodded. “That was surprisingly lenient of you.”

  Marcun grunted. He was starting to believe he had made the wrong decision. “But when I asked her that, she seemed to get upset by the idea of me killing him and then she laughed.”

  “She laughed?”

  “Yes. It was disconcerting.”

  Sacaren shrugged. “Who knows why females react the way they do.”

  “But if it was not the attack then why would she be upset with me? I did think it could be the shirts.”

  Sacaren studied him. “I preferred the one with the yellow fruit all over it.”

  Him too.

  “Did you know that they wash their clothes in machines here?” Marcun asked.

  “Yes, Tecan figured that out. He takes our clothes to this place, I think it is called a laundromat. They wash them for us.”

  Now why hadn’t he thought of that?

  Because you have not bothered to learn anything about these humans. As little as possible, anyway.

  “Tecan and I were trying to decide who would tell you that you were starting to smell. But the female got there first.”

  Marcun grumbled under his breath.

  “So if it was not your failure to kill her attacker or to wash your clothes that upset her, what was it?”

  Who knew? Because he did not.

  There was movement at the door and he straightened. The short, bald male stepped out and paused for a moment, looking around before scuttling off to a small, white hovercar parked down the street.

  Where was the female? Had he hurt her? If he had, Marcun would kill him … he stepped forward just as she walked out the front door and turned to lock it. Her shoulders were drooped. She looked upset, dejected, and he had to resist the urge to go to her. Soothe her.

  “There she is,” Sacaren stated unnecessarily. “She is safe. We will get Tecan to look up this IRS.”

  Marcun nodded, watching her. As she moved to the end of the block, he started forward.

  “Do you wish us to come with you?” Sacaren asked.

  “No. I can take care of her.”

  “You mean, watch over her,” Sacaren said slowly. He reached out and grabbed Marcun’s arm.

  Marcun turned. “Let go of me, I must go to her.”

  “Because you wish to keep watch over her, to ensure that when the jewel arrives you are there to retrieve it?”

  “Yes. For those reasons that you just stated. I must go.”

  Sacaren gave him a suspicious look, but Marcun did not blame him. He was not quite sure he believed his reasons either.

  9

  She took another swig of the truly awful bottle of red she’d picked up at the corner shop on her way home. She could barely even remember walking home, she’d been in a daze of disbelief.

  Her talk with Mr. Jones had not gone well.

  “Asshole. Tool. Jerk face.” She kicked her foot against the corner of the bed to emphasize each word. Thankfully, the wine was numbing any pain. “This shit is awesome.” She held the bottle up, looking at it. “Even if it does taste like cat piss.”

  She giggled and sat on the bed. “Cat piss.” She shook her head and took another sip. She wouldn’t normally touch any alcohol the corner shop sold, not that she was much of a drinker anyway. But Carl, the guy who owned the shop, wasn’t exactly picky about where he bought his supply from. This wine could be motor oil mixed with tomato juice, poured into a wine bottle with a label for all she knew.

  She took another gulp. She didn’t care. It helped her forget. That was all that mattered.

  “I’m screwed. So screwed.”

  A knock on the door made her turn suddenly. The room swayed and she had to grab onto the bed to steady herself. “Whoa whatever is in this bottle is good stuff.”

  Another knock. Someone was at the door. Who was it? Nobody visited her. Oh fuck. What if it was him? The guy who’d tried to rob her? She needed a weapon. She looked at the bottle of wine. Nope, that was too precious. She was going to need it
later. She set the bottle down carefully on the floor then knelt and reached under the bed and grabbed the bat she kept there.

  She dragged it out and then tiptoed her way over to the door. Why didn’t she have a peephole? She should have a peephole. Lots of people had all sorts of fancy technology—cameras, security systems that could read your thumbprint. But not her, she didn’t even have a damn peephole.

  Of course, she’d be kind of scared someone would chop her hand off so they could use it to get into her place and rob it.

  “That would suck,” she muttered. “Where’s my wine?”

  Another knock. This one louder. It sounded angry.

  “Don’t know why he’s so grumpy. He attacked me.” She unlocked the door and opened it.

  Then raising the bat over her head, she attacked.

  Marcun had seconds to react. He stepped quickly to the side of the door as the female rushed him, a weapon held above her head. As she stumbled past him, he plucked the weapon from her hands. She kept going, banging into the wall then falling back onto her ass. He stood over her, holding the weapon, which was really just a heavy stick of wood.

  What did she think to do? Hit him? Was she really that upset with him?

  She sat on the floor, just breathing deeply. Had she stunned herself?

  Then she looked up at him, blinking. One blink. Two. He watched those dark eyelashes move back and forth and had to swallow heavily, shocked by the wash of arousal that filled him.

  “Marcun? Is that you? Why did you attack me?”

  “I did not attack you.”

  “Yes you did!” She bobbed her head back and forth then grabbed it with both hands as though that movement hurt. Something was wrong, she was not acting normal. He crouched down and grabbed hold of her chin. Her eyes were glassy. Was she unwell? Hurt? He ran his gaze over her body. She looked to be unharmed. He frowned, taking note of her semi-undressed state. She was wearing a tight white shirt with no sleeves and matching short, white pants that did not even cover the tops of her thighs.

  “Do you normally answer your door half-naked?” he grumbled. He did not wish other men to see her body. That was for his eyes only. He closed his eyes for a second. What was he thinking? She was not his. And even if she was, she would also belong to his pack mates.