She Who Sees Through Darkness

Part Six

"Katrina!" Kyle fell out of the crowd and wrapped his arms around her neck. The sweet scent of rum rose from his breath. His eyes looked even bigger with the eyeliner surrounding them; sweat glowed on his skin. "Let's go do something!"

"You can't leave the club unless you're heading home. Your mom made that clear. If you want to leave, you better offer me a new job."

He pouted. "I'm broke, remember? Can we at least just dance?"

She rolled her eyes and lowered the can back onto the bar. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the dance floor. That could work for fun.

Her hand slid onto his lower back, steering him as they spun, twisting in time with the beat. In her four-inch stilettos, she towered over him. Their bodies pressed tightly together, sweat mixing. Kyle leaned backwards and she slid on top of him, her black hair sweeping out like a curtain. Energy rippled in her veins. Just a little good clean fun.

A hand pressed on her shoulder. "Aiden!" Kyle shouted, and Katrina spun around. Their host smiled at her, holding out a hand. She took it and spun in close to him, shimmying in time to the music. His thong responded as her breasts brushed his necklaces. Bats for both teams.

He leant forward. Even with her stilettos, he had a few inches on her. "May I?" She nodded and stuck her tongue in his mouth. Aiden moaned and sucked on it. She tasted alcohol in his mouth. It lit her neurons on fire. Too late for me, Shawn! Giddy pleasure washed over her.

"Bad, Katrina, bad!" Laughing, Kyle shoved his face in-between theirs, flicking out his tongue as if a kiss could somehow be turned into a three-way. She nipped at it, and he reeled backwards. "Cooties! Someone call nine-one-one, I've got girl cooties on me!"

She bent over. Her stomach ached from laughing. Aiden clapped, slowly, and Kyle pounded her on the back. Well, a little good dirty fun never hurt anyone.

"Katrina!"

The clipped, disapproving tone echoed in her ears, striking her like a mallet on a bell. Damn. She straightened to find a short, thin white woman with a greying bun standing near the bar. A sweater and slacks made Lisa Franklin stand out like a sore thumb. Retirees. I forgot Shawn could have called in a favor from one of them.

The past few years had softened her face, but Katrina would know those moist blue eyes anywhere. She'd seen them every day in training and every day after Indigo had sent her back to Washington. They watched her from the balcony as she sparred, waiting for her to fail. Katrina had passed all her classes in spy craft with flying colors, but agents worked in the field, and they needed to be able to take on a powerful Descendant with their bare hands, if necessary. So she'd spent hours bulking up in the gym, learned three different martial arts, and chopped off her hair so no one could grab it or light it on fire.

Lisa thought the best advice she could give a female agent was to get a desk job, now, before a werewolf rips out your uterus and no man wants you. Practically, Indigo had always used female agents. Women had always formed the backbones of intelligence networks, and magic made both sexes equally strong. But Katrina embraced the work, despite lacking magic. She did not fit in Lisa's world.

Lisa had made Katrina one of her projects, selflessly sacrificing hours of paperwork to stalk her, assuring Katrina that there was nothing wrong with wanting to protect humanity—women were made to protect, to guard their children with their lives—but Katrina would never be as good as a magic user—it's just a fact, honey—and she should find a nice normal man and have his babies, and everything would be just fine. Looking at her, Katrina glimpsed the sterile walls of a hospital, smelled disinfectant, felt a thick cast around her leg. Lisa stood above her. I told you this would happen. Why can't you be grateful you don't have magic?