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Blue. He lived only in moments.
    There were moments he was utterly alone, lost to pain and darkness. There were moments he was trapped in a nightmare, when the meeting with Michael finished and he stood with John and Solo and they walked to the door, unaware their lives were about to be forever altered. There were moments a woman stroked him, and muttered to him, her honey-almond scent saturating him and her raspy voice delighting him.
    He loved those moments.
    “It’s been a week,” she said now, “and you’ve already grown a new layer of skin—unscarred, of course, because you’re the gold standard every man is measured against, and flaws aren’t allowed to stay. Gag. You grew a new hand, and a new head of hair.” Soft fingers shifted through the strands. “It’s sickening.”
    He wanted to lean into her touch, her warmth, but his body refused to obey the mental command.
    He hated his body.
    “You need a scar. You’re too pretty. Why won’t you wake up?”
    I will. For you. And then I’ll strip you and take you, and you’ll scream my name, again and again, and I won’t stop until I’m sated, and you’re too exhausted to beg me for more.
    “And how are you causing my furniture to levitate? Stop that!”
    His power must be seeping out. He would have to do a better job of controlling it.
    Who was she?
    He’d gone to Pagan’s . . . and his fiancée had been with her sister. Yes. He remembered that much. The two talked about him, and Pagan mentioned becoming a mother. He’d thought she’d understood kids would never be part of their arrangement.
    Humans and otherworlders could procreate, but it wasn’t easy. Still, Blue had taken measures to ensure it never happened. Plus he always wore a condom. He didn’t need protection from disease, since humans couldn’t pass anything to him; but in his early days, too many girls had come forward citing a rubber broke and pregnancy was the result. A lie on both counts, but the claims had scared him. No way did he want to raise a kid with a one-night stand. Or worse, a target. A simple little surgery negated the possibility of children.
    Need to have a talk with Pagan. He would make her understand kids were out of the question, or they would part ways.
    But the woman with him wasn’t Pagan, he thought. Her scent was richer, and her voice sexier. She was thinner, yet somehow softer. Her tone wasn’t as gentle, and he was glad. He wasn’t easily breakable.
    “Yesterday I hacked into Michael’s database and read your updated file, you know. And by ‘read’ I meanskimmed. I wasn’t that interested. Still, you’ve done some pretty impressive wet work.”
    Hells yeah, he had. He’d taken down his first target at the age of thirteen.
    A male never forgot his first.
    Blue had actually butchered the job, an up-close-and-personal grab-and-stab, getting himself grabbed and stabbed in the process. Somehow, even with his injuries, he’d found the strength to pull through and finish. It hadn’t been pretty, but the victory had tasted, oh, so sweet.
    He’d learned a lot since then. Now his victims never saw him coming.
    And maybe he’d been born for this type of work, because he wasn’t like Solo and John. He’d never felt a moment’s regret for doing what he considered a public service. The equivalent of a human taking out the trash.
    “So my question is, why have you allowed Michael to leave you in the hobaggery department?” the female continued. “You rock with guns, blades, and even swords. You’re amazing in hand-to-hand. Compared to anyone but me, of course. And I was particularly impressed with your undercover stint as a cage fighter. Taking down six Bree Lians at the same time? Delish.”
    He wanted to pound his chest with his fists. She was impressed by him. For some reason, that mattered.
    “Ugh. Why am I complimenting you? You’ve already got an overinflated ego. And I bet that’s because no one has ever told you how much of a pain in the