Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime
Mais si je t'aime - si je t'aime -
Prends garde à toi!
If you don't love me, I might still love you
But if I love you - if I love you -
Be on your guard!
- From Carmen, by Bizet
Before
Kit stood face to face with the Devil. And he was starting to get a really bad feeling about it.
Devlin Novák, a notorious mobster nicknamed the Czech Devil because of his ruthlessness and the way his eyes supposedly flashed red when he killed someone, tilted his head to the side and smiled a close-lipped, cruel smile.
"Well, well... What do we have here?"
He had dismissed those rumours, but now chills crept up Kit's spine as the lean, handsome man stared at down him. The mobster had silver hair swept away from his face, straight eyebrows, and high, angled cheekbones.
Even though he had to be in his mid thirties at least, his face looked surprisingly young. Except for the hair he could be a man in his twenties.
Glancing away from him, Kit's eyes skimmed over the four other men in this poorly lit warehouse. Two of them wore black T-shirts and the other two white button-ups.
All four were pushing away from a tall stack of cardboard boxes taking up a third of the floor space, putting out their cigarettes, and spreading out to form a loose circle around Kit, surrounding him. He stood no higher than the shoulder of the shortest man.
Kit eyed the handguns they wore on their belts and glanced back at Novák. Up close the boy could see that his eyes were mahogany rather than black, with a burgundy gleam. That must be why people said they looked red.
Clad in an dark, tailored suit hugging his slim waist and broad shoulders, he looked like he should be on the cover of a magazine instead of fencing stolen goods.
It should be illegal for someone so evil to look that good, Kit thought.
According to the police and Kit's private investigator, Devlin Novák was a mid-level mobster from the Czech Republic with a shady past as a thief and murderer in Moscow. He had served several stints in prison. No-one knew when he had come to San Fransisco or what he was doing here.
"My name is Christopher Callaghan, and I'm here to talk business."
Although shorter than two of the other men, Novák stood out as the unrivalled centre of attention. The patchy light outlined his sharp nose and pale skin. His posture looked relaxed and graceful, yet ready to strike, confident as a cat with a mouse between his paws.
This is the man that got Charlie killed, Kit thought.
And if he wasn't responsible, then he knew who was. That was the reason the young man had voluntarily walked into this dodgy warehouse late at night to seek an audience with one of the most notorious men in the city.
It was dangerous, but the only thing he had to lose was his life. And that seemed to be dropping in value by the minute.
"Business? Is this really the time and place?"
"You're a hard man to get ahold of, Devlin Novák."
The men surrounding Kit shifted, but the younger man stood his ground, shoulders square. Alone and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a black hoodie over it, a battered canvas bag slung over his shoulder, he looked like nothing so much as a lost schoolboy.
But appearances could be deceiving.
He sniffed the air, tasting their scents discreetly. All four were human. But Novák... When Kit caught his eye, he saw the man's smile broaden. Something was off. His scent... Kit held up his empty palms, and the other man spoke, eyes glinting.
"Come here and show us your face then, little wolf. If you bare your throat to me like a good pup, I'll listen to your...business."
Wolf? Pup? This was not going as planned.
Kit was a werewolf - it was one of the reasons he had come here alone. It meant that he could shape-shift between his human and wolf forms, and over the years he had figured out that some of his wolf attributes bled over into his human form and vice versa.
He was stronger and faster than a human his size would be. His night vision was good, as was his sense of smell. But he wasn't superhuman.
Werewolves healed quicker than humans but not instantly, and a dead wolf was a dead wolf. Pushing bullets out of wounds and healing instantly like the Wolverine was just a movie stunt, as was their crazy strength.
His abilities varied with the moon's phases, and he was stronger on the full moon while almost fully human at the dark of the moon.
A bullet in the wrong place would still kill him.
But how did Devlin Novák know that? Was he a werewolf? And more importantly...should Kit obey, or make a run for it?
I didn't come this far to run away.
Stepping forward, he leaned in to Novák, tilting his head to expose a soft, slender neck. As he did so his hood fell back, revealing his face.
One of the men gasped. Kit glanced up to see Devlin Novák's eyes widen, pupils dilating. He was only inches away and the wolf could see his thick, pale eyelashes as he felt the taller man's breath on his skin, inhaled his scent - and flinched, jerking back.
The Czech Devil smelled of smoke, leather, and blood. And something else, something that made Kit swallow hard. He was certain of two things.
The mobster was not human. And he was no werewolf.
He smiled again, revealing a row of white, even teeth. "So... What did you really come here for, beautiful?"
Kit had a hunch that if he lied, those languid, piercing eyes would know. No going back now.
"A man...a human named Sabdova. I want him. And I've come to make a trade."
"Go on."
"I've recently inherited a lucrative business set on a property in a strategically important location, close to the border of your, uh, territory. And I'm willing to sign it over to you. In return for...this man."
"Interesting." He pushed away from the stack of boxes, following Kit as the young man backed away.
"He must be pretty valuable to you, this Sabdova, for you to give up your inheritance."
"He took something from me."
"And what, precisely, do you want from him?"
Kit took a deep breath. He had a really bad feeling about this. "I want his life."
"So... You expect me to hand over one of my loyal servants in return for a piece of property?"
"This business is worth much more than such a low-ranking - "
Devlin pulled a matte black handgun from his belt, faster than any human would be able to. Holding it level with Kit's face, he smiled again.
"And why should I do that...instead of just killing you right now?"
Shit. Think fast, Kit.
He didn't know much about handguns, but he could tell it was a 9 mm, and he was close enough to read the CZ 75B embossed on the gleaming metal barrel. It was a big, heavy-looking weapon.
Kit's eyes narrowed. Devlin had left the safety on. He might just be toying with him, trying to scare him off. But Kit wasn't going anywhere. And if he couldn't find a way out of this, he was certain that Devlin would kill him soon enough.
His dark eyes gleamed burgundy in the uneven light and Kit realized that the stories about him had not been exaggerating. It was a look that said:
It's all the same to me whether you are hurt or not, whether you live or die. So make your choice.
Kit looked up from the barrel inches away from his nose and locked eyes with Devlin. Shivers ran up his spine. He took a gamble.
Slowly, seductively, he smiled, cocking his head to the side and leaning forward. His plump, pink lips parted slightly, hot breath showing in the cool night air.
Carefully, never looking away from those dark eyes, he licked the tip of the muzzle. His wet tongue darted out and then back in, tasting steel and gun oil. Devlin twitched.
Kit lowered his eyes to the barrel in front of him, his long black eyelashes brushing the top of his cheekbones. Keeping his hands visible by his sides, he kissed the cold tip of the gun. Then he started licking up the barrel, eyes closed.
He took the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hole - the muzzle - tasting more bitter oil, sulphurous gunpowder residue, sour iron... It was a heady, dangerous scent. Starting to move his head, he took the barrel deeper into his mouth.
"Mpfh."
It was hard and angular, ridges pressing into his soft cheeks, an uncomfortable shape filling his mouth. Kit strained around it, fucking his mouth on the cold metal, a muffled moan rising at the back of his throat. He could feel the muzzle graze the sensitive flesh there.
When he was almost close enough to lick the long, slender finger on the trigger, he pulled his face away, leaving a trail of saliva suspended between his swollen, glistening lips and the deadly firearm.
Panting slightly, he made eye contact with Devlin again. The man kept his face controlled, but his pupils were dilated, and his lips were parted slightly.
Kit lifted up his hand carefully, in full view of them all. He touched the tip of the handgun with one delicate fingertip. Then he reached back in one fluid motion and flicked off the safety.
The Czech Devil flinched, pulling back as if waking from a trance. The men around them were silent and frozen, transfixed by the small werewolf. Kit did not spare them a glance.
He wondered if he had judged the Devil correctly, or if he was about to die.
"If you want to kill me, more than you want to fuck me right now," he purred, voice rough,
"Then you should just go ahead and pull that trigger."