Cloak of Deceit: An Alex Moore Novel by Gwen Mitchell

him from pulling away. “Please tell me you can duplicate that.”
    My nerve endings thrummed like a crystal bell resonating from the blow of that kiss. It was way, way, way too good. And that was very bad.
    So much for keeping your head.

    “I think I could do even better.” Julian didn’t seem immune either. He blinked slowly, as if still replaying it in his head or considering kissing me again. I wanted him to.
    His fingers slipped away with a final caress of my cheek. The purplish tinge surrounded around him again, though I knew better than to mention it this time. Parts of my body were tightening and heating up with desire, much more intense than usual. Julian definitely hit my “go” buttons in a way they’d never been pushed before.

    He cleared his throat. “But we have to deal with Derek first.”
    “Right.” I stood up. Distance. I needed space to re-boot my brain. I could feel Julian’s gaze lingering on me as I crossed the room. I finally understood what the prickling feeling in the back of my skull was. I felt it whenever a particular type of Julian’s attention focused on me. He was right — being an Undead, or a psychic, or both did have perks. Foreplay had been skyrocketed into a whole other dimension.
    You’re not getting involved, remember?

    Who was I kidding? I wanted to get on with the sentencing so I could spend more time with my Undead Knight and find out how high that fire could really blaze.
     
     
    Derek arrived at twelve a.m. sharp. I lingered in the kitchen while Julian talked to him first. Anxiety fizzled in the pit of my stomach. Julian seemed unconcerned about our visitor, but that didn’t give me much comfort. Julian appeared unfazed by anything short of the apocalypse. I flipped through his copy of The Code and tried to ignore the murmur of their voices. It reminded me of times when my mother would meet with work colleagues and I was supposed to make myself invisible. Only, I doubt they had been talking about whether to let me live, or what to do with me. That was a lot harder to ignore.
    My host came to collect me a half hour later, his expression stern but otherwise unreadable. He didn’t touch me familiarly or show any hint of feeling. My senses went buzzing into overdrive when we entered the living room. Tension webbed the room with dizzying slashes of color I didn’t know how to interpret.
    Derek stood as I came in, not out of manners, but out of caution. His aura was a thick smoky grey with stripes of white and crimson. The color scheme made me instinctively uneasy. I took an instant disliking to him. From the look on his face, it was mutual. So much for playing off his sympathies.
    Bummer.

    “Miss Moore.” He held out one of his meaty arms, directing me to sit as I approached. His voice was oddly nasal for a man so large. He filled nearly half of Julian’s small living room, an imposing white-haired bulk, with dead, grey eyes that made my steps falter. His scent was worse: an oiliness covered up by too much cheap aftershave.
    I took a deep breath and held it as I sat down across from him. I tried to close the part of my mind picking up a vibe of ill intent from Derek as he towered over me like an albino gorilla. Alarm bells were going off in the back of my head, but I kept my composure.
    “Derek Mueller, Knight of the Cloak, rank four.” He shoved a leather wallet in my face. I leaned forward and noted his official-looking ID, which listed his name, rank, base, and a transformation date of April 2, 1932. I glanced from the badge to him, hiding my surprise behind a mask of bland politeness usually reserved for fund-raisers and family reunions. He didn’t seem a day over thirty. I made a note to ask to see Julian’s ID later, and leaned back, crossing my legs. Derek’s aura was slowly fading out of my vision. I let out a thankful sigh. The in-put overload was very distracting. Hopefully once things were cleared with the Cloak, I could look into a way to figure