Obsidian Prey Read Online Free PDF

dropped the towel and its contents onto the dresser.
    In the outer room, Cruz rezzed another light switch. The resulting glow permeated the bedroom through the translucent screens.
    “I see Vincent is still painting,” Cruz said from the other side of the screen.
    Oh, damn, the painting . She had been so focused on the bra that she had forgotten about the artwork. Well, there was nothing for it but to brave it out. The odds were seriously against Cruz ever discovering the truth.
    She went back out into the main room, deftly sliding the screen closed behind her to conceal the bed. There was something about having a bed clearly visible when you were alone with a man who could heat your blood and excite all your senses with just a look; something dangerous.
    Cruz was standing over Vincent’s latest work of art. The canvas lay flat on the floor atop a protective layer of newspapers. The one attempt at setting up an easel had ended in disaster when Vincent had tried to climb it to get to the top of the painting. He’d had a blue rez-brush in one paw at the time. The easel had toppled over. Vincent had landed with his usual adroitness, but the rez-brush had shattered when it hit the floor. The little tube of paint attached to the brush had broken off, splattering blue paint on everything within range, including the artist. It had required a great deal of paint remover and repeated baths to restore Vincent’s fur to its customary shade of nondescript gray.
    “Painting is just a game to him,” she said. “I keep thinking he’ll grow tired of it. But so far he hasn’t. I still have to lock up the rez-brushes whenever I’m not around to supervise, though. Three weeks ago, I went downstairs to take out the trash while he was playing with his paints. I was gone for only five minutes, but by the time I got back, the lower portion of the refrigerator was green.”
    Cruz studied the bright, chaotic swipes and blobs of color that covered a third of the canvas. “Looks like he’s heavily into magenta. When I left he was still in his blue period.”
    She thought about what had happened to the three blue paintings and cleared her throat. “He’s gone through several colors since we last saw you,” she said.
    Cruz looked at her across the room. He had removed his jacket and tossed it over the reading chair, just as he had done so often during the time they had dated. His black tie was unknotted, and he had opened the top three or four buttons of his shirt. Making himself at home, she thought wistfully. Just as if nothing had happened.
    The coffee table, with its vase of amethyst orchids and the little stack of cards, stood between them. He must know that she had gotten the message of the unsigned cards. A woman would not keep flowers from a man unless she was prepared to forgive him. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
    “Things got very complicated three months ago,” he said.
    “Yes, they did.” She went around behind the kitchen counter. “Would you like a drink? I still have the Amber Dew you bought before the complications set in.”
    “Sounds good.” He lowered himself onto one of the counter stools and hooked a foot over the bottom rung. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw out the bottle.”
    “I considered it a few times, but it seemed like a waste of good liqueur.”
    “Smart thinking.” He watched her take the two-thirds-empty bottle down from the cupboard. “Looks like you’ve been enjoying it. We only had one drink each out of that bottle.”
    “Well, it has been three months, and I must admit it is rather nice to be able to serve a fancy liqueur like Amber Dew when I have guests.”
    “Guests?” he repeated very deliberately.
    “Mmm. They’re always very impressed.”
    She gave him a warm smile and set one of the filled glasses on the counter within reach of his hand. Let him think that she’d been dating madly since he had shattered her world. She was not about to tell him that the only person