Out of reflex, Clara clung tightly to Cyra, hiding her face in his chest and digging her fingers into the leather fabric of his jacket before she even realized she was doing it.
Cyra only laughed at her reaction, that rich, mocking laughter that Clara hated.
Clara had never seen such swift driving in her life. The car had stopped so close to them that any lesser skilled driver would have squashed them between the building or run them over.
Instead of panicking like a normal person, Cyra was still laughing. He gave Clara a little reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.
Clara's heart was pounding when the driver's door opened and she found herself blinking in confusion as her brain tried to make sense of what was happening.
First came shiny black high-heels—no, not just heels, but towering, leather, thigh-high boots with bright red soles and dagger-sharp pointed toes that gleamed in the sunlight. The woman who stepped out of the car moved with the kind of grace that belonged on a red carpet, like some movie star making a grand entrance.
Clara's jaw nearly hit the pavement as the stranger rounded the door and revealed the rest of herself.
The boots connected to a strapless black leather dress so short it made Clara instinctively tug at the hem of her own shirt. The dress clung to the woman like a second skin, and it was cut low enough that the deep neckline plunged into a sharp U around her belly button, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Clara's eyes trailed upward—she couldn't help it—and landed on the sharp lines of the woman's face framed by impossibly long, sleek, black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. The ponytail whipped over her shoulder dramatically as she slid her sunglasses down her nose to glare at Clara with eyes so sharp they could cut glass.
Clara froze.
It wasn't just the woman's physical beauty—though "beautiful" seemed like too mild a word, more like lethal sexiness—it was the aura she carried. The danger that radiated off her in thick, invisible waves rooted Clara to the spot. She felt like she was staring at a panther crouched just feet away, its glossy black coat glinting in the light, its amber eyes locked on hers. She knew instinctively that a creature like this could kill her in an instant if she dared to move the wrong way.
"Cyra." The woman gave a small nod, her voice sharp, clipped, and carrying a heavy accent Clara couldn't place. Slavic, maybe? Eastern European of some kind?
"Hello, Natalia," Cyra greeted smoothly, still unfazed. He didn't even bother to remove his arm from Clara's shoulders, despite the fact she was still holding onto him like a lifeline.
Flustered, Clara quickly stepped away from him, heat rising to her face. Great, so now this ridiculously glamorous panther-woman had witnessed her clinging to Cyra like a terrified child.
Clara swallowed, straightened her spine, and tried to reclaim some dignity.
"Hey, I'm Clara. Nice to—" she started, only to stop short when Natalia lifted a hand, silencing her mid-sentence.
The woman's gaze never left Cyra as she sauntered forward, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement like a predator stalking its prey. "Cyra, dear," Natalia purred in her thick accent, "how can I be of service to you?"
Cyra smiled faintly, unbothered by her cold demeanor. "Natalia, this is Clara," he said, gesturing toward Clara.
Natalia's eyes flicked toward Clara for the briefest moment, scanning her from head to toe. She sighed audibly, lips pursed in annoyance, before glancing back at Cyra.
"Yes, and?" she said flatly, her tone drenched in boredom.
"Can we be cordial?" Cyra sighed.
Natalia gave a sharp sigh, gesturing lazily at Clara with a flick of her perfectly manicured hand. "She is your new skank, no? Why must I talk to her, Cyra?"
"Excuse me?!" Clara blurted out, her voice rising with indignation.
Natalia didn't even blink. She simply rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Cyra, completely dismissing Clara as if she weren't worth the energy.
"She's my partner, Natalia," Cyra said calmly, his tone as even and collected as ever. "And very powerful too, I might add."
That last part seemed to calm Clara's boiling temper just a little. She glanced at him, surprised by the genuine smile he gave her as he said it.
Natalia, on the other hand, looked like she'd just been told a particularly bad joke. "Powerful?" Her accent thickened with irritation. "Cyra, what do you speak? She is…" Natalia gestured dramatically toward Clara, "…a sack of dough!"
Clara's mouth fell open. "A sack of—"
"And Clara," Cyra continued smoothly, ignoring both women's outbursts, "—thid is Natalia. She's an associate of mine. A black belt in more martial arts than I can count, and the best sniper alive."
Natalia crossed her arms, clearly trying to hide the smug satisfaction creeping into her expression. Clara, meanwhile, was trying not to roll her eyes.
"Anyway," Cyra said, turning back to Natalia with a charming smile, "I need your help, my dear."
He slipped a wallet into his jacket pocket, then gestured toward the wrecked husk of what was left of Clara's car parked nearby. As he explained the entire situation, from the robbery to the mysterious powers, Natalia's expression didn't so much as flicker. She listened like a statue, arms crossed, face impassive.
Clara, meanwhile, was staring down at the crinkled piece of paper in her hand. The phone number she'd been given was smudged but legible. She slipped it carefully into her shoe, tucking it beneath the insole since Cyra's t-shirt she was wearing had no pockets.
Her mind churned. What would happen when they found Emor? Would Cyra kill him without a second thought? Would she even be able to stop him if he tried?
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Cyra's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Natalia will follow us back to your apartment," he said smoothly.
"She'll drop off that car for you to use in the meantime."
Clara looked at him, then back at Natalia, who was watching her like she was something she might scrape off her boot.
"I don't think she likes me very much," Clara muttered.
"Natalia is just protective of me," Cyra said.
"BECAUSE YOU PAY ME TO BE, JACKASS!" Natalia barked from across the parking lot.
Cyra chuckled. "Loyal only to the dollar, my sweet Natalia? I don't believe it. You know you love me."
Natalia smirked faintly and made a gesture with her fingers, holding them close together to indicate "a little bit."
"You should ride with her," Cyra said casually, turning back to Clara. "Take advantage of the opportunity to get to know each other."
Clara's eyes widened. "So she can actually kill me? Thanks a bunch, really appreciate it."
Cyra's laughter was rich and genuine this time, filling the space around them.
"Relax, my princess. She's not going to kill you. Besides, that would be far too expensive. Natalia is not cheap to hire."
Clara narrowed her eyes. "That makes me feel so much better", sarcasm dripped from her words.
At that moment, Natalia pulled up in the sleek red sports car, leaning out of the driver's side window. Her sunglasses glinted under the sunlight, hiding her expression.
"Are you driving with me, Tecto?" she called, her voice sharp and amused.
Clara blinked and turned to Cyra. "Tecto?"
He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. "I… think she just called you dough."
Clara groaned. "Just perfect."