Storm's Heart

by Thea Harrison

  He was right; she was hurting, and she was still trembling like a leaf. She bit her lips and nodded. He eased the shirt on, guiding the arm on her injured side. She managed to say, “Thank you.”

  “Where were you going, anyway?” he asked.

  “I want pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.” She sniffed as she spread the sweatpants over her lap for the warmth.

  “You left to get breakfast.” The flatness of his voice and the cynical expression on his harsh features said he didn’t believe her.

  She rolled her eyes. She told him, “I left to get away from you.”

  “You must still be drunk if you thought you could give me the slip,” he snapped. “You didn’t have a chance in hell.”

  Well, no. She opened her eyes very wide. “I got your car and your gun when you weren’t looking, didn’t I?”

  He clearly didn’t like what he heard, if his scowl was any indication. His glare could peel paint. What the hell was the matter with her? She was needling a pissed-off thunderbird, for God’s sake.

  She groped for some sanity and told him, “Look, running back to New York is not an option. I don’t have the energy to keep arguing with you about it. Will you just buy me some breakfast at IHOP and then take me back to the Regent?”

  His attention shifted away from her as she spoke. His gaze narrowed on the car that had just passed them. The car’s brake lights came on, shining bright red in the rainy night.

  “What did you do with the Glock?” he asked. His face, voice, body remained calm.

  Her stomach gave a sickened lurch. She dug into a shopping bag and put the gun into his outstretched hand. The car that had captured Tiago’s attention reversed with a sharp squeal of tires.

  Tiago was already exiting the SUV. He moved so fast he was a blur. He said to her telepathically, Lock the doors and get down on the floor. NOW, Tricks.

  “Dr. Death” wasn’t just a nickname she had made up on the spot. It was what the other Wyr sentinels called Tiago behind his back. He was a killing machine quick to anger and fueled by immense Power.

  She had years of experience working with the Wyr sentinels whenever the threat level warranted she should have a detail of bodyguards. She knew when to fight, when to run away and when to get out of the way.

  She wasn’t a very old faerie and she wasn’t all that Powerful. The low-level Power she did have was barely enough to cross over to an Other land or to achieve telepathy, which anyone, Elder Race or human, could do if they had a spark of magic. She also had a delicate sprinkle of charisma that gave her an edge sometimes in negotiations and knotty social gatherings, but it was worth squat in a combat situation. She had a small, light build, and now she was wounded. Her self-defense abilities were all artifice and had very little to do with natural aptitude.

  She owed everything she knew to years of determined, patient training by the sentinels. Sure, she could kick ass, but she generally preferred for someone’s back to be turned when she did so. Using poison on her stilettos was just another way to level a very uneven playing field. This was not a time for her to fight. This was a time for her to do as she was told and keep out of the way.

  She locked the doors and pulled herself into a compact package on the passenger’s seat floor, arms over her head. Her knife wound gave a throb so vicious it seemed to shoot to her spine. She could feel a gush of warmth against her chilled skin as it started bleeding again. It was the least of her worries at the moment.

  She hated this part, hated it when someone she cared about put his life on the line for her. No matter how many times she went through it, it never got easier.

  “Be okay,” she whispered to Tiago. “Be safe.”

  That was when the shooting started.

  FOUR

  The sound of gunshots passed quickly. What she heard next was incomprehensible and just as frightening. There was a sudden explosion of glass shattering, a shout of rage and then a high scream of pain.

  After what seemed like forever but was just a few moments, Niniane couldn’t take it any longer. She broke a cardinal rule and disobeyed her bodyguard. She shifted and eased up on one knee until she could peer out the rain-smeared window.

  The SUV and the other car’s headlights, along with the streetlamps, caused the surrounding area to be unevenly lit and filled with deep shadows. Still, Tiago’s aggressive black-clad form was unmistakable as he slammed one boot down on the head of a supine figure. The figure convulsed then lay still.

  She covered her mouth, swallowing hard. There was another figure slumped at the steering wheel. The driver’s window was starred with bullet holes.

  Her gaze darted around. The Dark Fae tradition of working in triads extended to more than just legitimate groupings of governmental officials. If this was a Dark Fae triad, where was the third?

  She pressed a hand to the wound at her side, and grimaced and panted as she began the painful process of wriggling back into the driver’s seat of the SUV. Maybe she couldn’t do much to help, but she could be ready to drive them from the scene if needed.

  A dark figure lunged from the blackness of nearby shrubbery. The breath left her in a hiss. It was a shorter, slighter figure than Tiago and moved with killing speed as it threw something at him.

  But Tiago was well aware of the threat and already acting. He dove to one side. He shot the other figure as he fell to the ground. The attacking Fae lurched and dropped. Tiago rolled. With a single leap that spanned at least twenty feet he was on the fallen Fae, who must have already been dead, because Tiago straightened almost immediately. He stared down at his fallen opponent for what seemed a long time. Then he spun to glare around at the scene. His raptor’s eyes flashed eerily in the car’s headlights as he turned toward her.

  “That’s it,” he said. He knew full well that she could hear him with her sensitive Fae ears. “Don’t give me any lip this time. We’re going back to New York where I know I can keep you safe.”

  She stared at his angry face as he stalked toward the SUV. Her finger went out and hovered over the lock button on the doors. She pulled her hand away and left the doors locked.

  Tiago reached the driver’s side and pulled at the handle. He slammed his fist into the car. “What the hell are you doing now?”

  “You aren’t taking me anywhere,” she told him.

  “You are a crazy person. Open the goddamn door.”

  She looked into his fierce gaze and shook her head. She knew he wouldn’t break the window, or do anything that might risk hurting her. She touched the glass where his fist was planted. She was filled with a yearning to let him take her home, to make the nightmare stop, but she knew he couldn’t. Then she put the SUV into gear and pulled away.

  Tiago watched her drive away, his clenched fists planted on his hips. As she looked at him in the rearview mirror, blindinghot lightning struck the pavement near his feet, and the scene flashed black and white.

  He roared, “GodDAMMIT, Tricks!”

  She drove with intense concentration, mindful of the speed limit and the furious thunderbird that shadowed her over-head. She was also quite lost. After a few minutes she gave up trying to figure out the route on her own and punched the destination into the GPS system on the dashboard.

  It was a terrible journey and it felt like it took forever. She almost pulled over a couple of times to let Tiago take the wheel. Her chills came back and raked at her body from the inside, and her skin hurt. Then her heart started working too hard, as if she were running, and her gaze started to blur. She kept a death grip on the steering wheel, afraid to loosen her hold for even a moment.

  The Regent hotel was located in Chicago’s Gold Coast district on the near north side, a historic neighborhood that had arisen after the Great Chicago Fire. Located just a few blocks from the famous Magnificent Mile shopping district on Michigan Avenue, the Regent was a luxury boutique hotel with mahogany-paneled walls, antiques, artwork, fireplaces and an old-world charm that was much favored by the Elder Races. />
  At long last she pulled onto the short one-way street where the Regent was located, and she could see the hotel’s well-lit portico ahead. There was also a mob of people milling about, huddling under umbrellas and awnings as they talked and drank coffee.

  Camera crews and television vans. Of course.

  And there was Tiago, wearing his mad assassin’s face as he leaned against a crosswalk post and watched the oncoming traffic on the one-way street with those dark killer’s eyes. He was quite the satanic figure, massive and motionless and clad in black, and wholly focused on her. She tried not to let the sight of him affect her as she looked away, but her hyperawareness of his presence added to her clumsiness. He looked so savage. No, sexy. No, savage. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

  She carefully pulled the SUV over to the curb and parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. “Big, tough, scary Wyr,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Tiago’s chin lowered to his chest as he looked at her. The downward angle of his eyebrows became more pronounced. The overhead streetlamp slashed black shadows across his hatchet-carved features.

  The skin at the back of her neck tingled. She whispered, “You can’t hear me whisper from all the way over there, can you?”

  He tilted his head in silent acknowledgment. Adrenaline pulsed. Her bones were wiser and more sensible than her foolish brain. They reminded her that his mad face was the last thing many creatures saw before they died.

  Phooey. The keys clacked as her shaking fingers turned off the ignition. The spurt of adrenaline was a weak one that fled as her muscles seemed to turn to goo. She slumped in her seat. It hurt to breathe.

  A light tap sounded at the window. She forced herself to look up. Tiago stood at the driver’s window again. His madassassin face had morphed into sharp concern. He put his flattened hand on the window. It looked as big as a dinner plate. “Faerie,” he said. “Niniane. Please open the door now.”

  Her arm felt like it weighed fifty pounds as she pushed the lock button. He yanked the door open and leaned over her, his brow creased in a frown. He put a hand to her forehead and took in a quick breath.

  “They all want Niniane Lorelle,” she said to him. Her voice sounded tinny and weird, and echoed in her own ears. “But who am I kidding? That girl died a long time ago. Tricks is just going to have to fake it.”

  His expression gentled in a way she would never have believed if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The satanic killer morphed into a handsome worried man. “Niniane didn’t die,” he said. He stroked her hair. “She just went into hiding for a very long time. She’s a brave, beautiful woman who needs medical attention now.”

  “I know, it’s infected,” she said. She watched as a man from the crowd noticed them and began to walk toward them. A few others joined him, then more. An internal quaking rattled her limbs, and her breathing grew choppy. She gripped Tiago’s thick, strong wrist, and her gaze clung to his. “Please don’t leave me until I get better. I can’t do this alone and sick. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

  Death came back into his face as he glared at the oncoming crowd. “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried,” he said. “And you might recall, faerie—you’ve tried. Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She nodded. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and pulled out of the SUV. He took the Glock from his waistband and pointed it at the crowd. People cried out and jerked to a halt. In his deep battlefield-carrying voice, Tiago said, “Her highness has survived two assassination attempts in less than thirty-six hours. Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t shoot you, because I will. Back the fuck up.”

  The crowd stumbled back, staring at him. Niniane stared at him too. He was pure aggression, from that powerful muscled body to his hatchet-hewn face, black hair shining wet from the rain and those hard, glittering eyes. The last of her strength ebbed away as she relaxed. He really would take care of everything.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  A flicker of his eyes, a small, brief quirk at the corner of his lips. He told the crowd, “Everybody—move across the street. Now.”

  She must have closed her eyes for a minute, because suddenly there were uniformed police all around. She startled violently as her overtaxed body tried to pulse another alarm, but something must have happened when she wasn’t looking. The police had recognized Tiago and were helping, not confronting him. They cleared the path to the hotel.

  Tiago leaned into the SUV one more time to ease his arms under her shoulders and knees. She tucked her face into his neck as he cradled her against his broad chest. Cameras started to flash, sparking in the wet night like fireflies. Tiago’s Power enveloped her, a warm masculine blanket of inexhaustible energy. She concentrated on his scent, on his massive strength, which kept the rest of the chaotic, dangerous world at bay. Thank you, thank you.

  Uniformed staff held the doors as he strode into the Regent. He headed toward the reception desk, intensely aware of the small shivering female in his arms. She felt so vulnerable. Rage swept over him again as he recalled the footage of when she was knifed.

  A distinguished, well-dressed human male with salt-and-pepper hair approached Tiago before he was halfway to the desk. The male was flanked by hotel security. Tiago bared his teeth at them when they were still several feet away. “Stop there.”

  The men froze and regarded him with wide-eyed wariness. The human in the suit said, “Sir, whatever we can do—please know the full resources of the hotel are at her highness’s disposal.”

  “We need a suite on a secured floor,” Tiago ordered. “It should be at least two floors away from the Dark Fae delegation. And her highness needs medical attention. Get a doctor. Make it happen now.”

  The suit nodded and spoke in an urgent low voice into a handheld. He said, “If you’ll follow me, sir.” He gestured and they strode to the elevators. Security fell into step behind them. The suit looked at Niniane, then back to Tiago, worry in his eyes. Her knife wound had bled through the dressing and the T-shirt. A patch of red showed clearly against the light material. She had not bothered to slip on the flip-flops. Her delicate pale legs and feet seemed very bare. Tiago raged that her wounded nakedness was so visible to the public.

  He and the suit stepped onto the elevator. Tiago snapped at the security guards, “Take the stairs.”

  They jerked to a halt. As the doors shut, they turned to sprint away.

  He looked at the suit and said, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir. You’re the Wyr sentinel Tiago Black Eagle,” said the human. “Lord Cuelebre called personally and informed us of your involvement. It is my understanding Lord Cuelebre has also been in contact with Chicago PD. I’m the hotel manager, Scott Hughes.”

  Tiago nodded. The seven Wyr sentinels had a legal authority that had several things in common with that of a federal U.S. Marshal, although there were several discrete differences as well that mainly had to do with the chain of command. When Tiago was in the States, among other things he had the authority to apprehend fugitives from Wyr justice, enlist help from willing civilians, and protect Wyr judiciaries, dignitaries and witnesses. He assumed control of the current situation from a long-standing precedent. Niniane had been a public member of Wyr society for many years, and she had often been under the sentinels’ protection.

  It helped to have some of his road smoothed. Now was not the time to fuck around with an argument over jurisdiction and weapons privileges.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” Tiago said. “It was her choice to come back to the hotel, not mine. I am on a hair trigger, and I will kill anyone who moves too quickly or tries to get too close. Clear the floor of the suite and put guards on the elevators and stairway exits. In fact, if you haven’t already done so, clear the hotel. You might have heard what I said outside—there have been two assassination attempts on her in less than thirty-six hours. I’m prepared to shoot and ask questions later. Do not let the Dark Fae delegation come ont
o that floor for any reason, not until we have some kind of independent authority and arbitration on-site.”

  “Some of the hotel staff and guards are undercover police,” said Hughes. “They were put in place once it was decided her highness was staying here before crossing over to the Dark Fae land for her coronation. Lord Cuelebre has advised us that the Elder tribunal is sending one of its Councillors, who will be here shortly.”

  “I would have expected nothing less,” said Tiago. The tribunal would not be sending either the Dark Fae or the Wyr representative, but a representative from one of the other five demesnes in order to maintain an impartial stance in arbitrating any conflicts that might arise. Tiago dismissed the subject and thought for a moment. Safety, shelter, food, clothing. “Is there a suite with a kitchen next to the one we’re going to occupy?”

  “Yes, all the suites on that floor are business class. They’re equipped with small kitchens.”

  “Put a chef and an assistant in a neighboring suite. They’ll be on call twenty-four/seven. Better put a hotel housekeeper in there too. Put one of those undercover cops in there. The staff stays sequestered for now. They eat whatever they cook, plus you need to make sure they can test for poisons in any grocery delivery. Also, she needs clothing. See that she gets some of her things from the penthouse. Make sure they are swept for poisons and thoroughly cleaned before they’re delivered.”

  The hotel manager was looking more somber by the moment. “All right.”

  Tiago stared hard at the manager. “I’m holding you responsible. You don’t want to piss me off. Understand?”

  Hughes swallowed hard but kept a calm demeanor and nodded. “I understand.”

  Tiago ducked his chin and said gently in Niniane’s ear, “Almost there now, faerie. Hang on.”

  She nodded, a wisp of her silky black hair tickling his chin, and whispered, “You need c-clothes too.”