And his eyes were no longer velvet. One look into those eyes and you knew their owner had been through some heavy shit and, if he got pissed off, you wanted to be miles away.
I shut off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.
Derek opened the door for me. “Hey, Kate.” He had a wolf’s voice, raspy, harsh around the edges, and occasionally sardonic. The ordeal at the Midnight Games had permanently damaged his vocal cords as well as his face. He’d never howl at the moon again, in fur or out, but his snarl made you cringe.
He looked my truck over. “Nice vehicle. Inconspicuous. Stealthy even.”
“Spare me.” I got out, carrying Teddy Jo’s sword wrapped in flame-retardant cloth, and shut the car in the poodle’s face. “Stay.”
Derek nodded at the vehicle. “Who is that?”
“Your replacement.”
He led me away from the front gate to a narrow side door.
“You replaced me with a shaved poodle?”
“He’s got mad skills.”
Derek’s eyebrows crept up.
“He can vomit and urinate at the same time and he doesn’t make fun of my car.”
He laughed under his breath.
We entered the door and started up a long winding staircase. “Let me guess, he’s up at the very top.”
Derek nodded. “Curran has the top floor to himself.”
“It’s good to be the Beast Lord.”
We kept climbing. And climbing. And climbing. Five minutes later the stairs finally ended in a large door. Derek opened it, inviting me into a small room, ten by ten. Another door blocked the exit at the far wall.
Derek waited a moment.
The second door swung open, revealing two shapeshifters, an older bald man and a woman about my age, both in superb shape. They gave me the evil eye.
Derek nodded at them.
They plainly didn’t want to let me in.
Amber rolled over Derek’s eyes. “Move,” he said quietly.
They stepped aside. Derek motioned me in. “Please.”
The boy wonder had moved up the ranks.
We passed between the shapeshifters into a hallway. On the left was a small room. A third shapeshifter, a man about Derek’s age, sat there.
We strode down the hallway, the older man and the woman shadowing us. Curran’s guards definitely had doubts about my presence here. They were right. I was up to no good.
“The gym will be on the left.” Derek nodded at the hallway, where the stone wall ended, replaced by glass. “His living quarters are upstairs. There is a small stairway down the hall.”
He pointed to the doors as we passed them. “Private meeting room. Sauna.”
“And that?” I nodded to another door.
The bodyguards looked like someone had stepped on their feet.
Derek’s face turned perfectly neutral. “It’s reserved for the female guests.”
I opened the door. A huge canopied bed occupied most of the room, gauzy curtains drawn up like clouds above the snow-white comforter. The furniture was pale, blond oak with golden accents, elegant and light, almost floating above the polished wooden floor. A large dresser stood against the wall, next to a vanity table with a three-panel mirror. The middle of the floor was taken over by an overstuffed sofa facing a fireplace with a thick white rug by it. A flat screen hung on the wall above the fireplace. The far wall was frosted glass, strategically interrupted by clear stretches forming a bamboo design. The door stood ajar and through it I saw a pristine hot tub.
“Where is Barbie?”
The female shapeshifter snickered and choked it off.
“Is there a stripper pole?”
The older man winced. Derek looked pained. “No.” “Speakers for the mood music?”
Derek pointed at the corner above a small refrigerator. I bet there was cold champagne in that fridge.
I stepped out, shut the door, and pulled on an oven mitten. The shapeshifters watched me with great interest. I untied the cord securing the flame-retardant cloth on Teddy Jo’s sword and handed it to Derek, revealing a thick, asbestos-lined scabbard. “Hold this, please.”
He took it.
I grasped the onyx-colored hilt and pulled the sword free. It was a classic Hoplite blade, leaf-shaped, about two feet long. A spark ran down the metal, from the hilt to the point. The blade burst into blinding white fire.
The shapeshifters jerked back.
Derek’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s a loaner from the Greek angel of death.” I aimed the sword at the lock and touched it to the door. Blue sparks flew.
“What are you doing?” the female bodyguard snarled.
“I’m welding the bimbo room shut.”
She opened her mouth and clamped it closed without a word.
I lifted the sword. The lock had melted into a blob of quickly cooling metal. Lovely. I held the sword straight up and turned to Derek. “Where did you say the gym was?”
They led me down the hallway into a large room. The gym was state of the art: a free-weight rack, filled with custom dumbbells, a curl bar for working the biceps, a station for dips and leg raises, and in the middle of the floor the bench press—a leather bench with a bar rest. You lay flat on the bench and raised a bar loaded with weights above your chest. Curran’s bar was already loaded. I checked the numbers etched on the disks—custom made, two hundreds and a fifty on each side. Five hundred pounds. The bar had to be specially made to support the weight. Curran truly was a scary bastard.
I smiled and lowered the flaming sword.
THE PHONE SCREAMED. I CLAWED MY EYES OPEN. Twelve minutes after 2 a.m. I had gotten in about two hours ago—Teddy Jo wanted to chat, and while we chatted, the magic crashed. It took me forever to get home, and my skull hummed like someone was beating a kettle drum between my ears.
I yawned and picked up the phone. “Kate Daniels.”
“That was a custom weight bench!” Curran snarled.
My voice dripped bewildered innocence. “I’m sorry?”
“You welded the press bar to my bench.”
“Perhaps it would help if you started at the beginning. I take it someone broke into your private exercise facility in the Keep?”
“You! It was you. Your scent is all over the bench.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I vandalize your bench press?” Think, Curran. Think, you idiot.
A lion roar burst through the phone. I held it away from my ear until he was done. “Very scary. I feel it’s my duty to remind you that threatening a member of law enforcement is punishable by law. If you would like to file a petition regarding your break-in, the Order will gladly look into the matter for you.”
The phone fell silent. Oh God, I gave him an aneurysm.
Curran made an odd noise, halfway between a snarl and a purr. “There is catnip all over my bed.”
I know, I dumped my entire supply on your comforter. It was a hell of a bed, too, enormous, piled with thick mattresses until it was almost four feet tall. I had to literally climb onto it.
“Catnip? How peculiar. Perhaps you should speak to your head of housekeeping.”
“I have to kill you,” Curran said, his voice oddly calm. “That’s the only reasonable solution.”
Apparently, I had to spell it out. “There’s no need to be so dramatic. I understand that having someone enter your extremely well-guarded private territory, wreak havoc in it, and then escape, unscathed, can be quite upsetting.”
He said nothing. He didn’t get it. I treated him to a pass on his terms and he didn’t get it. I had just made a fool of myself again.
“You know what, never mind. You’re dense like a rock.” I’d chased him as he had chased me and he couldn’t even figure it out.
“I’m leaving the catnip where it is,” he said. “You will remove every piece of it. And you’ll do it naked.”
“Only in your dreams.” And I meant it, too.
“Whatever.” I hung up and exhaled.
The attack poodle gave me a bewildered look.
“I’m in love with an idiot.”
The dog turned his head to the side.
“Just wait until he figures out I shut him out of his slut hut.”
The poodle whined softly.
“I don’t need any criticism from you. If you can go a day without barfing or destroying my house, then I might listen to what you have to say. Until then, keep your opinions to yourself.”
I fell back into my bed and put a pillow on my head. I’d just had a conversation with a poodle and accused him of criticizing me. Curran had finally driven me out of my mind.
CHAPTER 14
I WOKE UP EARLY AND LAY IN BED FOR ABOUT TEN minutes, thinking of various ways I could kill Curran. Unfortunately, I still had the Steel Mary to catch, so I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed.
Outside the world had turned completely white. The snow must’ve started shortly after I got in and at least three inches of powder covered the asphalt. Thick gray clouds smothered the sky. Cold burned my face. Winter had taken Atlanta into its mouth and bit hard.
I looked at the attack poodle. “Are you cold?”
He wiggled his shaved butt at me.
I went back inside and added a T-shirt under my turtleneck and a green sweatshirt on top of it. Together with my old cloak, the layers would keep me warm. Next, I retrieved an old torn-up black sweater from the closet, cut off the sleeves, and stuffed the poodle into it. Since I’d shaved him, I now had to provide the artificial fur. He looked . . . cute. Some people got vicious Dobermans. I got a shaved attack poodle in a black sweater. His tough, spawn-of-hell image had taken a fatal blow, but at least he would be warm.
We headed to the Order. The snow crunched under my feet. Saiman would love it. Being a frost giant, he lived for winter. For me, the winter meant high heating bills, eating lean, and freezing as I tried to conquer snowdrifts. The colder the weather, the more poor people would die of exposure.
We turned a corner onto a narrow path between two rows of decrepit office buildings. The magic hit hard here. Some offices had crumbled and spilled onto the street in huge piles of bricks and mortar. Some teetered on the brink of collapse, looking over the edge but not quite willing to take a plunge. Once the entire street crumbled, the city would clear the rubble out and rebuild—the location was too close to the Capitol to remain vacant for long.
A male voice floated from behind the bend. “. . . just walk right on. Gotta pay.”
A shakedown. I picked up speed and circled the pile of debris.
Two men and a woman crowded an older woman toward a concrete building, all three with a familiar hungry look in their eyes. Not professional thugs, just opportunists—saw an easy mark and took a chance. Bad idea.
The older woman saw me. Short, stocky, she was swaddled in a dark garment. An indigo mesh veil covered her dark hair and forehead. Two deep-set eyes looked at me from a face the color of walnut. She showed no expression. No fear. No anxiety.
I headed toward them. The attack poodle trotted next to me, amused.
“It’s our turf,” the younger woman barked.
“Actually it’s my turf.”
The thugs spun to me.
“Let’s see . . . You’re hassling people in my territory, so you owe me a fee. A couple of fingers ought to do it. Do we have a volunteer?”
The small thug pulled a bowie knife from a sheath on his waist.
I kept coming. “That’s a mistake.”
The thug crouched down. He clenched his knife, like he was drowning and it was a straw that would pull him out. A little crazy light danced in his eyes. “Come on, whore. Come on.”
The oldest bluff in the book: get a crazy glimmer in your eyes, look like you’re ready to fight, and the other guy might back off. Heh.
“That might work better for you if you held the knife properly. You were doing okay until you pulled the blade. Now I know that you have no clue how to use it and I’ll have to chop your hand off and shove that knife up your ass just to teach you a lesson. Nothing personal. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I pulled Slayer out. I had years of practice to back me up and I made the draw fast.
The two bravos behind the knife-wielding thug backed away.
I looked at Slayer’s blade. “Well, check this out. Mine is bigger. Let’s go, knife-master. I don’t have all day.”
The knife thug took a small step back, spun on his heel, and peeled out like his life depended on it. His friends chased him down the alley.
I sheathed Slayer. Their would-be victim didn’t move. Her eyes stared straight at me, unblinking, the irises so dark, I couldn’t tell where her pupils were. She smiled, wide lips stretching, her mouth opened, and she laughed. It was a throaty, genuine laugh, deep for a woman.
She wasn’t laughing at the thugs. She was laughing at me.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
She gave no indication of having heard me.
I shook my head and kept going. The attack poodle followed. The woman’s laughter floated after me. Even after we turned off onto the side path, I could still hear it.
“It doesn’t matter if she’s a creepy old lady,” I told the attack poodle. “We still had to do our job.”
Ten minutes later we stepped through the door of the Order’s building. Andrea exploded out of the staircase, her eyes huge.
“Someone broke into Curran’s private quarters in the Keep and welded his weight bench together. They also melted the lock on the room where he entertains his women. Was it you?”
“He’s making a big deal about never expecting me to behave like a shapeshifter. So I did.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
It’s not polite to lie to your best friend. “It’s a possibility.”
“You challenged him. The whole Keep is talking about it. He’ll have to retaliate. He’s a cat, Kate, which means he’s weird, and he never courted anyone that way. There is no telling what he’ll do. He doesn’t operate in the same world you do. He might blow up your house because he thinks it’s funny.”
I waved my arm. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t get it.”
Andrea shook her blond head. “Oh no. He got it.”
“How do you know?”
“Your office smells like him.”
Oh crap.
“Can you sniff out what he did?”
Andrea grimaced. “I can try. But no promises.”
THE OFFICE LOOKED PERFECTLY NORMAL.
Andrea wrinkled her nose and surveyed my working space. “Well, he definitely was here. I’d say about two hours ago.”
She closed her eyes and moved to my desk. “He stood here for a while.” She turned, eyes still closed, and paused by my bookshelves. “Yep, here, too.” She opened her eyes and pulled a book from the far end. The cover showed a drawing of a lion sprawled on a rock outcropping. “You’re reading about lions?”
“Research,” I told her. “In self-defense.”
“Well, he flipped through it.”
Probably chuckled to himself, too.
“I’m not sure how he came in . . .” Andrea frowned.
“Through the window,” I told her.
Her blond eyebrows came together. “How do you figure?”
“The bars are missing.” He must’ve disabled the alarm, too. If the magic had been up, he wouldn’t have gotten through the wards in a million years.
She stared at the window, where the fastenings of a once mighty metal grate jutted sadly into the empty space. “Good call.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m a trained investigator—that’s just the way we roll.”
Andrea rolled her eyes. “If he did anything, I don’t see it. Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway.”
She left. I trudged down to the rec room and got a small doughnut and a cup of coffee. On my return,
the office didn’t look any different. Nothing out of place. Nothing jumping out at me. What the hell did he do? Maybe he did something to my desk. I sat into my chair and checked the drawers. Nope, all my magic crap was still where it was supposed to be.
The phone rang. I picked it up.
“Are you sitting down?” Curran’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Click.
I listened to the disconnect signal. If he wanted me to sit, then I’d stand. I got up. The chair got up with me and I ended up bent over my desk, with the chair stuck to my butt. I grabbed the edge of the chair and tried to pull it off. It remained stuck.
I would murder him. Slowly. And I’d enjoy every second of it.
I sat back down and tried to push from the chair. No dice. I clamped the sides of the table and tried to twist myself off. The chair legs screeched, scraping across the carpet.
Okay.
I picked up the phone and dialed Andrea’s extension.
“Yes?”
“He glued the chair to my ass.”
Silence.
“Is it still . . . attached?”
“I can’t get it off.”
Andrea made some choking noises that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Does it hurt?”
“No. But I can’t get up.”
Choking turned into moans.
“Visitor,” Maxine murmured in my head.
That’s just perfect. I hung up and crossed my arms over my chest. When your butt is permanently attached to a chair, the only thing you can do is sit and hope to look professional.
A familiar man stepped into my office. Of average height and average build, he had a pleasantly unremarkable face, well formed, but neither handsome, nor affected by any strong emotion. If you passed him on a street, you might overlook him the same way you would overlook a familiar building. He was a perfect blank slate, except for the eyes and his black overcoat. Elegant and soft, it was made of some wool I’d never seen before.
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