Knights of Obsidian

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  “Hudson is knight marshal on Donavan Hart’s team,” Jonathan explains. He turns back to the man. “Is your whole team here?”

  “They will be.” The knight’s eyes are still on me, and it looks as though he’s trying to peg my faction as well.

  “Passeridae,” I say, quenching his curiosity.

  Looking surprised because Sparrows don’t usually work for the Knights’ Guild, he touches his chest. “Dragon.”

  “Fire?” I ask, guessing what he specializes in. Dragons can manipulate all the elements, but there’s usually one they excel at.

  “Earth.” He grins. “Are you one of our undercover models?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “No, Jonathan’s modeling.”

  Hudson raises a fiery brow, smirking at the Griffon.

  “Don’t start,” Jonathan says with a huff. “I plan to have words with Gray.”

  “Madeline,” Gray says as if his name drew his attention, which it probably did considering his heightened hearing. “Come here for a moment?”

  I excuse myself and make my way toward our team leader and the man in the suit. The man is older, probably in his late fifties, and he frowns in thought. “You must be Lord Bennet’s daughter.”

  I nod, clasping my hands at my waist. “Yes, sir.”

  “Madeline, may I introduce you to Ryker,” Gray says. “He’s head of the Cherry Creek Knights’ Guild.”

  So he’s the equivalent of Brad, Gray’s boss and the owner of the newly deceased Porsche—important, but not quite as intimidating as Lord Traverly.

  “Pleasure,” I say, shaking his hand when he offers it.

  “Ryker,” Gray continues, “Madeline is the newest member of my team.”

  “Faction?” the man asks, though technically it’s a bit rude.

  “Sparrow,” Gray says immediately. “She’s smart, organized.”

  I smile at him, grateful he’s defending me but self-conscious that he feels he must. Select few people in this world know I’m actually a Fox, but it makes little sense that I, as a Sparrow, would be on Gray’s team.

  With a secret smile directed at me, Gray adds, “She’s also good with a Taser.”

  “I must be honest; I’m surprised Lord Bennet agreed to this placement,” Ryker says. “Have you always been interested in a position with the Knights’ Guild?”

  “No, sir.” I grace him with a sweet smile, slightly irked by his patronizing tone. “I had hoped to plan charity galas.”

  His face freezes in a pleasantly blank expression as if he simply doesn’t know how to respond to that.

  Gray chokes back a laugh and clears his throat. Before either find their voices, two more men walk in the room, both somewhere in their late twenties to early thirties. One has golden blond hair cut short, and the other has dark brown hair hanging to his shoulders. I glance at Gray, wondering who they are. They’re average height, average build. Fit enough, but not knight marshal fit.

  “Excuse us, Ryker,” Gray says, looping his arm through mine. “I need to speak with my team before we begin.”

  Gray pauses when we reach the newcomers. “Brett, Thomas, glad you could make it. Where’s Chloe?”

  “Filling out a patent that must be filed by midnight,” one of the men responds. “But we’ll put her on speaker when you begin.”

  Gray nods and motions first to the dark-haired man and then the blond, saying “Madeline, this is Thomas and Brett. They’re going to be adding an extra layer of surveillance to the convention hall.”

  I nod to the men as he finishes the introductions.

  Several more people filter in as Gray and the two technicians talk, including a gorgeous auburn-haired woman in a fitted sweater dress/black leather jacket combo and a tall, sandy-haired man that has knight marshal written all over his chiseled chest.

  The woman helps herself to coffee and then sits toward the back of the room by herself as if she doesn’t know anyone in attendance. The man joins Jonathan, Eric, and Hudson. I can feel his eyes on me, and I have no doubt he’s asking who I am and what I’m doing here.

  “We’re about to begin,” Gray says to me after excusing himself from Brett and Thomas and heading for our team.

  “Hey,” I say to the Wolf before we reach the others, squeezing his arm. “How are you? How’s your uncle? Did you get a chance to see him?”

  “Yeah.” Gray looks down, and raw weariness washes over his handsome face. “He’s hanging in there. Finn’s with him now.”

  “And how are you?” I press gently.

  His light blue eyes meet mine. For a moment, I expect him to tell me he’s fine, but then his expression eases. “I’m tired.”

  A part of me wants to hug him, try to ease his pain—but that part is stupid. The sane part knows he’d see the friendly gesture as something more, and that’s the very last thing I need right now. So I settle for a gentle smile and hope he knows I care.

  When we reach our group, the sandy-haired knight steps forward. “Scott, Dragon faction,” he offers, thankfully bypassing all the awkward introductions. “And you’re Madeline, Sparrow…?”

  And just like everyone else, when the knight says my faction, he gives me a funny look.

  “Nice to meet you.” I sit on a couch next to Jonathan. Immediately, as if he doesn’t even think about it, Jonathan extends his arm on the backrest behind me. I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if anyone else notices, wondering if they realize how badly I want to scoot closer to the Griffon just to see if he’ll drape his arm across my shoulders.

  But I don’t, and he doesn’t.

  Gray steps to the front of the room, surveying his audience before he moves to a laptop on a nearby table. The television comes to life, displaying a photograph of The Mediterranean, one of the most expensive hotel-casinos in the newer section of Las Vegas. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight, especially on such short notice.”

  The room goes quiet as we wait for Gray to continue.

  “Every year since it’s opening, The Mediterranean has hosted the MTR Fashion Expo in its convention center.”

  The photograph changes to a slideshow of snapshots of the convention hall, and I get honest-to-goodness goosebumps. There are dresses…handbags…scarves…shoes…

  It’s so beautiful.

  Focus, Madeline.

  “The event runs for a full month,” Gray continues, “from the beginning of November through the first of December, breaking only for Thanksgiving. This year, there are sixty-four exhibitors, fifteen designers, a hundred twenty-four models, and an expected twenty-six million patrons.”

  I force my gaze from a display of not-yet-released Marsilla Mica handbags to Gray, trying to focus on what he’s saying.

  “It’s a nightmare event,” he continues. “The humans have security, but during a series of stage rehearsals last week, five Aparian models of the Cristatus faction—three women and two men—were abducted at different times, drained of their magic, and left wandering on the Strip. None were physically injured or have a recollection of the attack, which leads us to believe persuasion or charisma was used on them as well.”

  Thomas’s hand flies into the air like we’re in class. “Do you know how the attacker siphoned the magic?”

  Gray shakes his head. “We do not. The guild’s researchers strongly believe a gargoyle venom charm was used, though we must not discount the possibility that we could be dealing with a Vulture.”

  An unnatural hush falls over the room, and a shiver travels my spine.

  Griffons like Jonathan are rare, but Vultures—the Cathartes faction—are practically unheard of. The Royal Guild employs one, using his talents on the darkest of Aparian criminals, stripping them of their magic while they serve time in the Dungeons—our magical prison, deep under the earth. Only the strongest Aparians can fight a Vulture’s magic, and those individuals are very few.

  “However, we strongly believe it’s the work of a Fox wielding a charm,” Gray assures us. “And to ease your con
cern, I would like to remind you we have a Griffon on our team, and he will be keeping a close eye on the crowds.”

  Nearly everyone in the room looks at Jonathan with something akin to reverence. He gives them a modest nod that makes me want to laugh—he’s not really that humble, but he puts on a good show.

  A man sitting on the couch across from us asks, “Do we have a motive?”

  “We believe so,” Gray answers. “It took quite a bit of searching, but we found a request posted on an obscure human black market site that was willing to pay five thousand dollars for ‘Essence of the Peacock.’ We believe certain criminal Aparians have begun using the website. The listing was taken down five hours after it was posted, but we were able to obtain it.”

  “Contact information?” Eric asks.

  “A phone number linked to a pay-as-you-go cell phone. When we attempted to call, it was already disconnected.”

  “Could you trace the credit card that was used to activate it?” Brett asks.

  Gray shakes his head. “They used a pre-paid gift card and paid for it with cash. We have no choice but to go undercover and hope they confront a member of our team. Jonathan and Annika will be posing as models.” He motions to the beautiful woman sitting alone in the back when he says the woman’s name.

  Oh, she’s a Peacock. That makes sense.

  “Is it wise to risk the Griffon?” the man on the couch across from us asks. “What if he’s attacked as well? His magic could go for fifty grand at the very minimum in the right circles.”

  “It’s not ideal,” Gray admits. “But we’re taking every precaution, and Jonathan has a unique advantage in that he’ll see his attacker coming.”

  I glance at Annika, wondering how she’ll take it that no one is particularly concerned for her safety. But she only sits there, ankles crossed like a prim and proper lady in a biker jacket, sipping her coffee.

  Gray continues the meeting, making sure everyone understands their roles. Eric is posing as Jonathan’s agent, and I’m the Bunny’s assistant. When Gray arrives tomorrow, he, Scott, and Donavan—the man on the couch—will be working in security. Hudson will act as Annika’s assistant. Brett, Thomas, and their partner, Chloe, will be behind the scenes, handling their surveillance equipment.

  “We’re also working with several of the Vegas teams,” Gray says.

  “Do we have someone inside the event?” Donavan asks.

  I’m starting to get a feel for the man. He’s pushy, opinionated, stubborn, and the leader of his team—pretty sure he’s a Wolf like Gray. This could be interesting.

  “We do.” Gray shuts the laptop, and the television screen goes blank. “The director of Menswear is Aparian. We’ve been in contact with him and his team. He seems eager to help. His wife has an exhibit on the women’s side, and Annika will be working with her.”

  Donavan nods, looking temporarily appeased.

  Gray then picks up a stack of manila folders and sends them around the room. “All the details are in here. We’ll have another meeting tomorrow night with the Vegas teams after the convention closes. Any questions?”

  Brett and Thomas have several, but seeing as how they’re a little too technical for my liking, I rise with the knights, feeling acutely out of place.

  “A lot of testosterone in here,” a woman says from my shoulder.

  Startled, I turn and find Annika. She gives me a hesitant smile, looking like she just might be glad for some female conversation.

  “Don’t I know it.” I break away from the guys. “I’m Madeline,” I say even though Gray did another round of quick introductions before he gave us our individual assignments.

  “Annika.”

  “You’re on Donavan’s team, right?”

  “No, I’m freelance, but I often work for the guild when an undercover knight needs a wife or girlfriend to adorn his arm while he ventures into a den of well-to-do Foxes.” She rolls her eyes. “No one expects any form of deception from a vapid Peacock, so it’s the perfect cover.”

  I laugh, understanding far too well. People see my skirts and heels and tend to underestimate me also.

  “So, you’re on Gray’s team,” she says, her eyes moving to the Wolf at the front of the room. Her gaze is a tiny bit hungry and way too familiar for my liking. “What’s that like?”

  “Turbulent,” I admit, laughing again, but this time it’s somewhat forced.

  “I imagine.” She pulls her attention away from Gray and looks at Eric and Jonathan. “Your teammates are easy on the eyes.”

  “Yes,” I say absently, liking her attention on Jonathan even less. “And they know it.”

  She flashes me a smirk full of genuine amusement.

  “The Griffon.” She nods toward Jonathan. “Is he available?”

  “Oh.” I look away, wrinkling my nose. “I…I don’t know. He’s pretty casual with his relationships.”

  “Sounds like my type.”

  I manage another laugh, this one less convincing. Annika doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, I suppose I should go,” she says. “I fly into Vegas tomorrow. I’ll see you at the convention?”

  I nod, and she saunters away, swinging her hips in a subtle way only a Peacock could pull off without looking like a wannabe stripper. Hudson watches her leave and then returns to the guys’ conversation, grinning. He says something that I’d bet good money is piggish, and Scott and Eric laugh. But instead of joining in, Jonathan looks my way.

  He flashes me a subtle look, an almost-smile that barely tugs his lips but I feel all the way down to the tips of my toes. It’s the kind of look that makes a girl feel like she’s the only person in the room.

  It’s not the first time he’s given it to me, but we were pretending before.

  Or were we?

  “Hey, princess,” Gray says from behind me, setting his hand on my shoulder. I turn, concerned by how tired he sounds. “I have to go back to the hospital.”

  I nod, my heart aching for him. He hid his worry while he was speaking to the group, which is so like him, but it’s obvious he’s hurting now.

  “I don’t know your uncle well,” I say quietly. “But it seems you’re close to him.”

  “The man has his faults,” Gray says, “but he never made me feel like an outsider.”

  “How’s your dad?” I ask, referring to his stepfather—Finn’s biological father.

  Gray shrugs, looking away.

  “And…” I grimace even though I know I must ask. “Finn?”

  My distaste for my ex breaks through Gray’s sorrow, and he smiles. “Freaking out.”

  “Good,” I say, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off my dress. “At least he realizes the weight of the responsibility he’s about to accept.”

  I know I’m terrified of Finn stepping into the position of grand duke. Forgive me, but I don’t think his moral compass is particularly true.

  Gray lets out a single laugh and meets my eyes. “Thanks for flying tonight. I know it’s a lot after everything.”

  Jonathan, Eric, and I are the only ones going over this evening so we can be there in the morning. The rest of the extended team will arrive tomorrow.

  “It’s better than staying here, dwelling on everything.”

  He pauses and then steps in, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “Have you seen anything unusual?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “You are going to have to learn to trust me again,” I say softly. “I’ll tell you if something happens. I promise.”

  “Just be careful,” he instructs.

  “I will.” I step away, ready to end the conversation.

  As if receiving a signal, Jonathan joins us. “We need to leave, or we’ll miss our flight.”

  I glance at the people who will be part of our team for the next week or so. It’s going to be harder than ever to keep my magic under wraps.

  Looking back at Jonathan, I nod. “I’m ready.”

 
12

  It’s official. Everyone on the ten-fifteen flight from Denver to Las Vegas hates my cat. Really, though, they just hate me because I brought him. But how was I supposed to know big and brawny Eric is terrified of flying?

  Charles lets out a yowl, the type that should come from a shadow creature and not a sweet little pink hairless kitty in a bomber jacket. His eyes spark with pure fear and hatred, and his tail whips about like an angry snake.

  “It’s okay,” Eric says, cradling the cat with one hand while squeezing his own knee with a death grip that would make weaker beings cry. Over and over he says, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Then he mixes it up and adds, “We’re just thirty thousand feet in the air in a metal cylinder of death.”

  I sit directly to Eric’s left, between him and Jonathan, and I’ve spent half the flight patting his shoulder like I’m doing now. “Only another forty-five minutes.”

  But apparently, that doesn’t help because he stiffens like I just said the plane was going down.

  Who knew a two-hour flight could be so traumatic?

  A woman in front of us turns in her seat and scowls at Charles. “Shouldn’t that beast be with the luggage?”

  She’s probably in her mid-twenties, with a no-nonsense look about her and dainty features. Her chestnut hair is pulled up in a high and hasty ponytail, and she doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on her enviable fresh face.

  “I’m trying to work,” she adds.

  “It’s fine,” I assure her again, pushing magic into the words. My persuasion must have already worn off. I only used a little on her when she first spotted the cat while boarding the plane—I’m trying to be conscious of my magic, and I don’t want her as loopy as the poor bartender in Tahoe. But I guess I didn’t use quite enough. “Be nice,” I feel the need to tack to the end.

  “You’re going to have to do something about Eric,” Jonathan says under his breath from my other side. He looks half asleep, with his eyes closed, wrapped in a blanket one of the stewardesses brought him. Both have been tripping all over themselves to make the knight comfortable. They’re so enamored, they might have forgiven me for taking Charles out of the crate even without my magic.