Knights of Obsidian

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  Sean Patrick continues, “And this is Chloe Rivers. She and a few of her fellow technicians are here from Denver.”

  “You’re with the surveillance group Gray hired?” Eric blurts out without the slightest hint of tact.

  Chloe stands a little straighter, her bright green eyes narrowing. “Technically, the Knights’ Guild hired us to add another layer of surveillance equipment, not Gray. But I suppose Gray chose us, yes.”

  “What do the humans think of all this extra fuss?” I ask, feeling the need to change the subject.

  “We’ve hired a Wolf to smooth ruffled feathers,” Sean Luka says flippantly.

  Oh great. Another Wolf.

  “A Fox might have been more efficient for this sort of thing,” he goes on, “but you never know if they’ll rob you blind.”

  I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes, and probably wouldn’t be able to help myself if Rafe were here.

  Before they say something else that might lead me to get myself into trouble, a female voice calls out, “Eric!”

  We all swivel, and there’s Sara-from-the-park, heading our way in a short skirt that shows off her model-long legs. She grins, eying the knight not unlike a lioness sizes up a zebra. “What are you doing here?”

  Eric freezes—apparently he forgot Sara was working the expo. He looks oddly nervous, like he’s not as pleased to see her as she is to see him.

  “Hey, Sara,” he says, looking shocked when the woman hugs him—and clings to him like a koala.

  Chloe watches the scene, looking mildly put out. She rolls her eyes and says something under her breath that sounds vaguely like, “Peahens.”

  I nearly laugh out loud because I’ve never heard someone use the correct term for the female of the animal species when referring to the faction. The Squirrel catches the amusement that crosses my face, and she gives me a hesitant smile.

  After a moment, Eric pries the woman off his chest. “We’re working, actually. We found out we were chosen for the job a few hours after we saw you in the park yesterday.”

  “That’s great.” She flashes him a knowing smile and crooks a brow. “Think we can get that drink later?”

  Pretty sure the offer is for a drink and dessert.

  “Oh.” And just like that, Eric’s eyes dart to Chloe. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but I catch it nonetheless. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see how it goes?”

  “Okay.” Sara runs her hand down his arm, giving him a coy smile. “You have my number if you find yourself with some free time.”

  Unable to contain her revulsion any longer, Chloe scoffs under her breath, which of course, causes the Peacock to turn her way. Without a word, Sara looks back at Eric and laughs. Before he realizes what she’s up to, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his lips.

  “Talk to you later,” she purrs, and then she turns on her heel and saunters away.

  Eric stares after her with his mouth hanging open, trying to figure out what just happened.

  “We were just discussing the accident,” Sienna says to Chloe, dismissing the entire exchange. “Eric is going to take Kenneth’s place.”

  The Squirrel is about to say something, but she snaps her mouth shut. Her eyes sweep over the knight and narrow incredulously. “You’re taking Kenneth’s place? The guy who just crashed?”

  “That’s right,” Eric says after a long moment, squaring his shoulders—stepping up to the challenge in her voice.

  The smirk she flashes Eric should scare him. “Really?”

  What has he gotten himself into?

  “What about his cat?” Chloe asks Sienna innocently, though there’s some serious sarcasm in the undertone. “Are you going to hire it too? You were just talking this morning about that shoot Collette Cole did with the donkey.”

  “Cat?” Sienna asks, glancing at Eric.

  At the same time, Sean Luka says, “No cats! The last thing I want is hair all over the clothing. What a nightmare.”

  “He’s hairless,” Jonathan of all people pipes up.

  Sean Luka pauses, slowly turning to Jonathan. “Hairless?”

  “Charles is a Sphynx,” I explain when Jonathan looks at me for clarification, though I don’t like where this conversation is headed.

  “Interesting,” Sean Luka muses.

  What is going on?

  “I want him,” Sean Luka suddenly decides. “Bring him while we get Eric settled.”

  I begin to shake my head. “I don’t think—"

  Jonathan grins, happily cutting me off. “Of course.”

  “Do you think I get a say in this?” I ask Jonathan quietly as Sean Luka informs Eric of his new duties.

  “Do you want to tell Sean Luka no?” Jonathan asks me.

  No, I sure don’t.

  “Then let’s get Charles,” he says. “And besides—the cat will be thrilled to spend the afternoon with Eric.”

  This is the most ridiculous idea, but I reluctantly agree. Together, Jonathan and I leave the convention hall, off to fetch Charles.

  “Are you all right with the new arrangement?” I ask Jonathan as we step onto the elevator that will take us to the main floor of the hotel.

  He glances over, surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You’re not even a little disappointed Sienna chose Eric?” I study the framed posters on the walls as the lift slowly begins its descent. They advertise a smattering of fine dining options and gourmet buffets. Wrinkling my nose, I look away from the last ad for a show featuring scantily clad women dressed in feathers, sequins, and what I assume to be very reliable double-sided tape.

  “It might make our job a little more difficult,” Jonathan admits, “as Eric won’t be able to look for magic in the people lurking near the models. But it will give me a better chance to wander the convention.”

  As he says it, a funny look crosses his face, and he stops near the pool entrance, looking at the hours of operation sign.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  He loops his arm around my shoulders, drawing me awfully close. In my ear, he murmurs, “I think we’re being followed.”

  My first impulse is to turn, but I hold still, staring at the sign with Jonathan.

  “Come on,” he says under his breath after several seconds. “Let’s keep going.”

  I press the “up” button when we reach the elevator. The moment I attempt to look over my shoulder, Jonathan says, “No, don’t. Let him get closer so I can get a look at his face.”

  “You didn’t see him? How do you know there’s someone back there?”

  “I felt his magic. He followed us out of the convention and showed up just after we exited the elevator.”

  “What faction?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The door opens, and Jonathan ushers me inside. He smiles, acting casual, but I can tell he’s using this opportunity to look at the people nearby. Right before the doors close, a man reaches out, stopping the lift.

  “That was close,” he says, flashing us an artificially white smile. Then to me, he says, “Hit ten for me, will you?”

  I press the button, and my heart begins to thrum.

  The man is about four inches taller than Jonathan, close to Eric’s height, and almost as broad-shouldered. He wears a beige sportscoat that clashes with his orange-hued spray tan, and the fabric does a poor job of concealing the slight bulge at his hip. The bump could be anything, I suppose—huge cell phone, bulky side fanny pack, or a massive ring of keys.

  But if I were to take a guess, I’d say it’s a gun.

  15

  I step a little closer to Jonathan, practically kicking myself for forgetting my Taser.

  The man glances over, giving us another smile, and then nods toward our badges. “You here for the fashion convention?”

  “That’s right,” Jonathan says.

  “Yeah? Cool.” He quickly runs his eyes over us, all friendly like, but it seems like he’s sizing us up. “Wha
t do you do?”

  “I’m a modeling agent,” Jonathan says smoothly, picking up Eric’s previous cover. “And this is my assistant.”

  I force a smile.

  “You have a model in the expo?” he asks. “Or are you scouting?”

  “Both.”

  The man nods several times, and then the conversation dies off. I hadn’t noticed the casino’s elevator music before, but now it sounds like it’s blaring.

  Finally, we reach the tenth floor. With a ping alerting us we’ve arrived, the door slides open. The man bids us a casual farewell, his eyes lingering on me for a moment too long, and then we’re alone.

  I brace myself against the back wall. Once the doors are closed and we’re moving again, I press my hand to my chest and take a deep breath. “Well? Was that the guy following us?”

  “I’m not sure, but he was Aparian.”

  “Faction?” I ask.

  Jonathan gives me a pointed look. “Urocyan.”

  Fox.

  “At least he didn’t follow us to our floor,” I say, wondering if we’re being a tiny bit jumpy. Sure, the man was a Fox. Sure, he was acting peculiar, and it looked like he was hiding a gun…

  Never mind. I forgot where I was going with this.

  “Yeah,” Jonathan answers, “but he saw our floor number on the lift.”

  Jonathan opens the door to his and Eric’s room, and I walk inside, passing through the adjoining door to my side.

  “I don’t suppose you have an extra gun lying around, do you?” I ask, mostly joking. Mostly.

  “Gray would murder me if I gave you a gun.”

  I glance back. “You know, I’m a grown woman. I could just buy my own.”

  He crosses his arms, giving me a cocky smile. “True, but it takes a few days—and it would set off the metal detectors.”

  I wave his concern away, though we both know I’m not serious. “I’d just persuade the guard into letting me through.”

  “You’ve certainly been embracing your magic the last few days, haven’t you?” he says with a laugh.

  I turn to him, wondering how he feels about that. “Technically, taking Charles out of the crate on the plane was your idea. And Rafe told me to practice.”

  A shadow flickers across his face when I mention my knight—but it’s only there for one moment before it disappears. “You can’t control it if you don’t know how to wield it,” he finally agrees.

  “Don’t you have your gun and dagger?” I ask, feeling it’s best to return to our original subject. “They didn’t set off the detector.”

  “They’re charmed.”

  I almost ask where he’s hiding them, and then I realize I probably don’t want to know.

  “So,” he says when it gets a little too quiet. “You can cloak other people? That’s…different.”

  My chest tightens, and I look away. We haven’t talked about what happened in my bedroom with my parents yesterday. Jonathan saw it all, my most vulnerable moment, and we chose to pretend it didn’t happen—focused instead on what happened after my parents left the room. Until now.

  “Jonathan…”

  I’m not ready to talk about it. I love my family, and I have no doubt they love me. But I… I don’t know how I feel. They stole me. Obviously, I am grateful they believed I should have a chance to live. But they knew who I was—knew I wasn’t an orphan at all. Did their noble motives excuse the crime? I can’t process it yet.

  Sensing I’m not ready for this, Jonathan says, “We should probably find your cat.”

  “Right,” I say, relieved.

  I look around, wondering where Charles got to. I call his name and check the windowsill. When I turn back, I find Jonathan scowling at himself in the mirror, angling his head as if studying his hair.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, making him jump.

  He turns sharply, an embarrassed look on his face. “Nothing.”

  “Right.” I walk to him. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

  “Nothing,” he says again, a little more forcefully this time. His expression tells me to drop it, but of course I’m not going to.

  Studying him, I cross my arms. When it hits me, a laugh bubbles out, impossible to hold back. “You’re worried it’s falling out.”

  The Deer in Dillon warned that the healing concoction we forced down Jonathan’s throat after the imp attack might cause certain side-effects—hair loss being one of them. But the chance was slim, and Jonathan’s hair is so thick, a person would never notice even if he lost some of it.

  “A bit vain, are we?” I tease.

  He shakes his head, and an irritated, almost-smile tugs at his lips. “No.”

  I take several steps forward, grasp hold of his chin, and angle his head so I can get a better look. “It looks fine.”

  Better than fine, actually. Jonathan has great hair. My fingers itch to run through it. What would he do if I gave in to that impulse? My stomach flutters, and my mind drifts to far more appealing places to touch than the Griffon’s hair. For example, his shoulders, arms, chest, stomach…

  “Madeline,” Jonathan says, reading my thoughts, his voice strained.

  I drop my hand like I was burned.

  “I’ll just…get Charles,” I say after a moment.

  He nods, looking as if he’s already regretting our agreement from this morning. I certainly am, though I know it’s for the best.

  If I have to sternly remind myself of that several times an hour, then so be it.

  “I really don’t like this,” I say to Jonathan as we tote Charles to the convention hall. The cat isn’t too pleased either. He was sleeping, dreaming of catnip mice and enjoying the peace and quiet, when we went and woke him up.

  All those people who say you should let a sleeping dog lie haven’t woken a sleeping Sphinx. You might be able to get away with disturbing Fifi, but don’t wake Charles unless you want to lose a hand.

  The cat is ticked.

  We end up in an elevator with a nice older couple. They pretend not to notice the yowling, but Charles is bound and determined to be heard. After several awkward floors, he decides to get all kinds of creative and starts slamming his body against the side of his carrier.

  Jonathan adjusts his hold on the crate and ignores the racket. As soon as the doors open to the main level, the couple makes a hasty exit into the lobby.

  “That was fun,” Jonathan says.

  To which I feel the need to remind him, “This was your idea.”

  We’re almost back to the convention hall when my phone pings with a text. I look at the screen, expecting it to be Rafe. It’s not.

  “Gray just landed at the airport,” I tell Jonathan.

  Jonathan thinks about it for a second and then nods.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “He texted you first.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No,” Jonathan says with a laugh. “It’s just…something.”

  “What?” We’re almost to the entrance, so I tug him to a stop. The event opened to the public about ten minutes ago, and it’s already looking like a madhouse inside.

  A frustrated smile crosses Jonathan’s face before he reluctantly meets my eyes. “Madeline, he still has feelings for you.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. He feels he should probably murder me before I plunge the world into complete and utter darkness.” I set my hands on my hips. “He was pretty determined to kill me, remember?”

  “He wouldn’t have done it.”

  “If you were so sure, why did you pull a dagger on him?”

  “I…” He looks away, shaking his head.

  “No, tell me.”

  “It was a warning, nothing else.” Jonathan frowns at the crate as Charles loudly protests his entrapment once more. “And I suppose I felt the need to proclaim my loyalty.”

  My heart stutters before it begins to ache anew. “Are you saying you chose me over Gray?”

  Looking acutely uncomfortable—not to mentio
n ridiculously handsome—he shrugs. He clears his throat and then puts on a flippant expression. It’s an act—but it’s almost convincing. “What can I say? You kissed me, and I lost my mind.”

  I should walk away, let this go, especially after what happened in the room not fifteen minutes ago. But I just can’t bring myself to take that first step. “That kiss was your fault.”

  His dark eyes meet mine, shining with amusement. Dropping his voice, keen to play along, he asks, “How do you figure?”

  “I think your exact words were, ‘I want to try something.’”

  He chuckles lightly, shoving his free hand in his pocket, still carrying Charles with the other, and takes a step in. “That’s not the kiss I’m talking about.”

  Oh—he means the one on the balcony. The one where there was no shield between us, where I unknowingly opened my thoughts to him, gave him full access, and he saw too much.

  Just the memory makes me self-conscious and jittery, like a girl around her first crush.

  Charles lets out another yowl, and Jonathan gives me a grim smile. “We should get in there.”

  “Right.”

  He raises an eyebrow when I don’t move.

  After a moment, I force myself forward, through security, and into the convention hall. We find Sean Luka in Men’s Casualwear, but there’s no sign of Eric.

  “Is this it?” Sean Luka motions to the crate.

  “Its name is Charles,” I inform him.

  Jonathan grimaces when Charles hisses yet again. “If you want to meet him, you best let Eric take him out. He’s not in a great mood.”

  Sean Luka laughs. “Is Eric some kind of cat whisperer?”

  “Worse,” Jonathan deadpans. “He’s a Rabbit.”

  The director’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you serious? I thought he was a Bull.”

  It’s an honest mistake seeing how Bulls, the Taurus faction, are gifted with size and strength.

  “Nope, he’s a Bunny Hugger,” Jonathan answers as he looks around. “Where is he anyway?”

  “In Underwear.”

  Jonathan jerks his attention back to the director. “What?”

  “He’s in Underwear,” Sean Luka repeats slowly as if concerned Jonathan might be hard of hearing. “Specifically, he’s modeling for Camilla Hayden’s line. He took Kenneth’s place—I’m sorry, weren’t you here for that discussion?”