by Laura Hall
“Not insane, merely extraordinary,” he said mildly, “and if you are anything, you are that. Your mother spoke only the truth when Seeing. I don’t know how you’ll manage it, but you will bring Gabriella back.”
I looked helplessly at Adam, but he was watching the Prime with sorrow. “I’m sorry. She needed to know.”
The Prime nodded. “Yes, she did.” He turned on his heel, then spoke over his shoulder, “We leave for the gala in two hours. Be ready.”
He was gone.
Adam rose and the shimmering barrier of magic dissipated. Freezing air rushed around me, stinging my eyes and burning down my throat.
“I don’t believe that’s what Delilah meant by her message.”
I took in Adam’s fierce expression. Immediately, I began shaking my head. “You can’t mean—”
“That’s exactly what I mean. As I said before, you’re completely unlike Gabriella. You’re strong, brave, and direct. And I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“The way I look at him?” I bleated. “Adam, he has enough glamour to enter the Miss Universe contest and win. I look at him the same way everyone does.”
If stares could level a person, I would’ve been flat on my back. Adam rasped, “His glamour is inactive for you, Fiona. Inactive. To protect you, he holds back his aura and therefore his glamour. You see him as a man. I don’t know if anyone does that. Has ever done that.”
I gave an incredulous snort-laugh. “No, that’s not… I don’t—bullshit.”
Adam tilted his head. “And you possess a power even the Liberati cannot combat.” He paused. “You killed a cipher, Fiona. With power. It’s against the nature of their Ascension.”
“Well, I’m not a mage, vamp, or shifter. I don’t know what I am, besides stuck in the middle of the most epic clusterfuck ever.”
Adam gave a weary laugh. “I wish I had answers for you, could teach you as I would a mage. If only…”
“Don’t say it,” I warned, standing and rubbing my arms against the cold. “I want nothing to do with Delilah Greer.” He nodded stoically, and we walked side by side toward the compound. As we neared the door, I asked, “Do you really believe everything she said?”
He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I didn’t, not really, until last night.” He finally looked at me. “You could have run. Instead, you fought. But it’s more than that. It’s the way Declan reacts to you, as an alpha to shifter. The way I feel toward you, as a perpetually annoyed older brother.” I rolled my eyes and he smiled slightly. “And it’s the way Connor behaves in your presence. No one, not even Gabriella, has ever penetrated his emotional defenses like you do. He cares for you. And it frightens him.”
Anxiety stirred in the vicinity of my heart. “You’re not psychic.”
“No, but it doesn’t take a psychic to know that Connor hasn’t laughed in years like he has in the last week.”
I shook my head sadly. Now that my blinders were off and I was aware of my burgeoning case of captor-worship, I wasn’t about to let his words penetrate my newly constructed Connor Defense System.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I know you think it’s some sign or whatever, but it’s not. I’m a shiny new toy. Nothing more.”
He looked deeply into my eyes and finally nodded. “All right.” He gestured me through the door and we strode down an empty hallway toward the central hall.
“About tonight,” I said at length. “If I’m supposed to be a member of the Prime’s security detail, does that mean I get a gun? And for that matter, why don’t you guys pack heat and just shoot the Liberati?”
Adam’s lips twitched. “First of all, if we’d suspected a trap was waiting in Snoqualmie, we would have brought a small army of—yes—men who carry guns. Secondly, guns can be temperamental if enough magic is in the air. And thirdly, do you even know how to shoot one?”
“Hello? Daughter of an LAPD detective. I’ve been shooting guns since I could walk.”
“Charming.”
“That’s what you pay me for, right?”
This time, he laughed. I grinned, feeling proud of myself, and nudged his shoulder lightly with mine.
“I’ve grown on you.”
“Like a fungus,” he muttered.
“Like a sister, you mean. So, are we friends now? Because if we’re friends, I have to tell you how silly those white robes are. Unless you want to change your name to Wizard Gibbs.”
He groaned.
Fifteen
My security outfit didn’t come with a gun. It wasn’t even practical: a floor-length, black sequined gown with a cut that made wearing a bra impossible, and a pair of heels that would break me if I tried to run but might be useful for poking someone’s eye out.
Not until I joined Declan and seven other tuxedoed werewolves in the second of two limos outside the compound did I understand that my addition to the Prime’s security detail was about appearance, not firepower.
“Good Lord,” grumbled Declan, glancing at me askance as the limo pulled out of the circular drive. “Who the hell picked out that dress?”
I crossed my arms over my partially exposed chest, scowling at him. “It’s not like I had a choice. A team of stylists was waiting for me in my room. I tried to run but this one lady—I think she was a werebear—tackled me. Three of them had to hold me down to get curlers in my hair.”
The other werewolves laughed.
Declan did not.
“What happened today?” he asked mutedly.
I looked away. “Nothing. Everything’s good.”
“I see right through that crap,” he said, albeit gently.
I see every layer of your mind and heart.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, but softened the words by squeezing his hand, resting beside mine on the seat. “Let’s boil it down to worry for my dad.”
He threaded our fingers together, his grip reassuringly tight. “Okay.”
I nodded thanks, ignoring the pointed focus of the other werewolves. Declan, though, wasn’t having it. The pulse of his aura increased and a tickling growl filled his chest. From the corner of my eye, I watched the men begin inspecting their fingernails, adjusting their bow ties, and generally pretending they didn’t see their alpha holding hands with a freaky, white-haired anomaly.
It was a half-hour drive to our downtown destination. I spent the time listening to the brotherly banter between wolves, and not thinking about the events of the day.
I wasn’t thinking about it.
Nope, not thinking about Connor’s dead girlfriend, my missing dad, and my psycho—I mean psychic—mother. I definitely wasn’t thinking about her proclamation that I would bring Connor’s love back to life. Or that Adam had tried to plant a matchmaking seed. Or that I was psychic, too.
Goddammit.
I wanted to go home.
When the limo rolled to a stop outside a glitzy hotel entrance and I saw paparazzi and reporters crowding either side of a red carpet, I almost threw up. As it was, I nearly bloodied Declan’s hand with my fingernails.
“Are you kidding me?” I hissed.
Declan grinned as the door was opened from the outside. “What, you thought the designer dress was for a tea party?” He laughed at the mutinous expression on my face. “Just don’t trip.”
It was actually a near thing, prevented at the last moment by two of the wolves, who managed to keep me upright without making it look like I’d almost eaten carpet.
“Thanks,” I whispered, which earned me a wink and a grin.
When the nine of us were unloaded and dramatically lining the curb, the first limo’s doors finally opened. Samantha came first, resplendent in a pale blue gown that perfectly contoured her waifish physique. Her blond hair was bound in an elegant chignon, her makeup dramatic yet tasteful. She gazed imperiously at the crowd, a small smile on her face.
Behind her, the Prime emerged, and the paparazzi erupted.
“Prime Thorne!”
/> “Prime!”
“Connor!”
On and on, they yelled for him. For a look, a smile. I stuck close to Declan, not allowing myself my own look. A tuxedo was probably on par with a gladiator costume—detrimental if not immediately fatal to my IQ.
The red carpet was empty of other parties, no doubt intentionally, as no one stood a chance of winning the spotlight from the Prime.
Adam, white-robed and stoic, joined Declan and me as we brought up the rear. The rest of the wolves formed a loose vanguard before the power couple.
When Connor stopped for the fifth time to speak with a journalist, I whispered tensely, “How long is this going to take?”
Adam muttered, “As long as it takes.”
We’d moved maybe another three feet when I heard the first murmurs. A moment later, I saw a finger pointing at me.
“Lightning…”
“Her hair…”
“Saved the Prime…”
“Fiona! Fiona!”
Declan’s warm palm pressed to my bare back. “Smile, sparky. And breathe. You’re hyperventilating.”
My eyes moved of their own volition to the Prime. He was staring right at me, ignoring the yammering journalist behind him. His gaze flickered briefly down my dress, then snapped back to my face. He drew a breath, eyes flickering between peridot and emerald. Beside him, Samantha’s lips thinned and an angry flush flooded her cheeks.
“Huh,” said Declan.
And because timing was everything, and my life couldn’t possibly get better, my arms began to itch.
I turned to Declan. “Get me inside, now. And don’t touch me.”
At some unspoken command from their alpha, the wolves split formation, allowing us a straight shot to the hotel’s open doors. I squared my shoulders, focused on not tripping in my ridiculous heels, and sauntered inside without a backward glance. As soon as I entered the lobby, I veered toward the universal symbol for restrooms, passing through a glittering, whispering crowd.
The whispering grew louder, spiked with alarm, and those in my path hurried to get out of my way. A glance down at my arms told me why.
I rushed into the women’s restroom, which was blessedly empty. As the door whooshed closed, I placed my palms flat on either side of a marble sink, drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. Then I did it again. And again, until Adam’s bracelets cooled, my arms returned to pale with a sheen of scarring, and my charge equalized.
“I’ve been known to have bad ideas from time to time.”
The mirror showed me the Prime leaning casually against the closed door. I straightened and pretended to fix my hair. Against the loose white curls, my dark brows and eyelashes stood out starkly. Samantha was right—I should invest in a wig. I looked like a comic-book character.
Continuing to fuss with nonexistent frizz, I avoided the Prime’s gaze, unsure of where we stood with each other. The smarmy combativeness of our relationship thus far had clearly crossed some boundaries. For both of us.
With the reprimand in the training room fresh in my memory, I figured polite deference was the safest course.
“Thank you for checking on me. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I can have Declan take you home, if you’d like.”
I bit my tongue in restraint, temper flaring at both his empty, formal tone and the word home. It took a few more deep breaths, but when I finally turned to face him, I was calm. I even managed a smile.
“I’m fine now.”
“Very well.” He began to turn, then paused. “You’ll be left to your own devices tonight, Fiona. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” I said obediently.
He nodded, then disappeared. The door swung gently closed.
I turned back to the mirror to touch up my lip gloss, ignoring the feeling of having lost something I hadn’t known was treasured.
The gala was definitely not my scene. There was too much flashy jewelry, too many fake tans, and an excess of overly bright teeth. Besides continuous, unsubtle gestures and murmurs about me, the Prime was right. I was left to my own devices.
At least the buffet was good.
From the banners hung to either side of a distant stage, apparently we were here to celebrate the reopening of several historic properties in downtown Seattle. It all seemed a little contrived to me, merely an excuse for the rich and powerful to rub elbows.
The Prime was no exception. From my table at the farthest edge of the ballroom, I watched him network. Women and men alike fawned over him, brought him cocktails, and touched him at every opportunity. Samantha never strayed from his side, a perfect accessory.
I wondered if she knew she was temporary, that Connor was waiting for Gabriella to return. For me to bring her back to life.
“Those don’t look like pleasant thoughts.”
I looked up at the man standing beside my table, a glass of wine in one hand. He was permanently in his mid to late thirties and handsome, tall and broad-shouldered, with olive skin, dark eyes, and a killer smile that was currently directed at me.
Barely visible around him was a sapphire aura, shot through with peculiar ribbons of violet. I’d never seen anything like it.
He tolerated my blatant study, and even smiled wider as he presented his hand to me.
“Fiona Sullivan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I eyed his fingers. “Are you sure you want to risk it?” I asked, glancing pointedly at the buffer of space between my table and the crowd. The isolation was fine by me. All the auras in the room were giving me a headache.
He laughed. “Quite sure.”
I shook his hand without incident. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
Still smiling, he nodded at a chair several spaces from mine. “May I?” I nodded, and he unbuttoned his tux jacket and sat with lazy grace that reminded me, unfortunately, of Connor. “My name is Ethan Accosi. I’m a longtime associate of the Primes’ Office.”
“That’s a rather vague job description,” I said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Indeed,” he said with a grin. “I think of myself as a silent partner in the struggle for balance between species.”
“That, coming from someone whose species comprises the highest percentage worldwide? Nearly forty-eight percent, if I’m not mistaken.”
His gaze stayed steady. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Fiona.”
The compliment, and its tone of unreserved sincerity, affected me more than I cared to admit. Sending out a prayer of gratitude for my dad’s weekly poker nights, I maintained a neutral expression.
“And you, Mr. Accosi, are skilled at redirection.”
He chuckled. “And how is our favorite Prime treating his newest acquisition?”
“Extremely well,” I said steadily.
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” A business card slid across the tablecloth. “If your feelings change, call me. Prime Kilpatrick would very much enjoy meeting you.”
I reached for the card, but paused as I noticed the palest of violet shimmers radiating from it. Retracting my hand, I narrowed my eyes on my companion. “Seriously?”
He smiled with unfeigned delight. “So it’s true.”
“What?” I snapped, my stomach turning.
“You see magic.” He glanced over my head and his smile turned sharp. “Is it also true, the rumor of where she sleeps at night?”
I stiffened as cool fingers trailed across my bare shoulder. Connor said silkily, “Tell Ian that his interest in Fiona is appreciated, but she’s happy here. Isn’t that right, mo spréach?” Fingertips teased the hair over my ear and my eyes went a little crossed.
“Yes,” I whispered, then cleared my throat, heat rising to my face. So much for poker nights. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Accosi.”
Ethan was no longer smiling as he stood and offered a stiff nod. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said and strode away.
I turned in my seat, dislodging Connor’s touch, and glared at him. “I thou
ght we established that I can take care of myself, Prime Thorne.”
He smiled slightly, without mirth, at my use of the honorific. “Did you notice his aura?”
I frowned. “Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it. Sapphire and violet.”
“He’s in the final stage before transition to Opal. Already a formidable mage, he will soon become Adam’s equal.”
“And he works for the Southern Prime?”
“Not exclusively. He’s worked for me as well, once or twice. Ethan is an equal opportunity contractor.” His gaze lifted over my head and went distant. “Were you tempted, Fiona?”
“By what? A spelled business card that would have done God knows what to me?” I shuddered. “No. I wasn’t tempted.”
His gaze lowered to my face. “There will be more offers. Ones I cannot match.”
I slid from the chair and stood, needing to even the playing field a bit. Even with the heels, he was still a good two inches taller than me, but at least I wasn’t craning my neck anymore.
“I’m here, with you, for one reason only,” I said firmly. “To find my dad. When I do, I’m going back to my life. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you stopped touching me so familiarly. This hot and cold routine is giving me whiplash.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Samantha heading our way. “You’re date is waiting, Prime Thorne.”
“Whiplash?” he asked, lips twitching.
The sight of his almost-smile was like a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds. My expression must have given something away, because Connor froze, then turned and walked away.
“Whiplash,” I whispered to myself and went in search of fresh air.
Sixteen
The storm simmering the past few days had finally boiled over. As I stepped onto a covered terrace on the second story of the hotel, a gust of wet air hit me in the face before the wind shifted, driving the downpour away from stone balustrades. Shivering, I crossed to the southwest corner, as yet spared the wind’s notice.
The rain fell in sheets, thick and urgent. On the street below, headlights and taillights diffused into refractive blurs against the adjacent buildings and sidewalks. A distant flash of brightness in the sky was followed by a clap of thunder.