by CJ Ellisson
“Yes. A little birdie tells me that certain people have been sticking their noses where they’re not wanted. Would you know anything about that, Honor?”
Oh hell, he knew about the warehouse. The hum of the air-conditioning roared in her ears as Honor stopped her face from freezing in a rictus grin. Nothing would give her away faster. She swallowed and shook her head. “I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about, Lambert. Did you manage to look through the Julian Center file? I sent it over email last night.”
He ignored her question. “I’m talking about your little trip into town earlier. Go anywhere interesting, did we, Honor?”
“Just a visit to the nail salon. Chipped my nails this morning and you know how it is.” She shrugged. “Girl’s gotta look good. Now, about the Juli—”
Lambert’s face twisted. “I don’t give a fuck about the Julian Center. You just keep your pretty little nose out of things that don’t concern you....” He started to take a step forward to loom over her. “Or you might find it gets bloodied.”
He didn’t finish the step. Instead, Smith stepped forward, interposing himself between them to glare down at the smaller man. The much smaller man. Honor took half a step back and to the side, but the fear she’d felt because of Lambert faded into nothing at the spectacle of Smith.
He radiated anger and danger, his body coiled with leashed violence. From the fierce look on his face, it was a violence he’d be more than happy to unleash on the man in front of him.
“Do not touch her. Never touch her.” The rough growl of his voice was the lowest Honor had ever heard it and even though he was threatening Lambert, the deep tones shivered through her, hitting her on a very primal, female level.
“I-I....” Lambert’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy on speed. Then he snapped his teeth together and glared at Smith, retribution and hatred shining in his eyes. “I don’t think you know who you’re talking to, young man.”
Smith didn’t bat an eyelid. “Do I look like I care who you are?”
“You’d better, I’ll have your fucking job, whoever you are.”
Smith smiled. At least, his lips curved upward, but the latent amusement she’d seen earlier was gone as though it had never existed. He leaned forward, one large arm resting against the wall to the side of the elevator door.
“Threaten my tr-Miss Croft again, and I’ll rip your arms and legs off. Slowly.”
Something about the tone of the bodyguard’s voice leeched all the color out of Lambert’s skin. Since he’d been pale to begin with, it was a fascinating sight.
Smith pushed off from the wall and pressed the button. The door closed on Lambert’s stunned face as Smith turned to her. “We’ll take the next one.”
Chapter Four
The Croft house was nice. Very nice. And big.
So far it had taken Baron at least an hour to do his initial walk-through. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak. Where, and in what order, all the rooms were. The entrances and exits to each, along with the windows and other openings. As he went he made a mental map, assessing each room in turn and how defensible it was. Some rooms he planned to ban Honor from. The conservatory at the back for example, was a death trap. All glass with numerous entry points, it was a security nightmare. Any sniper with a decent scope could pick her off, and that was before they started in on spell-slingers who didn’t need a decent line of sight.
Making his way along one of the upstairs corridors, he checked the locks on each of the windows. His steps were soundless on the plush carpeting, and his expression when he caught sight of it in the window was satisfied. Whoever had had these locks fitted had known what they were looking for. Laurence Croft himself presumably, with some advice from somewhere, possibly a clued up salesman. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t anyone on the security team. He’d met them all earlier and if looks were daggers, he’d have been bleeding his lifeblood out on the marble floor.
They were the typical rent-a-cop wannabes, the sort who put on a uniform and thought they were James Bond or Rambo. One even had a wing and dagger tattoo but if the guy had ever been near the forces, Baron was a monkey’s uncle. And as messy as his genetics were, he didn’t think they were that fucked up.
Of the rest, one looked like he’d be happier in a Star Trek convention dressed as Spock and three could only successfully chase down a donut. At least if an assailant got in, they could sit on him and it would be all she wrote. How the fuck did humans let themselves get like that? Shifters and other paras ran differently body wise—hotter, faster, leaner—physiologically more efficient. He wrinkled his nose as he checked the last window. Come on though, how hard was it to hit the gym once in a while?
Honor worked out, he realized as he walked into the next room. It was a home gym, but not just any home gym. He paused two steps into the room and looked around, a green-eyed monster raising its head as he checked out the workout gear. Aerobic machines, treadmills, rowing machines, and elliptical trainers lined the wall facing the windows, while weight machines lined the other. A set of free weights, ones that looked well used, were set back in a corner.
Baron stepped to the side and checked the settings on the nearest weight machine, then whistled between his teeth. Respectable weight, the girl could lift, and the small but battered pink gloves resting on top of the free weights told him that she was the one on the serious weights as well.
He opened his mind to share the information with his brother before he remembered they were no longer in skin to skin contact. The pair had split as soon as they’d arrived, Duke sliding out from under Baron’s shirt to merge with the shadows around the night-shrouded house. No wonder it had been quiet for the last hour or so.
Before he could close his mental shields though, his mind caught at the edge of a dark mass. Ominous and pulsating, it felt wrong. Baron locked his mind down tight. What the fuck was that? He stepped a couple of paces to the left, toward the windows, and cracked a shield. The mass surged against the tiny chink in his armor, sticky and wrong.
Shiiit. Whatever it was, it felt awful, like a stream of mental vomit.
Black magic woven into some sort of web, but why? Stepping away from the windows, he tried again, opening his shields the tiniest amount and bracing himself for the onslaught. Nothing. He blinked and opened wider. There, just at the edge of his range. Testing the theory, he took half a step nearer to the windows. The pulse got stronger. Okay, so it was a sensor net of some kind. Interesting. Who would use magic to keep track of the Croft’s?
A noise at the door brought his head up with a snap. His nostrils flared as he took in a breath. Human, adult male…salad for lunch but hunger rolled off him in waves. Baron closed his eyes for a second then turned around. Just as he expected, one of the security guards stood there. One of the three who could stand to spend more than a little time on the treadmill, he stood by the door, his uncertainty written into the slump of his shoulders. Humans. When would they get that their body language and scent gave away far more than they wanted?
“Mr. Smith….” The man began, nervously checking down the corridor, as though he was afraid to be seen talking to the interloper. “Wondered if you wanted a hand checking out the gardens?”
With Duke outside, he had it covered, but Baron forced his lips into a semblance of a smile anyway, for courtesy’s sake. He didn’t show teeth, go him. “No, thanks. Sure I can manage that.”
The human shuffled his feet, looked down the corridor again, then looked Baron right in the eye. “Not sure you get my meaning, sir. You really need someone who knows these gardens to show you around.”
Okaaaay. This was an interesting development. He really didn’t think the guards had conspired to get one of them to get him outside so the rest could jump him, and if they had…they were shit out of luck because here be dragons. Quite literally.
“Right….” he trailed off, eying the guy in expectation.
“Carran,” the guard supplied. “Les Carran.”
&
nbsp; Baron inclined his head. “Well, Mr. Carran, you got yourself a job. Lead on.”
*
Duke liked the darkness, liked hiding in shadow. A preference he’d had since childhood, it was both comfortable and comforting at the same time, even if it had freaked his adoptive mother out a bit at first. He huffed to himself and manifested claws to dig into the brickwork. High up on the side of the building like some kind of over-grown gecko, he gathered darkness around him, wrapping it about him like a thick duvet.
He’d already checked out the grounds, large even for this exclusive area, and made a sweep of the building exterior checking for anything a possible infiltrator could use. There were a couple of loose latches down in the service areas but overall nothing to be worried about structurally. Other considerations though were a different matter….
“As you can see, they’re everywhere.”
The voice was low but Duke’s sensitive hearing picked it up as a side door opened. His brother and one of the guards stepped out into the night, Baron’s presence registering on Duke’s radar like a blazing neon dot. The human was a dull, insubstantial smudge next to him. Slithering over the brickwork, Duke rounded the corner to sit above them, invisible in the darkness. Baron knew he was there, of course. Together since the womb, there was no way either of them could hide from the other.
“And you have no idea who put them here?” Baron asked, turning something over in his hand. His vision shifted with his form, Duke couldn’t read the expression on his face or see what he held, but the blackness radiating out from it, and the tendrils trying to wrap around his brother’s wrist clued him in. He shifted a shadowed claw and knocked a pebble from the window nearest to him free. It clattered to the floor, making the human below jump in fright. Baron looked up and nodded, getting the message as the human picked the pebble up.
“Must’ve been dislodged by a bird. I didn’t realize they were up there as well.” He peered upward, his human sight too dull to spot Duke. “I think Conway put them out here. He’s new to the team after Sanford got mugged, and he’s a real sneaky shit. Always taking calls out back.”
“Oh really?” Duke could hear the interest in his brother’s voice as he stepped back until his ankle was in shadow. Taking the cue, Duke slid down the wall and extended a tendril of shadow to slide under the cuff of Baron’s pants and wrap around his ankle.
I’ve clocked the things everywhere, he sent over their mental link. A perimeter in the gardens, with a concentration past that fake copse for some reason, then around the house as well. They’re spread normally apart from around Honor’s room. They’re real thick there.
“Any idea who he calls?” Baron asked the human before answering Duke. Yeah, I picked up a hint of something outside the gym. They seem to be powering some kind of sensor net. Seems Croft was right to be worried about his daughter. Fates and now a black magic sensor net? This isn’t some common crim.
“No.” The human guard shook his head, his voice low. As though he didn’t want to be heard. “He comes outside to take calls, down by the trees.”
Agreed, Duke nodded his head despite the fact Baron couldn’t see him. We should update the boss-lady.
Yeah, I’ll wrap up with Curran here, see if I can’t get something else out of him, then call her. You go make like some brickwork outside Honor’s window. Get rid of some of those pebbles, see if anyone or thing turns up to check on them.
Got it. Nothing would get through that net to her while he was there, unless it was over his dead body. And if there was something that could take a pissed off dragon on, especially now that he and his brother had gotten themselves clued up and protected against most magics, he’d like to see what it was. Catch you later.
He didn’t wait for a reply, just unwrapped the tendril and withdrew, slithering up the wall and leaving the sound of human-form conversation behind him. It didn’t take him long to reach Honor’s room and he settled against the brickwork outside, absorbing the faint residue of warmth from the long-departed sun. With a sigh, he stretched out above Honor’s window and got comfortable. One of the advantages of his shadow form was that any surface, even an unforgiving wall, was as comfortable as a feather bed.
Extending his neck, he peeked through the window and into the room. Decorated in cream and burgundy, it had an understated elegance which suited Honor down to the ground. Even without the faint hint of her scent teasing him from the window which had been left ajar, he would have known, of all the rooms in the house, this one was hers. Huffing at the fact the room was empty, he materialized a claw and pried a few of the pebbles loose. He didn’t believe the guard’s words to Baron for a second. There was no way a human had managed to climb all the way up here, or had the strength required to jam the things so far between the bricks.
The pebbles pinged as they came loose, and he grinned with satisfaction as he crushed them. Each one gave with a pop, dust falling through his shadow skin as the blackness within surged outward, looking for something to latch onto. Manifesting an eye, Duke studied it flailing about. It was shit out of luck. The only thing worth latching onto was him, and he was having none of that. Even if he hadn’t been aware of the danger, the ward-sigils inscribed on his scales protected him from minor black magics like this. He popped a couple more, his grin widening with each one. This was more fun than the bubble-wrap at the office, a controlled substance that Iliona now kept locked up due to the fact that every time any of the office staff went to get some, it was all flat.
A door within opened, and the soft sound of bare feet on carpet brought Duke’s head snapping up. Surging forward, he looked into the window, remembering at the last moment to render himself completely into shadow. The last thing he needed was for her to catch sight of a disembodied eye and a couple of claws and freak out. Screams would alert the guards, and talk of random eyes might clue the savvy listener into the fact that weird shit had started when ‘Mr. Smith’ had turned up.
Honor wandered through into her bedroom, drying her hair with a towel. She’d just showered, the scent of water and some kind of floral shower-gel covering her natural scent. Duke nodded in approval at the robe. He liked his women naked as a rule, but not when his dragon was telling him the woman in question was his brother’s mate. He and Baron had always thought that they were two halves of the same soul, but in different bodies, and that they would find one woman to complete them, sharing as they had so many times in the past. But he’d felt the recognition when Baron had met her for the first time, the response from his dragon and…nothing from his. She wasn’t his mate. Baron’s but not his.
She dropped the towel on the bed and sat at the dresser. His gaze tracked her movements as she reached out to pick up a brush. His attention got distracted by the brush sliding through the wet silk of her hair. The golden flecks buried in the darkness called to him, called to the hoarding nature of his dragon. Even though she wasn’t his, the beast liked pretty things, and Honor was the most beautiful human he’d ever seen. He could look, admire those flecks while keeping his eyes firmly above shoulder level.
Moving forward, he was trying for a better view when the air thickened with expectation. The pebbles still buried in the brick around him pulsed darkly, as though calling out to someone or something. Duke’s head snapped up as his sharp hearing caught the sound of wing beats on the wind. He grinned, pushing his full dragon form out of the darkness in preparation. So, someone had come to check on the net then….
Tonight looked like fun.
*
A pervert, that’s what she was.
Honor stopped brushing her hair, dropped her hand, and groaned. She just couldn’t get Smith out of her head. A cold, well cool, shower had done nothing and the more she tried not to think about him, the more she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The hard body under the suit, the tattoos, the twinkle in his eyes and the way the skin creased around them when he smiled. Even, and Lord help her, the roughness and threat in his voice when he’d faced down Lambert fo
r her. She’d never had anyone threaten to rip someone’s arms and legs off for her before. Even though she abhorred violence, the fact he’d threatened it, with the obvious capability of backing that threat up, had flicked a switch deep inside her. A primitive feminine switch that kind of liked having a big, strong man around to glower and protect her.
She shook her head, startled by the thought, and looked at her reflection. She shouldn’t just be startled by the thought, she should be horrified. It was like she was buying into the little woman needed looking after mentality her father was so set on, and the very reason he’d hired Smith in the first place. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, the movement reflected back at her.
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps Smith had bewitched her or something. It certainly fit. She’d never had such a strong reaction to a man before.
She laughed, the sound rich and low as it rolled around the room. Bewitched? How ridiculous was that? She was still shook up from the incident in the warehouse earlier and Lucy’s prattle about paranormals. That was it. There was no way Smith had bewitched her. He was as human as they came, albeit a very nicely put together one, but human all the same without an ounce of bewitching ability.
A knock at the door made her jump and turn, knocking several bottles from the dresser.
“Oh shit, hold on a moment,” she called out, scooping them up and piling them haphazardly onto the dresser top.
“Everything okay, Miss Croft?” Smith’s deep voice filtered through the door.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Wait a moment.”
Shit, her voice was way too breathy. She reached the door, double checked her robe, and smoothed her hair down with quick movements. Typical, she hadn’t finished brushing it. Half was sleek, the other side the tangled waves it always ended up in when it got wet. Finger-combing, she reached out and opened the door.
He lounged in the doorway, broad shoulder propped up against the wall, his frame made larger by the lines of the suit jacket. She doubted it was padded, the way he was put together, he didn’t need it. No siree.