by L. A. Banks
The other advisors nodded.
Now Sasha really understood the dilemma marrow-deep. Both wolves caught each other’s meaningful glances within their peripheral vision, both fully cognizant of what was at stake for Sir Rodney. The tension in the room was palpable as Sasha’s previous rage dissipated.
Sir Rodney slowly returned to the table to lean against it with both hands. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to drop forward in frustration.
“Milord,” a third and very shy advisor murmured, speaking so softly that Sir Rodney lifted his head just to hear him. “The situation, as you have guessed, is worsening.”
Sir Rodney didn’t respond to his advisor, but stared at Sasha and Hunter. “Now do you understand why we could not send Thompson on an errand to directly investigate this Phoenix death? It wasn’t a matter of trust, but that of national security. Had we done so, it would have appeared odd . . . that the Fae would be delving into Mythic Parliament affairs. Once that became gossip . . . word of our involvement would surely travel. That could tip off our unknown enemies that something is amiss in our own yard. We must preserve the appearance of strength at all costs.”
“Aye,” a fourth advisor confirmed and then looked at the fifth advisor to his left.
Clearing his throat, the fifth advisor glanced at the others before he addressed the king, and then looked at Sasha and Hunter. “That is why we needed a friend outside of the Fae to repay a favor once given with a favor now needed and duly earned.”
“Those who do not lie, whose silver auras speak of their sterling reputation for loyalty and honor . . . as is the way of the wolf,” the fifth advisor said quietly. “We must have your word as your bond that you never speak of our waning powers beyond yourselves.”
“My word given,” Hunter said, lifting his chin.
“And mine,” Sasha said.
The fifth advisor looked around at the group and the other advisors nodded, clearly having discussed this amongst themselves already.
“We should be sure that all our allies are at the Midsummer Night’s Ball three nights hence . . . They must be in New Orleans during this time when the moon is full,” his eldest advisor said, beginning to slowly stroll past each of the younger Gnomes as he spoke. “If there is foul play, our effectiveness could be strained. It would be prudent to have strong battalions of our friends at the ready . . . those who owe us, and who also know that once you owe the Fae, to renege is tantamount to treason.”
Sir Rodney straightened, but his gaze was open as it went toward Sasha and Hunter. “I would never want to put any of the wolf packs at risk . . .”
“Indeed . . . but they are also excellent warriors unknown to your ex-wife and no stranger to battles with the undead. Vampires walk a wary path around them, sire, and it would not seem odd that they would be looking into matters that could potentially effect their packs or humans,” his eldest advisor said calmly, going to the king to stand before him. His ancient gaze held the king’s. “This happened in a Fae bar that humans frequent. That would give them both cover and cause.”
“They cannot be harmed or placed in harm’s way,” Sir Rodney said in a rush, dragging his fingers through his hair as he now specifically stared at Sasha.
Hunter nodded with appreciation. “You had our backs, now we have yours. I am sure my brother Shogun will feel the same way.”
“We stand with you at the ready, Sir Rodney,” Sasha said. “Count on that.” But as she held Sir Rodney’s gaze, wolf instinct kicked in. “You never answered my question. What was the blood?”
“You also never fully disclosed your investigator’s lead,” Hunter said in a casual tone, but his expression was anything but that.
“Follow me,” Sir Rodney said, ignoring his advisors’ startled eyes.
“Milord,” his eldest advisor said after a moment, stepping before Sir Rodney and withdrawing his wand. “I beg you to caution. Just as your comment to go to war with Vampires came out of passion . . . might this also be—”
“Do not forget your place, Bardis. We are old friends yet there are still parameters.”
“And there is dark magick afoot . . . so serious that at times it has held His Majesty’s judgment in question,” Bardis said in a tight murmur meant only for Sir Rodney’s ears.
“Not this time. If we are to ask for our allies’ assistance, then we must trust them. That is common sense, old friend.”
Although the senior advisor clearly didn’t like it, he put his wand away and stood aside. Sasha and Hunter waited until Sir Rodney motioned for them to follow him, and he led the way through a door on the far side of the room that gave way to spiral stone stairs so narrow that one had to touch the wall to keep from feeling vertigo.
The moment they were at the bottom, Hunter glanced at Sasha and nodded. “It is the scent.”
“Quite so,” Sir Rodney said, still walking. He stopped at a huge wooden locked door.
To Sasha’s surprise, the advisor named Bardis and the others who’d been in the war room opened the door for their king. Again, all she could do was glance at Hunter; Fae magick was deep.
But the body draped with a sheet on the granite slab before them nearly made her gasp out loud. The scent was cloying. And it was definitely the same blood trace they’d picked up in Ethan’s wine cellar.
“Who is it?” Sasha asked as they neared the table and Sir Rodney flung off the sheet.
“Ethan’s bartender, Mike,” Sir Rodney said.
“The one who supposedly went home early?” Hunter said with sarcasm lacing his tone.
“Well, scratch his name off the whodunnit list,” Sasha said with a scowl.
“This was the lead,” Bardis said, ignoring the tension, and pointed at the lacerations on the nude man’s chest. “His heart is gone, torn from the anchors so quickly it must have still been beating in the murderer’s hand. There is only one entity we know of that can move that swiftly in a surgical strike.”
Sasha and Hunter stepped closer. She gazed down into the stunned expression. The poor man’s mouth was open in a frozen scream, his eyes wide and glassy. Too bad the dead couldn’t talk. She traced the gashes left just outside the gaping hole in his chest and then looked at Hunter.
“Could have been a Vamp heart snatch. Usually a wolf attack isn’t quite so clean—isn’t directed at one organ.”
“Wolves generally go for the throat or the gut, leaving viscera everywhere.” Hunter leaned into the body and sniffed. “But there is most assuredly a trace of Were here as well.” Hunter stood and stared at Sir Rodney. “And you didn’t think this might have been useful information?”
Sasha folded her arms over her chest. “So, you guys found him and Desidera, removed his body and glamoured the cellar so we wouldn’t see any trace of this body hitting the dirt, and then cleaned up the blood? Why?”
“We had to know beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Sir Rodney said, lifting his chin, “that if it was a wolf, you would still stand with us.”
“Now I really am offended, even if I understand your twisted logic,” Sasha said and then walked away.
CHAPTER 5
Shogun doubled over, clutching his stomach, the moment he exited the plane.
“Sir, are you all right?” a member of the flight crew asked as he slowly straightened.
“Just fatigue from the long flight,” Shogun’s lieutenant muttered, helping him forward. Seung Kwon gave both Chin-Hwa and Dak-Ho a warning look to watch their backs as he ushered Shogun forward.
The two muscular enforcers bringing up the rear exchanged sidelong glances as they cleared the Jetway. None of the tense, silent exchanges were lost on Shogun. Pure humiliation burned his face. He should have passed on Sir Rodney’s kind invitation. Were it not for the insistence of his half brother, Hunter, he surely would have. It had been bad enough that his need for Sasha was a private matter known and acknowledged only by him, but now, once again on North American soil, the desire to be with her had become excruciating.
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nbsp; Shogun wiped the sheen of sweat beading his brow, sipping in shallow inhalations. Her scent littered the air. She was already in New Orleans. To covet another man’s wife was dishonorable; to covet one’s brother’s wife was tragic.
Seung Kwon’s steady hand landed on his shoulder. “Cousin, are you still not well?” He stared into Shogun’s eyes, his voice low and private and laden with concern. “The long flight, the lack of raw food so close to the moon shift . . . or maybe some human contagion is simply passing through your system as you purge it. They are germ conveyors—sickly beasts—and we’ve been in recycled air so long . . . unnatural for wolves.”
Watching his cousin try to understand what he could never impart twisted Shogun’s conscience. The only response he could give right now was a curt nod. He had to remember that above all else, he was a head of state. Deep within his core he sought that element of strength that made him the alpha clan leader of the Southeast Asian Werewolf Federation. The fact that Seung was also searching for something plausible, something that would allow him to save face, only seemed to make the humiliation more profound. How could one explain that losing Sasha was like losing a limb . . . or that the other women he’d burned his way through once home in Korea were merely prosthetic devices—temporary, clumsy by comparison, without warmth and fluidity and offering only dulled sensation, even though they were necessary, aesthetically appealing alternatives. But they would never be Sasha.
Damn what his aunt and her elderly advisors had to say about the appearance of grieving for the Shadow female. His mother’s sister sounded like his dead sister Lei. Lady Jung Suk’s name fit her well: chaste rock.
What would a Were Snow Leopard know of wolf causes or passions? Just because his mother, father, and sister were now deceased didn’t give his aunt any familial rights of inheritance or a place in his den of government. So who was Lady Jung Suk to attempt to now interject herself into the running of a Werewolf Federation?
The Snows never mated with the ferocity of the wolf or stayed in a familial pack, never bonded for generation upon generation . . . They were loners who lived in the barren, icy mountains of Tibet and only came together to procreate once a season. And now his aunt would attempt to counsel him about appearances?
Shogun almost spat but refrained. She needed to be more concerned about how her dead sister and dead niece had committed treason, rather than trying to pretend that him marrying a nice Korean female Were and bearing an heir would wipe away the sins of the past . . . or allow her into his advisors’ council.
How could anyone understand how the phantom pangs of holding Sasha near, his fingers playing against her supple skin, tasting her mouth, now haunted him? Even though their intimate union had never been fully consummated and had occurred long before he’d known that Hunter was his half brother, the memory of his sensual shadow dance with her refused to leave him.
It was so much worse now that he was back in New Orleans. He could almost feel her in the air and he tightened his grip on his carry-on duffel bag to keep from howling. Clan leaders could not go to war over a woman . . . Brothers could not go to war over a woman. Any hint of impropriety for such dubious reasons would make both men lose face. Hunter had saved his life; he had saved Hunter’s life. Shogun repeated each fact to himself, making each one a silent mantra. A fragile peace between the once rival Werewolf and Shadow Wolf Federations had been forged, had followed the prophecy of a reign of peace ushered in by an amazing female of their kind . . . yet she also held the keys to more than mere peace; she owned both the keys and a lock on two men’s hearts.
Tears of regret filled his eyes and quickly burned away as his cousin lowered his gaze, seeming confused and ashamed for him, but clearly not sure why. Shogun let out a slow and quiet breath to steady himself. The humor of fate was cruel. What the hell was wrong with him? This sentimental weakness was not the way of the wolf!
A few moments of reflection disappeared behind Shogun’s normally controlled façade. He squared his shoulders and glanced around at his men. He refused to allow them to witness any distress that he owned. His wolf struggled for freedom but was trapped inside his skin waiting on the full moon, waiting on her. That was a private pain that he’d take to his grave, if necessary.
“I’ll be fine,” Shogun finally said as he briefly closed his eyes, again recalling Sasha’s heated touch during their shadow dance in the teahouse, reliving it in his mind as he’d done a thousand times. “It will pass.”
The figure moved out of the shadows and stood by the tree line near the Bayou House. Within moments, Buchanan clan sentries had picked up the scent, and Butch strolled over with a smile.
“It is in place. Make sure you do your part when the time comes.”
Butch smiled, his gold-covered teeth gleaming. “Don’t worry, we will. The heads of the Wolf Federation will fall.”
“Excellent.”
Before the wolves could howl their agreement, the shadowed figure was gone.
This was absolutely insane. Returning to Ethan’s bar had resulted in nothing after an hour of talking to distraught employees. Hunter looked like he was ready to climb out of his own skin. But Sasha had to talk to Claudia, the waitress that was usually on Desidera’s shift.
“Are you sure that she didn’t have any beef with anybody around town?” Sasha said, willing her voice to remain calm.
Claudia shook her head. “Only a little fracas with Mike, but that was stupid.”
“Mike the bartender?” Sasha said, now looking at Hunter.
“Yeah,” the young woman said, her nervous gaze going between Hunter and Sasha. “He’s due in at four.”
“Uh-huh,” Hunter muttered and then fell silent when Sasha shot him a look.
“So what was this little argument about?”
The young woman glanced around and then smoothed her auburn hair away from her round face. “Okay, this was not the kind of thing I want to see a guy thrown in the dungeon about, all right?”
“That’s not what we’re here for,” Sasha said calmly. She ignored Hunter’s raised eyebrow.
“Okay,” Claudia said quickly, glancing around again. “He liked Desi, but she was way out of his league. So after he tried for who knows how long to get her to go out with him, she finally brushed him off, hard.”
“When was that?” Sasha stared into the frightened woman’s eyes. “Believe me, we are not going to be locking him up.”
“It was the day before everything happened.” Claudia let out a hard breath. “He got mad at her and said that she was the kind who would only lay down with rich kings that paid for it. But whatever she told him, he never said a mean word to her again.”
Sasha didn’t blink. “I already know about the Blood Oasis, so spill it.”
“Okay, okay, she told Mike to fuck off because she was an employee over there and when he didn’t believe her, she flashed her card. The guy went white, apologized, and left her alone, okay? Mike is a really decent guy. He’s not a . . . you know.” Claudia looked around quickly again and lowered her voice. “He’s not a murderer.”
Hunter wiped his palms down his face and pushed off the ladies’ changing-room wall. “Yeah, we gathered. C’mon Sasha, everything here’s a dead end.”
Hunter was right. Ethan’s place was making her skin crawl, and her nerves were so shot she could scream. Whoever killed Desidera had obviously found and removed what the poor girl had tried to stash for Sir Rodney, leaving them at yet another stupid dead end. Ethan had been virtually no help, either, not having a clue as to what it could have been—for all his Fae knowledge.
Sasha’s cell phone buzzed and it gave her such a start that her hand flew to her chest as Hunter whirled at the sound.
“Yeah!” she said without formality. “What?”
“Uhmmm . . . we’re outside?” Clarissa said, measuring her response.
“Be right out,” Sasha muttered and clicked off the phone. What the hell was wrong with her?
“But what if we’
ve missed something in here,” Hunter suddenly said, beginning to walk down the hall, his gaze sweeping.
When he spotted the back staircase, he headed up, taking three steps at a time. Sasha was on his heels, but there was nothing to be found except storage space, a spare office, excess furniture, and old files. Above that was the attic, and Hunter stood in the middle of the floor staring up at the ceiling, sweat pouring off him.
Right now it felt like the walls of Ethan’s Fair Lady were closing in on her and she could tell Hunter also felt it—but male pride refused to let it best him. Heat in the building had risen to the upper floors that lacked the benefit of air-conditioning. To make matters worse, now she had to deal with the fact that her human crew, along with Hunter’s men, had tracked them down and were waiting outside, and still Hunter refused to relent.
“This is not going anywhere,” Sasha finally said, throwing up her hands. “Give it up, dude. whatever was here is gone. We’ve asked everybody we can ask. Look around—there are no hair fibers, not even any Were scent or blood scent up here . . . can we go?”
Hunter looked at her and growled. She pushed past him and headed for the stairs. The close confines and the heat were wearing her down, grinding her nerves to a fine dust.
By the time they’d reached the sidewalk, Hunter was almost panting and she could barely catch her breath. The interior air was damp but not as oppressive as the June humidity and midday heat on the streets of New Orleans. Looking at her bored, uncomfortable squad, she felt bad that she’d had to leave the rest of their team outside—but Ethan had insisted. It was also what Sir Rodney had requested, to keep as much of this as possible on a need-to-know basis only. Both Ethan and Sir Rodney wanted only her and Hunter to witness what had happened and she’d given her word.
Good thing they hadn’t needed to stay inside The Fair Lady for too much longer, because she and Hunter might have come to blows. But as the thought crossed her mind, Sasha became still . . . Why was she thinking of doing battle with Hunter? They’d been getting on each other’s nerves ever since they found the Phoenix, but prior to that they’d been making love and going at it like a couple of college kids. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noting how distressed his entire vibration seemed to be. What the hell . . .