Storm's Heart er-2
Page 6
“That’s it,” he said. He knew full well that she could hear him with her sensitive Fae ears. “Don’t give me any lip this time. We’re going back to New York where I know I can keep you safe.”
She stared at his angry face as he stalked toward the SUV. Her finger went out and hovered over the lock button on the doors. She pulled her hand away and left the doors locked.
Tiago reached the driver’s side and pulled at the handle. He slammed his fist into the car. “What the hell are you doing now?”
“You aren’t taking me anywhere,” she told him.
“You are a crazy person. Open the goddamn door.”
She looked into his fierce gaze and shook her head. She knew he wouldn’t break the window, or do anything that might risk hurting her. She touched the glass where his fist was planted. She was filled with a yearning to let him take her home, to make the nightmare stop, but she knew he couldn’t. Then she put the SUV into gear and pulled away.
Tiago watched her drive away, his clenched fists planted on his hips. As she looked at him in the rearview mirror, blindinghot lightning struck the pavement near his feet, and the scene flashed black and white.
He roared, “GodDAMMIT, Tricks!”
She drove with intense concentration, mindful of the speed limit and the furious thunderbird that shadowed her over-head. She was also quite lost. After a few minutes she gave up trying to figure out the route on her own and punched the destination into the GPS system on the dashboard.
It was a terrible journey and it felt like it took forever. She almost pulled over a couple of times to let Tiago take the wheel. Her chills came back and raked at her body from the inside, and her skin hurt. Then her heart started working too hard, as if she were running, and her gaze started to blur. She kept a death grip on the steering wheel, afraid to loosen her hold for even a moment.
The Regent hotel was located in Chicago’s Gold Coast district on the near north side, a historic neighborhood that had arisen after the Great Chicago Fire. Located just a few blocks from the famous Magnificent Mile shopping district on Michigan Avenue, the Regent was a luxury boutique hotel with mahogany-paneled walls, antiques, artwork, fireplaces and an old-world charm that was much favored by the Elder Races.
At long last she pulled onto the short one-way street where the Regent was located, and she could see the hotel’s well-lit portico ahead. There was also a mob of people milling about, huddling under umbrellas and awnings as they talked and drank coffee.
Camera crews and television vans. Of course.
And there was Tiago, wearing his mad assassin’s face as he leaned against a crosswalk post and watched the oncoming traffic on the one-way street with those dark killer’s eyes. He was quite the satanic figure, massive and motionless and clad in black, and wholly focused on her. She tried not to let the sight of him affect her as she looked away, but her hyperawareness of his presence added to her clumsiness. He looked so savage. No, sexy. No, savage. Oh, for Pete’s sake.
She carefully pulled the SUV over to the curb and parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. “Big, tough, scary Wyr,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Tiago’s chin lowered to his chest as he looked at her. The downward angle of his eyebrows became more pronounced. The overhead streetlamp slashed black shadows across his hatchet-carved features.
The skin at the back of her neck tingled. She whispered, “You can’t hear me whisper from all the way over there, can you?”
He tilted his head in silent acknowledgment. Adrenaline pulsed. Her bones were wiser and more sensible than her foolish brain. They reminded her that his mad face was the last thing many creatures saw before they died.
Phooey. The keys clacked as her shaking fingers turned off the ignition. The spurt of adrenaline was a weak one that fled as her muscles seemed to turn to goo. She slumped in her seat. It hurt to breathe.
A light tap sounded at the window. She forced herself to look up. Tiago stood at the driver’s window again. His madassassin face had morphed into sharp concern. He put his flattened hand on the window. It looked as big as a dinner plate. “Faerie,” he said. “Niniane. Please open the door now.”
Her arm felt like it weighed fifty pounds as she pushed the lock button. He yanked the door open and leaned over her, his brow creased in a frown. He put a hand to her forehead and took in a quick breath.
“They all want Niniane Lorelle,” she said to him. Her voice sounded tinny and weird, and echoed in her own ears. “But who am I kidding? That girl died a long time ago. Tricks is just going to have to fake it.”
His expression gentled in a way she would never have believed if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The satanic killer morphed into a handsome worried man. “Niniane didn’t die,” he said. He stroked her hair. “She just went into hiding for a very long time. She’s a brave, beautiful woman who needs medical attention now.”
“I know, it’s infected,” she said. She watched as a man from the crowd noticed them and began to walk toward them. A few others joined him, then more. An internal quaking rattled her limbs, and her breathing grew choppy. She gripped Tiago’s thick, strong wrist, and her gaze clung to his. “Please don’t leave me until I get better. I can’t do this alone and sick. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”
Death came back into his face as he glared at the oncoming crowd. “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried,” he said. “And you might recall, faerie—you’ve tried. Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”
She nodded. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and pulled out of the SUV. He took the Glock from his waistband and pointed it at the crowd. People cried out and jerked to a halt. In his deep battlefield-carrying voice, Tiago said, “Her highness has survived two assassination attempts in less than thirty-six hours. Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t shoot you, because I will. Back the fuck up.”
The crowd stumbled back, staring at him. Niniane stared at him too. He was pure aggression, from that powerful muscled body to his hatchet-hewn face, black hair shining wet from the rain and those hard, glittering eyes. The last of her strength ebbed away as she relaxed. He really would take care of everything.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A flicker of his eyes, a small, brief quirk at the corner of his lips. He told the crowd, “Everybody—move across the street. Now.”
She must have closed her eyes for a minute, because suddenly there were uniformed police all around. She startled violently as her overtaxed body tried to pulse another alarm, but something must have happened when she wasn’t looking. The police had recognized Tiago and were helping, not confronting him. They cleared the path to the hotel.
Tiago leaned into the SUV one more time to ease his arms under her shoulders and knees. She tucked her face into his neck as he cradled her against his broad chest. Cameras started to flash, sparking in the wet night like fireflies. Tiago’s Power enveloped her, a warm masculine blanket of inexhaustible energy. She concentrated on his scent, on his massive strength, which kept the rest of the chaotic, dangerous world at bay. Thank you, thank you.
Uniformed staff held the doors as he strode into the Regent. He headed toward the reception desk, intensely aware of the small shivering female in his arms. She felt so vulnerable. Rage swept over him again as he recalled the footage of when she was knifed.
A distinguished, well-dressed human male with salt-and-pepper hair approached Tiago before he was halfway to the desk. The male was flanked by hotel security. Tiago bared his teeth at them when they were still several feet away. “Stop there.”
The men froze and regarded him with wide-eyed wariness. The human in the suit said, “Sir, whatever we can do—please know the full resources of the hotel are at her highness’s disposal.”
“We need a suite on a secured floor,” Tiago ordered. “It should be at least two floors away from the Dark Fae delegation. And her highness needs medical attention. Get a doctor. Make it happen now.”
He and the suit stepped onto the elevator. Tiago snapped at the security guards, “Take the stairs.”
They jerked to a halt. As the doors shut, they turned to sprint away.
He looked at the suit and said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir. You’re the Wyr sentinel Tiago Black Eagle,” said the human. “Lord Cuelebre called personally and informed us of your involvement. It is my understanding Lord Cuelebre has also been in contact with Chicago PD. I’m the hotel manager, Scott Hughes.”
Tiago nodded. The seven Wyr sentinels had a legal authority that had several things in common with that of a federal U.S. Marshal, although there were several discrete differences as well that mainly had to do with the chain of command. When Tiago was in the States, among other things he had the authority to apprehend fugitives from Wyr justice, enlist help from willing civilians, and protect Wyr judiciaries, dignitaries and witnesses. He assumed control of the current situation from a long-standing precedent. Niniane had been a public member of Wyr society for many years, and she had often been under the sentinels’ protection.
It helped to have some of his road smoothed. Now was not the time to fuck around with an argument over jurisdiction and weapons privileges.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Tiago said. “It was her choice to come back to the hotel, not mine. I am on a hair trigger, and I will kill anyone who moves too quickly or tries to get too close. Clear the floor of the suite and put guards on the elevators and stairway exits. In fact, if you haven’t already done so, clear the hotel. You might have heard what I said outside—there have been two assassination attempts on her in less than thirty-six hours. I’m prepared to shoot and ask questions later. Do not let the Dark Fae delegation come onto that floor for any reason, not until we have some kind of independent authority and arbitration on-site.”
“Some of the hotel staff and guards are undercover police,” said Hughes. “They were put in place once it was decided her highness was staying here before crossing over to the Dark Fae land for her coronation. Lord Cuelebre has advised us that the Elder tribunal is sending one of its Councillors, who will be here shortly.”
“I would have expected nothing less,” said Tiago. The tribunal would not be sending either the Dark Fae or the Wyr representative, but a representative from one of the other five demesnes in order to maintain an impartial stance in arbitrating any conflicts that might arise. Tiago dismissed the subject and thought for a moment. Safety, shelter, food, clothing. “Is there a suite with a kitchen next to the one we’re going to occupy?”
“Yes, all the suites on that floor are business class. They’re equipped with small kitchens.”
“Put a chef and an assistant in a neighboring suite. They’ll be on call twenty-four/seven. Better put a hotel housekeeper in there too. Put one of those undercover cops in there. The staff stays sequestered for now. They eat whatever they cook, plus you need to make sure they can test for poisons in any grocery delivery. Also, she needs clothing. See that she gets some of her things from the penthouse. Make sure they are swept for poisons and thoroughly cleaned before they’re delivered.”
The hotel manager was looking more somber by the moment. “All right.”
Tiago stared hard at the manager. “I’m holding you responsible. You don’t want to piss me off. Understand?”
Hughes swallowed hard but kept a calm demeanor and nodded. “I understand.”
Tiago ducked his chin and said gently in Niniane’s ear, “Almost there now, faerie. Hang on.”
She nodded, a wisp of her silky black hair tickling his chin, and whispered, “You need c-clothes too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get my stuff in a bit,” he told her. Soon as he got her settled, he would have Tucker bring his duffle back from the motel room.
She raised her voice. “Scott?”
Scott? Tiago looked up fast, eyes narrowed. The hotel manager’s face had gone from sober worry to pure adoration. “Yes, your highness?”
“Thank you so much for everything. I don’t know what I would d-do without your help.” It was clear she was gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering too much, as shivers continued to rack her body.
“It’s my privilege, your highness, whatever I can do. This has been a terrible ordeal. We’ve all been so worried about you.”
Tiago turned to face forward toward the elevator doors, his expression turning wry. Of course. Niniane had already met the manager and staff, and had already worked her particular brand of magic on them. It seemed she made conquests wherever she went, except, apparently, with anyone intent on murdering her.
“Please thank all the hotel staff for me as well. As s-soon as I’m well enough, I want to thank everybody personally.”
“I’ll be sure to do so,” promised the manager with a fervent smile.
Tiago sighed as he thought of Niniane coming within proximity of so many strangers. Yeah, he’d be sure to talk her out of that one.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Tiago gave the corridors a good hard look before stepping out. Then he and the manager moved at a rapid pace until Tiago stopped at a suite in the middle of a hall with a clear view of each end of the corridor. He nodded to the manager. The two security agents jogged through the stairway exit as Hughes opened the door with a key card.
“Are you two undercover cops?” Tiago asked. They looked at each other, at Hughes and finally at Niniane, who rested with such trust in Tiago’s arms. The older one of the pair nodded. Tiago told the pair, “Guard the door. Knock when the doctor arrives.”
They both nodded. Hughes held the door for Tiago as he strode down the short hall to the living room. He booted the coffee table aside and eased his precious package onto the sofa. He knelt on one knee and got his first look at Niniane in good light for a while. Her pale skin was sallow. Those normally lustrous overlarge Fae eyes were dull and circled with dark purple shadows. Her lips were shaking.
His jaw clenched. He knew her injury was not life-threatening. He was long familiar with the horrific casualties of war. For him her knife wound wouldn’t even warrant an email back to New York. He knew she was going to be all right. None of that helped alleviate how he felt as he stared at her helpless suffering.
He snapped out an order. “Blanket.”
Even as he reached out, Hughes was thrusting something soft, heavy and warm into his hand. He shook out the blanket and tucked it with care around Niniane. He rested one hand on her quaking shoulder as he studied her with a frown. He said, “Why are your chills worse all of a sudden?”
“Your body heat was h-helping,” she gritted.
He paused, then with infinite care he picked her up again, sat on the sofa and settled her on his lap with the blanket tucked around her. She lay against him, head on his shoulder, a limp weight except for the shivering that clawed through her slender body. He placed the Glock on the sofa arm as Hughes approached from the kitchen with a chilled bottle of water.
“Here,” said the manager, offering it to Tiago. “It’s still sealed.”
Tiago nodded in approval, propped the bottle against his leg and twisted the cap off while he cuddled Niniane in his other arm. He took a sip of the water, rolled it over his tongue, and decided it was safe enough to drink. He offered the bottle to Niniane.
She stared up at him. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said. What her thready voice lacked in strength, she made up for in anger. “Don’t risk yourself by tasting for poison. I
t’s hard enough to live with you putting yourself on the line doing bodyguard detail for me.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her and tilted the bottle so that she was forced to drink or let the water dribble down her chin. She gargled and swallowed. He said, “That’s not your call to make, your snippiness.”
“Tiago,” she said. She sounded like her patience was severely tried. “Who is going to be Queen? Me, not you. You are not in charge here. You can’t be. Get over it or go home.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” he told her, tilting the water bottle at her again. She was forced to drink more while storm clouds gathered in those amazing eyes. “You asked for my help, and you got it. Deal with it and shut up.”
She pushed her chin up and turned her mouth away from the bottle, and he let her. She huffed, “Your bedside manner is sociopathic.”
“Trying to care about that,” he said. He cocked his head and widened his eyes. “Huh. I guess I’m not managing it.”
Sarcastic son of a bitch. “Thanks for everything you’ve done tonight. I really appreciate it. I’ve changed my mind about you staying. You’re fired.”
“I came to Chicago whether you wanted me to or not, so I’m not caring about that so much either,” he told her. He held the bottle up, and she flinched, slapping a protective hand over her mouth. “Come on, your recalcitrance, finish the bottle. On top of your wound being infected, you drank far too much vodka. You need the hydration.”
“Which I don’t get,” she muttered. Since she was thirsty anyway, she reached for the water bottle, and he let her take it. “As much alcohol as I ingested, my whole body should be a sterile environment.”
“Life isn’t logical.”
Between his body warmth and the blanket her chills had eased, and she was looking sulky and mutinous. The bottom lip of that luscious little X-rated mouth was sticking out. The clench in his gut started to ease until he felt almost cheerful.