by Nyna Queen
Her own laughter sounded forced in her ears.
Sweet Jester, sugar, you act like you’ve never been alone with a man before! But she had been alone with men before, and maybe that was the crux of the matter.
Darken nodded as if waking from a dream, and—like an afterthought—moved to the side, almost as if to avoid touching her.
Oh well, she was filthy, hadn’t she just pointed that out herself? Speaking of which. She paused in front of the door frame and held up a tail of her messed up shirt.
“Think there’s any chance I might get these washed and fixed?”
She wasn't quite sure how much of it could be fixed, but at the end of the day, it was fifty percent of the shirts she owned at the moment. Plus, her backpack had been completely doused in the blood of the merc she’d gutted, so she doubted the rest of clothes were in much better shape. So, yay, these bloody, smelly, shredded rags were all she had to show for. Just great.
Darken was frowning at the tattered mess of her clothes, and then, realizing what they did—and didn’t—cover, politely averted his gaze.
“I’m certain that can be arranged. Although I’m not sure they are really worth saving.”
“Spoken like a man who’d never had to scrape for the clothes on his back.” Alex said it lightly, like a tease, but some of her anguish must have leaked into her voice, because his brows tugged together, and he watched her shirt with new consideration.
“If you wish I can place an order for it to be done tonight. Someone will come by and collect them. Just put them into the laundry basket in your room and set it in front of the door and it will be returned to you in the morning.”
Alex bit her lip. And wake some poor sewer lady out of her well-deserved sleep?
“Just if it is no bother.”
“Don’t worry about it. Blayde assured me that he would personally see to all our needs.”
Personally, huh? She wouldn’t bet a penny on that.
“Who is he anyway?”
Darken cocked a finely shaped eyebrow. “Blayde?”
No, the prime! “Yes.”
A slightly dangerous smile glittered over Darken’s features. “Oh, Blayde is one of a kind.” He leaned forward. “He is one of the augmenti.”
Alex’s eyes opened wide. “A cable head?”
Darken laughed a soft, wolfish chuckle. “That’s how some people call them, though I’m most certain he’d feel slightly insulted by the term.”
The augmenti were people who used magic and technique on themselves to enhance their magical talents. A couple of years ago there had been quite a booming trend in it, but where there was money involved there always was a risk of misuse and after a large number of rich trueborn college kids had died in rather gut-wrenching ways, it had somewhat lost its popularity. Some forms were even legally forbidden in the Provinces, as far as she was aware.
“So how did he—?” Uhm, how did you formulate that without sounding offensive?
“How he enhanced himself?” Darken completed her question, his deep voice slightly amused. “Ah, that’s a good question. I’m not sure anybody really knows what he did to himself and how exactly his magic works. He doesn’t talk about it much. In fact, very little is known about Blayde’s life before he became the Custodian of the Pacified Zone and he likes to shroud himself in a cloak of mystery.”
No shit!
“There are rumors, of course,” Darken said. “One more colorful than the other, and Blayde, at the very least, keeps them well entertained. Probably planted a few of them himself, the old varlet.”
There was sharp approval behind the criticizing words. One smooth operator complimenting another.
“All that is known is that his talent is of a visionary nature and that he has some kind of special connection to his territory, a certain way of knowing what is going on within its boundaries. You could almost say he has his eyes everywhere. He sees things … knows things … and it is, by any account, an unwise idea to tell lies inside the Pacified Zone.”
A shudder went over Alex as she remembered the gaze from those hidden eyes. Sees things … knows things …
The black man’s words echoed in her mind: … and yet you wear them like a queen … an exceptional lady like you … in any thread …
And then that steak remark.
Could be a coincidence. Could be not. And if he knew what she was? He’d invited her in, had been more than courteous. If he’d wanted to he could have killed her out there on the spot and there wouldn’t have been much she could have done against it. But here she was.
Yet those eyes …
She swallowed. “What’s with the glasses?”
“He says people tend to find his eyes disturbing.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”
“I never actually had the pleasure.”
Well, cloak of mystery indeed. “I’m surprised the Council lets him play master and commander right on their front lawn.” This was still the Province of Lancaester if she wasn’t mistaken.
“Oh, ‘lets’ is a strong word.”
“And that means—?”
“You see, Blayde’s trade is secrets and intelligence. He is collecting them like others are collecting stamps. He’s very diligent about it, too. The thing about politicians is, that most of them have a skeleton or two in their closet, and if someone was to, say, shed the light on them …”
Alex jaw dropped. “He’s blackmailing them?”
“He would say he’s merely putting forward very convincing arguments.”
“Quibble!”
“Perhaps,” Darken agreed with a small smile. “He might be a thorn in their side, but as long as he doesn’t commit any act of war and keeps playing by some basic rules, the Council pretends that this little enclave doesn’t exist.”
“And doesn’t send a squad of forfeit to level the place and all the people in it?” Alex guessed.
Darken grimaced. “To get something like that through the Council and rubber-stamped by the High Court would be a real pain. It’s a lot easier to just let him play in his sandcastle if he promises to stay out of the rest of the sandbox.”
Now, how about that? “Quite an interesting friend for a servant of the state.”
Not that Darken seemed to be such a stickler for rules himself.
Something sharp and dangerous flickered in Darken’s eyes, and his voice turned into a soft croon. “You have your share of dubious connections—and I have mine.”
Which was clearly an insinuation at her involvement with the Duke. Yeah, well, people who live in a glass house shouldn’t throw stones. Apparently, they really had a lot more in common than met the eye.
Silence stretched again, which reminded her that she was still alone in that corridor with him.
Alex swallowed. “I really should take that shower.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” his eyes flickered over her again, “yes, you should.”
Meaning what, Mr. Neat-freak? He wasn’t exactly fresh as dew himself. Though, to be fair, his clothes were a lot less muddy and bloody than hers. How he’d managed to stay so relatively clean through the fight was anyone’s guess. Didn’t mean he had to be such a prick about it, either.
You’re still he-ere, sugar!
Alex quickly stepped up to her door and plunged the keycard into the reader. She’d just go to her room and not think about him anymore and everything would be fine. The door unlocked with a liberating click. Almost in the clear.
“Alex …”
Just keep moving. Keeeep moving.
“Yes?”
He was still standing in the same spot, one hand buried in his raven hair, smelling slightly … frustrated.
“I just wanted to say … thank you.”
Her eyes widened. “For what?”
Hesitation. “For sewing up Max. I think I didn’t say that yet.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but nothing followed.
It occurred to her that he p
robably didn’t often have to thank people, considering what he was. Thanking was like admitting that you’d needed someone’s help—and people like them didn’t like needing help, much less admitting to it. Easier to do it on behalf of a wounded little boy, than on one’s own.
It’s an apology! she realized. He had likely pegged her as an untrustworthy shaper-mongrel and she’d saved their asses. Oh, well, maybe not saved. But she’d kept her word all the same. And it probably was bugging him. This was probably the closest to an “excuse me” she’d ever get from a forfeit. And it had likely cost him some.
“You’re welcome.” Alex tried to smile. “He’s a cute kid. Pretty tough for such a little boy. And quite caring.” Since that sounded a little too soppy in her own ears she quickly added, “well, compared to his prickly darling of a sister, anyway.”
A frown knitted Darken’s forehead. “You shouldn’t be so hard on Josepha,” he said quietly. “She’s having a tough time.”
“Oh yeah, I can imagine.” Alex waved a hand. “Being born rich and privileged—must be quite a hardship.”
Darken stiffened, his face turning into that tight, haughty trueborn mask. “You think being born rich makes everything easy, don’t you? You think they are just spoiled little brats.”
Alex opened her mouth to tell him that she knew they were spoiled little brats, but the sudden cold look on his face cut her short.
“Yes, they are rich, and they might be spoiled, but that doesn’t mean that life is a constant walk in the park for them. My brother is a high ranking official in the country’s politics and he and his wife are constantly away, campaigning, attending benefits, appointments, meetings … Meanwhile, their education is mostly overseen by our mother and she is”—a tight grimace stretched his features—“not an easy person to deal with. She doesn’t tolerate what doesn’t sit well with her and very few things do. It is … difficult for a child to flourish under her thumb.” A soft growl entered his voice. The frustration of a son, who knew from his own experience what he was talking about?
“Maxwell and Josepha are under a lot of pressure right now,” Darken said. “That holds true for Josepha in particular since she is the older one and her rare talent has recently pulled her into the focus of quite some attention. Everybody is expecting her to be nothing short of perfect whenever she appears in public. That’s a lot of expectation to live up to for a fourteen-year-old who is still struggling to find her own identity beneath the mountain of demands she is presented with. And now this.”
He sighed and raked his fingers through his dark, tousled hair. “Maxwell is still young enough to turn this whole thing into some kind of big adventure in his mind. In a couple of weeks, it will be more a fairytale than anything else, but Josepha …” He slowly shook his head. “She’ll have to deal with this like you and I, and she’s not even half as equipped to do that as either of us. So, don’t be so easy on judging someone by the circumstances of her birth.”
Hah! This just kept getting better!
“Don’t talk to me about judging people!” Alex snapped, anger mounting in her chest. “I’ve been judged my whole life by the circumstances of my birth!”
“Well, get over it!” He made a harsh gesture with his hand. “Do you really think you’re the only damned person in the world who’s being judged for what she is born?”
He slid forward and she automatically took a step back.
Another.
And another.
Her back hit the wall. A hint of panic flashed through her. He was still coming closer, all bottled up forfeit temper. A predator cornering his prey. But she wasn’t easily intimidated prey.
Her teeth bared in defiance. “Don’t assume you know anything about me—or my childhood!”
And what she had to go through in all those years. Josy might be facing a tough time now, but when she hadn’t been much older she’d almost been raped, made her first kill and then lived on the streets on the brink of starvation. How was that for tough?
Darken’s laugh was harsh and cold and she felt a shudder run over her. “You’re not the only one who’s had a bad childhood. Stop using it as an excuse to throw your shit at people.”
The words were like rusty nails driven into the rotten wooden fence around her heart. She flinched.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders, trapping her. His soft voice was almost a croon, full of sweet cruelty. “Wake up, Alex.” His breath tickled her ear. “This is life! And life isn’t fair.”
The indifferent trueborn mask dropped and beneath it, there was pain; pain and viciousness chiseled in with the chisel of brutal honesty. His face was so close she could smell his masculine scent underneath all the blood on herself. It sent an electric tingle through her body. She tensed, the pulse beating in her throat, as she stared into his burning eyes that became deeper and deeper and pulled her down into their depths.
He said something else, but suddenly all she could think about were his lips and how they would feel on hers.
She licked her lower lip.
He broke off. His gaze snagged to her mouth, pupils growing. It was the same crazy look she’d glimpsed at the river bench, wild, hungry, and utterly delicious. But what had been only a ripple on the surface of his temper then, was now a wild torrent that left her shaking and breathless.
The space between them was bristling with heated energy.
She braced herself for the touch of lips, absolutely not sure if she would kiss him back or knee him in the groin.
Darken stepped back so abruptly she felt the cold rush of air produced by the movement. His breath came in ragged gasps and his fingers clenched at his sides.
“I’m gonna call my brother.” His deep voice was completely flat, hollow, as if taking that one step back had taken all his remaining strength. “He deserves to know that his children are still alive.”
With that, he turned and walked away, slowly, as if the ground had turned to silt and every step was an immense effort of will.
Unable to speak or even move, Alex just stared after him. When he had rounded the corner, she sagged against the wall, dropping her head against it and closed her eyes, not caring that her blood-smeared hair was probably soiling it beyond repair.
Great Mother, sugar, what are you doing?
Her pulse was racing like a rabbit on cocaine, sending little sparks of lightning over her skin. There could be nothing even close to attractive about her right now, in her messed-up clothes, covered in dried blood, torn, tired, and exhausted—and yet he had looked at her as if none of it mattered.
She knew she should have run, should have slapped those shutters closed, should have done something, yet some part of her felt thrilled and intrigued and wanted to walk that road, just to see where it led. It was a road built on quicksand, but she was the bloody fool who couldn’t wait to see if she could make it to the other side.
Alex rubbed her forehead. She had to be insane. That had to be it.
It’s totally understandable, she told herself. She’d almost died several times during the last couple of days and now her body wanted to drown in the simple sensation of being alive. After all the hassle, who could blame her for craving a little diversion? And he was right here, in front of her and he was so—male! No wonder her body reacted to him like a stir-crazy compass needle.
Well, thinking about it was all fine and dandy, but if she possessed any kind of reason those thoughts would stay in her head.
Yes, reason was something she could use right now. Where the hell was Mitja when she needed him?
With a grimace, she pushed herself off the wall, stepped into her room, and closed the door behind her, hoping this would close the door on those thoughts as well.
DARKEN stood at the edge of the huge terrace that halfway wrapped around the hotel at fifth floor and looked down at the colorful bustle below, as people enjoyed one of the first warm evenings of the year: couples strolling hand in hand along the illuminated streets
; friends and families popping in and out of the variety of restaurants and bars; groups of juveniles having a laugh at the edge of the park …
He took a sip from his wineglass.
Calling his brother had been about as unpleasant as he’d expected. Stephane had lost his temper about thirty seconds into the call, yelling at the top of his lungs and Darken was pretty sure that not all the furniture in his room had survived the outburst.
He grimaced. His brother’s rage was warranted. The man had been worried sick for his children for more than two days without any word or clue what had happened to them, or if they were even alive.
Yes, Darken sighed, Steph was entitled to some rage. Still, he was glad that his brother would have some time to cool down before they met in person. Hopefully, he’d come to his senses enough to refrain from trying to rip off Darken’s head. No matter how much he loved his brother he still was what he was and challenging a forfeit was never a wise undertaking. Not even under brothers.
A sweet trickle of icy fire slid through his veins. Just a little reminder of a temper that was strung too tightly. He flexed his fingers.
Far more challenging than facing his brother’s momentous wrath had been talking him out of dropping everything and hiring the next available teleporter to get him to the Pacified Zone. It had taken him all his verbal skills and art of persuasion to keep Stephane from a rash action he might later regret.
Yes, it was true, people needed to see him as the caring father he was, but what they also needed to see—particularly in times of election—was a man who didn’t lose his head and run off from his duties when personal matters got involved. Especially in the face of a weighty political decision like the one they were facing right now, and in preparation of which Steph and his wife, Edalyne, had traveled to Corona already the week before. That was exactly the kind of impulsive, hotheaded behavior that his opponents were using to discredit him in the running election campaign. Like it or not, the situation was under control. His son and daughter were alive and for tonight they were as safe as they could be under Blayde’s watchful eyes—and, of course, his own.