I found myself grinning wider. “Charon was kind of a badass. I wish you could have seen it.”
Gunnar smiled faintly. “Look, I might have a minor jealousy streak—”
Callie snorted, cutting him off. “More than most girls I know,” she teased.
“Quiet, woman, before I say something that makes me have to let you slam me up against that wall again to prove my undisputed dominance,” he muttered, rolling his eye.
Callie giggled. “Fine.” She turned to me. “We should probably reschedule our dinner. I’ve got some pressing matters to take care of in Kansas City, as you know, and you look like you have your hands full.”
I opened my mouth to protest, picking up on the disappointment in her eyes. “I’m sure—”
She placed a finger over my lips. “Later, Nate. You’ll just have to make it up to me. I expect a thorough attempt to do so.” Her eyes seemed to flicker, and I could tell she had something else on her mind, but it was a private matter, and she wasn’t going to mention it in front of Gunnar.
“Hey, Gunnar. Can you give us a min—”
He threw me onto the couch, almost knocking the breath out of me. Callie gasped in surprise, but before she could react, Gunnar shoved her on top of me. “Yabba-dabba-doo!” he crowed, bolting from the room before either of us could retaliate.
I very quickly realized Callie had no intention of retaliating, because she was staring at me with a smoldering gaze. My bloody fingerprints still painted her jaws from earlier. She slowly leaned close to whisper into my ear.
“Be careful with me, Nate… Or I’ll kill you,” she breathed.
I agreed in a hoarse, caveman grunt, drawing deep from my Neanderthal roots.
She nipped my ear playfully, her breath sweet like fresh-cut fruit. “Eve made the same mistake, you know. Having a taste of the forbidden fruit…” she warned.
I was actually growling until I realized she was laughing softly. She pulled back, her hair cascading over my face, and our noses brushed as she leaned down to touch her lips to mine as gently as… a butterfly’s wings. Her lips were inflamed, scalding to the touch, and neither of us breathed for an eternal second.
And then she kissed me deeply, caressing my tongue with hers.
I groaned, my mouth exploding with a tingling sensation that physically made my eyes roll back. My brain immediately commanded me to grab her and pin her to the couch, but she had already slipped out of my grasp.
I saw her standing before me safely out of reach, and panting, her legs shaking ever so slightly. Her finger slowly rose to her smiling, plump lips, touching them as if to make sure it had all been real. Her gaze was distant and dreamy, and she closed her eyes slowly, letting out a pleased sound of appreciation.
I just stared up at her, panting raggedly, digging my fingers into the couch as I touched my teeth with my tongue, tasting strawberries and sunshine.
“That… okay, yeah,” she whispered. “You need to take care of business, because we really need to come back to this…”
I studied her. “We could get a nice preliminary discussion going right now.”
She was already shaking her head. “Oh, no… I have a feeling preliminary isn’t really in our vocabulary…” she said distractedly, still touching a finger to her lips. “And I’m supposed to be babysitting some toddler werebears. And you have an errand for the King of Hell. This… was just a reminder that you have…” Then she grinned ruthlessly. “Dinner waiting for you when you get home from work.”
She let out a malicious giggle as I lunged to grab her, but she Shadow Walked from the room before I could snatch her. I chuckled, both happy and angry. Then I decided I was going to take a long, arctic shower.
As I made my way into the bathroom, I found myself humming that damned song.
Star light, star bright…
Chapter 31
Still shivering and clutching my childhood Thundercats bathrobe in a wad over my junk – my suit from last night had been bloody, full of burned lava holes, and generally filthy – I walked the halls of my mansion, naked, making my way back to my own rooms and some fresh clothes, hoping no one would spot the Master of the house essentially streaking.
“Hey, sailor,” Othello called out from a suite I had just shuffled past. “Shipping off soon?” she purred, jogging out of her room.
I grinned instinctively, glancing down at my indecency. I felt like a gazelle who had just been spotted by an overly-friendly lioness. “I thought you were heading out of town?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Some assholes broke into the shop last night and dealing with the cops took a few hours. Especially trying to convince them – despite the excessive damage – that it was all a misunderstanding. They seemed pretty adamant about searching the shop to make sure I hadn’t hidden the bodies or something, since I answered the door with my 44 Magnum and my registration for it. They didn’t approve of my nonchalance. Then again, the way Hemingway was glaring at them could have increased their suspicions. We hadn’t finished our… meeting before they arrived,” she grinned salaciously. “He was rather frustrated about that. But not for too long. The police eventually left, of course…” she said, chuckling mischievously.
I burst out laughing. “Asshole robbers. At least you taught them to knock first.”
She slapped my ass – since I had no way of defending myself – and then used my surprise to link her arm through mine before I could do anything to reclaim my virtue. I silently noted that her linking arms with me, while I was using both hands to cover up my danger-zone with the tiny Thundercats robe – put her in an awfully good position to yank my arm away and leave me open to leering.
Othello was a bizarre one. A constant tease, even to those not sexually involved with her – but to those who had once been sexually involved with her, she was a constant source of sexual frustration. She was just one of those possessive, playful types. It was adorable, frustrating, funny, and maddening.
Really, she was kind of like a different flavor of myself. Maybe that was why we’d gotten along so well back in college.
“So, I saw Callie earlier…” she said casually.
“Yeah…” I said stiffly.
“Your arms are cold. You even have goosebumps.” I felt her studying my face in my peripheral vision. “You poor thing. Cold showers are the worst.”
I groaned. “Thanks, Othello. But you know what’s worse? Being reminded of cold showers. After bragging to me about your booty call last night. Which happened in my old loft.”
I felt her suddenly relax, as if realizing she had pushed me too far, and we walked on in silence for a few moments. I wasn’t mad at her. I wasn’t even jealous. It was just the combination of everything. I was kind of all over the place lately. Seeing an old flame naked in my old loft with another man, getting abducted to Hell, having a flashback of a forgotten childhood, realizing how deep my feelings for Callie just might be, and then getting only the briefest taste of Paradise on my tongue before being abandoned again. Then, running into Othello. Again. But this time, with me naked.
All in less than twelve hours.
“You okay, Nate?” she finally asked in a soft voice.
I let out a loud breath, nodding. “Sure. Just a lot on my mind.”
She tugged hard at my arm, making me fight to keep myself covered. “Nate…” she warned.
“Fine!” I snapped, repositioning my make-shift loin cloth. And I gave her a brief update.
“Wow…” she said after I’d finished, no longer struggling against my arm.
“What about you?” I asked. “You’ve been traveling a lot, lately.”
Her arm stiffened slightly. “Oh, that’s nothing.”
I stopped, planting my feet. Like an idiot, I hadn’t considered the physics involved, because Othello kept walking, yanking away my arm and making me drop my robe. She caught it before it fell to the ground, but she kept her distance, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she stared down at the wad of damp fabric.
I stood there, naked, and quickly decided that the only course of action was to maintain character.
I placed my hands on my hips as she finally looked up at me. She assessed me from head-to-toe appraisingly, not an ounce of shame. “Oh, Pharos is back…” she teased, bringing up her old nickname for me. It had been a while since she had used it. Since she had met Hemingway. “You’re pulling out the big gun to make me talk…” she teased.
Carl walked around the corner to find me naked, hands on my hips like I was posing for a statue, scowling at Othello. He turned to Othello, then back to me, considering something.
“I see…” he said, and then casually turned around to walk down the hall.
Othello watched him for a moment. “What do you think he’ll make of that?” she asked.
“Something very creepy, most likely,” I mumbled. “But don’t dodge the question, Othello. Tell me about New York. Whatever you and Alucard have been up to.”
She sighed. “Okay. I’ve been working with a girl in Boston.”
I frowned. That was better than I had assumed. What with the army of werewolves needing to help out of the blue not long ago. “Why?”
“She’s a good thief. And even better than good at finding the more obscure things you’re usually interested in. I recruited her after she successfully stole something from Grimm Tech.” I felt my shoulders tightening in anger, but Othello held up a hand. “It was an accident, and I took care of it. Calm down. I’ve sent her on a task or two and she’s done well. Just an asset in Boston. Thought she might be useful for Plato’s Cave or Grimm Tech,” she shrugged.
I thought about that. “A thief…” I wondered if she could maybe help me find a Devourer for Talon’s spear. A blue one, like Anubis had suggested. “Why don’t you send me her details.”
“You can’t bully her, Nate. I’m serious. She’s dangerous.”
I frowned. “I wasn’t going to.” Othello arched an eyebrow doubtfully. “Okay, maybe a little. But what do you mean she’s dangerous? I’m dangerous, too,” I said, realizing I sounded petty.
She pointedly glanced down at my current threat level, and found it wanting. “Magic doesn’t affect her.”
I blinked, recalling an encounter I’d had in Boston not long ago, when I had jumped into an Uber to meet up with Callie for a dinner. The girl in the Uber had given me a high five and zapped my power away from me on contact before speeding away. “A feisty redheaded Irish girl?”
Othello nodded slowly. “Yeah. That one. Quinn MacKenna.”
“Why did you send Gunnar and a bunch of others to New York not long ago? Around the time that forest abruptly grew out of the Brooklyn Bridge?” I asked.
She nodded carefully. “I sent Quinn to acquire a seed from the Tree of Life. We ran into a few obstacles. I called in backup.”
I blinked at her. “What exactly are you doing over there at Grimm Tech these days? Do I need to get some kind of weekly briefings or something?”
“It’s probably better that you don’t, but I do tell you about all the successful missions.”
I scowled. “So, Quinn took the seed for herself instead of giving it to you?” I asked in a very cold tone.
Othello held up her hands, shaking her head. Then, realizing she still held the robe, she tossed it back at me. “No. Someone else took it and used it to grow that forest.”
I positioned the robe over my goods as I studied her, wondering if she would lie to me. Then I let it go with a frustrated sigh. I had enough to worry about already. “Okay. But I want to meet her. Soon.”
Her phone began to ring, and she pulled it out of a pocket. “Sorry, Nate. I need to take this. I’ll email you the stuff on Quinn. Oh, I beefed the hell out of your security system on the Gate and the entire perimeter wall. I almost pity anyone stupid enough to attempt a breach. Your security team each has a tablet with a full dossier on any reporter out front, and they are casually walking around amongst them, bringing up sensitive matters in passing. Talk to you later,” she said sweetly, answering the phone and heading past me back to her suite.
I snapped my teeth at her as she walked past, and for my trouble, she slapped me on the ass again with her free hand, full palm, and since her hand was wet from the robe, it was a resounding, echoing crack in the mansion. I hopped instinctively, scowling over my shoulder at her… only to notice Carl’s head peering around the corner, having witnessed the whole thing. He stared me in the eyes and slowly withdrew from sight, his tongue flicking out twice, as if assuming I wouldn’t notice him if he moved slowly enough.
I sighed, and continued on to my room, wondering what security measures Othello had installed. Reporters? Was she talking about tomorrow’s meeting with Mordred? Likely, they were both physically fatal and combined with electronic surveillance deterrents. And my security team? Who had she roped in for that? I had a brief image of Achilles walking around with a tablet, casually bringing up proof of affairs, extortion, and other blackmail-worthy schemes with the reporters, all while loudly sipping his fat-free-skim-sugar-free-mocha-frap-a-latte. Othello was one of the most unassumingly dangerous people I knew, especially when anyone tried to uncover something she considered private. And she considered almost everything private, hoarding intel like a dragon hoarded treasure.
As I walked, I found myself considering ways I could make use of Quinn. If she was as good as Othello thought, maybe she would know where to find a blue Devourer, not that I had the faintest idea of where to begin my search. And I didn’t have time to go hunting for one. My meeting with Mordred was tomorrow.
The advice for a second Devourer was too little, too late.
I did have a decent collection of stones in the Sanctorum and Armory. Maybe I already had this Devourer…
All in all, I had a daunting to-do list. I wanted to talk to Talon about my flashback. He’d been suspiciously absent since last night. Had he ever even heard of a Devourer? Or those other names Anubis had mentioned – a Souleater. A Neverwas. And more importantly, had Talon known the significance of his name, Talon the Devourer?
Anubis said I needed to find out how to rejuvenate my Ichor, my borrowed god-juice.
I had to unite some of the other Families under my banner.
And I wanted to dig some dirt up on a Knight currently being watched over by Matthias. At least, the last I knew, Matthias had kidnapped him, drugging Baba Yaga and Van Helsing to achieve it.
But first, clothes.
Chapter 32
Dressed and ready to conquer the day, I tightened my satchel on my shoulder, and stormed out of my room in search of Talon. I had an errand to run, and I wanted him with me.
I snagged an apple off the counter of the kitchen and caught a bit of news on the television for my trouble. Mordred had found the time to do an interview after the speech last night.
“Master Temple fancies himself a modern-day Batman, what with his impressive technology company, Grimm Tech. Maybe I can help him turn his illusion into a reality to help this city,” he said with a smile.
“Mr. Dred, do you look forward to your meeting?” the reporter asked him, gobbling the whole topic up.
Mordred nodded eagerly. “I’ll only miss that meeting if I’m dead and buried. Even then, I would do my best to sneak out of the underworld to make it. One doesn’t stand up a meeting with a King, after all,” he said, winking at the camera – winking at me, specifically. He was also telling the entire world that our meeting was happening, no matter what. Which meant I couldn’t simply kill him before that time. I realized I was clenching my fist, the apple forgotten in my other hand. “You won’t find me disappearing like Alaric Slate did…” Mordred trailed off thoughtfully.
The reporter pounced. “Are you suggesting that… King Temple,” the reporter asked with a wink, “had something to do with Alaric’s disappearance?”
Mordred replied with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not at all. But when you’re as famous as Temple, sometimes your employees, attorneys, friends,
family janitors, or even secretaries can feel… overprotective.” He shrugged, waving it off. The bastard had just casually mentioned a bunch of my friends. Obviously, his research hadn’t been limited to me. But who was his source?
The television abruptly flicked off, and I turned to find Dean sneering at it.
“Did you need anything else?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
I sighed, shaking my head. “No. Thank you, Dean.”
“I’ve taken to target shooting,” he said as I turned my back. I stopped, frowning back at him. “I hope that is permissible.”
I nodded slowly. “Sure. May I ask why? You’re safe here.”
He arched a brow at me, silently reminding me of all the times the mansion had come under attack. I shrugged sheepishly. “It’s the damned reporters lurking outside the gates. Waiting for this meeting tomorrow,” he grumbled.
I frowned, growing concerned. “You’re not shooting the reporters, are you?”
He gritted his teeth. “Much to my dismay, no. I am shooting the sudden influx of pigeons roosting on the wall. Coincidentally, they are in close proximity to the reporters on the other side…” he said, face impassive – but for him, it was a maniacal cackle.
I grinned. “Oh, right. We can’t have that. Um… shoot away. Give them a warning, though. Just in case.”
“Of course. I announce my intentions on the intercom at the gates… precisely seven seconds before I begin my irregularly-timed, hour-long shooting sessions. I checked with Turner Locke, the family attorney. This is private property, outside City Limits, and we are within our rights to use firearms on the grounds. Turner Locke arrived in the middle of the night to personally speak with every reporter, threatening them with the end of their careers and personal lives if anyone so much as considered trespassing. He also hinted that the entire news network would be slapped with legal repercussions they would never wade out of if even one of their reporters went rogue. Our privacy should be guaranteed, at least from the Regulars.”
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