Magic Bleeds kd-4 Read online

  I gave him my flat stare. Down, boy.

  “You look so surprisingly striking, Kate,” Saiman murmured and gulped cognac down like it was water.

  “Slow down.”

  Saiman leaned forward. “I would buy you a new dress every weekend just for the privilege of sliding it off of you.”

  Not in this lifetime. “You’re drunk.”

  “Nonsense.” He poured more liquor. “It’s my third glass.”

  “Fifth.”

  He studied the amber liquid. “Do men often tell you you’re enchanting?”

  “No. Men often tell me I hit very hard.” Hint, hint.

  “Every woman should be told she’s attractive. Men are seduced by their eyes, women by their ears. I would tell you every night and every morning.”

  He was just going and going. “That’s nice.”

  “You would like it.” Half of the cognac was already gone. Even with his racehorse-on-crack metabolism, he had to be wasted. “You would like the things I would say. The things I would do.”

  “Sure, I would.” Maybe if Mr. Casanova drank himself under the table, I’d get the waiter to help me carry him down to the parking lot and we’d call it a night.

  Worry nagged at me. I’d never seen Saiman drunk. Drinking, yes, but not drunk.

  I glanced behind me. At the far wall sat a large table full of hors d’oeuvres. If I couldn’t prevent him from drinking, perhaps I could distract him with food.

  “Would you mind if I helped myself to some?”

  He rose, as expected. Drunk or not, Saiman’s manners were flawless. “Allow me to escort you.”

  We strolled to the appetizers. I positioned myself so I could have a better view of the floor. Saiman loitered next to me.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I asked him.

  “Not particularly.”

  “What about replenishing your resources?”

  “Ah yes! Thank you for reminding me.” He raised his empty glass and within seconds a waiter brought him a full one.

  Bernard’s six, Kate zero.

  I surveyed the food. Directly in front of me was a silver platter filled with tiny fried squares. Each square supported a cube of minced meat, flecked with tiny pieces of green onion, sesame seeds, and what might have been grated ginger.

  “Tuna tartare,” Saiman told me. “It’s delectable.”

  I picked up a square and popped it into my mouth. Saiman’s gaze snagged on my lips. A few more drinks and he might strip naked and offer to dance with me in the falling snow outside. How the hell did I get myself into these things?

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “It’s go—”

  Jim walked through the door, wearing a black cloak and a scowl.

  Oh, hell.

  He paused in the door, surveying the crowd and radiating menace. In the gathering of Atlanta’s glittering elite, the alpha of Clan Cat stood out like a solid block of darkness. He saw me and reeled back, wide-eyed, looking like a cat who’d been unexpectedly popped on the nose—shocked and indignant at the same time.

  I would never live this down.

  Behind him, Daniel and Jennifer, the alpha wolf couple, strode through the door. Interesting.

  Jim flashed his teeth. A young man quickly detached himself from the opposite end of the room and hurried over.

  A bulky form blocked the doorway next. Mahon. The Bear of Atlanta, alpha of Clan Heavy, and the Pack’s executioner. What the hell was going on?

  Jim drew the young man aside. Green rolled over his eyes. He said something. The man glanced at me. His eyes widened.

  A tall, handsome man came through the door, side by side with a leaner, darker man a few years younger and pretty enough to be stunning. Robert and Thomas Lonesco, the alpha rats. More people followed, all with the liquid grace of shapeshifters.

  Houston, we have a problem. “We need to leave.”

  “Oh no.” Saiman’s eyes flared with a crazy light. “No, we must stay.”

  Jim continued his fierce chewing-out. It was a very one-sided conversation.

  A plump middle-aged woman stepped through the door next, registered me, and pursed her lips. Aunt B, the alpha of the boudas. Saiman had dragged me into a restaurant where the Pack Council apparently had dinner. Alphas from every clan were in attendance . . .

  My ears caught a voice I knew very well. I couldn’t have possibly heard it all the way from across the room, but I sensed it all the same. My fingers turned ice-cold.

  A familiar muscular figure walked through the door.

  Curran.

  He turned his blond head. Gray eyes looked at me.

  Time stopped.

  The floor dropped down from under my feet and I floated, disconnected, seeing only him. For a second he looked as if he’d been slapped.

  He thought I’d rejected him.

  Curran’s gaze shifted to Saiman. Molten gold flooded his irises, burning off all reason and turning it into rage. Shit.

  Jim said something at Curran’s side, then said something else.

  Curran gave no indication he heard him.

  He wore khakis, a black turtleneck, and a leather jacket. For him, that was the equivalent of formal wear. He must’ve come here for some special occasion. Maybe he wouldn’t rip Saiman to pieces in public. Maybe pigs would fly.

  Next to me, Saiman smiled. “We all want what we can’t have, Kate. I want you, you want love, and he wants to break my neck.”

  Dear God. The fool had actually orchestrated the whole thing. I was on display for Curran’s benefit. I opened my mouth but words failed to come out.

  “He can do nothing here.” Saiman sipped from his glass. “After the Red Stalker affair, the People and the Pack instituted a monthly rendezvous held here in neutral territory, to keep the lines of communication open and discuss business. Any deviation from the protocol would mean war. He can’t move a finger out of line.”

  Jim was still talking, but Curran wasn’t listening. He was looking at us with that unblinking focused stare.

  I finally forced my voice to work. “You brought me here to humiliate the Beast Lord? Are you out of your mind?”

  An ugly grimace skewed Saiman’s features. The civilized mask slid off his face. His voice was a rough snarl. “Would you like to know what humiliation is? Humiliation is being forced to sit quietly and mind your manners sandwiched between two brutish animals at your own venue. Humiliation is being told when to leave and when to arrive, to be confined to your quarters, and to have claws on your neck at the slightest deviation from your orders. That’s what he did to me at the Midnight Games.”

  Saiman had spent the tournament sitting between Aunt B and Mahon. So that’s what this was all about. His towering arrogance couldn’t take it. He must’ve seethed for weeks, and I had played right into it. That’s why he’d drunk his weight in booze. Curran was pressurized violence and Saiman had expected a confrontation.

  “Of course, you know that he wants you.” Saiman grinned, a savage bearing of teeth.

  “He can hear you.” Shapeshifter hearing surpassed human, and Curran had to be straining every nerve to catch our voices.

  “I want him to hear. I’m an expert at lust and he lusts after you. He’s possessive. He would’ve tried to claim you and you must’ve rejected him the way you had rejected me; otherwise you wouldn’t be available to join me here. I wanted him to see it. To drink it in. I have you and he doesn’t.”

  Idiot. “Saiman, be quiet.”

  Curran’s face was unreadable.

  Saiman bent toward me. “Let me tell you about love. I once seduced a bride and a groom on their wedding night. I had him before the reception and her afterward. I did it solely for fun, to see if I could do it. Two people at the start of their new life together, having just promised to forsake all others. If that’s not proof of the impermanence of love, what is?”

  Curran graduated to a full alpha stare. It was the primeval, merciless glare of a predator sighting his prey. It slam
med my senses. I stared right back into the golden irises. Bring it. I have a lot of pent-up aggression I saved just for you.

  Aunt B turned to the two rats, said something with a smile, and together they walked into the side room marked PRIVATE PARTY. One by one the alphas followed her.

  Saiman laughed softly. “We aren’t without similarities, Curran and I. We both fall prey to lust. We both guard our pride and suffer from jealousy. We both employ our resources to get what we want: I use my wealth and my body and he uses his position of power. You say I want you only because you refused me. He wants you for the same reason. I remember when he became Beast Lord. The boy king, the perpetual adolescent, suddenly at the head of the food chain, granted access to hundreds of women who can’t say no. Do you think he forces them into his bed? He had to have done it at least a few times.”

  A muscle jerked in Curran’s face.

  At the corner Jim nodded, and a couple on our left and the recipient of Jim’s chewing-out followed the Pack Council. Jim had pulled his people in. They were giving Curran a clean playing field. No Pack witnesses, so no shapeshifter could be forced to testify against the Beast Lord. Nice.

  Curran’s eyes promised murder. I could practically see the headline: ORDER’S CONSULTANT TORN APART BY BEAST LORD IN EXCLUSIVE NORTHSIDE RESTAURANT. I had to keep Saiman alive. I needed him to help me with my petition, and I had extended the Order’s protection to him when I agreed to this idiotic date.

  I had no sword, no needles, nothing.

  Saiman signaled for a new drink. “There is only one difference between us. The Beast Lord will lie to you. He’ll tell you he loves you, that you’ll always be the only one, that he’ll sacrifice everything to be with you and keep you safe. I won’t lie to you. I won’t make promises I can’t keep. Honesty, Kate. I offer honesty.”

  How could a man so smart be so stupid? It was like he couldn’t stop himself. He’d gone beyond the point of reason. “Saiman, shut the hell up.”

  “You’re all mine tonight. Kiss me, Kate. Let me nuzzle your neck. I bet it would send him over the edge.”

  Saiman reached for me. I sidestepped.

  Something snapped in Curran’s eyes. He started toward us, moving in an unhurried, deliberate fashion, his gaze fixed on Saiman.

  If Curran got his hands on him, he’d kill him. I had seconds to prevent it.

  I stepped in front of Saiman. “Stay behind me.”

  “He won’t hurt me. Not here. It would mean repercussions.”

  “He doesn’t care.” Saiman knew that society operated by certain rules, and as long as he stuck to those rules, he would be safe and respected. No emotion ever touched him deep enough to contemplate breaking those rules. He couldn’t fathom the fact that Curran could throw everything out the window just for the chance to grip Saiman’s throat.

  Curran wove his way between the tables. I started toward him. Weapon. I needed a weapon. On my right a couple was laughing at the table, a mostly empty bottle of wine sitting on the white tablecloth next to them. I swiped the bottle and kept moving.

  Curran’s eyes shone.

  I showed him the bottle. You can’t have Saiman. I’m guarding him.

  He picked up speed. I don’t care.

  I hefted the bottle and picked a spot between two tables. Fine. Keep coming. You wanted to talk. We’ll talk.

  A man entered the room. Slight of build, he wore a sherwani, a long Indian coat, heavily embroidered with scarlet silk and golden thread. Glittering gems punctuated the twists of the embroidery. His dark head was bare. He carried a cane tipped with a gold cobra head, which, knowing him, was probably the genuine article. Nataraja, the resident big kahuna of the People. He handled the People’s interests in Atlanta, reporting to Roland’s inner circle.

  Behind him the gaunt figure of Ghastek emerged, next to Rowena, a stunning redhead, wrapped in a mind-numbingly beautiful indigo dress. Other Masters of the Dead followed. The People had arrived.

  Nataraja saw Curran, grimaced, and called out in a slightly bored voice, “The People greet the Beast Lord.”

  Curran stopped in midstep. The fury in his eyes simmered. He choked it back, bringing himself under control. It must’ve taken a monumental effort of will. It scared the shit out of me.

  Curran mouthed a word at me. Later.

  I tapped the bottle against my palm, and mouthed back. Anytime.

  Slowly Curran turned his back to us. His voice was even and clear. “The Beast Lord greets the People.”

  He held out his hand toward the private room and together he and Nataraja strolled into it side by side.

  “WE HAVE TO LEAV E,” I GROWLED.

  Saiman shrugged with elegant nonchalance. “You worry too much.”

  Twenty minutes had passed since the People and the Pack Council had gone into their private room and I couldn’t for the life of me pry Saiman free. He kept drinking. Before he’d drunk to build up his courage, now he was drinking to commemorate surviving the ordeal.

  Saiman lived in the bubble of his own egocentrism. Nothing was more important to him than money and influence. Breaking the rules of Atlanta’s elite would cost the offender both. No strong emotion disturbed or troubled Saiman enough to make him break the rules. He simply couldn’t comprehend that Curran would sacrifice everything for a chance to sink his claws into Saiman’s throat.

  More, Curran was obligated to violence. Saiman had delivered a colossal insult in front of Pack members. Right now Curran sat in that private room, fantasizing about redecorating the dining room with garlands of Saiman’s guts. Sooner or later, he’d come out and I didn’t trust myself to keep Saiman safe.

  I wanted a confrontation. I wanted to break the bottle over Curran’s head. But once we started at it, I’d forget Saiman was even there. I would be so intent on hurting Curran, I’d become oblivious to all else. There was a reason why the first rule of bodyguard detail said, “Know where your ‘body’ is at all times.” The moment you lost sight of the body you were protecting, he became vulnerable. Curran was a lethal bastard. I couldn’t afford to risk Saiman’s safety.

  I tried reasoning. I tried threats. Saiman remained rooted to his chair, hell-bent on ensuring I ended the night cradling his corpse. Leaving him and walking out, hoping he’d follow me, was out of the question. For all I knew, Curran would burst out of that room the moment I stepped out of sight. And Saiman was too heavy for me to carry him out. Of all the times not to have supernatural strength. If I had Andrea’s strength, I’d sling him over my shoulder and drag his ass out.

  Jim strolled out of the private room and headed our way. He moved with casual grace, just a friendly tough guy on the prowl. People discreetly shrank from him. It’s hard to shrink when you’re sitting down, but they managed.

  He stopped by our table and stared at Saiman. Jim’s voice was melodiously smooth and he spoke softly, but his words dripped malice. “If you leave now, alone, the Beast Lord will grant you safe passage.”

  Saiman laughed, a quiet humorless sound. “I hardly need his assurances. I’m very much enjoying my date, and I plan to enjoy the rest of my night in Kate’s company.”

  Jim leaned to me, pronouncing the words with crisp exactness. “Do you require assistance?”

  Yes. Yes, I do. Please whack the dimwit next to me upside his head, knock him out, and help me carry him out of here. I unclenched my teeth. “No.”

  A triumphant smile played on Saiman’s lips. Just one sucker punch and he’d be picking his teeth out of that perfect hair.

  Jim leaned closer. “If you want to leave without him, I’ll make it happen.” A green sheen rolled over his eyes.

  “I’m obligated to stay with him for the evening. But I appreciate the offer.”

  Jim nodded and withdrew.

  If fury generated heat, I’d be boiled from inside out. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I scraped together what little feminine wiles I had left and touched Saiman’s hand. “Saiman, please let’s go. As a favor to me.”


  He paused with a glass halfway to his mouth. “I’m looking forward to tormenting him a bit more, once he emerges.”

  Idiot, idiot, idiot. “You’ve made your point already and I’m tired and stressed out. I just want to go and have a cup of coffee in my kitchen.”

  His mind took a moment to work through the alcohol daze. He arched his eyebrows. “Are you inviting me for a private cup of coffee at your place?”

  “Yes.” I’d give him a cup of coffee and a big helping of a knuckle sandwich. Generosity was a virtue and I was in the mood to be extremely virtuous.

  Saiman made an exaggerated sigh. “I recognize it’s a bribe, but I would be a fool to decline.”

  “You would.”

  He paid the bill. With luck, the People and the Pack would remain cloistered for a little while longer.

  We started down the staircase. I watched him like a hawk, expecting him to trip on the stairs, but he managed to descend with his usual elegance. Outwardly he showed no signs of inebriation. He didn’t stumble and his speech didn’t slur, which worked against him. Curran might be able to forgive a drunken man but not a sober one.

  Outside, snow fell from the black sky, hiding the ground in a soft white blanket. Saiman raised his hand, and snowflakes swirled to his skin, trailing his fingers.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Very pretty.” I steered him to the vehicle.

  We finally negotiated the parking lot. Saiman snapped his fingers, pulling the keys out of thin air.

  “You shouldn’t drive,” I told him.

  “On the contrary, I should.”

  A normal human would be dead of alcohol poisoning by now. He wanted to drive. “Give me the keys.”

  He considered it and dangled the keys before me. “What do I get if I let you drive?”

  I felt the weight of someone’s gaze, as if a sniper had sighted my back through a rifle scope. I turned. The building loomed about thirty yards away. The double glass doors leading to the balcony swung open, and Curran walked out.

  “What do I get if I let you drive, Kate?”

  I grabbed the keys from his hand. “To live! Get into the car.”

  “Now, now . . .”