Magic Burns Page 20

  I shrugged, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. “And most of the time, I like being by myself. But when I look into my future, I see no family, no husband, no children. No warmth. I just see myself getting older and more scarred. Fifteen years from now I’ll still drag my beaten, bloody hide to my place and lick my wounds, all alone, in a dark house. I can’t have love and family, but Crest and Myong have a shot at happiness. I don’t want to stand in the way.”

  I glanced at Curran and saw something in his eyes—understanding? sympathy?—I couldn’t tell. It was there for a brief moment and then he pulled his mask back on, and I was greeted with the impenetrable face of an alpha.

  I looked away. I had left a lot out. I had left out the part that explained that being with me meant being in danger, because my blood made me a target. Having sex with me meant sharing some of my magic. Being with a normal person made me selfish, because I couldn’t protect them if I was found. Hell, I couldn’t protect myself if that happened.

  Being with a powerful person made me stupid, because as soon as they figured out what I was, they would either kill me or try to use me to their advantage. I distinctly remembered the first time I realized this. His name was Derin. He was a wizard. I was seventeen and wanting very badly to jump into somebody’s bed. His bed looked pretty good. Years later looking back at it, I had to admit Derin wasn’t all that, but for my first time, well, it could’ve been worse.

  And Greg did what any good guardian would do: he sat down with me and very gently explained to me why I could never see Derin again. A one-night stand in another town was the safest option for me. Hide your blood. Bide your time until you’re strong enough. Trust no one. I had known all of that, I just failed to realize the complete implications of it. My guardian had enlightened me. I hated him so much for it, I had agreed to enter the Order’s Academy just to get away from him.

  The magic splashed us, strong, intoxicating. Curran’s hair shifted and grew another inch.

  I knew exactly what drew me to him: if we fought—really fought—I wasn’t sure I could win. No, scratch that, I was sure I couldn’t win. He’d kill me. Wouldn’t even blink. He scared me, and the more scared I got, the louder my mouth became.

  “Your turn,” I told him.

  “What?”

  “Your turn. I told you why I wanted them together. Now you tell me why you want them apart.” Jealousy, pride, love, all good enough reasons for an egomaniac like you. Take your pick.

  He sighed. “She’s weak and he’s a selfish asshole. He’ll use her. She’s making a mistake.”

  I didn’t expect that. “But it’s her mistake to make.”

  “I know. I keep waiting for her to recognize she’s making one.”

  I shook my head. “Curran, she begged the ex-girlfriend of her fiancé to arrange her wedding. If she’s willing to humiliate herself in that manner, she’ll do anything for Crest’s sake. She doesn’t seem like a person who handles pressure well. If you keep delaying the wedding, you’ll just drive her to suicide again.”

  “You saw the scars?”

  I nodded. “People must make their own choices, no matter how wrong those choices are. Otherwise they can’t be free.”

  A careful knock echoed through the room.

  “Enter,” Curran called.

  A young man stuck his head into the door. “It’s awake.”

  Curran rose. “I have something to show you.”

  Thank God it wasn’t a pickup line.

  As we followed the shapeshifter down the hall, Curran asked softly. “How are those arms? Sore a bit?”

  “No,” I lied. “How’s your knee?”

  A few steps later I decided to put my worry to rest. “You were joking about the whole please and thank you thing, right?”

  “Meant every word.” A little light danced in his eyes and he very deliberately said, “Baby.”

  No.

  He laughed. “You should see your face right now.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Would you prefer ‘darling’? Or maybe ‘cupcake’?” He winked.

  I gritted my teeth.

  We went down the spiraling stairs into the inner yard of the Keep. The Pack Keep had trouble deciding if it wanted to be a medieval castle or a twenty-first-century prison. Its main tower rose, looming, forbidding, a huge square building, utilitarian to the point of being crude. Jim once told me that it was built by hand with minimal technology and took almost ten years. It probably took a lot longer. The Keep went on for many stories underground.

  A solid stone wall enclosed the main tower, carving a chunk from the clearing. I had never been inside the yard before. It was spacious and mostly empty. Some exercise equipment at the far wall. A large storage shed. A water tower. To the right a group of shapeshifers stood by a tall tank full of liquid. The last time I’d seen a tank like that, it contained dark green healing solution Doolittle had magicked, and Curran floated in it naked.

  This tank contained clear water. Within the water sat a loup cage: bars as thick as my wrist, laced with silver. Something dark moved in the cage. The shapeshifters moved back and forth. Among them were three near seven-foot monstrosities in beast-form whose shaggy heads blocked the view.

  “What is that?” I headed for the cage.

  “You’ll see.” Curran looked smug, like a cat who stole the cream and thought he got away with it.

  As we crossed the yard, a dark shape blotted out the stars. A dark outline of a long colossal body armed with huge membranous wings passed in silence high above us and vanished behind the tree line.

  It couldn’t be. Even during a flare, the possibility of such a creature was too miniscule to contemplate.

  The shapeshifters parted before Curran. A familiar glowing body shifted within the cage. A reeve. “How did you…?”

  Curran shrugged. “She came sniffing your trail after you left. We had a mild disagreement and I tore her arms off. She didn’t die right away, so we stuck her into a loup cage and drove her over here.”

  The reeve floated in the water, her eyes wide-open. Tiny slits of gills fluttered on her neck. Both arms were present and perfectly functional. She had regenerated.

  The reeve’s hair clasped at the bars and drew back.

  “Doesn’t like silver.” Jim congealed from the crowd as if by magic.

  Curran nodded. “The loup cage was a good idea. Never would’ve thought of it myself. Good looking out.”

  The next chance I got an extra gig from the Guild, I’d put the money into getting the bars for my apartment made from the same alloy. My current bars were supposed to have a decent silver percentage but apparently not enough to have prevented the reeve from grabbing them.

  I pulled the monisto from my leather. The reeve snapped to the bars, her lavender eyes fastened on the necklace.

  “You want this, yes?” I moved the monisto to the left. The reeve followed it.

  I pried one of the numerous knots open, slid the first coin off the cord and tossed it into the grass a few feet away. The reeve remained focused on the necklace. I slid the second coin and flicked it next to the first. No reaction.

  “Is one of those special?” Curran asked.

  “Yep. Don’t know which one.”

  Third coin. Fourth.

  “Hey, mates!”

  I’d know that voice anywhere. I wheeled around. Bran stood atop the wall a good twenty-five yards away. He waved the crossbow at us. “What a lovely party, and me without an invitation.”

  “Get him down,” Curran said softly.

  Two shapeshifters in beast-form detached themselves from the group and padded to the wall.

  Bran grinned. “So you’re the big man, yea? I thought you would be taller.”

  “Tall enough to break your back,” Curran said. His face snapped into the “pissed off Curran” mode: flat and about as expressive as a slab of granite. “Come down off the wall and we can visit.”

  “No thanks.” Bran’s gaze snagged on the mo
nisto in my hand and jumped to the shapeshifters surrounding me. He wanted the monisto very much, but the odds were against him.

  He shrugged and saw the reeve. “What’s this then? Here, let me help you with that.”

  The crossbow snapped up and two shafts punctured the back of the reeve’s head, the bolt heads emerging precisely through her eyes. The reeve went liquid.

  The door leading to the tower burst open and a group of shapeshifters charged across the yard. Someone screamed, “He’s got the surveys!”

  “Got to run!” Bran waved a packet of surveys at us. “Thanks for the maps.”

  Mist swirled and he was gone.

  Curran roared.

  CHAPTER 21

  WHEN A LION ROARS NEXT TO YOU, AT FIRST YOU think it’s thunder. That first sound is so deep, so frightening, it couldn’t possibly come from a living creature. It blasts your nerves, freezing you in place. All thoughts and reason flee from your mind, and you’re left as you are, a helpless pathetic creature with no claws, no teeth, and no voice.

  The rumble dies and you think it’s over, but the roar lashes you again, like some horrible cough, once, twice, picking up speed, and finally rolling, unstoppable, deafening. You fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. You turn your head with an effort that takes every last shred of your control.

  You see a seven-foot-tall monster. It has a lion’s head and a lion’s throat. It’s gray and furry. Dark stripes dash across its tree-trunk limbs like whip marks. Its claws could disembowel you with a mere twitch. Its eyes scald you with gold fire.

  It shakes the ground with its roar. You smell the sharp stench of urine as smaller monsters cringe and you clamp your hands over your ears, so you don’t go deaf.

  Finally Curran’s roar rolled to a close. Thank God. I thought of pointing out that Bran couldn’t hear him and even if he could, he probably wouldn’t faint in mortal terror, but somehow this didn’t seem to be the right moment for clever observations. The lion’s face quivered and snapped into the familiar chimera of lion and human I knew as Curran’s half-form. His voice boomed across the yard. “Search the Keep. Find out how he got in and what else he took.”

  The shapeshifters cleared with record speed, all except Jim.

  I needed to get to Bran. Time was short, the flare was almost on us, and I wanted to find Julie and her mother before it hit full force. But there was no way I could enter the mist with the monisto in my hand. Morrigan’s Hound wanted it. There was no way I could leave without it because the Fomorians wanted it, also. They would come for it.

  What to do?

  Jim looked at Curran. “We have bait. He likes her. He might come to visit her.”

  Bastard. He screwed me over again and again. Why the hell was I always surprised? I looked to Curran. He was considering it; I could almost see the wheels turning under that mane. “Don’t do this. I have to find Julie. I can’t stay here waiting for that idiot to pop out of thin air.”

  Jim reached out to me.

  “Put your hand down or lose it.” I didn’t bother looking at him. “You know me. You know I’ll do it.”

  “We don’t need anyone’s help,” Curran said.

  Jim withdrew his hand.

  I took a deep breath. I saw a way out of this mess, but it was the kind of way that only a desperate fool like me would take. It was either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid.

  I held out the monisto. “The bowman wants this. I saw him looking at it. I trust the Pack to safeguard it for me until I need it.” I put it into Curran’s clawed hand. “I trust you to keep it safe. I don’t know why, but it’s very important. Both the bowman and the reeves will come looking for it. I can’t afford for it to be lost. Do you promise to guard it?”

  It was a gesture of utter faith. Everyone knew Bran had breached the Pack’s security three times. The fact that I trusted Curran with the monisto would mean more to him than any revenge. I had made it personal. If he accepted it, he would die to protect it.

  The golden eyes looked into me. “You have my word,” he said.

  “That’s all I need.”

  I was free to do as I must. I could keep Bran occupied, assuming I found him, and no reeve would ever best Curran.

  “I’m going to the bouda house to check on my friend and then I’m off to look for Julie.”

  “I’ll get you an escort as far as the hyena’s territory.”

  “I can find my own way.”

  Curran shook his head. “Don’t argue with me right now.”

  Two minutes later I rode a horse to the bouda house, accompanied by four somber-faced werewolves. They left me at the invisible boundary. As one of them kindly explained, each shapeshifter clan within the Pack had an expectation of privacy in their meeting place. The privacy wasn’t easily breached by members of a different beast clan.

  The same bouda that promised to smile when she crushed Jim’s bones waited on the porch. She watched as I dismounted and got Esmeralda’s books out of the buggy still abandoned by the house.

  “You’re back,” she said. “I peeked in on your chickie while you were gone. She’s hot. Does she like girls?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “So what’s her kick, candy, music? What does she like?”

  “Guns.”

  “Guns?”

  “Yep.”

  The bouda frowned. “I don’t know anything about guns. This isn’t going to be work, is it? Bummer. Now I don’t know if I want to bother.”

  She made me think of Curran again. “Men are dumb bastards,” I said.

  She nodded. “Women aren’t much better. Whiny bitches, most of them.” She thought about it. “Guys can be fun. I recommend Raphael. He’s the most patient one we’ve got, so he gets lucky more than the others. Although I think your chickie has his complete attention at the moment.”

  I found Andrea and Aunt B in the kitchen at a small round table, drinking tea. The sight of Andrea bringing the teacup to her hyena muzzle struck me as hilarious. I clamped my mouth shut and tried not to laugh. It had to be nerves.

  If she asked for biscuits, I’d lose it.

  Andrea saw me and visibly stiffened. “How did it go?”

  “With what?”

  Aunt B sighed. “She wants to know if Curran’s coming to kill her.”

  “Oh. No, he isn’t interested in murdering you. Believe me, right now you’re the least of his problems.”

  Andrea exhaled.

  “Please tell me there is coffee.”

  Aunt B grimaced. “They’re already crazy. If I let them have coffee, they’d be bouncing off the walls. We have herbal tea.”

  I put my books on the table.

  “You look like you need some sleep.” Andrea put a steaming cup before me.

  I needed to find Julie, find her mom, convince a sociopath to donate some blood for the good of mankind, and deal with a tentacled atrocity swaddled in cloth and his rabid mermaids. I needed coffee.

  A male bouda sauntered into the kitchen. He wore black leather pants and a leather vest baring a chiseled chest. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, the opposite actually: his nose was too long and his face was too narrow, but he had intense blue eyes and black hair combed to shiny perfection, and he used what he had to his best advantage. You knew by some sort of natural female instinct that he would be good in bed, and when he looked at you, you thought about sex.

  He glanced at Andrea with an odd longing on his face, switched his attention to me, and offered me his hand. “Sorry about our…altercation in the buggy. I was only playing. I’m Raphael.”

  “The one who likes the hurting.” I moved to shake his hand and he reversed it and kissed my fingers instead, singeing me with a look that was pure smolder.

  I took my hand back. “That woke me up.”

  He smiled a picture-perfect smile. “Been a while?”

  For some reason, I felt like answering. “Two years. And if you could tone down that smile, I’d appreciate it. Getting weak in the
knees.”

  Raphael took a step back. His face took on the same concerned look I saw on Doolittle when I assured him I was fine. “Two years? That’s entirely too long. If you want, we can take care of that. After two years, it’s pure therapy.”

  “No thank you. Curran already offered to help me with that problem, and since I turned him down, I wouldn’t want to cause any friction between you two.” The last thing I needed was to set Curran and the hyenas on a collision course.

  Raphael backed away with his hands in the air, strategically positioning himself behind Andrea. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Is Curran serious?” Aunt B asked.

  She wanted to know if she now had to walk on eggshells around me. For once, I was happy to disappoint. “No, he’s just being an asshole. Apparently every time he calls me ‘baby,’ I look like a red-hot poker is stuck up my butt. Causes him no end of fun.” I drank my tea.

  Aunt B gave me an odd look. “You know,” she said, stirring her tea, “the fastest way to get him off your back is to sleep with him. And tell him you love him. Preferably while in bed.”

  I smirked and the tea almost came out of my nose. “He’d run like he was on fire.”

  Raphael rested his hands on Andrea’s shoulders. “Still a bit tense?” His fingers began to gently knead her muscles.

  “Will you do it?” Aunt B gazed at me over the rim of her cup.

  “Not while I’m alive, no. Wait, I take it back. That should be ‘hell no.’”