Blood Challenge (19 page)

“Object? No. But you’re up to something.”

“Arjenie is right, too. There are some things that shouldn’t be discussed over the phone. I’ll say only that I disagree with you in one respect. I don’t think your Unit is the target of a conspiracy.”

“I’d be interested in hearing your reasoning.”

“We’ll discuss it when you return. I do believe there is a conspiracy.”

“But not against the Unit.”

“No. Against us. Lupi. All lupi, not just Nokolai, and all who might aid us or otherwise interfere in
her
plans. You can guess which enemy I’m thinking of.”

Lily’s breath caught. Rule didn’t make a sound. Cullen Seabourne swung to face Isen, his eyes narrowing. And Isen’s oldest son looked at him with dawning relief. “Of course.”

TWENTY-THREE

ON
the other side of the continent, Lily sat up in her hospital bed scowling at the computer screen. Rule sat on the bed beside her, his laptop balanced on his thighs. He’d just ended the call to Isen.

“I can’t believe he told us that,” Lily said, frustrated, “then wouldn’t say why he thinks
she’s
involved.” She drummed the fingers of her good hand on her leg. “We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.”

“We will not. You aren’t flying across the country so I can attend that damned meeting a few days earlier than otherwise. You’re barely out of surgery.”

His jaw was set stubbornly. His eyes were dark, shadowed by sleeplessness, and brimming with emotion … emotion that for once she had no trouble reading.

Rule had been on high alert for over twenty-four hours. He was worn-out and wired up and afraid that wouldn’t be enough. That
he
wouldn’t be enough. That he’d miss something or sleep at the wrong time or be less than omniscient, and whoever wanted her dead would succeed.

Isen was right. A hospital room was hard to defend. There were too blasted many people around, and the other side of her door was public territory. Rule knew this. He was determined to keep her here anyway. He had some control over their small territory—more than he would in an airport, at least. But more importantly, her wound scared him.

She held out her hand. He took it. She let the contact ease them both, wishing he could climb into bed so she could hold him and be held. “I do heal, you know,” she said gently. “I don’t heal the way you do, but I do heal.”

“You haven’t healed yet. It’s too soon.”

“Rule, this isn’t your decision.” She let that sink in, then added, “I’m not an idiot. If Nettie nixes the trip, I’ll stay here. My own opinion—which I confidently expect both you and Nettie to ignore—is that I can do it. I’ll hurt, sure, but I’ll hurt if I stay in this blasted bed, too. It won’t harm me to sit in an airplane.”

“We can’t go strictly by what Nettie says. If my father tells her he wants you to return home, she—”

“You know better.” She squeezed his hand. “Nettie won’t adjust her medical opinion to suit Isen or anyone else.”

He looked at their joined hands and sighed. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.” It was her left hand he held, her right arm that was damaged, and that was a bitch. She was right-handed. But for that one instant, she was glad he could hold the hand that wore his ring. “You’re going to wear one, too, you know.”

Puzzled, he looked up. “One what?”

“Ring.”

He smiled slightly. “I am, yes.”

She took a breath and jumped. “I’ll stay at Clanhome. Not the whole time I’m healing, because that’s going to take way too long, but while I’m officially on sick leave. You can guard the hell out of me there.”

His eyes searched hers. Some of the tension eased from his face. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I love you at all times. Sometimes I like you tremendously, too. Thank you. I know you’d much rather be at our place. I also know you’re planning to investigate as much as possible while you’re there.”

She didn’t have a case. She’d been pulled from the Cobb case and she couldn’t just show up in D.C. to hunt for whoever had tried to kill Ruben and she was going to be on sick leave and … and did that matter?

Yes, she decided. But maybe not as much as it ought to. “Speaking of planning …” She glanced around, spotted her takeout cup, and disengaged her hand so she could pick it up. Then frowned at the few cold drops remaining in the bottom of the cup. “Maybe you could send the guard for more coffee.”

“Or maybe not. It’s nearly eleven, and you should sleep at some point tonight—especially if you’re going to persuade Nettie you’re well enough to fly home tomorrow.”

She was tired, and she was tired of being tired, and he was right, and the whole thing sucked. “Do you buy Isen’s idea? Do you think the Great Bitch is behind the attacks on me and Ruben?”

The twin slashes of Rule’s brows drew down. “I don’t know. Maybe more yes than no. Isen’s right an awful lot of the time, and you’ve been
her
target before. You don’t sound convinced.”

Lily wobbled her hand back and forth, miming uncertainty. “Sure, it could be
her
, but we’ve thought that before and it wasn’t. I don’t think the attack on me really suggests
her
. When she went after me before, she wanted me alive so she could eat me or my magic or something. Last night’s shooter wanted me dead.”

Rule’s face closed down, which meant he was upset. “You thwarted her earlier plans, not once but twice.
She
holds a grudge.”

“Maybe, but surely she’s imaginative enough to know that there are lots worse things she could do than kill me. If I was more useful to her alive a few months ago, why would killing me be a good idea all of a sudden?”

“Because her plans have changed. Not her goal. I doubt that has changed since she was defeated in the Great War. Three thousand some-odd years isn’t a long time to an Old One.”

“And that goal is—?”

“To possess the Earth. To remake it to suit
her
values, her notions of what is good and proper.”

Lily drummed her fingers. “Having her avatar eaten by a hell lord may have set back her world conquest schedule.”

“Unless that’s what
she
intended. A year’s delay in nothing
.
She may have needed that time to subjugate the demon lord who ingested whatever portion of her was held by her avatar. A demon lord would make a much more powerful avatar than one born human.”

That was the problem with dealing with a perp who had, supposedly, been around since the universe kicked off—or maybe before that. The Great Bitch wasn’t omnipotent or omniscient, but her knowledge, experience, and abilities were so far beyond the human it was impossible to guess her plans. “If the Old Ones fought a war to stop her once, wouldn’t they step in now if
she
were trying to take over Earth?”

“Not directly. Neither they nor she can enter any realms where humans live. The Great War was fought, in part, so that those on my Lady’s side could impose just that restriction.”

“The good-guy Old Ones restricted themselves? Permanently?”

He spread his hands. “We are taught that they amended their reality in order to allow the younger races a chance to create their own.”

That was too mystical entirely for Lily. She drummed her fingers again. “Why Ruben? Why would
she
want him taken out?”

“I don’t know. I can speculate. His precognitive ability combined with his position may be a threat to her plans. But I don’t know.”

It was all too mushy. They had no real reason to suspect the Great Bitch’s involvement, but almost anything could be made to fit that scenario when they knew so little about her plans, methods, and capabilities. It reminded Lily of the way people in medieval times thought the devil was behind every illness and misfortune. “If your milk cow dries up, blame it on
her
,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Never mind.” Maybe it was her brain that was mushy. Hot licks of pain kept grabbing her attention, disrupting her train of thought. Damned pain. Couldn’t God or evolution or whatever have arranged things so pain didn’t have to hurt quite this much?

Rule was frowning, more in thought than temper. “It’s possible the attack on Ruben was her agent’s idea and promotes his plans, not hers.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Robert Friar is her agent—”

“Whoa. That’s a giant step.”

“She has to act through agents, just as my Lady does, since she’s prohibited from acting directly. Why not Friar? He’s cunning and wary and wealthy. He already has followers, an organization of sorts, and he hates us.”

She looked at him, ruffled and irritated and not sure why. “You realize you’ve stepped off into pure speculation? There’s a suggestion that Friar could be involved, but it’s wispy. Enough to justify looking into the possibility, no more. We don’t have even a wisp to say that
she’s
involved, much less anything linking her to Friar.”

“I’m entitled to a hunch,” he said mildly, “even if I lack Ruben’s accuracy.”

She frowned at her hand. Her only useable hand. “I’m going to be a real bitch for a while, I think.”

He touched her cheek lightly. “I’m tough. I can handle it.”

She looked up. “You think
she’s
involved, don’t you?”

“Isen does. I won’t adopt his conclusion without hearing his reasoning, but I respect his judgment. Also …” He got that far, then drifted into silence, frowning at his thoughts.

“Keep going.”

“If
she
is moving, preparing an assault on us and our world,” he said slowly, “our Lady would know this. She’d be working through her agents to stop her enemy.” He paused, meeting Lily’s eyes. “
We
are the Lady’s agents. Lupi. It is very rare that she speaks to us directly through a Rhej, and she has not done that. But she has done something she hasn’t done since she created us. She has gifted one of us with a second Chosen.”

TWENTY-FOUR

ARJENIE
was awake before the sun the next day. Her body was still on East Coast time, plus she’d ended up going to bed early—and without that second cup of coffee.

Shortly after Isen’s announcement that some mysterious woman was conspiring against lupi, Arjenie had been informed she was tired. True, but more to the point, Benedict had wanted to talk with Isen privately. So it was Cullen Seabourne who’d escorted her to her room, and he’d refused to tell her anything about this mysterious female enemy Isen thought was conspiring against his people.

Cullen was still around when she woke up. So was her suitcase. She discovered the latter as soon as she put on her glasses. The former was obvious after she got dressed and opened her door. Then stood in the doorway, staring.

Cullen was out there, all right, walking down the hall … on his hands.

He glanced at her. His legs lowered with easy precision, arching his body into a perfect backbend. He rose from that as naturally as another person might rise from a chair. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Yes. Wow. That was amazing. Where’s Benedict? And how did my suitcase get here?”

“Benedict’s asleep. Even Superwolf needs sleep after skipping it two nights in a row. Your suitcase is here because he thought you’d need your things and sent someone to retrieve it for you. Isen wishes me to apologize on his behalf for removing a few items before giving it to you.”

Like her athame and spell components. She’d noticed. “He may have meant well, but it was presumptuous to enter my hotel room without my permission.”

“Benedict’s good at presumption, not so good with asking permission. You’ll have to work on that. I need to talk to Carl. He makes the second-best omelets in the world, and I’m hungry. Come on.” He started down the hall.

“Wait a minute. I need to use the bathroom. And who makes the first-best omelets?”

He stopped, glancing back at her. The beautiful man hadn’t shaved today. “A woman in a little village in the south of France. Her grandmother taught Carl how to cook, and she keeps chickens. Her eggs are fresher than Carl’s. There’s a bathroom near the kitchen. You can pee while Carl cooks.”

She
hmphed
, but followed him down the hall to the great room or den. The kitchen, she’d discovered yesterday, opened off it at the other side of the house. “Does Carl actually talk to you?”

“Carl talks about food. Ask him about tarragon and he turns downright chatty.”

“Are you going to tell me what Isen was talking about last night? About this enemy he thinks is behind everything?”

“Not my job to decide what you should or shouldn’t be told, and it’s easier to say no. I like easy. I like the T-shirt, too.”

She smiled down at her chest, where white letters on a black background spelled out “no comment.” “A friend gave it to me for my birthday. If I were prescient, I’d have worn it yesterday. I could have pointed to it when Isen was questioning me.”

“No precog?”

She shook her head. “No more than the itsy hunches everyone gets. Um … I consider precognition the Gift of the fifth element. I guess you know what I mean by that?”

“My original training was Wiccan, so yes.”

In Wicca, the fifth element was spirit, which she’d been taught was available to all. The unGifted weren’t able to use what spirit offered consciously or consistently, but now and then they tapped into it. That’s why everyone had hunches, and even those without a trace of magic sometimes saw ghosts. It also explained the occasional miraculous cure.

Or so she believed. Other traditions—even other Wiccans—saw things differently. “What about you? Do you see precognition as tied to spirit?”

“Speaking literally? No. But that’s probably because I don’t see spirit.”

“Really?” She stopped. “But that’s fascinating! You see the other elements?”

“Of course. But not spirit, which makes me think that—with apologies to your faith—spirit is something other, not an elemental property of magic.”

“Well, the pentagram is just a model, after all.” But it made her feel pouty to think the model might not be right. They started walking again. “My aunt says the other elements are accessed through magic, but spirit is accessed through faith. Maybe that explains it. Do you have a faith?”

“No. That’s an interesting distinction. What would … ah, Carl.” They’d reached the kitchen, where the lanky Carl was wiping down a huge, restaurant-style stove. Cullen produced a charming smile. “Our Rho’s guest is hoping for one of your superlative omelets.”

They continued to talk shop while waiting for breakfast—minus a short bathroom break—and during the meal, where Cullen turned out to be right. Carl’s omelets were incredible. After breakfast, they moved to the great room and kept on talking. They discussed theory and practice and tiptoed towards the possibility of trading a spell or two. Arjenie’s coven had strict rules about that, so she’d have to get her High Priestess’s permission before making a swap. But she had to call Aunt Robin today anyway.

Benedict and Isen didn’t seem to be anywhere around.

The morning dragged. She felt wiggly and unsettled. Was it possible that after all these years she’d finally get the binding removed—and by a dragon? Who was this female enemy that had Isen spooked? She couldn’t ask the first question. The cursed binding prevented it. Cullen wouldn’t answer the second one. Maybe Benedict would, when he got back. From where? Cullen wouldn’t say.

Arjenie wanted Benedict. Instead she was stuck with the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, a man who shared her interest in spellcraft and theory and could discuss them in an informed and intelligent—if occasionally sarcastic—way.

Some might say she was hard to please.

Clearly she was infatuated, but she wanted to see Benedict, talk to him, find out what his father had meant last night, why he didn’t tell people his last name, and what his skin tasted like. Not necessarily in that order.

They were in the den when Cullen steered the talk to her Gift. She told him about the way glass affected it. “The glass in the windows doesn’t bother you?” he asked.

Arjenie was curled into the corner of the big sectional about four feet from where Cullen sprawled in an armchair, and less than ten feet from the windows lining the back wall. “Nope. If I tried to use my Gift, though, it would … scratch at me. Interfere.”

“Focus Fire, stop Air, seal Water, open Earth.”

“Exactly. Now, if I were touching glass and pulled hard on my Gift, I’d pass out. So would …” Her voice drifted off. She’d seen something move outside. What—oh, it was just a dog. A yellow Lab, she thought. Not a wolf. Not a man who sometimes walked as wolf, either. “So would anyone nearby,” she finished, “if it was a large piece of glass.”

“Who are you watching for?”

“No one. Or, well …” She fluttered a hand. “I keep wondering where Isen is. He’s been gone since before I got up, which was about five thirty your time. And you won’t tell me where he is.”

“He has many duties as Rho,” Cullen said blandly. “And he doesn’t need much sleep. Are you sure he’s the one you’re looking for?”

Her cheeks heated. Maybe she’d been a bit obvious about her infatuation. “I guess Benedict has many duties, too. Does he live here? Here in this house, I mean.”

“Here or at the barracks or at his cabin up in the mountains.”

“Those are all places he stays, maybe, but where does he live? Where’s home?”

“You’re thinking like a human.”

“Duh.”

He grinned. “Point is, you think of this house as Isen’s—and it is—but all of Clanhome is Isen’s. Just as all of it, including this house, is ours. The clan’s.”

She frowned. “You don’t draw lines between one person’s property and another’s?”

“We do, but not the way you’re used to. Especially not when it comes to our Rho. He’s ours. We’re his. Everything he owns, we own. Everything we own, he owns.”

Arjenie had known that the clan’s holdings were in the Rho’s name, but she hadn’t grasped what that meant. She didn’t think she grasped it now, either. “Okay, but … say you own something and another clansman wants it. Whose is it?”

“Mine. I might decide to give it to him, but it’s my choice. He’s unlikely to ask, of course, because status is involved. Remind me to tell you about the magpie game. Our kids and adolescents love it, and sometimes adults play it, too, though only among close friends. But if the clan itself needs something, then it’s the clan’s.”

The magpie game? She shook her head, determined to stay on topic for once. “And your Rho gets to decide what the clan needs?’

“Of course.”

“What if you’ve got a greedy Rho? One who confuses his own wants with the clan’s needs?”

“A Rho who’s perceived to be taking things selfishly would be Challenged. Eventually he wouldn’t be Rho anymore.”

“How does someone stop being Rho?”

“He dies.”

She shivered. “These Challenges are to the death?”

“They can be.”

“Has Isen ever—”

“No. Not for greed. I haven’t been Nokolai long enough to know that in an absolute sense—internal Challenges aren’t supposed to be spoken of outside the clan, so theoretically it could have happened without my knowing. But I can’t imagine it. Nothing matters to Isen the way Nokolai does. His sons come close, but Nokolai comes first. Whatever Challenges he’s faced, they weren’t because he was greedy.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t been Nokolai long? I thought lupi were born into their clans.”

“Stop asking so many questions.”

She grinned. “Why?”

He snorted. “Back to the way glass affects you. Clearly your Gift is tied to Air. We can’t rely too strongly on human models since it isn’t a human Gift, but it seems that—”

A deep, growly voice spoke. “You’re supposed to be guarding her. I could have taken you both out while you yammered on about Gifts and Challenges.” Benedict stood in the doorway that opened onto the entry hall, his hands on his hips.

Cullen glanced over his shoulder, unruffled. “You could take us both out with or without warning, though I did know you were here. I warded the house last night.”

The funny thing was, Arjenie hadn’t been startled, either. She hadn’t heard the front door open or close. She hadn’t seen Benedict appear in the hall. No, it was as if she’d
known
Benedict was there. She just hadn’t noticed that she knew until he spoke. “Hi,” she said happily.

Benedict gave her a nod, but spoke to Cullen. “Cynna’s ready to come home. She’s pretty worn-out. This was a hard one.”

Cullen left. He didn’t say ’bye, nice talking to you, gotta go, or anything else. He just left, moving fast. This time she heard the front door open and slam closed. She looked at Benedict. “He’s a sudden one, isn’t he? Though I guess we have to expect that with a Fire-Gifted. Cynna’s all right?”

“She will be. Where’s your cane?”

“In my room. I don’t need it anymore.”

He frowned and started for her. “I need to check your ankle.”

“Ask.”

“If you object, I—”

“Giving me a chance to object is not the same as asking permission. You’re used to telling people what to do. That works with those guards you’re in charge of. You aren’t in charge of me. You have to ask.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “It’s more efficient my way.”

“If your primary goal in life is efficiency, you should just die.”

That startled him. His head actually jerked back. “What?”

“The most efficient way to live a life is to die a couple seconds after you’re born.
Pfft.
Done.” She dusted her hands to demonstrate that. “It’s too late for you to achieve optimal efficiency, but you could still …”

Benedict was laughing. Silently. She couldn’t hear a thing, but his face, his open mouth, his whole body said laughter. It only lasted a few seconds before dwindling to an audible chuckle. “You have a strange mind. I like it. I like you.”

He sounded surprised. She was surprised, too. Also delighted. And turned on. Her cheeks heated.

“May I check your ankle now?” he asked courteously.

She gave permission, and he knelt in front of her to unwrap the elastic bandage, which made the flutters in her belly worse. The man said he liked her, and she reacted like a tween with a crush. It was almost as mortifying as it was wonderful.

He took her foot in one big hand and rotated it. “Good movement.”

“I want to know who this enemy is Isen spoke about last night.”

“You’ll be told about
her
, but not now.”

“Why not?”

“I’m taking the day off. Swelling’s gone,” he added, beginning to rewrap the ankle.

“You won’t answer questions because you’re on vacation?”

“More or less.” His mouth turned up wryly, as if at some private joke. He tucked the end in securely. “A brief vacation. One day. How does your ankle feel?”

“Fine.”

His eyebrows lifted. “A one-word answer?”

“I got tired of answering questions about my health twenty years ago.”

“After the accident.”

She nodded.

“I imagine there was a long recovery and therapy. You mentioned additional surgeries, as well, later on.” He nodded as if he’d added up a column. “I may have to ask about your physical status sometimes, but I’ll avoid it when possible.” He rose. “Today I needed to know because I’d like to show you around Clanhome.”

She beamed. “I’d like that. My ankle really does feel fine. There may be some lingering weakness I won’t notice until I’ve been walking on it awhile, but Dr. Two Horses’s treatment helped, plus I heal faster than most.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The sidhe blood?”

She nodded. “Obviously I don’t always heal completely, or at the rate your people do. But I heal fast for a human.”

“I’ll get your cane.”

“I’m not taking it.”

“It’s a precaution, in case you need it later.”

She stood and patted his arm reassuringly and smiled. “No.”