Magic Bleeds (25 page)

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 mindnumbingly 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.

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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
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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.

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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 . . .”

I snapped the locks open, jerked the passenger door ajar, and shoved him into the seat.

Curran’s eyes glowed with gold. He shrugged off his leather jacket, grabbed the neck of his turtleneck with both hands, and ripped it in half.

I dived into the car and floored the gas pedal.

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In the rearview mirror Curran tore apart his pants. His flesh boiled, and a monster spilled forth.

“What’s the rush?” Saiman wondered.

“Look back.”

The man was gone. In his place stood a beast, dark gray and corded with muscle. I caught a glimpse of huge fangs on a face neither lion nor human, and then he leapt off the balcony onto the neighboring roof.

“He’s chasing us.” Saiman stared through the rear window. “He’s actually chasing us!”

He’s chasing you. He wouldn’t hurt me. “Well, what did you expect?”

Shock stamped Saiman’s face. “He’s abandoned all pretenses at humanity.”

I took a sharp corner. The tires skidded. The vehicle slid, brushing a snowdrift. I wrestled with the wheel, righting the car, and we hurtled down the street.

Curran appeared above the building behind us. He sailed through the night sky like he had wings and landed on the shingles. The moonlight clutched at his shaggy mane. He took a running start, cleared another gap between the buildings, and followed us, bounding from roof to roof in great leaps.

I tried to speak clearly, hoping it would penetrate the fog of Saiman’s brain. “We go to my place. I get out. You get behind the wheel and drive as fast as you can. It’s your only chance.” And my only chance to settle all that ailed me without outside interference.

Saiman didn’t answer. Flesh flowed on his face and hands, changing into a new shape and instantly shifting into another, as if his body had gone liquid.

“What are you doing?”

“Burning off the alcohol.” He glanced back. “He’s still there!”

“Help me navigate. I don’t know where I’m going.”

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“Take the next left. You’ll see a bridge. Go up.”

I made the turn, praying the tech would hold. If the magic hit us, we’d be in deep shit.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER WE SCREECHED TO A halt before my apartment building. I jumped out into the snow, Slayer in hand. Saiman lunged into the driver’s seat. The wheels spun, spraying snowflakes. I jumped back. The car reversed, rolling over the spot where my feet were half a second earlier, and sped into the night.

He almost ran me over. Coward. Let’s have a partnership, Kate. I offer honesty, Kate. I don’t have to outrun the Beast Lord I just pissed off, Kate. I only have to outrun you and hit you with my car as I hightail it out of here.

The dogs down the street exploded with frantic barking. Speak of the devil . . .

I needed to attract His Majesty’s attention and take this off the street. In the open, he could take a running start and bulldoze over me. In my apartment, he’d have a harder time maneuvering and I’d have the home turf advantage.

I hiked up my dress and ran into the building, taking the stairs two at a time. It took me three precious seconds to get the door open. I burst inside, dropped the sword, ran to the living room window, and slid it open. A thick grate of steel and silver bars guarded my window. I grabbed the two handles and twisted. The lock snapped open. The grate swung to the left and I saw him, a nightmarish beast charging up the roofs across the street, like a demon caught between the black sky and the white snow.

Dear God.

He saw me and changed direction in midleap. That’s right. Come let me kiss you with my fist, baby.

I backed away from the window. Shoes. I had spiked heels on. I pulled them off and tossed them into the hallway. If I had to kick him, the heel would go right into the body like a knife. It would hurt, but not enough to stop him, and I’d have a hell of a time getting free.

Curran dropped off the roof and dashed across the street to my building. I backed away, giving myself room to kick. My heart hammered. My mouth went completely dry.

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A second passed.

Come on. Come on.

A clawed half-paw gouged the windowsill. Curran lunged through the window.

He was huge, neither a man, nor a lion. Curran’s usual warrior form stood upright. This creature moved on all fours. Enormous, bulging with muscle under a gray pelt striped with whip marks of darker gray, six hundred pounds at least. His head was lion, his eyes were human, and his fangs were monster.

So that’s what the Beast Lord with no brakes looked like.

He landed on the floor of my living room. Muscles twisted and crawled, stretching and snapping. The gray fur melted, fading into human skin, and Curran stood on my carpet, nude and pissed off, his eyes glowing gold.

His voice was a deep snarl. “I know he’s here. I can smell him.”

I felt an irresistible urge to brain him with something heavy. “Did you lose your sense of smell? Saiman’s scent is two hours old.”

Golden eyes burned me. “Where is he?”

“Under my bed.”

The bed went airborne. It flew across the living room and slammed into the wall with a thud.

That was just about enough of that. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving you from whatever mess you got yourself into this time.”

Why me? “There is no mess! It’s a professional arrangement.”