Twiceborn (9 page)

The woman took a huge bouquet of roses from the arrangement beside her. It had been tucked into the larger arrangement as if it were part of it, but it was wrapped in delicate paper and tied with a gold ribbon. Carrying the bouquet, she worked her way through the crowd toward us.

“I don’t know her either.” Luce eyed the oncoming woman and began to push more forcefully, jostling people out of our way. “But I’ve seen that big gold bracelet before. On Nada Kusic.”

It was a distinctive bracelet, with chunky square links and set with rubies. I’d only seen Nada Kusic in photos. She was Valeria’s head of security, and I’d studied her as I’d studied everyone connected with my sisters. This woman looked nothing like her, but if Luce’s nose for danger had sniffed something out, I would be a fool not to listen. It could be a coincidence, but we all knew that for the right price, there were goblin spells that could temporarily change a person’s appearance.

We were almost to the doors when the woman stopped, and I realised her target was Monique, who stood nearby watching the dancers with a tall leshy at her side. A sharp breeze from the dark terrace cooled my overheated skin, bringing with it the faint scent of jasmine. I tugged Jason to a halt as the woman smiled and laid a hand on Monique’s arm.

They stood so close I could have covered the space between us in three strides, but the room was too noisy to hear what she said. A dozen people stood between us, chatting and laughing. The bouquet quickly changed hands. Monique dipped her head like a queen accepting tribute and the woman disappeared back into the crowd. The exchange took only a moment.

I looked around to see where the woman had gone and found Valeria not far away, watching both of us with a look of hunger. I flicked my gaze back to Monique, who had her face buried in the bouquet, delighting in the scent of the roses.

Luce had seen Valeria too, and that peculiar look on her face.

“Out!”

She shoved me in the back, hard, so that I all but fell through the door, Jason right behind me. People had just begun to whisper at our undignified exit when a massive explosion shook the ballroom. Broken glass from the French doors sprayed us as we rolled across the stone terrace.

Screams erupted as the fire alarms began to shrill. My cheek burned where the rough stone flagging had scraped the skin off. I lifted my head, ears ringing from the blast, and caught sight of Valeria’s blood-spattered face through billowing smoke. I had no doubt the blood was Monique’s. Judging from her look of frustration, mine was supposed to be mingled with it.

My oldest sister was going to have to learn to deal with disappointment.

***

I snuggled into Ben, my head in the crook of his shoulder. Couldn’t really do anything else, given the size and age of the mattress. It was small—I was used to having a queen-sized bed to myself—and so bowed in the middle I couldn’t have moved away from him even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t, luckily. Being together like this felt strange after so long on my own, but comfortable too, as if we were always meant to end up this way.

Was it wrong to feel like this? I couldn’t help a nagging sense of guilt. How could I be happy when Lachie was dead? What sort of mother forgot her baby so easily?

But I hadn’t forgotten him. His eyes, his smile, the sound of his piping voice, the feel of his scrawny little arms around me—they were all burned into my soul forever. I would never forget, no matter how long I lived or what happened to me. I would never stop missing him, every day of my life.

Did that mean I could never feel joy again? It had been so long since I’d felt … well, anything. Grief had turned me to stone. In my head I knew life went on. Hadn’t I been eating, sleeping, going through the motions all these months—even occasionally laughing at a joke? In theory I could accept that one day some kind of happiness might be possible. But my shattered heart had never believed.

Only now warmth seeped back into it. The possibility of joy lay beside me, the hairs on his chest tickling my nose, his skin sweaty against mine.

He lay on his back, breathing evenly, but he wasn’t asleep. His eyes glinted in the moonlight from the open window as he stared up at the ceiling.

I peered into the darkness too, but saw nothing but the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling and a suspicious darker patch in one corner which might have been mould. “Something interesting up there?”

“Just thinking.” One hand absentmindedly stroked my bare shoulder. I shifted to make the bandaged one more comfortable. It felt surprisingly good. Marvellous what a good orgasm can do for your sense of wellbeing. My body sang, regardless of the guilt that told me I had no right to feel this way. Stupid guilt. I could have been a werewolf by now. Didn’t I deserve a little celebration?

Ben hadn’t said much.

“Still think this was a bad idea?”

“You’ve got to admit the timing’s not great,” he said.

“Rubbish.” In the end sheer happiness at still being alive emerged triumphant from the welter of emotions inside me. “You’ve got to seize the day. We could both be eaten by werewolves tomorrow. Speaking of which …” I clambered over him and gave him a shove. “Swap sides.”

“Why? Do you normally sleep on this side?”

Ah, the awkward getting-to-know-you stage. “No. But if you insist on sleeping with the window open, you can damn well have that side. Then if the wolves come in the window they get to eat you first.”

The bedroom door was open too, in an effort to get a cross-breeze going, but so far no luck. I was covered in sweat, and it wasn’t just from the sex. The heat in the little house was stifling.

He laughed. “Nice. Glad to know you care. You seem to be taking the whole shifter thing much more calmly than you were a couple of hours ago.”

“Must be your magic hands,” I said. “Among other things. Or maybe I’m too tired to get worked up about it any more. It’s been a hell of a day. How do you stand living like this?”

I felt him shrug, his naked body warm against mine. “It’s not usually quite so … eventful. It’s just a job. A very well-paying job, but fairly routine. The Dress-up Box doesn’t bring in that much on its own. The real money comes from the courier side of the business.”

I shut my eyes, determined to enjoy the feel of his arm draped over me. Lachie had always loved Ben. He would have been thrilled to see us together. “And all the courier jobs we do are for shifters, right? That’s why all the crap with disguises and people following us?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gee, thanks for joining me up to magical Fed Ex without even telling me.”

“I meant it for the best,” he said. “It should have made you safer, and given you some easy money on the side.”

“Instead of which I ended up with a werewolf in my kitchen. But before that—nothing. Why did they always follow and never do anything?”

“It’s the proving—it makes everybody jumpy. The amount of plotting and backstabbing that goes on is unbelievable. Sometimes knowing who’s talking to who can mean the difference between life and death.”

“Why don’t they just ring each other up? Haven’t these people ever heard of email? Texting?” I yawned. I’d been so cranky with him for keeping this from me before. Now I could hardly stay awake to hear it. Good sex beat a sleeping pill hands down. Tomorrow. I’d deal with it tomorrow.

“Did I mention dragon paranoia?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “They have their own way of ensuring messages can’t be read by anyone except the person they’re meant for. And they have us to deliver them.”

“Us?”

“The heralds. We’re go-betweens. No one will let in messengers from other camps in case they’re spies, or worse. But heralds are protected so they know their enemies can’t use us to send them any nasty magic surprises, and no one messes with the heralds because everyone needs them. Think of us as magical Switzerland. Neutral territory.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re nearly asleep, aren’t you?”

The man was a genius. “Uh-huh.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips against my cheek. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

Ben thought I was beautiful. I smiled into the pillow and went out like a light.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My long red fingernails tapped the glass of mineral water in an impatient rhythm. I’d give him five more minutes and then I was leaving. I’d suggested this restaurant for its history—we’d been here many times, he and I, and I hoped to unsettle him with memories of better times. Perhaps his reaction when he walked in would give me some clue as to whether he was genuine or not.

In a moment he appeared in the doorway and surveyed the room. Every eye in the room turned to him, the women—and some of the men too—with looks of pure greed, drinking him in. For a moment the low buzz of conversation stilled. Then he moved and the spell shattered; people turned back to their companions and the noise levels rose again, though some still followed him with their eyes.

Those who saw him drop a lazy kiss on my cheek turned away, disappointment on their faces.
Damn, he’s with her
. If only they knew how my skin prickled with apprehension at the touch of his lips, once so familiar. Was I insane, to even consider trusting him again?

He sat down and flashed me a brilliant smile, unfazed by the choice of location. “You’re lovely as ever, Leandra.”

“And you’re still turning heads wherever you go.” I didn’t return the smile. He was the supplicant, not me. Let him work for it.

“What can I say?” He spread his arms wide, displaying their powerful muscles. His white shirt, open at the neck, showed taut tanned flesh beneath. “I can’t help being beautiful.”

Perhaps, but he certainly didn’t dislike the attention either. I made no comment.

“What are you drinking? Mineral water? That’s not like you, my dear. Let me get you something stronger.” He clicked his fingers at the waitress, who hurried over. Jason always got good service. “I’ll have a scotch, and the lady—”

“Nothing for me.”

“Something to eat? No? You don’t mind if I do? I’m starving. I’ll have the linguine.” He dismissed the waitress with a careless flick of his hand. “You should eat something, precious. No need to watch that perfect figure.”

“I had a horse yesterday,” I said, and was rewarded with a flinch.

He was much older than me. I was one of the few who’d actually been born in Australia. He, on the other hand, had been born before Captain Cook had even discovered the place and had lived so long in his present form he seemed to have forgotten the joys of trueshape. The old ones considered the hunt rather low class.

“Let’s get down to business,” I said, another lamentable lapse of form, but I saw no reason to indulge him under the circumstances. “You said you had a proposition for me.”

“Of course. By all means let’s cut to the chase if it pleases you.” He smiled, the hunting metaphor a gentle mockery. “I’ve been feeling a certain … nostalgia for our time together recently. I thought we might negotiate my return.”

I snorted. “You want to make a deal? The fact that I haven’t struck you down where you sit for your flagrant betrayal is the only concession you’re likely to get from me. And why you would imagine I’d ever trust you again is beyond me.”

And yet, here I was. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say, and the times could hardly be more desperate, with most of my thralls destroyed in the strike on Ingrid, and the wolves off licking their wounds. Trevor, the pack leader, wouldn’t even take my calls, an insult he would never have dared when I was at full strength.

In hindsight, it had been a foolish move. I should have waited and let Valeria take her down, but I’d been afraid to let Valeria grow too strong. The more successful she’d seemed, the more allies had flocked to her aid. And Ingrid had given the impression—wrongly, as it turned out—of being an easy target. Instead I’d weakened myself, perhaps fatally.

Jason’s drink arrived and he took an appreciative sip, considering me over the rim of the glass. “What if I told you that business with Luce and the bomb was all part of the plan? That I wanted Valeria to believe I’d betrayed you so I could spy on her for you? A double agent, as it were.”

I sipped my own drink, equally cool. “I’d say you were the worst double agent in history. Not a single piece of information from you in over six months? Spying’s clearly not your forte.”

He threw his head back in a familiar gesture and laughed, showing even white teeth. “Exactly. You know me too well. And that’s why we work so well together. I made a choice, and it was a bad one.”

“So now you want to unmake it.” I spun my glass in damp circles on its coaster, ignoring his earnest look. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

“Be realistic, Lee. Getting rid of Ingrid all but wiped you out. You know you need help. Don’t let injured pride stand in the way. I have a lot to offer. Valeria is planning an attack on Alicia even as we speak. With me on your side we could set it up so Valeria bought it as well. You’d be home free.”

A pretty picture. My sisters dead, the proving over and me the last one standing—he knew the way to my heart. Imagining Valeria dead, in particular, was one of my favourite pastimes. My other sisters were mere obstacles on the path to success, but with Valeria it was personal. It was her smugness I couldn’t stand, as if being the eldest automatically granted her superiority. The way she wore her hair up, braided around her head in a not-so-subtle attempt to give herself a crown she hadn’t yet earned, made me grind my teeth every time I saw her.

Fortunately that wasn’t often. The last time had been at Ingrid’s house; before that, not since she’d killed Monique, our youngest sister. I’d barely made it out of that ballroom alive. Valeria’s ball gown had been sprayed with scarlet; even her perfectly braided hair dripped gore.