BROKEN BLADE (27 page)

He had no idea what was going on. His grey eyes hadn’t left my face for longer than a minute or two. I’d told Damon it involved all the shifters and it would be easier to explain it all at once.

He’d taken me at my word and hadn’t wasted any time getting the Alpha of the Wolf Pack on the phone.

Alisdair MacDonald was balking.

Politely. Of course he was being polite; wolves were
always
like that. It drove me nuts. But he was still balking.

Damon’s lip curled in a sneer and he said, “I don’t care if you have a piano recital and a date with the President of the Fucking States of America. I said you’re needed. It’s shifter business and you’re the Alpha. Unless you want to let your second handle it. You wanna send Megan over here to play with me?”

Dair’s response was almost icily polite, but there was an undercurrent of something snide and sly. It didn’t matter. As far as shifter politics went,
might
made
right
. The cat clan outnumbered the wolf pack by a huge number. The rats trickling back into the area had to align with somebody since none of them had stepped up to lead, so Damon was also speaking for them.

That meant unless MacDonald wanted two factions pissed at him, he’d do what the Cat Alpha wanted.

After another twenty seconds, I heard the other man’s consent, his voice flat and displeased as he said, “I’ll need an hour.”

“Try to make it sooner.” Then Damon hung up and looked my way. His gaze raked over me, lingering on the Kel-tech strapped to my thigh, the Eagle, the sword. I had no doubt he was aware of the garrote and other various weapons, too. I hadn’t even broken out the big guns yet, either. Those were at home. “You look like you’re loaded for bear, kitten.”

I stroked my hand down the hilt of my sword and turned away. Moving to the bar tucked up against one wall, I dug out a tube of water. The bar was more for decoration anything else—it held water and there was a bottle of Redcat there. It hadn’t been opened. Twisting my water open, I guzzled it, wished there was something other than the whiskey, but that shit would put me on my ass and anything weaker would be like water for Damon and his metabolism.

Better off probably. I needed to be thinking for this. Throat dry, I took another drink and within a minute, I’d emptied the tube. Dumping it in the recycler, I looked up.

Damon was exactly where he’d been when he ended the phone call.

Big hands, those beautiful, golden hands hung at his sides. A black T-shirt stretched over a wide chest and the battered jeans he wore looked like they’d seen better days. Annette, the previous Alpha, had dressed in designer silks—she’d been completely lovely and completely evil.

Damon looked like somebody’s worst nightmare and more than once, he’d proven to be just that. He’d been Annette’s favorite soldier before he killed her—she said
kill
and he said
who
.

Now he was Alpha and he was staring at me like he thought any small move might terrify me.

I glared at him.

Once more, that smile flickered in the back of his eyes and I hated how it made heat flutter inside me.

“You look like you’re ready to go fight the world, baby girl.”

His voice could still send shivers down my spine. Giving him a narrow look, I stroked a finger down my sword’s hilt. I wasn’t ready to carry her yet. I knew that and until I could carry her without her being a burden, it was foolish to try. I removed her, left her in her sheath near the bar and then turned back to Damon.

A headache pounded behind my eyes, pulsed at my temples, strong enough to make me almost physically ill.

As the silence stretched out, I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it on the back of the nearest chair. His gaze zoomed in and I went still.

He’d seen the new blade.

Blowing out a breath, I rotated my shoulders. “You’re an odd man, decorating a tree with throwing stars and daggers, Damon.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d have much use for snowmen and rosy-cheeked angels.” He prowled around, head cocked as he studied the blade. “I take it the blade suits you?”

“Like it was made for me.” That sounded lame. It
had
been made for me. Turning away, I rubbed my hands over my face. I didn’t have time to talk about the tree, the gifts…us. I had to tell him about…
me
. Get it all out before anybody showed up.

Others didn’t know what I could do with the sword. He did, and he’d understand how much this crippled me.

And…

Es.

Closing my eyes, I closed one hand into a fist while her words echoed in the back of my head.

Even magical injuries can be healed...if you’ll allow it
…

So much of me wished that was the case. That this was just a magical injury that had some mystical cure. But life didn’t work like that. There were no easy answers. No magical cures.

Sometimes shit happened and you had to deal with it.

Sometimes shit happened and you had to hurt over it.

“Es is dead,” I said softly.

A harsh intake of breath was the only sound he made.

Turning, I stared at him and saw a strange, overly bright glimmer in his eyes.

Two seconds later, he was standing in front of me. Head bent, he stared into my eyes. “
What
?” he demanded.

“She’s dead.” I met his eyes, saw the pain I felt echoed in his gaze. “She...”

I shook my head.

Pandora’s Box is open…and the monster killed her
.

He spun away and a harsh breath wracked him.

Unable to stay still, I lifted a hand, painfully aware of the knot that tried to choke me.

The second my hand touched him, he spun back to me and then I was caught up in his arms, pressed against that wide, warm chest, one hand cradling the back of my neck.

Tears burned my eyes.

I let them come.

It wasn’t a weakness to cry for a friend. I knew that.

Damon buried his face against my neck, and although I knew there was no way he’d ever allow himself to weep, he’d cared for her, too. He didn’t care for many, but somehow along the way, Es had forced past the strong, solid walls he kept locked around himself.

Maybe I was crying for both of us.

I wished we could have stayed there.

Just like that. I needed more time. More time with him. More time to grieve. But there were other things that needed to be said before we were no longer alone.

Slowly, I eased back and the second I did, his arms loosened.

One big hand, rough and hard, came up, gentle as a spring rain to wipe the tears from my face. “Tell me the bitch who did it is dead,” he said, his voice flat and level.

“I wish I could.” I closed one hand around his wrist, staring into his eyes.

He blew out a breath and stared past my shoulder. “Okay. Then we go after whoever it is together. Can we do that?”

“That’s…part of why I’m here. I’ll get to that once MacDonald gets here. But first…” I made myself pull away, turning to stare at my blade. How did I say this?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Do you remember that day?” I said slowly, forcing each word out. “The day you went to kill Marlowe…and I was working with a cloaker?”

His voice came out, rusty and jagged. “Yes.”

“The man’s name was Xavier. He…” I flexed my hands, rubbing at my palm, at the heat that gathered there. It was some remnant instinct, I supposed. Left over from all those years when my body had taken comfort in that bond—a bond now broken. “He was a witch—you already know that. But he was one of Jude’s. Enslaved to him somehow. I don’t know how. Don’t know what that fucker had on him, did to him. But he was the one who grabbed me and Xavier was there when I…”

My chest locked up on me, made it harder to get the words out as terror tried to wrap me in a tight, confining shroud.

A warm hand brushed down my cheek and I looked up, found Damon watching me. The stormclouds in his eyes whispered of things like regret, rage…need. I felt all those things, and more. But instead of going to him, I turned away.

“I woke up. He was there. I called my blade…and it was the last time I ever managed to do it.”

The very air seemed to freeze around us. I stared at the huge ornate clock on the wall, watched as each second slowly dragged by.

The air currents seemed to shift and I turned, watching as Damon took one step, then another, staring at me, his gaze burning. “What?”

“I called my blade. And Xavier did something…I don’t know what. But he managed to break the bond with my blade. I can’t call her anymore.”

He shook his head. “That…”

“People tell me there’s a fix. That it’s just an injury that needs to be
healed
.” I shrugged and turned away. “I know my body. If I had a broken rib, I could tell you which one. If a bone was broken, I’d know where and what kind of break. This isn’t an injury. It’s something else—I felt the magic he shoved inside me, and I felt it wrench me apart. He broke the bond. The blade’s not mine.”

“That’s fucking shit.”

I flinched at the harsh sound of his voice. Anger flickered, stirred. Slowly, I made myself face him, trying to keep a grip on the anger, but it was so hard. “No. It’s not.
I
know what the bond feels like. Nobody else does—”

“You’re more than just your bond with a sword, Kit. And you don’t just
own
a weapon because you magically call it to you.” He shot out a hand and fisted it in my shirt. “Even if
you
think a bond is gone, that doesn’t make it so.” He reached up a hand and traced his fingers over the bite he’d put on my neck. “Trust me. I know.”

I went to knock his hand away. Once more, I found myself caught in his gaze and instead of moving away, I just stared at him. “That’s different.”

“Maybe it’s not a magical connection,” he murmured, shifting his hand to my face. He stroked his thumb over my lip. “But it’s still there. This isn’t about us, though. It’s about you and your sword. It’s yours—
she
is yours. She came to you and until she chooses another bearer, she remains yours. You didn’t
magically
learn to use her, did you?”

I curled my lip at him.

He pressed his thumb against my mouth.

“If you did, maybe that means
I
can kick your ass if we went a round.”

“You wish.” I sneered at him.

Lids drooping over his eyes, he continued to watch me. “She’s still yours. Unless you decide to give her up.”

He might have said something else, but there was a polite knock at the door.

I broke away from him, turning to stare at my sword. 
Still mine
.

Part of me wanted to believe that. Just as part of me wanted to believe what Es had said.

But I didn’t have the time think about this, along with Pandora…and Es.

Something would have to wait until later.

And sadly, that would have to be my blade.

Chapter Twenty-One

Alisdair had finally arrived along with his second, Megan. She wasn’t happy to see me.

Chang and Doyle were also there, along with several of Damon’s top men.

We sat around at the table, a nice, big happy family.

Not.

Megan seemed to think I’d lost my mind.

Chang’s face was unreadable. Damon hadn’t lifted his gaze from the table.

And Doyle was juggling knives. Literally. His hands moved in a blur and I smelled the sharp scent of blood in the air—he’d cut himself a time or two, but he hadn’t stopped. He was either worried or nervous, I suspected and he wouldn’t put the knives down.

I had other things to worry about, but the blur of silver in front of him was distracting.

“You’re serious.”

Shifting my attention from Doyle to Megan, I met her eyes. “Do you think I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t? Trust me, I got other things I’d like to be doing.”

“Yes.” Alisdair smiled, his voice cool and smooth. “I hear you’re enjoying a change of pace down in Wolf Haven. Serving drinks. Must be a little less stressful.”

The silence that fell across the room was keen, sharp as a blade. It seemed everybody in the room was waiting. Even Doyle had gone still. His eyes glittered as he stared at the back of Alisdair’s head.

“I don’t know that I’d call it less stressful,” I said. Asshole. I let that thought show in my eyes as I stared at him. I was fed up with playing the diplomat and I was tired of being nice.

I’d walked that line—yeah, I had always been a mouthy little bitch and I didn’t do their territorial bullshit well, but I’d played by their rules.

I’d been
good
. I did what I was supposed and I tried to stay out of trouble…for the most part.

And look where it had gotten me.

Alisdair’s eyes narrowed on mine and I just glared at him. “After all, I was dealing with all the mongrels who ran to get away from your pack and I can tell you, some of them are even more annoying to deal with than
you
are.”

A growl trickled out of Megan’s throat and she rose slowly. She was a tall woman and she managed to look even bigger even though she hadn’t really done anything.

I was used to having people loom over me.

Flicking her a bored look, I shifted my attention back to Alisdair. He was her Alpha. She might be pissed over the insult, but she wouldn’t dare attack, not here. Not unless
he
told her to.

“If I’m so annoying, Ms. Colbana, I’d be happy to leave.” His smile was bland but his eyes were pure ice as he rose, smoothing down his oh-so-perfect three-piece suit. “I assure you, we won’t bother Colbana—”

“MacDonald, you need to sit down,” Chang said, his voice polite.

Megan looked at him. “Be quiet.”

Chang glided forward, ignoring Megan. “There’s a threat of some magnitude and the wolves will be affected. You need to be here. Or you need to leave Orlando. Immediately.”

Damon had yet to look up.

Megan went to block Chang, shoving a hand against his chest. She was about three inches taller than him. He stilled as she laid a hand against him, his gaze landing on her hand where it butted up against him. He was leanly built. Elegant, I’d always thought. And he one was scary-ass motherfucker.