Mortal Ties (6 page)

In short, both of Beth’s sisters were incredibly competent women. She was the cute
one.

She did cute very well. It just wasn’t enough anymore.

But the main reason she was glad she’d picked Bojuka was warm and solid along her
front. If she’d gone for judo or something, she’d never have met Sean Friar. And that
didn’t bear thinking about.

N
IGHT
checked in early at the end of December. It had been dark for hours by the time Lily
curled up on one of the long leather couches with her warmed-up lasagna. The news
was on—something about the sidhe trade delegation that had recently arrived in Washington
via the Edge Gate—but the sound was turned down low, so Lily could ignore it. The
air smelled of spices and tomato, ashes and woodsmoke.

The fireplace was dark and cool now. She’d missed the fire, just as she’d missed sharing
dinner with the man now sitting at the big dining table, surrounded by paper piles
and focused on whatever business shit he’d called up on his laptop.

Lily ran her thumb along the band of her engagement ring. She had to quit putting
this off. The wedding was two months, one week, and two days away. Tonight, she promised
herself, after she ate. She’d bring it up tonight.

Rule looked pretty involved with his business shit. “Where’s Toby?” she asked, taking
her first bite of lasagna.

“He and Emmy are spending the night at Danny’s.”

“But he had a spend-the-night here just last night.”

“It’s Christmas vacation,” Rule said without looking away from the computer.

Until recently Lily hadn’t known she had a parenting style. After Rule gained custody
of his son last summer, she’d learned that she did, and it was very different from
Rule’s. Her parents had seen sleepovers as a privilege to be earned, certainly not
something that could happen two nights in a row. As for mixed-sex slumber parties…Lily
had to grin, thinking of her mother’s reaction to that notion.

But Toby was not interested in girls as girls. He liked Emmy the same way he liked
Danny and Michael and half-a-dozen others. That would change, and Rule would know
when it did. The hormonal tumult of puberty was as unsubtle in its scent, Rule said,
as it was in its effects.

Lily stopped shoveling in pasta long enough to sip some of a Merlot Rule had thought
she’d enjoy. This was the lasagna’s second warm-up, but it was still good. After all,
it was, as Toby would say,
Carl’s
lasagna. Isen’s houseman kept the freezer stocked with dishes like this for when
he was off, like tonight.

Having Carl around was a huge perk, she admitted. Not enough of one to entirely balance
out the loss of privacy, but a huge perk all the same.

There were others. She didn’t have to dust or vacuum or scrub the bathroom—was, in
fact, strongly discouraged from doing any of that. Carl had a roster of young clan
members eager to earn spending money who did most of the cleaning. Plus she could
grub around in the dirt whenever she had the urge and the time, and if the gardens
here weren’t born of her planning or planting, destroying weeds was always satisfying.

In spite of the obvious perks, Lily didn’t want to live with Isen. She didn’t like
the long commute. She didn’t like the sense of being a perpetual guest, and she couldn’t
get used to the lack of privacy. But Rule would be much more at risk if they stayed
at his San Diego apartment. So would Toby. So would the guards who tried to keep the
three of them safe. That’s why, three weeks ago, Rule had sublet his old place.

No going back. The only direction anyone had was
forward
.

At least here she could go for a run without wondering if someone was going to shoot
her or the guard keeping pace with her…and that was the point, wasn’t it? She and
Rule were prime targets for the enemy, and Friar was still out there, plotting and
planning on
her
behalf.

Which was why she needed to talk to Rule. They were targets, and they were getting
married in two months, one week, and two days, and the whole world knew about it.
The guest list included her entire family, of course. Also a state supreme court justice,
a U.S. senator, and a few more state movers and shakers plus some Washington types—including
Lily’s boss, the head of both Unit Twelve and the Shadow Unit dedicated to fighting
her.
Plus a whole lot of lupi. Nokolai’s Rhej would be one of Lily’s maids of honor; their
sorcerer was Rule’s best man.

Rule wasn’t an idiot, she told herself. He must have thought about how dangerous it
was to hold the wedding at the posh resort where they’d put down that huge deposit.
He’d probably be relieved she brought the subject up.

Why didn’t she believe that?

Maybe because the invitations had already gone out. Then there was the spreadsheet
he’d created. And the detailed seating plan. Lily sighed and took a healthy swallow
of wine.

Unlike her, Rule was happy here. When she first realized that, it had disconcerted
her considerably, but once she thought about it she understood. He’d probably prefer
to have his own house, but living at Clanhome…yes. He spent a lot more time surrounded
by clan now, and lupi need to be around clan.

He didn’t seem very happy tonight.

Lily studied her lover, friend, and mate as she finished her meal. He wore what he
usually did at Clanhome: jeans. Period. No shirt, no shoes. She was used to seeing
him in
dressier clothes, but he was eye candy either way, long and lean and powerful. His
dark hair was untidy, as if he’d been running his hand through it a lot, and as usual
was overdue for a trim.

As she watched, he ran a hand through it again. Gold glinted on one finger.

Lily smiled. A couple months ago, she’d said something to Rule about him wearing an
engagement ring, too. She’d been joking. He’d loved the idea. She ended up telling
him he didn’t get to buy it for himself and he’d have to put up with whatever she
could afford. She’d had to dip deep into savings, but she’d gotten a custom ring for
him, gold and platinum with a little diamond, and given it to him for Christmas.

He freaking loved that ring. “I talked to Arjenie today.”

“Oh? She’s well, I hope.” His eyes remained trained on the computer screen…both of
his lovely, dark eyes. No more pirate’s eye patch. The other wounds he’d received
in October were healed, too, leaving not a trace of scar tissue to mark that battle.

But not all scars showed, did they?

“Yeah, she’s fine.” He seemed fine, too. Preoccupied, but fine. He’d kissed her when
she got here, told her about the lasagna, and said he was digging through a stack
of reports he’d been putting off. Between arranging the upcoming All-Clan and his
duties as Ruben’s second in the Shadow Unit, Rule didn’t have much daytime left for
handling the finances of two clans.

He hadn’t asked what made her so late.

She’d told him anyway. He’d listened and nodded and poured her the glass of wine she
was still sipping. There’d been no magic at T.J.’s scene or on the body; it looked
like the coroner would have to determine cause of death. Maybe it really had been
a heart attack that hit right after a major argument with T.J.’s suspect. She’d told
Rule about Drummond’s reappearance, too, though not in depth. More like a teaser to
see how he responded.

He’d agreed that it was good to know Drummond
couldn’t show up here at Clanhome, poured a glass of wine for himself, and dived into
his neglected reports. Where he’d been buried ever since.

Lily swirled the dark red wine in her glass. One of the tricky things about being
part of a couple was knowing when to poke and probe and when to leave the other one
alone. Truth was, she was better at the poking. She wasn’t chickening out on the talk
she needed to have…

Yes, she was. Lily sighed, took a last swallow of wine, and put down her glass. “I
need to talk to you about the wedding.”

“Oh?” He did at least look up.

“I think we need to move it here, to Clanhome.”

“No.”

“That’s it?” Her voice rose. “That’s it—‘no’? Not ‘I don’t agree, but let’s talk.’
Not ‘I don’t agree, and here’s why.’ Just ‘no.’ ”

He tunneled a hand through his hair. “Hell. I did that all wrong. I don’t agree because
that would be letting the bastards win. And I don’t want to talk about it tonight.
Not tonight, but we’ll talk.”

She looked at him a long moment. “Okay.”

“ ‘Okay’? That’s it?”

“We’ll talk, but it can wait a day or two. Where’s Isen?” Rule got along well with
his father, but there was some strain, living in his father’s house. His Rho’s house.
Maybe they’d argued.

“He went for a run.”

“Training or four-footed?”

“He Changed first.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Again? Is he…Hannah’s death hit him hard.” Harder than Lily
had expected, but she hadn’t known that the previous Rhej had been Isen’s oldest lover
as well as his friend, not until after she died. Ham and eggs, Laurel and Hardy, lupi
and secrets—they went together every damn time.

“It did, but that’s not the reason.” He sighed and, at last, really looked at her.
“Today is Mick’s birthday.”

Mick…Rule’s half brother, several years older. Mick, who’d killed and conspired to
frame Rule for it, longstanding envy ripened into madness by an ancient staff and
the crazy telepath who’d wielded it. Mick, who had died the same night Lily killed
Helen. Died saving Rule’s life.

She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “I didn’t know. I should have.”
Rule had mentioned Mick’s birthday last year—not the exact date, but that his father
had gone off by himself for two days on the anniversary of his second son’s birth.

“Isen didn’t want you thinking about it. You would have been careful with him. That
would have annoyed him.”

Was Rule talking about his father or himself? Didn’t matter, she decided, and set
her glass down and stood.

Rule had the sexiest eyebrows she’d ever seen on a man. Even when they drew down like
they did now in a go-away frown, they were a total turn-on. “I’m okay, Lily.”

“I know. But ‘okay’ is a pretty roomy place, isn’t it? Room for all sorts of stuff
you do not want to talk about. I get that.”

His fingers tapped on the table rather the way a cat’s tail twitches when it’s annoyed.
“Think you know me pretty well, do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Especially the parts that are a lot like me, like when you work really
hard so you don’t have to think about something. The problem is, now that I’ve forced
you to talk about the thing you weren’t thinking about, it’s going to be harder to
cram yourself down into those reports.”

“It will be easier once you stop talking about it.”

She nodded as she reached him. “That’s one option, but it will be a bitch, won’t it?
Pretending you give a damn about, uh…” She tilted her head to read the heading on
one page. “EPS.”

His mouth tightened—but maybe that was because he’d had to work to keep it from twitching.
“Earnings per share is a vital part of analyzing a stock’s potential.”

“I’m sure it is.” There was just enough room, she judged,
and slid one leg over his lap, and sat. “Kind of crowded here.”

His hands came automatically to her hips. Large, warm hands, their heat all on the
surface at first.…“Lily—”

“I was thinking you might have to up the ante, go for physical distraction since I’ve
made the mental sort harder.” She threaded her hands together at his nape. “I was
also thinking that this is the first time we’ve ever had the house completely to ourselves.”

Oh, yeah, his mouth did twitch this time. “No Carl.”

“No Isen.”

“No Toby.” His hands shifted slightly, but the motion seemed more restless than caressing.
“It seems more appropriate to distract myself with work than with pleasure.”

Lily had never lost a sibling. Both her parents were alive. She didn’t really know
what Rule was feeling, but…“My father’s mother is extremely alive, but his father
died before I was born. Grandmother has observed his birthday every year.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“When I was a kid, it was a mandatory family thing. We’d go to Grandmother’s every
April sixteenth and eat ourselves sick—Chinese food for dinner, followed by an array
of American-style desserts starring an enormous birthday cake. She and my father would
talk about Grandfather. She wanted us to know him, but she also wanted a party. Birthdays,
she says, are for celebrating life, and neither grief nor death erases the life someone
lived.” She smiled slightly. “Mother is more traditional, which is funny, since she’s
third generation, while Grandmother is so very Chinese. Have I told you about Qingming?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Mother observes Qingming every year by taking flowers to the graves of her ancestors—first
her grandparents’, then her parents’ graves. So that’s how I honor my grandparents
on her side, because that’s how she does it. But every April sixteenth, I have a Grandfather
cupcake.”