Storm's Heart (20 page)

The Dark Fae Commander’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, nobody’s going to see me chatting up you guys in public,” said Arethusa. “Everybody knows I think you’re all a bunch of rat bastards.”

More blah-fucking-blah happened. Other people called it pleasantries. Polite chitchat. Tiago called it agonizing. The beast crouched inside him and waited, and its silence took over his mind.

He watched the slight rhythmic flutter of the pulse at the Dark Fae Commander’s neck, and took note of the increasing flicker of the medusa’s nictitating membrane. The medusa did not look at him directly again, but half a dozen of her head snakes peered at him from around her waist and shoulders. They tasted the air as they watched him with their tiny jeweled eyes glittering.

Tiago’s sharp hearing caught a slight buzz, and his entire attention focused on tracking it. The tiny sound emitted from the front pocket of Rune’s jeans. He watched as Rune dragged out his iPhone, checked the screen and frowned. Rune started to put the cell back in his pocket while he began uttering good-bye blah-fucking-blahs.

Tiago’s breath stilled, and every muscle in his body tightened. He knew in his bones that the message Rune had received was about Niniane. And Rune didn’t appear to be inclined to share.

Before the instinct had the chance to fully form in his mind, Tiago sprang forward and snatched the iPhone out of Rune’s hands. The Dark Fae Commander grabbed one of her swords and the medusa made a high-pitched sound and leaped back two feet. All her head snakes whipped around to hiss at Tiago as Rune swore and spun to snatch at his phone. The other sentinel might be famous for his speed, but Tiago caught him by surprise and he was too late.

“Goddammit, Tiago!” Rune swore. His lion’s eyes blazed.
“GIVE IT BACK!”

Tiago drove the heel of his hand into Rune’s chest and knocked him backward as he tilted the phone to read the screen.

It was a text from Aryal:

OUT 4 BEERS + SHOTS. PD CHICK > BIG RED’S = GD COP BAR. FARY NEEDS STRSS RLIEF BAD. GNNA TRY 2 GT HR LAID.

Tiago’s beast snapped its leash.

ELEVEN

T
he thunderstorm rolled over Chicago in a matter of minutes. It blanketed the city with heavy, sulfurous black clouds, a deluge of lashing rain and flashes of jagged lightning that split the sky, followed by rolling sonic booms that rattled skyscrapers.

The predator hurtled through the storm. When his huge wings rose and hammered down, the sky roared in response and the earth shook.

He ignored his pursuer. In flight, he was the one who was faster, his powerful body streamlined for slicing through the air. He was also the creator of the storm. It fulminated around him while hurricane-force winds buffeted the one who fought to follow. The storm blew that one behind.

The predator was one of the world’s best trackers. Locating his prey was child’s play. She was too innocent. She had not known to hide from him. As he fell to earth, he changed to wear his human skin, but the beast that raged inside him was far older and much more dangerous than a human being. His clothing, absorbed when he took his Wyr form, settled into place again on his body.

He slammed open the doors of the Big Red bar and stalked inside.

The predator paused for a heartbeat as human sights, sounds and smells assaulted him. Laughter, music, liquor and food. Perfume, perspiration and aftershave. He ignored the fragile humans. He noted the location of the real possible threats, the harpy and the Vampyre. They leaned against one end of the bar while they talked and watched a crowded dance floor, their alert, watchful, roaming gazes belying their bodies’ casual posture.

Then he caught sight of her, his prey, on the packed dance floor and she was—

He gave his head a sharp, disbelieving shake. The beast inside him roared.

She was a small, exquisitely boned, deliciously curved, raven-haired beauty who shimmered with so much molten light as she danced, she looked like she was a creature made of sunlight and lightning. Enormous gray eyes glittered under sultry lids, and her soft, glistening lips were painted the intoxicating color of poppies. Her slender, curved white legs with those narrow delicate knees were naked, and her tiny feet arched in four-inch fuck-me silver high-heeled shoes. She was a teacup temptress, undulating in that silvery light slip of scandalous something that she wore—

Dress, it was a dress—

That depraved piece of skintight luminescence wasn’t a dress. It was a heart attack waiting to happen. It was covered with so many tiny, sparkly silver dangling
sequins
, and it was so low in the neck and so high in the hem, it barely covered her nipples and her sweet little round ass. With every graceful flirtatious dance move she made, the neckline and the hem hovered on the edge of unveiling the treasures they were intended to guard.

And didn’t every red-blooded male in the building know it. The room reeked of sexual interest. Hot interested males from all over the room watched as she danced, undressing her with their eyes. He growled low in his throat.

Mine.

The predator bared his teeth and promised them all murder as he advanced across the room.

N
ormally Niniane loved to go out. But tonight, no matter how she threw herself into the effort, she couldn’t relax and enjoy the moment.

The whole thing started when Aubrey and Kellen stepped out on the patio to protest the harpy’s presence. Heaven only knew where Arethusa had gone, or Niniane had no doubt the Commander would have joined them. Then Carling had strolled out to take a seat at the table, listening without comment to the argument.

Not that it was much of an argument for long. Niniane told them all, “I know that Dragos and his sentinels had nothing to do with the attack.”

Deep lines bracketed Kellen’s mouth. They scored his face from fine-molded nostrils to the sides of his mouth, evidencing his displeasure. He said, “Your highness, please.”

“Try not to be more of an idiot than you can help,” Aryal told him. The Justice glared at her, his expression full of offense. The harpy clicked her tongue at him, looking remarkably avian despite being in her human form.

Niniane swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter. Carling met her gaze. “Never send a harpy on a mission of diplomacy,” the Vampyre murmured. “Are you sure about this?”

“I have examined the facts, and yes, I am sure,” she replied in a firm voice. She looked hard at Aubrey and Kellen to make sure they heard her.

Aryal turned to Carling in a sudden movement. “The Wyr have the right to investigate what happened,” the harpy said. “If there are other Wyr involved, we are responsible for bringing them to justice.”

The warm breeze ruffled the hem of Carling’s caftan, the plain cotton rippling around her bare feet. Carling’s perfect face remained impassive, her gaze on Niniane.

Niniane looked from Carling to Aryal then to the two Dark Fae males. Both Aubrey and Kellen frowned at her, their gazes intent.

You should be careful where you step, Niniane.

You’re in a fragile place.

Her back muscles were rigid from the tension she would not let show in her face. She would not deny her friends, but if she was not careful, she could also alienate two Powerful government officials and much-needed Dark Fae allies.

A heavy fullness pressed at the back of her throat. It tasted a little like grief. She said to the two males, “The Wyr have been friends of the Dark Fae before. They are my good friends now. You must accept this.”

A slow feral smile began to spread over Aryal’s angular face.

Niniane turned to the harpy and continued, “The crimes have been committed against me, not the Wyr. There have been more than one, and they have occurred within the Dark Fae demesne. There is no doubt in my mind that those involved acted without the official sanction or knowledge of the Wyrkind. It must also be said—those Wyr were not the only offenders. Therefore, it is up to us to dispense justice, and you must accept this.”

The harpy’s smile froze in midformation. She searched Niniane’s expression with a sharp unspoken question. The fullness entered Niniane’s eyes and turned them damp, but her face remained composed. She watched as comprehension came to Aryal. The harpy bowed her head in silent acquiescence.

Niniane said, “We do recognize how important it is for the Wyr to be engaged in this process. They must demonstrate their good intentions to the Dark Fae during this time of transition.”

“Uh,” Aryal said, her voice subdued. “That makes sense.”

Niniane dropped the more formal speech. “And I have had a difficult week. A visit from my good friends is a comfort to me. Please accept my invitation to join us until the coronation. I know Dragos will send a representative anyway, and I would be grateful for the companionship and the chance to say good-bye properly as I return home.”

She looked at Aubrey then, and she couldn’t keep the entreaty out of her eyes. There it all was, said as best as she could manage under the circumstances. It was an assumption of authority, an official declaration of alliance and a statement of loyalty, and a compromise and promise to change, all wrapped together into one package. And it would not be a bad thing at all to show everybody that she had Powerful friends as allies, even if they would not be staying with her for long.

Aubrey studied her then glanced at a sober-looking Aryal. Finally he assessed Carling’s neutral expression. Come on, Niniane urged him. This is a good thing. Accept it and back me up.

Aubrey turned back to her.
Please forgive me for asking this, highness
, he said silently.
Are you willing to share the facts as you have examined them with us at a more private time? I do not mean to question your judgment, only to ask that you help allay my concern for your safety.

She smiled at him, warmed by his care for her dignity in front of the others. She told him,
Of course I will
.

Aubrey took a deep breath. “We must not forget our own responsibility in all of this,” he said aloud. “I am the one who made the appalling mistake of choosing Geril, who is, after all, the one who caused you the real injury. I cannot apologize enough for that.” He offered her a small grave smile. “And how could you not want your friends at a time like this? It must be difficult to leave behind the home you have known since you were a child. I believe this will be a very good way for you to transition.”

Niniane breathed out a sigh of relief that was shakier than she would have liked. She turned to the harpy. “So will you guys come—if Dragos approves, of course?”

Aryal touched her shoulder with a smile. “Be real, pip-squeak. How often has the Old Man said no to you? We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

So. Not quite up shit creek, not quite without a paddle—yet.

It was agreed that the sentinels would work with Carling’s entourage to provide security for Niniane as part of the short-term arrangement until the investigation into the attacks was concluded. “We will be visiting together anyway,” Niniane said. “They have guarded me many times over the years and we know each other well.”

Then Niniane nodded to Aubrey, Kellen and Carling as they each bid her goodnight and withdrew. At a gesture from her, Duncan withdrew to stand just inside the patio doors again where he went into a statuelike stillness. When they were all gone, or at least as gone as they were going to get, she sat back in her seat.

Niniane muttered, “So you’ll be around for a couple of weeks now. At least that’s bought me some time.”

Aryal narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about, bought you some time?”

She slumped forward with a groan. She laid her cheek on the table. “Time for the investigation on the attacks, time to find out who I can and can’t trust. At least a little bit. At least for some things.”

Aryal snorted. “That’s easy.”

Niniane smacked the harpy’s knee. “I know I can trust
you
, goofball,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking to let myself get shaken even for a few minutes. I mean, any harpy that will let me gussy her up in pink lipstick and pigtails—”

Aryal smacked her in the back of the head. “Will you shut UP about that. God!”

She gave Aryal an evil grin then sobered. “I’m talking about the people I’m going to be living with for the rest of my life. I have to make Powerful friends fast in the Dark Fae ’hood, or the brutal fact of the matter is, I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”

Aryal laid her head on the table too, facing Niniane, her gaunt features turning serious. “You’re going to be okay,” Aryal promised. Her scowl promised other things as well, like she would rain hell down on anybody that tried to say otherwise. “You’re going to live for a long damn time. We’ll work it out.”

Niniane tried to swallow past a dry throat. Her fingers were cold. She rubbed her hands together. “And since we’re on the subject of finding people to trust, I’ve also got to find somebody to marry.”

Aryal’s head reared up. “What?”

“I’ve made a shopping list for a husband,” she whispered. “He’s got to be Powerful and influential, and someone who wants the throne but can’t get it on his own because he’s got to have a vested interest in keeping me alive.”

The harpy’s stormy eyes widened. “Oh, good God,
gak
.”

Niniane felt her eyes flood with tears again. This time, no matter how she tried, they spilled over, and then there was no containing the harpy’s panic.

Which was why Niniane was now dancing and trying to pretend she was having a good time.

Because Aryal talked to Duncan who talked to Cameron, who cooked up the idea of a trip out to Big Red’s. Big Red’s was a nearby bar owned by a retired cop and frequented by cops. It was a sturdy place rather than a fancy one, with solid wood furniture and a sizable dance floor and a small kitchen behind the bar that served a limited menu of food, primarily sandwiches and fries. The building was easily defended, and even better, Cameron knew the owner and vouched for his integrity. Niniane, who would have given almost anything to get out of the hotel from hell, jumped at the chance to escape for a few hours. She threw herself into the venture and put on makeup, an outfit, shoes, the whole works.

Besides, she adored music and loved to dance. She did, really. Get her under some stress, and she was bound to turn manic and do something like this anyway. Aryal knew. Niniane had closed down more than a few nightclubs in her time. She would close down Big Red’s too. She would click into her groove any minute now, baby, and shake it out.

But clicking into her groove meant she first had to find it. Her body felt disjointed, graceless. She felt disconnected from the music blaring over the dance-floor speakers. It sounded like a great crash of meaningless noise. The human policewoman, Cameron, dressed casually in jeans, a tank top, and a light summer jacket that hid her gun from casual view, threaded through the other dancers. The floor was packed with a rowdy, good-natured crowd, so Cameron stayed close, while Aryal and Duncan kept watch from one side.

Niniane forced herself to smile, and it felt horrible and fake, a rubbery stretch of tired facial muscles. Nobody else seemed to notice. Cameron smiled back, her cinnamon-sprinkled features lit with pleasure at Niniane’s apparent enjoyment. The whole thing was gruesome, really.

Today had been one long, strange day from hell. Where was Tiago now? Aryal said he had met up with Rune. Maybe now that Rune and Aryal were here, Tiago really would head back to New York. He had kept his promise to her. He had stayed until she was healed. She knew how important keeping a promise was to all the sentinels. Would he leave without saying good-bye or returning her calls? He was such a proud, aloof man, and she had rejected his support in front of Carling and the whole Dark Fae delegation, so he might very well be gone.

Yes, he had made a mistake when he forgot to tell her about the Wyr, but after everything he had done for her, he deserved better than what she had given him.

She kept remembering that flash of anarchy in Tiago’s face when she had sent him away. She had hurt him, and oh God, she missed him so much it was like suffering an amputation, and she wanted to ask somebody how she had suddenly gotten transported into a Victorian novel.