The Hero Strikes Back (23 page)

But I knew better than to tell him that. I was glad he didn't like the idea of being pitied. No one who was balanced did.

“Not adored by you.”

Did he honestly believe that? Where had he been? “I do adore you. Just not for your smile.” Though it was nice to look at.

So he smiled, the non-smarmy version. He leaned down to kiss my forehead. Then my cheek. Then my mouth. Just a peck.

But then, immediately after, he kissed me on the mouth again. Not a peck. Again, a lingering touch. And I thought he was getting too used to that.

So was I. Bad, bad sign. Too much familiarity was never a good thing. Getting too comfortable when other people touched me encouraged them to take things a step further, and made me lax enough to allow them.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

His lips opened against mine, one of his hands spearing into my hair. I gasped into his mouth, heat flooding through me. Sweet, sweet danger.

Oh, he was in a fine state, his mouth desperate and fervent. It felt good. And gods it was so tempting just to let it go on. A maelstrom of sensation would be just thing to wipe out the turmoil created by the events of the evening.

And create a whole new set of problems. I pulled away. “Not good.” The words came out weak and sharp as I tried to slow my rapidly beating heart. Idiot. Moron. Just what were you thinking?

For a moment his eyes were blank. Then they sharpened into focus, and he flushed a brilliant red. “Oh, Zaire! Oh, Lee! I'm so sorry.” He disentangled his hand, caught between the desire for haste and a reluctance to rip my hair out of my head.

Once he was free, I nodded. Blank face, blank face. “Perfectly forgivable, under the circumstances.” This was so humiliating. I wanted to crawl under the sofa. I couldn't believe I'd been so careless. Did I want to ruin everything?

Calm down.

“It wasn't the circumstances!” he snapped.

I raised an eyebrow. How had I managed to tick him off this time?

He lowered his forehead against mine. “I like your gown,” he drawled, anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared up.

“Aye, you would.” Please give me some space. I really need it.

He sighed and pulled back. “I should go.”

Yes, he should. I didn't think less of him for seeking comfort in sex, but it was not the kind of comfort I could provide. And I, I was ashamed to admit, was too rattled to be of any use to him in my usual capacity. Whatever that was. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Why break a trend?” He rose to his feet.

“Taro,” I chided him, standing and catching his hand. “Only I am allowed to insult you.”

“Aye, but you've been failing in your duty tonight.”

“Yes, I have.” I let that woman tear a strip off my Source. I didn't know how I could have done things differently, how I could have participated in events without making things worse, but it galled me that that woman had felt free to come into what was temporarily my mother's home and treat any other guest, whether he was her son or not, in such an appalling fashion.

“Don't start.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked about the living room. “I'm sorry I turned this evening into such a disaster.”

“Hey, stop trying to usurp all the credit. We all did our part to make this evening as uncomfortable as possible.” He smiled, but it was another sad effort. I pulled his head down and kissed his cheek to show him that all—all—was forgiven. “I mean it, Taro. None of us can be proud of our behavior tonight. Don't be thinking you deserve special punishment. And don't be too wild tonight. All right? Take care.”

He looked down at me curiously, but I could see he was relaxing a little. The lines of tension about his form were easing slightly. I wasn't sure why, but it was good to see. “Lee, what do you think I do when I'm not with you?” And he grinned, something closer to his usual self. I could have hugged him.

“I don't think about it,” I said. Major lie.

“I don't participate in orgies, you know.”

“Of course not.” Actually, that was a shocker. I would have bet money that he did. Though, really, I didn't tend to think about it. Much. But what was the point of being the Stallion if you didn't indulge in indiscriminate sex?

“I don't smoke drugs.”

“I never thought for a moment that you did.” And that was the honest truth.

“I don't get smashed and hijack public carriages and get . . . smashed.”

Hell, I never even considered that possibility. People did that? That explained some of the driving I had seen. Was that legal?

He chuckled, the evil bastard. “Take a look in the mirror, gorgeous.”

“Huh?”

“Have a good evening, darling. Pass my apologies on to your mother.” With a wink and a graceful turn he grabbed up his cloak and was out the door.

I pulled in a long breath and blew it out again. What a hellish evening. Should have known that would happen when it turned out I needed so much work to be considered acceptable. Anything you couldn't do as yourself was likely to blow up in your face.

I never wanted to see that woman again. I didn't want Taro to ever see her, either. But there was still that hassle with the title to be endured.

I swallowed down a spurt of resentment. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? The resentment surged up again.

All right. Calm down. Wouldn't help Karish. Breathe.

Wine. I grabbed up my untouched goblet and drained half of it. Red wine—blech!—but it would do the job, especially as I had eaten so little all day. Already I could feel it easing my nerves and loosening my muscles. Aye, needed more than that. I took the bottle and goblet with me when I went to my mother's bedchamber to change. And I took Karish's advice. I looked in the mirror.

Hideous black tracks had been drawn down my cheeks. The result of tears running through the black eye paint. I looked a complete mess.

What a bastard.

Chapter Fourteen

“He's toothsome.”

“Hair's too long. It doesn't suit his face. I like that one.”

“Hm. Delicate. You do like the type, don't you? But he's firmly and exclusively playing for the other team.”

“Ah.”>

“Now that one looks good with his hands.”

“I'm sure his wife thinks so.”

“Hell.”

A mug of mulled wine was plunked down in front of me with a thud. Some of the contents splashed over the rim. I didn't even bother glaring at the server. There was no point.

Risa wasn't so passive. “Hey!” she shouted, but the server gave no indication of having heard, though those at nearby tables turned their heads. “Insolent little bag,” she muttered.

I shrugged and raised the mug to my lips. Then I paused before taking a sip. I'd heard stories of some of the things some servers did with food and beverages before bringing them to patrons they disliked.

I put the mug to one side, the wine untasted.

“So,” said Risa, “Why are you here with me scoping the scenery instead of . . . uh . . . dancing with my gorgeous brother?”

“Mm.” This was why I had been a little reluctant to participate in this outing. “Risa, about Erin, there's really nothing there. I mean, he's very nice but . . .”

“He's a pompous ass, aye, I know.”

I felt my eyebrows rise and tried to control that. Not exactly what I'd been planning to say. It was true though.

She chuckled. “I know, I know,” she said. “I love him, and really, he's a good man where it counts. But he's just got this way about him that makes you want to hurt him. That he knows everything that's worth knowing. And aye, it's aggravating. But I thought, of all the women I know, you could handle him. Your aren't easily ruffled.”

I was glad someone thought so.

“Erin is kind of thinking the same way you are,” Risa continued.

What, he thought I thought I knew everything? I didn't act like that. Did I?

“You know, that you were nice, but he didn't think there was anything there between you.”

Well, that was a relief. Obsessive admirers were overrated.

“He really admires how you think, though. Erin, I mean.”

“Does he?” He could have fooled me.

“He says it's very interesting.”

Ah. “Interesting.” Not to be confused with “good.”

“He says it's like you see patterns in ideas or events that the . . . average person doesn't see.”

I wondered what word she had been about to use before so hastily substituting “average.”

Risa leaned over the small table between us. “I'm telling you this because I know you're worried about Karish,” she said in a hushed voice, “but it goes no further, all right?”

I frowned at her. “We're in a bar.”

“Aye, and everyone's too drunk and too noisy to be overhearing anyone else.”

I thought that was an optimistic estimate, but it wasn't my secret.

“Erin was telling me about those clubs you were talking about. The gentlemen's club and the ladies' society with the same name. The Raiborn Societies. So I decided to look into it.”

Look into what? Maybe it was a little unusual but it couldn't be criminal to have two clubs with the same name. “Aren't you kind of busy right now?”

She shrugged. “Almost every Runner in the city is looking for the aristocrats, with no hope of finding any of them alive. I think we can spare a few hours of my time hunting up a different mystery.”

Here was to hoping I never went missing in High Scape. “So what did you find?”

“Turns out the mysteries aren't so disconnected after all.” She smirked in triumph. “Every single one of the victims were members of either the Raiborn Gentlemen's Club or the Raiborn Ladies' Society.”

Good Zaire. “Why wasn't that discovered before?”

Risa drew back a little. “Half a dozen reasons,” she said stiffly. “The clubs are less than a year old. Both of them. Most of us have never heard of them. And none of the victims belonged to any of the established clubs. They're all minor aristocrats, many I've never heard of before, and no one really paid attention to them before they went missing. Why would I, for example, hear the name Lord Thom Derring and think oh! he belongs to that baby new Raiborn club that has nothing to do with the life of any person I know?”

Yes, yes, that all made sense. Sort of. But I would have thought investigating all their associations would have been standard procedure. Then again, I wasn't a Runner. What did I know?

“Erin told me one of them tried to pick Karish up in the street. Is that true?”

“Aye.”

Risa frowned. “It makes no sense for them to ask him to join. He's been totally cast out of the class.”

I didn't know that
cast out
was the right way of putting it. He stepped out, of his own initiative. “Maybe it's the blood that's important to these people, not the title or the class.”

And Zaire, did that strike a chord. Hard.

“What?” Risa asked.

Which meant my shock had shown up on my face. Damn it. “A Reanist approached me on the street and asked me to bring Karish to them.” It was hard not to snarl. Of all the nerve.

Risa nearly choked on her ale. “To be sacrificed?” she demanded.

“Apparently.”

“How stupid did he think you were?”

“She tried to persuade me it was my duty, as a Shield.” I had to wonder, though, if she had really expected me to agree with her and comply with her demands. No matter how deluded she was, she had to know I thought differently. “She said that my first priority as a Shield should be stopping the disasters altogether, eliminating them before they start I guess, even if that meant handing Karish over and dying myself. I said what you said. That Karish wasn't a lord anymore, was never going to be a lord. She said it didn't matter. It was the blood that counted.”

“Alarming parallel,” said Risa.

But not one that piqued her interest, I saw. “There's no chance that the Reanists are behind this?”

Risa shrugged again and popped a syrup nut into her mouth. “We looked into it, of course. Standard procedure whenever an aristocrat is murdered or goes missing. But Reanists really don't do as much as people believe they do. It's too hard for them to find a foothold anywhere. Usually, if you're going to plan a murder, you need a place to plan from.”

“I've seen Reanists about High Scape. They must be living somewhere.”

“In tents. For as long as the owner of the land doesn't know they're there. Then they get kicked off and have to move on.” Risa crunched into another syrup nut, then she grimaced, as though its taste were off. “Maybe some desperate or indifferent innkeeper is going to let them rent a room,” she continued after swallowing quickly, “if he doesn't fear they'll drive out his other customers. But even in that case, that's not enough room to keep a victim for this long without being discovered.”

“You're assuming the victims are being kept instead of killed.”

“Well, we haven't been finding any bodies anywhere. That's not necessarily conclusive, but getting rid of a body without being seen and without it, you know, popping up somewhere unexpected, is harder than you might think. To get rid of a series of bodies without being caught requires access to something. A pig farm. Or land to bury them. Or familiar use of the rivers. Which, again, pretty much eliminates the Reanists.”

I really, really didn't need lessons on the safe and effective disposal of human bodies. Thanks.