Solomon's Seal

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  West shifted, moving in my peripheral vision to a sitting position and he leaned against his hands stretched behind him. “Buttons?”

  A faint smile curved my lips but I still didn’t look at him. “Because of your adorable little button nose.”

  Silence. “I don’t have a button nose.”

  “Not as a human, no, but you do as a cat.” At last my harness was properly detangled as was my belt, and I deposited the rest on the table. My gaze hit his. “And I prefer the pussy version, by the way.”

  He smiled, exposing his teeth, and I didn’t take it as a friendly gesture. “You’re welcome.”

  I cocked a brow in question.

  “For saving your life. Again. You might need to work on that whole gratitude thing.”

  “Maybe you ought to as well, considering I dragged you out of the cave and took you with us.”

  “Which wouldn’t have been needed if you just climbed the goddamn rope like I told you to.”

  “And leave Laurel there? To be eaten?”

  West shrugged.

  Irritation heated my blood, and both the gun harness and my belt creaked in my grip as I squeezed them. “You’re an asshole.”

  “I prefer pragmatist.”

  “So what made me worthy of not being reptile food?”

  He sat up straighter, the lantern to the side cutting light artfully over his sculpted chest. “One, they’re not reptiles. Drakones Aithiopes.”

  “Which is...a fancy word for lizard demons?”

  “‘Serpents of Ethiopia’, but a dragon-serpent to be specific. What you saw down there pales in comparison to the full grown ones.”

  I swallowed a thick lump in my throat but tried to keep my voice calm. “That last one wasn’t the mother?”

  “The adults reach over one hundred feet long.”

  Holy shit. I couldn’t even contemplate where something that fucking huge even resided in the cave system—and I definitely didn’t want to run into her.

  “Two, you’re needed. I’d ask you not do anything else stupid so no one has to risk their neck to bring you back in one piece. I can survive the drakon venom. Humans can’t.”

  “So I’m needed, but Laurel’s expendable?”

  “That’s why she’s here.”

  “She’s supposed to be representing Mr. Ashford.” Or so she said.

  “She managed to misplace some paperwork last month that caused him to lose a major land deal and substantial amount of money.”

  “So she can prove herself here but if she dies, no big loss?”

  “Exactly.”

  Jesus. “You’re not just an asshole, but your employer is a motherfucking asshole himself.”

  He wasn’t fazed, still half-smiling at me. “Also, that’s your employer now as well, Olivia.”

  My face flushed—he was right, I was a hypocrite. But I still wouldn’t back down. “If I’m down there with a team, no one is expendable to me.” I couldn’t keep up the high and mighty act for long, however, so I amended. “Except maybe Tucker and Brandon. Also, you.”

  “What’s your problem with the mercs?” He frowned, black brows pulling tight, as if I’d thrown him off kilter for the first time that night.

  “They pulled guns on us and forced me to try to cross a nest of those drakones. Alone. Where I was almost eaten. It seriously put the entire mission at risk. That was about twenty minutes before you made your grand entrance, by the way. Since you’re cozy with Mr. Rolph, I’m sure he can confirm.”

  “Do you have evidence other than your word?” he asked as he shifted, twisting so his legs hung over the edge of the cot. He grasped the mattress, breathing deeply as he began to rise though his expression remained neutral despite whatever pain he was in.

  “Video record which I just gave to—” My gaze darted up to stare at the tent ceiling as he rose and the sheet slipped away.

  Buttons was very, very naked.

  “To whom?” he prompted innocently.

  I swore the bastard was grinning. “To Dawson. It’s a mite cold out there, though, so I’d maybe consider pants if I were you.”

  West moved closer, every hair on my body suddenly standing on end. Even nudity didn’t bring out vulnerability in him; he towered over me, intimidating and owning the entire space of the tent which was growing far too warm for my liking.

  I breathed in stuffy air and scented a whiff of sterile hospital supplies slightly edged out by the male musk of sweat.

  He was inches from me and gooseflesh rolled across my skin under my jacket. “Interested in the ceiling fabric or is there something I don’t see up there?”

  My lips pursed, clamping together to keep from grinning. “Very fine quality. High thread count to keep out bugs. I approve.”

  “I’m sure the makers will be thrilled to know you’ve spent so much time studying their work.”

  So he wanted to be like that, did he? I turned my gaze again to meet his eyes. His irises were a cool cobalt blue and they paled to ice, seeming to flash in challenge, and I kept his stare even as heat suffused my cheeks.

  Before either of us could speak, the tent flap opened abruptly, the shape of Mr. Rolph taking up some of the doorway. A rush of cool night air drifted in, icing the sweat that had started to dampen my skin and cooling away the heat in my cheeks. Rolph didn’t move, didn’t speak, staring and likely wondering what the hell was going on.

  West remained unfazed.

  I gazed down pointedly then looked back up at him again, raising a brow. “Like I said, it’s a little cold out there, Buttons. You might want pants.”

  Before anything more could be said, I ducked out of the tent and past Mr. Rolph, who gave me a quizzical look. Squabbling with Ashford’s right hand was not my best use of time, so I put on a smile, nodded at Mr. Rolph, and swept away from the pair of them. The tent flap swung back into place behind me, eliminating the shadow I cast on the ground in front of me, and the low rumble of arguing voices followed. I heard something about bed rest due to the injury and that was all as I swiftly paced away.

  Laurel was on her way from the tech table and I felt a flash of sympathy for her. No wonder she seemed so frazzled down there, and her words had extra weight now. It’s either success or our lives. I am in the same position as both of you.

  Indeed, she was.

  She headed straight for me, despite looking exhausted, and slowed as our paths intersected. “Mr. Rolph and I have checked in with Mr. Ashford, and he wants to speak with you.”

  I glanced over her shoulder at the tech table. Wonderful. “Do we still have a job or is West supposed to take over?”

  “Mr. Rolph and I...discussed it and decided not to mention the trouble we’ve had.”

  “Dawson touched base with Ashford and West is here, though—he must know already?”

  “I don’t know, he didn’t mention West. But, my advice?” She tilted her head to the side and gave me a look that suggested I accept it.

  “Sure.”

  “Assure him everything is going fine. Minor setback to regroup but we’ll have the Seal shortly. Believe me...” She hugged her arms and shivered. “You don’t want to be disposable to him.”

  We all truly were on the same side now. I nodded. “Okay. He’s not talking to the mercs, is he?”

  “I don’t think he even knows their names. This rests on us. Or at least you.”

  God, I couldn’t wait to get home. “You get some rest,” I said as I started past her.

  “That’s the plan. Goodnight, Ms. Talbot.”

  Poor Laurel. She’d definitely quit after this.

  Dawson held back from the tech table as I approached and gestured at the laptop. I nodded my understanding and rounded the table to take the chair waiting in front of the screen. The Ethiopian wilderness was at my back but I was close enough to the fire that I didn’t worry. Too much. After all, apparently there were giant serpent dragons out there somewhere.

  Moses Ashford waited on the screen, visible from the shoul
ders up and in a dark suit. Late night back in North America but he didn’t look like the sort of man to ever relax. He nodded. “Ms. Talbot.”

  I forced a smile. “Mr. Ashford.”

  He let a pregnant pause pass. “I hadn’t expected to see you before you completed your objective.”

  Oh god, he reminded me of my father. I stuffed down the urge to be a snarky bratty bitch. “Likewise. But we were separated underground and lost some of our equipment, and needed to regroup. We’re hitting the cave again at dawn.”

  Another moment of silence. “I don’t think I need to remind you that I don’t like delays.”

  My stomach tightened and I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Oh, believe me, I want to get home too. We’re very close—no more delays.” If I wasn’t running on physical exhaustion, I could probably fake it better; as it was, I worried my tone was too light, too casual. But I couldn’t think of another way to reassure him that everything was okay.

  Because nothing is.

  He continued watching me, his expression unchanging. “You’ll recall your contract specified you are to be on the plane with the Seal seven days after you landed.”

  I struggled to calm my suddenly thumping heart. “Yes...”

  “I’ll deduct one hundred thousand from your fee for every day you’re late.”

  Shit. Shit shit shit. My lips parted to argue, tired brain trying to remember my contract and how he could be wrong, but I had nothing. I’d read the papers front to back and scrawled my name right there, agreeing with his “strongly preferred” seven days from landing to departure for my five hundred thousand. “That sounds fair. We arrived Sunday morning—we’ll be gone, Seal in hand, by Saturday at the latest.”

  “I’ll see you when you return, then.”

  I kept up my smile. “Looking forward to it.”

  Mr. Ashford nodded, not breaking his steady stare, and the screen abruptly went black.

  I let out a heavy breath, my shoulders sagging as tension left. Two minutes of him breathing down my neck and my temples had started to throb.

  Like I needed something else to worry about.

  17

  Don’t Tell Miss Jennings

  Dawson hovered a few feet away and I waved at him to join me, then leaned my elbows on the table, tipping my head down and rubbing my temples.

  “So we’re pretending everything’s great and there isn’t a couple badly injured mercs and a tiger running around?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, then.” He came to stand next to me and I looked up to see him gazing in the direction of the tent. “Who was the naked dude?”

  “Dale West. Works for Ashford.”

  “Oh...hell.”

  I just could not take any more bad news tonight. “Hmm?”

  His dark eyes were locked on the tent, though no one had emerged yet, and he pressed his large palms on the tabletop beside me to lean in and speak in a low voice. “He is bad news. Bad. Really bad.”

  “So not good, then?”

  He gave me a look that suggested for once he wasn’t amused with my smart mouth. “That’s Ashford’s right hand.”

  Second time of the night I’d heard that and I was liking the sounds of it less and less. My stomach twisted. “Meaning?”

  “He does...” Dawson heaved a breath, his gaze skirting mine, and he brushed a lock of dark brown hair behind his ear. “Bad stuff.”

  “Ashford’s dirty work? Shred tax documents?”

  “No, I mean...the bad stuff. If someone was gonna break your kneecaps, it would be that guy.”

  “You make it sound like Ashford’s a mobster.”

  “Well, it sounds like this West guy is an enforcer, so maybe he sorta is.”

  We both looked again at the tent that housed the injured man. Tiger. Man-tiger. Whatever. Chills danced up my spine, possibilities hanging in the air and not a single one I liked. Was he here to help us, double cross us, or punish us if we failed?

  “Here.” He tapped the keyboard in front of me and thumbed the mouse until he had a virtual corkboard up filled with audio files and notes, more detailed than what I’d seen before.

  I took over from there and clicked the first recording. When a voice burst on, Dawson hit the volume a few times so it dropped lower. I leaned forward to listen.

  “No, you’re shitting me...” I vaguely recognized the voice, frowned, but kept listening. “Not West.”

  “That’s who’s on his way.” That was a female voice, though rough around the edges.

  “If the boss man sent him, we’re dead. He’s the motherfucking enforcer. Cleans up and he makes loose ends disappear. Jesus, we’re fucking dead. So dead.”

  “Calm the fuck down,” she said. “All I heard is that he’s on his way. Doesn’t mean—”

  “Means we can sure as shit forget about getting paid—”

  “Keep your goddamn head on you!”

  “Didn’t you hear?” The man was damn near hysterical. “C’mon, you heard. Everyone heard. You’re lucky if all he does is put a bullet in your head. Bachman’s crew? Remember them? Did some private security work for Ashford two years back. They’re not working anymore—know why?”

  “Brandon—”

  “Do. You. Know. Why? Because Bachman tried to steal something from the old man’s vault. And now every one of the dudes on his team are missing their hands.”

  “Calm the fuck dow—”

  “I fucking met Salvador. No hands. Hacked off, not even. Said if he tried to cross Ashford again, ‘The sins of the father would be visited on the son.’ You get that? They’d go after his fucking kid—”

  “Nothing is gonna happen if you just do your motherfucking job. You make sure that dumb cunt gets the ring or whatever the fuck he wants and we deliver her, then be on our way.”

  The call abruptly ended and I looked at Dawson.

  “Curtis,” he said in a low voice. “Brandon called when they got out after the cave-in and went around. I’d already heard from West—he’s who answered when I called Ashford, and said the boss wanted you guys to keep going and that he would head here to get you out.”

  “You record everyone’s calls?”

  His smile went sheepish and even in the lowlight I caught a blush darkening his cheeks. “Um...just the mercenaries when I don’t trust them.”

  “Good thinking.”

  He minimized the window and straightened. “They’re scared of him. And they kill people sometimes for a living, so...”

  So we should be scared as well. Perhaps I made a very, very bad mistake back there when I pulled that cat out with us.

  “Never guessed,” Dawson’s gaze trailed to the tent again, “that the right hand was a tiger.”

  “Kinda makes you wonder if he bit the hands off.”

  He made a face and shuddered. “Aw, Livi.”

  I rolled my eyes—really, I couldn’t be the only one thinking it.

  “I didn’t think...the Pulse could make people tigers. Have you heard of that? I mean,” he continued before I could respond, “were there a bunch of people before who just had tiger genes that got activated? Or what?”

  “Talismans, spells—different things like that make it possible.” I was, of course, pulling that idea out of my rear; I had no particular clue what West was or how it came about that he could turn into a tiger, but I suspected the usual rules didn’t apply to the man. The only shamans I’d ever heard of who could shapeshift did so at great magical cost and it required an extensive ritual beforehand—which I didn’t think he had time to do tonight before jumping in after me.

  Then there were the drakones in the caves. Had they somehow always been there, guarding an inactive Seal? Or did they pop up four years ago when the Pulse happened?

  Normally I kept my head down and didn’t think too hard about it. At the end of the day, I didn’t care about all this stuff. Magic. Dragons. The power of the artifacts I stole.

  I just cared about my little girl and what I could give her. />
  “You’re taking this too well,” Dawson said.

  “Well, I was almost eaten a few times during the past few days.” I rubbed at my eyes. I needed sleep, badly, but had to talk to my daughter first. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Dawson nodded and stepped back. “I’ll give you space to call home.”

  “Thank you.” I offered him a smile of gratitude, though it was weary, and waited until he’d moved across the camp for the water drum before heading back to Skype. I logged in and rang up home. Pru usually kept the program on when I was away, just in case I was able to get in a call, and I drummed my nails nervously on the desk while I waited.

  The call picked up and the video wavered, freezing for a moment on Pru’s face. Her dark hair was bound up in a messy ponytail and she wore her pajama top—it must’ve been near seven or eight her time. After a brief stutter, the video returned to normal. She leaned closer to the screen—the tiny window in the corner representing me was almost black so I turned up the brightness and gamma, hoping she’d see me better.

  “We were getting worried.” Her voice came through as she leaned back, and a moment later her lips moved. The video was choppy but emotion welled in me—there was our tiny office space in the corner of the living room where the computer sat, big chair back looming behind my best friend, and in the background a bookshelf lined wall with uneven rows of book spines and knickknacks.

  Home.

  Broken appliances, damaged building, rough neighborhood, shitty landlord, but still: home.

  I blinked; it was too dark for her to see me get weepy, but I didn’t want to risk it. “Sorry. Complications.”

  There was a delay, her focusing on the screen as she listened, then she nodded. “Are you okay?”

  For the time being. I forced a smile and the poor quality of the video told me she probably wouldn’t notice the difference. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Did you find the Seal?”

  I groaned. “Let’s not talk about it. Have you heard anything from Martin?”