Jas snorted. “I hate your guts, but Keeli … likes you, and Emily wants to use you. You have my ass over a barrel.”
“Thank you,” Michael said.
“Don’t. Really. I’ll puke if I hear it.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you for helping me, Jas. You’re an inspiration. Watching you I am overcome with the urge to do greater things with my life.”
Jas took a swing at Michael’s face. Michael caught the werewolf’s fist in his hand and held him there.
“I’m going to kill you,” Jas growled.
“But not today.” Michael released him and stepped back. He watched the conflict in Jas’s eyes—hate and uncertainty and confusion—and waited. Waited for the next move.
Jas sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know what she sees in you.”
Michael briefly closed his eyes. “I wish I knew.”
Jas opened his mouth, hesitated. A moment later, he turned and walked away. Michael followed him. They did not speak again.
Keeli healed. Thirty minutes after her grandmother left and Jas locked the door, the pain was gone. Or at least, her breastbone stopped hurting. There was still a lot of pain.
Keeli just wished she could stop crying. There was something broken inside the soft part of her chest, buried deep beneath the bone. She scrabbled at the flesh, digging her nails into the yielding bits, trying so hard—so hard, and oh my God what just happened, what did I do, this is my fault and I hate her, I love her and—to touch that broken piece and hold it tight, safe. She hadn’t felt this way since her parents died.
All I wanted to do was help someone. Help the clan.
Yeah.
Keeli staggered to her feet, knocking over books. She kicked them aside, but that wasn’t good enough so she picked up some of the heavier ones and threw them at the door. She threw herself next, screaming, her throat raw with sound as she punched and kicked at the metal, abusing it almost as much as she was abusing herself, and she did not care—she did not care—because it felt too damn good and when she got free, oh, God, when she got out of this trap she was going to kill her. She was going to kill her with words. She was going to make her grandmother’s heart break and die, and it would feel so good. So good she would do it and smile.
Stop. Stop this now. Granny May was trying to protect you. You know why. She has a good reason to be afraid.
Because she’d thought the clans would do the same thing to Keeli as what had been done to Keeli’s father, all those years before: a slaughter in the night.
But that had been different. Keeli was not her father. She was not Mad Dog Maddox, who had been so sweet to his family, but addicted to the ring, to the werewolf games, who’d had to find some outlet for the temper always raging beneath his skin. Better a strange wolf than a familiar one, she remembered him saying, always with that grin, that white smile, and she never knew until it was too late, never knew the injuries he caused, the anger he stirred with just one fight, because no one liked a constant winner—no one liked a man with a temper who lost himself in a fight and beat a wolf into a coma, and then acted like it was just blood, just—“In my nature,”—and then with that smile and that charm made a bid for Alpha of a different clan. A strange wolf with a bad reputation, marking territory where he had no business. Arrogant.
No, Keeli was not her father, though the temper was the same, and the reputation only slightly better. Granny May had the same rage, but she had learned to control it at an early age, used it in her prime to make her bid and win. It was a powerful thing, the Maddox temper. Keeli’s father had misused his, while Keeli had tried to bury it.
Not anymore.
Exhausted, Keeli slumped against the door and slid down to the hard cold floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and sat, angry and dozing. An hour passed. She thought of Michael, alone and looking for a creature that hunted werewolves, who might hunt vampires. And didn’t that raise some interesting questions?
I need to get out of here.
Keeli tested the door, but except for some dents and scratches, the hinges still seemed strong. They were hidden behind a metal frame so she couldn’t unscrew them. She tried banging on the door again, lighter this time, and calling out for help. She heard people pass her room, but no one responded. Probably too frightened of getting in trouble. That, or they were happy Keeli was finally getting her comeuppance.
She was just about ready to light fire to her room—maybe that would get someone’s attention—when the lock turned. The door opened.
“Michael,” Keeli breathed, startled, and then he was there, pulling her into his arms for a hard tight embrace that left her breathless. She clutched at his back, drinking in his wild sweet scent. Just beyond Michael, she heard boots scuffing the ground. She tore herself away, ready to fight. Jas held up his hands.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.
“I have too much pride to answer that question,” Jas said. “Now get out of there.”
Michael snatched a black sweater from Keeli’s closet and gave it to her. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked, as she covered herself. Keeli’s breath caught. She knew what he was really saying.
You may not be here again. You may never be able to come home again.
Jas stepped into the room. “Do what you have to, Keeli. Stay or go.”
“Will I be welcomed back?” She felt proud that her voice did not break.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said, rough. “Now, hurry.”
It was not an answer, but it was not an outright rejection, either. It was the best Keeli could hope for, given the circumstances. Michael grabbed her hand and led her out of the room. Jas closed the door behind them and locked it. His face was hard, but calm; the key turned steadily in his hand.
“The vampire envoys arrived five minutes ago,” Jas said.
“You’ll be missed,” Keeli said.
Jas shook his head. “They came early, which gives me an excuse.” He pointed down the corridor. “You know the way out, right? They’ll be coming this way any minute. The negotiations are being held in your grandmother’s rooms.”
Keeli nodded. She began to thank Jas, but he held up his hand. “Later,” he said. “I’m fucked sideways to Sunday if I’m caught.”
“You’re the only one who can lead the clan after she’s gone,” Keeli said sadly. “She won’t exile you.”
“I disagree,” he said. “On both counts.”
He did not give Keeli a chance to respond. They all heard footsteps; Jas turned and jogged down the corridor, toward the sounds of approach.
Keeli tugged on Michael’s hand. “Come on.”
He did not run. He touched her cheeks. “You’ve been crying.”
“I’ll keep crying if we’re caught,” she said, swallowing hard. His eyes were soft, dark with compassion. Her throat hurt, looking at him.
They padded down the corridor at a careful run, listening hard.
“They have all the exits guarded,” he told her.
“I know another way,” she said.
“There’s someone coming.”
“We’re close.”
Just outside the Alpha core, Keeli took a left down a narrow unlit corridor. It was a maintenance hall, nicknamed the Tunnel of Love because so many people took advantage of the shadows for some heavy make-out sessions. She hoped it would be empty tonight, and her wish almost came true; after a minute she heard heavy breathing, the wet smack of a sloppy kiss. Michael squeezed her hand; Keeli glanced over her shoulder and mouthed the word “speed.” He understood instantly and picked her up.
Michael ran fast. Keeli sucked in her breath at the rush, the terrible wonder of life passing in a blur. He blew past the engrossed couple leaning up hard against the wall. Keeli heard a gasp, but was reassured by the embarrassed giggling that followed. And then she and Michael were completely alone, running, running. …
Near the end of the maintenance tunnel, Keeli told Michael to stop.
“How did you know this would be unguarded?” he asked, his hands moving on her back as she slid down his body.
“You’ll see in a minute.” She walked to a rusty ladder screwed into the wall and began climbing the ten-foot distance. Michael, his arms folded against his chest, floated upward beside her.
“Funny,” she said. He smiled, and then blinked, looking up. Keeli heard cars roar above her head.
“I see,” he said quietly.
“Bad access,” she added. “No one ever uses this place to come in or out. It’s a death trap.”
“I came in a safer way.”
“One I’m sure you would have mentioned, if there hadn’t been an ass-load of vampires and werewolves in that direction.”
“You’re a mind reader now,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. The iron manhole cover was heavy and smelled dirty. Keeli and Michael listened for silent intervals between cars. Some were short, others long—there just wasn’t a way to know which they would catch.
“The next one,” Michael whispered. He kissed Keeli, and she pushed against him, hard. His teeth scraped her bottom lip.
Michael shoved upward with one strong hand. The cover popped free and he pushed it aside. They heard a car and froze, helpless, as the chassis sped over their heads in a dark blur. Another car followed, and then another. Sweat rolled down Keeli’s back.
Michael pulled her off the ladder and shot upward. Headlights bore down on them—fast, fast—but he kept moving and Keeli felt the rush of cool air as the car passed beneath, horn blaring. Adrenaline rode her hard; she felt like she had wings, that if Michael let go she would float beside him and it would be like that scene in Superman, the one where Lois flew by her fingertips beside the Man of Steel.
She threw her head back and laughed. Michael stared at her upturned face like she was insane, but a moment later a smile touched his lips. He whirled her around in a tight circle, and Keeli threw out her arms, trusting him to hold her tight, to keep her safe.
“Dance with me,” she said. “I want to dance on a cloud.”
“It’s not safe,” he said, but rose higher, past the apartments, past the sharp edges of business buildings, past the safety net of steel and glass and light. The city sat beneath their bodies, a delicate web.
A trap, Keeli thought, with the spider sleeping, invisible until it needs to feed.
The air cooled as they rose, higher and higher. Keeli did not notice the temperature change, though her breath left her mouth in white puffs. She watched clouds, tinted by city light, resting low to hug the sky. Closer, so close, and her mouth went dry with wonder as Michael carried her into the soft embrace of her first cloud.
“Oh,” she sighed, surrounded by mist. The city disappeared—the world, gone—and the only person left was Michael, holding her tight. Clouds suddenly seemed less important than his eyes, the line of his mouth, the hard strength of his arms. Their white breath mingled.
“Thank you,” Keeli said, awed by the moment. Michael pressed his cool lips against her forehead.
“Put your feet on top of mine,” he said, and she did.
They danced.
Chapter Seventeen
They left the cloud, shivering and soaked from water vapor, cold, uncomfortable, but smiling so bright—so hot—that Michael felt burned by joy. Dancing within the clouds, Keeli laughing in his arms, had been a miracle. To have the power to give her such a gift made him happy to be a vampire.
He could not remember ever feeling that way before.
As they made their descent, he watched the smile slip from her face. Her gaze sharpened; she scanned the skies with an urgent concentration matched only by Michael’s own sudden unease.
He alighted on the roof of a skyscraper. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. Keeli swayed unsteadily, and Michael caught her waist. He held her close, drawing in the scent of her hair, the press of her warm body against his own.
“He said he tried to hurt you.” Michael did not need to identify that particular “he.” Keeli shuddered; her mouth tightened into a hard pink line.
“You fought him, too.” Her voice wavered. “I was scared he would find you, but I didn’t know what to do, how to track you down. So I went home to warn my grandmother.” Her voice wavered. “She refused to listen to me.”
“She blocked all the entrances to the tunnels. Richard and Suze helped me find a way in. They said she hurt you.”
“Yes,” Keeli whispered. “She said you were dead to me.”
Michael pressed his lips to her brow. “No,” he murmured, fierce. “Never.”
“But almost,” she pressed. “If you fought that creature, it must have been close. He was so strong, Michael. I was lucky to get away. Or maybe not. He kept saying he didn’t want to hurt me, that he wasn’t supposed to. It was almost like he didn’t have control over his actions.”
“He was covered in blood,” Michael whispered. “I thought it was yours.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and then, “What was he?”
Please tell me. Do you love her? Is it possible for a vampire to love a werewolf? Please. “Keeli,” he said, hesitant. “He wanted to know about us. Our relationship. He smelled you on my body and it shocked him into letting me live.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Michael looked out at the city below them, the wide sweeping expanse of light and steel and heartache. Nothing about their lives made sense. “He was hungry when he left me. He was distraught.”
She sucked in her breath. “Michael.”
They went looking for their attacker. Michael spiraled into a wide descent, a twisting path that brought them into Maddox territory. They searched the skies, the streets, listening to the breeze for a song. Nothing, just the city.
Under the hush of the sky, Michael told Keeli about his strange battle. When he was done, Keeli did the same. She also told him of her fight with the Grand Dame. She was oddly dispassionate at first, but towards the end, her voice broke.
“This is my fault,” Michael said, aching for her. “If I had left you at the beginning of the investigation, or just refused your partnership, none of this would have happened.”
“It would have happened. I owed you. I would have tracked you down.”
“But this, Keeli. Us—”
“It was inevitable,” she said. “Spending any time with you at all made it inevitable.”
Michael briefly closed his eyes, savoring the delicious sweetness of those words. “Jas accused me of brainwashing you.”
Keeli laughed. “Of course. Because I’m just that easy.”
He tried not to smile. “I did wonder.”
She laughed and he clutched her tight, whirling, until something below caught his eye, something familiar and impossible. They were almost five hundred feet above the ground, passing between office towers with careful ease, and Michael watched the flash of a bald head, moving deep within shadow. He went very still.
“What is it?” Keeli asked, gazing down.
Michael frowned, shaking his head. What was Celestine doing, walking alone in Maddox territory? Why wasn’t she at the negotiation? Michael drifted closer. He tracked the vampire, and knew she was not aware of his presence because she constantly stopped to look over her shoulder as she glided quickly over the ground. If Celestine really thought anyone were following her, she would have kept her gaze straight on her path; she would have moved with confidence, without slowing. In preparation of attack.
But this was a more furtive Celestine, a less confident woman than Michael was accustomed to seeing.
She finally stopped. In front of her, movement. A man. He had long silver hair.
Keeli sucked in her breath. “Hargittai.”
The werewolf and vampire stared at each other.
“Hello, dog.” Celestine’s voice wavered.
“Celestine,” said Hargittai, quiet. “You’re looking well.”
“You’ve aged.”
“It was bound to hap
pen.” He smiled gently. “It’s why you left me, if I remember correctly.”
Celestine said nothing. Michael could not believe what was unfolding beneath him. Celestine had taken a werewolf as a lover? This, from the woman who called werewolves dirty beasts, who took every opportunity to insult them?
“I was surprised to see you,” Celestine said.
“I became the Alpha of my clan,” Hargittai said, and there was pride in his voice—that, and a strange longing. “It was my right to be there. But I was equally shocked to see you. I thought you had left the city.”
“I changed my mind.” Again, that quaver in her voice.
They said nothing else, still standing, watching each other. Keeli stirred against Michael’s chest. He glanced down at her face; she watched the werewolf with large eyes. He remembered that she had named him; this was someone she knew, and he could not imagine her shock.
And I thought we were the only ones.
“I need to go before I am missed,” Celestine finally said. “I told Frederick I needed air, that the smell of dog was sickening me.”
Hargittai laughed out loud. “You were always good at pretending.”
She lifted her chin. “Who said I was pretending?”
Hargittai took a step toward her. Celestine’s hands flew up.
“Please,” she said. “Not again.”
“I still miss you,” he said. “I never took a mate, Celestine.”
She shook her head, backing away. “Don’t.”
“Just tell me why you left, and not that old lie. I know you too well. You loved me.”
“I did not!” she gasped. “And I should not have come here. It was wrong.”
“It’s not wrong anymore.” Hargittai darted forward. He grabbed Celestine’s hands. “There are others, now. My Grand Dame’s own granddaughter has taken a vampire for her lover, and they are not hiding.”
“They should be,” Celestine snapped, though she did not wrench herself free. “Who is the vampire?”
“He calls himself Michael.”
Celestine froze, and then threw her head back in a sharp burst of laughter. “Of course. I knew there was something between him and the pink-haired bitch.”
A Taste of Crimson Page 22
