Lion's Quest

by Eve Langlais

  “Good for him. I assume he knows how to read medieval Russian?”

  “Not yet, but he’ll find someone who can. Or you could make this easy and tell us what the book says.”

  “Fuck you. I am not telling you shit,” he snarled. Still very human with the courage of a lion. Which explained the marks on his body. And the nightmares.

  “Those six months you were missing… Someone was trying to get you to spill your guts.”

  “What gave it away?”

  “I’ve seen your scars.”

  His expression turned blank. “Those weren’t because of the key.”

  “Even if they weren’t, you need to listen to me when I say you’re in deep trouble. You’re messing with some dangerous people, Peter.”

  His sarcasm was thick as he replied, “Ya think?”

  “I can help.”

  “Help?” He snorted. “What I need is for you and the giant to stay away from me so I can blend in.”

  “No can do. We’ve already thwarted one kidnapping attempt. You need me to stick close by.”

  He blinked at her. “Repeat that. Slowly. With context.”

  “The other night, someone wanted to shove you into a trunk, but Zach saved you.”

  “Says you.”

  “Yeah says me, and it wasn’t the first attempt. Count yourself lucky your sister married into the right family. We know how to protect our own.”

  “She did marry into the mob. I fucking knew it,” he exclaimed.

  Whereas Nora laughed. “Not quite, but close.”

  “So what exactly is your job?”

  “In your case? Think of me as your bodyguard and partner.”

  “And thief.” He indicated the key she still held.

  It hadn’t yet warmed in her grip. Weird metal.

  “You are under the misconception I need money.” She leaned close so her hot breath fanned his mouth. “I don’t.”

  “Says the girl working in a butcher shop and taking shitty undercover work.”

  “Says the girl who is independently wealthy and seeks to stave off boredom.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Don’t care.” She shrugged. “It is true though. And can you blame me? It was undercover PI stuff or putting on a suit and going to an office every day.”

  “Fuck the suits.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And fuck you. I don’t need a partner.” He shoved at her, and she rolled off of him, lying on his bed as he stood, mostly dressed, his T-shirt rumpled like his hair, his pants unbuttoned. Ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

  She held up his key. “You either work with me, or I find someone else to help me figure it out.”

  “There is no one else,” he growled.

  “You’re not the only one who knows of the story surrounding this key. As we speak, efforts are being made to translate the book we found in your apartment.” The quick and dirty summary gleaned by images placed it as a fairytale along the lines of Frog Prince, except in this case, the hero, who was a monster, went on a quest to find magic to make him human. Sounded more like a nightmare to her.

  “Good luck with finding out anything.” He smirked.

  “I don’t need luck since Melly got me access to your cloud.”

  That got his attention. “Bullshit. It’s heavily encrypted.”

  “Yeah, did I mention I’m friends with a hacker?” Her turn to smile and bluff because while Melly knew he had a secret online storage space, she was still working on getting in.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” She rolled off the bed and stalked toward him. “I mean it when I say work with me or be left out of the equation.”

  She could see the inner battle taking place reflected on his face before resignation softened it. “Fine. You win. But only if you promise I get to keep whatever we find.”

  “Sure.” Another lie, because if it was dangerous to her kind, Peter wouldn’t live to tell about it. “What are we looking for?”

  “The next clue.”

  “For what?”

  He just lifted a brow.

  “It’s in this city?”

  “Why do you think I flew here first? We need to visit a church.”

  “Feeling a need to commune with God?”

  “More like have a chat with the dead. How do you feel about visiting a crypt?”

  “I’ve always wanted to star in a horror movie,” she quipped. “Lead the way, Montgomery.”

  It was actually thirty minutes before they left the hotel, with him insisting on a shower first. Then they stopped at a street vendor to grab some fresh pastries, plus a coffee for him and a hot cocoa for her.

  Her grumpy companion let her pay for everything, including the entrance fee to the old church. The interior was a masterpiece of intricately patterned plaster, vaulted ceilings, and stained glass.

  Humans and their religion. The only thing Nora believed in was the might of her Pride and the blessing of the moon.

  Even at this early hour, there was a group of people waiting to enter the catacombs. Peter and Nora joined them, close but not touching, him doing his best to ignore her, and yet she couldn’t seem to do the same.

  The man drew her, yet she couldn’t have pinpointed why exactly. His looks? He had a ruggedness she really liked. A sense of humor she totally got. A pull that gave her an urge to rub up against him and mark him with her scent. As if her inner feline wanted to own him. Except a human wasn’t a pet like that mink she’d adopted when she was young. Although she’d bet he’d be fun to play with. If she was gentle. Non-shifters were fragile that way.

  The tour group descended an old set of stone steps, a groove worn into them by time and the tread of many feet. It forced them to cluster close together. She gritted her teeth against so many people in her space. Strangers that she wanted to bat aside.

  She did turn her head and hiss as someone’s hand ended up on her ass. Her glare had the fellow behind her pretending innocence. If he grabbed her again, she’d break his hand.

  Peter noticed and, with a frown, stepped closer. Funny how she didn’t mind when he brushed up against her. Hell, she wanted to get closer to him.

  The tour group funneled through the narrow catacombs as the guide droned on, spitting out dates and names that had no meaning to her. She shuffled along with the rest, wondering what Peter expected to find in this place. They entered an open room, big and circular with many passages leading off from it. Overhead, a grate in the ceiling provided some daylight. Under it sat a large stone fountain, the carved sculpture of a sea nymph holding a jug, though no water poured from it, and the liquid in the basin was still. She stepped close enough to peer into the depths and noticed the gleam of coins.

  “You going to make a wish?” Peter’s hot breath brushed against the lobe of her ear.

  She shrugged. “Why would I waste it when I don’t need anything?” Not money. Or friends. She had a large extended family. The only thing she didn’t have was…

  A mate.

  “Everyone wants something,” he said, his breath still tickling her, his body framing her as he loomed behind her. If she turned, she’d be close enough to kiss him.

  Wait, why would she want to kiss him?

  He was a mission. Not a potential bedmate. No matter what her body and feline thought.

  “Make a wish.” His fingers pressed a coin into her hand. He aimed it over the water. “Ready, Nora. What do you want?”

  As she let go of the coin, the only thing she could think of?

  Peter.

  Splash.

  “What did you ask for?”

  “If I tell you, it won’t come true,” was her light reply as she moved away from him and wandered the edges of the room, noticing the frescoes carved into the rock, the passageways leading off from the place. The sudden gurgling rush of water had Nora whirling to see the fountain had come to life, bubbling and gurgling, spitting water that held a strong mineral scent.

 
; Had someone flipped a switch?

  Given she’d been distracted, her gaze tracked the tourists. None of them interested in her. As for Peter…

  Wait, where the hell was Peter?

  She turned left and right, but he didn’t appear. Impossible, he was just there. He must have slipped into one of the side passages.

  She prowled the edge of the room, sniffing, noticing that his scent went past the one doorway blocked with a golden rope strung across it and marked by a sign with a big red circle slashed with a line. As she went to step over, someone grabbed her arm.

  “You can’t go there,” the tour guide said.

  “What’s inside there?” she asked. Perhaps Peter went looking for a clue. She was kind of miffed he’d gone without her if that was the case.

  Only the guide dashed that belief when he said, “It’s simply another exit, but it’s currently under construction and closed to the public.”

  An exit? Too late, she thought to check her fanny pack, the one Peter had pressed against, the one now missing a key.

  Fucking Peter. He thought he could elude her.

  She was about to show him his mistake.

  Chapter Seven

  Peter had escaped Nora with only a slight pang. Yeah, she’d probably get in trouble for losing him, but he couldn’t have her around. There was something off about her. Also something hot and sexy. But mostly off.

  The way she eyed him sometimes, her gaze taking on a glint, gave him a shiver. Her expression was smug, as if she hid something. The amusement as she laughed at him even as she thought to use him.

  Threatened him.

  Not happening. He wasn’t some rube to be taken advantage of or distracted because of an attractive woman.

  She’d been easier to dupe than expected, not questioning much the reason for their visit to the catacombs. Having played tourist there before, Peter had known it would get crowded around the fountain, the perfect chance to pickpocket—or in this case, retake—his key. He’d accidentally bumping into her, managing to slip it back into his possession. He’d done that kind of trick hundreds of times. What he didn’t expect was the instant arousal the moment he got close or the twinge of guilt when he left her behind.

  He’d not suffered at the hands of a certain old lady and her tiger to share the treasure now. If he wanted to put a spin on it, he could even claim he did this for Nora’s own good because being around him would put her in danger.

  Bad enough he’d worried the entire time he was on that cruise with his sister, wondering if he was safe. Nightmares of a stalking feline, wearing a pirate patch and somehow boarding the big ship, was a particularly vivid and ridiculous fear.

  When his sister had told him the fake key had been passed on to someone else for investigation, he’d sighed in relief. Almost had a party when he found out the fake key was lost in a river. Good.

  He’d assumed that would end the matter, but then Nora just had to follow him and find out the key they’d all been fighting over was a fake. How many people had she told? Did his enemies know yet? Those who commissioned its theft would want it, and a measure of his blood.

  He really should try working for less criminal people. It would mean a pay cut. The rule followers had tight fists.

  His distraction and fast-moving feet led him from the empty tunnel to a set of stairs that narrowed as they led upward. He emerged from the catacombs into a restricted area, cordoned off and dusty with workers in hardhats suddenly noticing his appearance and making a fuss.

  “I think I’m lost!” he exclaimed, playing the American tourist. He let himself be quickly ushered out onto the street, where he blended with the crowd. He weaved quickly through the bodies, using them as cover should Nora be close by.

  Only that shield suddenly dispersed—some people crying out in genuine annoyance, others with laughter—as the heavens opened up and the rain soaked everything.

  Including him.

  Ugh.

  Sloshing in wet hikers wasn’t his idea of fun. At least his backpack was waterproof. What it didn’t have, because he’d not been able to bring one on the plane, was a weapon. Still, broad daylight in a mostly public place he should be fine, or so he told himself at the stomp of fast-moving feet. People probably trying to get to where they were going quickly.

  Still, his pace increased, and he glanced over his shoulder. Stumbled as he saw the pair of big goons closing in on him.

  He might have assumed it was a regular mugging if he’d not recognized the larger one with the shaven head and snarl. He worked for the people he’d screwed on the key.

  Oh fuck. Both men had hands inside their coats. Would they shoot him in the street even with possible witnesses?

  Forget any side alleys, he was staying in the public eye. He pounded through a puddle and did his best to go full speed over the uneven cobblestones. Don’t fucking fall. If he twisted his ankle, he was done for.

  His sprint slowed only slightly as he emerged into a plaza that had more traffic with people hustling packed strollers, covered in clear plastic tarps, while the parents and the walking germ vectors tucked under umbrellas. The majority of them appeared to be emerging from some gates, the wrought iron bars twisted into animal shapes. A zoo. A maze. A place to lose his pursuers.

  Peter darted inside, hearing the yelling of the attendant that he hushed by flinging a bill. He ran, choosing a path at random, then another, leaving his pursuers behind. It helped that the rain fell thicker, a drenching curtain, rendering visibility difficult. What he really needed more than concealment was a way out that lost his pursuers. He wondered how they’d found him in the first place.

  The reason hit him a second later.

  His phone.

  They must have hacked its location. He tossed it into the monkey enclosure, where furry paws gripped and began playing with it, the chattering and excitement high.

  His sister would worry when she tried to call and didn’t reach him, but he’d find public cafes and use a VPN to route messages to her so she didn’t panic.

  His steps slowed as he reached a fork. To the left was the aviary, to the right, big cats. Shudder.

  Nope. He walked toward the bird section when he saw two bulky shapes far ahead.

  Fucking seriously? His luck was utter shit.

  Despite his dislike of the felines, Peter bolted in their direction, only to slip and fall on a slimy patch of melting ice cream. Chocolate goo amidst a squishy waffle cone. He hit the ground hard on one knee, and when he tried to stand, his leg threatened to buckle, the joint throbbing at the abuse.

  He limped, losing speed. The pounding feet caught up. He turned to face his assailants, fists up, really wishing his first stop before the catacombs had been to a shop where he could have at least picked up a switchblade, something to defend himself other than feet and fists.

  Still, he wasn’t a slouch when it came to fighting, and the rain made aiming at him with a weapon difficult, as it bogged down the darts Baldy fired. Since he couldn’t risk getting hit, he ran for the guys with a loud yell. The surprise worked to his advantage, and he slammed into Baldy’s midsection before he could reload. They hit the ground with Peter on top, meaning he got in a few good pummels before the guy’s buddy yanked him off.

  Shorty, whom he should have named Brick because he looked like his face had hit one too many, raised a fist and offered a gap-toothed grin.

  Peter kicked him in the midsection then swung a fist while Shorty was distracted. It connected, but before he could recover, arms wrapped around him from behind.

  He thrashed, but Baldy was at least a foot bigger and many pounds larger. He lifted Peter off the ground and crushed him until he went still. Then he held him in front of Shorty, who had lost another tooth. It whistled moistly as he asked, “Where’s the key?”

  “What key?”

  Shorty slammed a fist in his face.

  “Ow.” He played it up as if he were dying. Being stoic only got a person beaten harder.

 
“Where’s the key?” Shorty asked again.

  “Lost in a river.”

  “You’re lying!” Baldy squeezed and shook until Peter gasped for air.

  “Where is the key?” Shorty held his fist in front of Peter’s face.

  “Up yours.” He lifted his feet and kicked. Shorty went tumbling, and Peter used that pushing momentum to snap free from Baldy. He hit the ground and rose swinging.

  But two against one meant he couldn’t avoid the beating. He knew enough to raise his arms to protect his head. Still, the punches rang in his ears. Clacked his teeth. A solid blow to his midsection sent him to the ground, where they kicked him in the ribs. By the time they searched him, he could only moan in pain, most of it real.

  Shorty triumphantly said, “I’ve got the key!”

  “Boss will be happy,” the gruff Baldy replied. “We taking him back to the boss?”

  Shorty nudged him with a foot. “No need since we got what we came for. Dump him in with the tigers. I hear he’s got a thing for them.” Followed by a snicker.

  Peter almost whimpered. Not the fucking tigers. He kept his eyes closed against memories of the old lady. The feline. The way they both toyed with him in that basement until the lines of reality blurred.

  The ground took a while to hit. The tigers were kept in a concrete bowl with sheer stone walls that they couldn’t climb. He lay there for a moment, alive. Barely.

  He hurt.

  A lot.

  The rain washed the blood away from his skin, but rather than help, it drew attention.

  Chuff. Chuff. The hot, heated sound of an animal breathing. He cracked open an eye and immediately regretted it. A striped feline growled only paces away from him, crouched and ready to pounce. His death seemed certain.

  And by a fucking tiger of all things.

  Then shit got strange as a golden shape landed between him and the tiger. Four hairy legs and a swishing tail accompanied by a low warning snarl.

  He blinked the rain out of his eyes, but it didn’t change the fact a lion had appeared.

  Great. Lions. Tigers. What was next, a bear?