Midnight Burning

by Karissa Laurel

  “Your guest?” I gave him a disparaging look. “You could have fooled me.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to scare you. Not away from me, anyway. I said I would protect you, and I meant it, but I need you not to underestimate anyone you meet tonight just because they’re dressed up in glitter and shine and hidden beneath the polished veneer of money and society. I still want you to be on your guard.”

  I met Thorin’s gaze for the first time since we’d left the boat. Genuine concern showed on his face. I nodded. Thorin exhaled and nodded back. “And don’t open the door,” he said, pointing to the chauffeur outside his tinted window. “That’s what I pay him to do.”

  Our driver popped the handle on Thorin’s side of the car and opened the door. Thorin exited then leaned in and held out a hand for me. I hesitated to take it. The air felt heavy between us. Portentous. Mani had laughed at me for using that word before, but nothing else fit. Normally I couldn’t predict when a touch would trigger a vision, but Thorin’s mood was so substantial it had taken on an almost physical presence. That kind of brooding didn’t develop without a foundation of strong thoughts and vivid impressions.

  Here goes nothing.

  I slid my fingers into Thorin’s waiting hand, and the moment I touched him, a flash of light exploded before my eyes. I reeled back. When my vision cleared, Thorin stood before me, but he wasn’t wearing a fancy suit in front of the Westmark Hotel. He stood on the edge of a dark forest in a misty field. Other figures had gathered around him, but the haze obscured the details of their faces. Violent emotions rolled off the congregation like steam from a boiling pot.

  They directed their anger and loathing at an invisible enemy beyond the mist. In the distance, a dog bayed, and wolves howled. Hollow voices groaned and shrieked—horrible, monstrous utterances of death and pain and horror. Fury and bloodlust marred Thorin’s face. The vision gave me names for these foreign emotions with which I had no personal experience. The style of Thorin’s armor and attire suggested antiquity, a scene that had occurred a long time ago. Someone shouted in a language I did not understand. “Ríthum hestum hart út berum.”

  The entire assembly, including Thorin, responded in unison, “Brugdnum sverdum, a braut héthan!” And then they charged.

  I came to with Thorin shaking me; concern puckered his brow. He stopped when my eyes focused on him, but he held me, waiting for me to say something, do something, to show I was okay. “What does a braut héthan mean?” I asked.

  Thorin let go of me so fast I fell back into the car. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I-I just saw it,” I said and tried to bring back the memory before the details faded. “It was you, standing in a field at the edge of a dark forest. You were wearing armor. It was an army, and you were all preparing to fight.”

  His eyes widened, and his mouth had popped open in an O of surprise. My vision had obviously upset him.

  “Aleksander, is everything all right?” A sophisticated, feminine voice crept between us, and Thorin swallowed his distress. He tugged me out of the car and held me steady as I fought for balance on my ridiculous heels. Still holding my hand, he blanked his face and turned to the speaker, a striking woman reminiscent of Cruella de Vil, if Cruella were younger and a hell of a lot sexier. Tall and slim, but elegantly curved, she wore her dark hair long and sleek. A thick streak of white shot through from her right temple down to the tips.

  “Helen,” Thorin said, “it’s nice to see you again.” Helen Locke stretched out a slim, manicured hand. Thorin dropped my hand and took hers, brought her fingers to his lips, and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Helen’s lids slit like a satisfied cat’s, and she stepped in closer to him. “Let me introduce you to someone.” Thorin motioned in my direction. “Helen, this is Solina Mundy.”

  Helen turned to me, taking notice of me for the first time. “Oh, Alek, I didn’t know you had taken to playing with dolls.”

  Cheap bait, I thought. I didn’t take it. Instead, I smiled and shoved my hand toward her. “Pleasure to meet you, Miz Locke.”

  Helen took my hand, briefly squeezing my fingers before dropping them like a slimy, dead fish. She was a force of personality that struck like a physical blow. Inside, feral Solina reeled back, crouched low, and growled at her. Outside, polite Solina smiled and batted her eyelashes. Helen returned my greeting, but she frowned and narrowed her gaze. Her eyes matched the contrast of her hair—a sky-blue eye on the right to set off her white streak, and an ebony eye on the left, complementing the majority of her dark hair. Her features repelled and attracted at the same time.

  “Be nice, Helen,” Thorin said, lacing my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Miss Mundy is an innocent.”

  Helen Locke chuckled low in her throat, a cobra hissing before a strike. “You could have said the same about me a long time ago, couldn’t you, Alek? You knew me then, but no one stays innocent for long in our business, do they?”

  Helen turned and strode toward the hotel entrance. A dark shadow of a man stepped out from the hotel doorway, offering his arm. Helen curled herself around him and purred.

  “She’s something,” I said, careful to keep emotion from my voice. I didn’t want Thorin to know how much she disturbed me.

  “Do you begin to understand the kinds of sharks we’re dealing with?”

  I waggled my finger and shook my head. “Uh-uh. Wolves, remember? Let’s not go changing our metaphors in the middle of the game.”

  Thorin grunted. “I want to hear more about whatever it was you saw, but now is not the time.” He gazed into my eyes, searching as if he hoped to see in them the things I saw in my mind. He blinked, shook his head, and led me into the hotel.

  Chapter Nineteen

  During the first hour, the cocktail hour, the attendees schmoozed while waiters poured drinks and passed trays of canapés. I eyed the dining room tables wistfully and coveted the cushioned chairs. Only a short while into the evening, and already the balls of my feet complained about bearing the brunt of my weight. Freaking high heels.

  “Try not to fidget,” Thorin hissed in my ear.

  I glared at him. If he disliked my display of discomfort now, wait until I kicked off my shoes and paraded to dinner in bare feet. Even though I liked girly accessories – and the shoes did do wonderful things for the shape of my legs – I spent the majority of my days wearing clogs that offered plenty of support. Backyard barbecues were more the custom in my little home town. I only dressed up for church, and my mother would have fainted if I showed up in anything over a two-inch heel.

  A waiter came by and offered to get me a drink. Before I could reply, Thorin ordered for both of us—seltzer for me and a beer for him, something imported, by the sound of the name.

  “I beg your pardon”—I leaned into Thorin’s ear so I could speak without drawing attention—“but your ordering for me exceeds my tolerance threshold for chauvinistic behavior.” I did not stomp off in a childish fit. Not in those heels. Instead, I wobbled after the waiter, intending to catch him and change my order. But someone intercepted me first.

  “Hello, darling. Aren’t you a breath of fresh air?” A man who I guessed was only barely younger than my father stepped in front of me and took my hand. “J.D. Shruck,” he said. “And you are?”

  I blanked my face, hiding my annoyance. “Solina Mundy.”

  With his carefully styled hair, bleached teeth, and the unnaturally healthy glow only achieved in a tanning bed, J.D. Shruck reminded me of a Ken doll’s older brother, but a little slimier, a little greasier. Must be from Vegas.

  “You came in with that big fella over there, didn’t you?” He motioned to Thorin, who was talking to a redhead in a gorgeous silk sheath dress.

  “Yes. I’m… with him.” I didn’t know how else to categorize our relationship.

  Shruck raised his eyebrows. “You don’t sound so sure. Lucky for me.”

  I frowned. What does this guy want?

  “I’ve been watching you ever since you c
ame in the door, honey. You got that kind of presence.”

  “News to me,” I said, and I meant it. I could have run for president of the National Wallflower Society and won by a landslide. I arched a brow, indicating my new acquaintance should get on with his point.

  “You ever do any stage work? Dancing, perhaps?”

  My lack of finesse on my heels should have made the answer obvious, but I was pretty sure J.D. wasn’t looking at my feet. And I was pretty sure “dancing” didn’t mean ballet. I opened my mouth to tell him he had the wrong girl, but someone else beat me to it.

  “She’s not your type,” said an unfamiliar woman as she stepped up beside J.D. “Look at her. She’s entirely too sweet and innocent.”

  J.D. sniggered. “Nothing at all like you, Donna.”

  Donna rolled her eyes then winked at me. She wore a strapless dress, and her curves wobbled every time she shifted her weight. Judging by the smirk on his face, J.D. approved.

  “Honey,” she said to me, “don’t waste your time on this little slime ball. He’s only charming when he’s prospecting for new girls to line his pockets.”

  If that was charming, I’d hate to see him on a bad day. J.D. and Donna sniggered at each other and dismissed me, tipping their heads close to gossip about other guests. I wasn’t sure what kinds of girls Donna had meant, but I could make a couple of guesses that involved poles and insufficient clothing. I sidestepped away from them and edged toward the bar.

  The waiter passed me a glass of bubbly water trying to disguise itself as something more amusing by wearing a slice of lime on its rim. “Toss a shot of Southern Comfort and a little lime juice in there, will you?” I said.

  The waiter’s eyebrow flickered up and he chuckled, but he took my glass to the bartender, who tipped in a generous shot of bourbon. I stuffed a ten-dollar bill in the bar’s tip jar. “Bring me another in ten minutes,” I said and grimaced. The heels were killing me.

  I strolled around the room, studying the other guests as discreetly as possible, hoping all the while that no one noticed me. Helen had found Thorin again. She stroked her fingers down the length of his tie and whispered in his ear. An unexpected bubble of jealousy floated up from somewhere inside me. I pushed the feeling down and looked away. What did I care about their flirting?

  Long, crimson curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor between windows peering onto a private patio. A movement in the drapery’s shadows caught my notice. Tucked away beside one of the elegant fabric panels stood the man who had escorted Helen Locke into the building. He had pinned his gaze on Helen and Thorin, and he wore a look of malcontent. I eased my way closer to him, intending to introduce myself, but he sensed my approach and turned to face me. He shed his frown and put a cool smile in its place. “She’s temperamental, that one,” he said, motioning to Helen. “Fickle and unfaithful, but when she turns her attention on you, you feel like there isn’t anyone else in the world she’d rather be with.”

  “I didn’t get that impression when she talked to me,” I said.

  The man, older, silver sparkling at the temples of his black hair, nodded at me. “That’s because you are competition.”

  “Do you think she’s making Thorin feel that way right now?” I glanced at the subject of my question. Thorin wore a bemused expression as Helen whispered into his ear.

  My new acquaintance chuckled, flashing straight white teeth. His green eyes sparkled. “I suspect Aleksander Thorin has grown rather immune to the wiles of Helen Locke.”

  “Hmm,” I replied and sipped my drink.

  My companion held out his hand to me. “Nate McNary,” he said.

  I took his hand, but instead of a shake, he lifted my knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Um, Solina Mundy,” I said.

  “Lovely to meet you, Miss Mundy.”

  I refrained from groaning aloud. “Just Solina, please.”

  Nate McNary nodded. “Solina. An apt name. I wonder if your father knew you would be the personification of the sun when he gave it to you.”

  I paused at his comment, pinpricks of apprehension falling across my skin. “You’re a charmer, Mr. McNary. Is that why Helen keeps you around?”

  His face split into a wide grin. “Beautiful and smart. That’s a killer combination. And, please, call me Nate.”

  “I’m glad someone thinks so,” I said, thinking the men in my life were altogether underwhelmed by my mental acumen. So long as I continued to trust my own intelligence, what those men thought of me mattered little.

  Nate leaned in closer and spoke into my ear. “Be careful, Solina. Helen has something in mind, and I am afraid she will do most anything to accomplish her goals.”

  My breath caught. “What does she have in mind?”

  Nate shook his head. “She hasn’t yet deigned to share the details with me. But you don’t want to cross swords with her. I’m giving you fair warning.”

  “Swords? I’ve done nothing to her.”

  Nate tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I shivered, held entranced by the green glow of his gaze. “You exist,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear. “And for her, that is enough.”

  A waiter announced dinner and called us to take our seats. I looked away from Nate to find Thorin approaching. A cold glare hardened his face, and a muscle worked in his jaw.

  “Uh-oh,” Nate said. He nodded in Thorin’s direction. “Looks like a good time for me to take my leave.”

  “Chicken.”

  Nate chuckled. “Are you calling me names or placing your order for dinner? It was a pleasure to meet you, Solina.” Nate bowed his head and strode away.

  I blinked, slow to recover from his quick dismissal, and then started after him, brimming with questions about Helen Locke and about what he meant when he said I existed and for her that was enough. Enough for what? Thorin reached me before I could catch Nate. His fingers latched onto my elbow, and he tugged me toward the dining room. “So much for silent and obscure,” Thorin said. “Is there a man in this room you haven’t talked to?”

  “Lots of them,” I said, stumbling in my heels. “Maybe I should have worn a shorter skirt.”

  “You shouldn’t have left my side.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind when Helen Locke was rubbing herself all over you.” I regretted the words the moment I said them.

  Thorin stopped, his interest clearly piqued. “Jealous?”

  “No, just not a fan of double standards. Have you learned anything useful yet? I hope I didn’t wear these freaking toe breakers for nothing.”

  Thorin led me to our table and pulled out a chair for me. I eased into it, swallowing a sigh of relief, and kicked off my shoes. Thorin leaned down and whispered into my ear. “Be patient, Sunshine. Secrets don’t give themselves up without a little effort.”

  Like a good boy, the waiter arrived and served another glass of bourbon and soda. I tucked another five into his pocket, and he smiled and winked at me. I smiled back, wanting to ask him to have another one ready for me in a few minutes, but I thought better of it. The couple of Aleves I’d taken before my shower had worn off, and all the standing around had aggravated my sore spots. The alcohol dulled the pain, but I didn’t come to Juneau to be Thorin’s useless, inebriated arm candy.

  Thorin took note of my drink and frowned. I turned away, ignoring him, and studied the others taking seats at our table. Last to arrive, Helen Locke dropped into a chair across from us, and Nate McNary took the seat next to hers. The night just keeps getting better and better.

  Nate greeted me as he flipped his napkin into his lap. “Hello again, Solina. Have you been introduced to my lovely companion?” He motioned toward Helen. “Solina Mundy, Helen Locke.”

  “Hmm, yes,” Helen said, boredom evident in her tone. She laid her world-weary act on a bit too thick. “Alek’s little hothouse flower. How quickly will she wither in the Alaskan winter?”

  A million retorts rolled over my tongue, but Thorin’s hand settled onto my knee and squeez
ed. Not that I liked giving in to his directives, but unless I found a place of my own to stay, the thought of spending a night stuck on a boat in the company of a large, grumpy Scandinavian – née Viking – was sufficient incentive to keep my mouth shut.

  Thorin didn’t relinquish his grip on my knee as he answered Helen. “Miss Mundy is a friend, Helen. Her brother worked for me for several years, quite successfully. She’s doing me a favor by accompanying me tonight.”

  I wanted to cover my mouth and cough bullshit, but seeing as how this wasn’t a high school pissing match, I thought better of engaging in juvenility.

  “Does she speak, Alek, or are you keeping her on a short leash?”

  The others at our table looked away or squirmed in their seats, sensing Helen’s animosity. Nate, however, came to my defense. “I find Solina quite charming, and I think she returns the sentiment.” He winked, and I gave him a grateful smile.

  A waiter arrived and poured wine around the table. I motioned him away from my glass. The SoCo was already buzzing through my system. Even though getting plastered appealed to me more than sitting through a night of boring company and dull conversation, it would have been self-defeating and pointless. If there was a hope of gleaning useful information from this event, then I had to keep my wits together.

  I glanced around the table. Helen had turned away to talk to another man at the table next to ours while Nate flirted with a woman sitting beside him. Thorin’s attention was focused on a man who had stepped up behind him to ask him a question. I closed my eyes and drifted on memories of better times and cheerier company. Memories of a party Mani and I had attended in high school. I didn’t go to many school functions, but on the night of our senior homecoming game, Mani had pitched a fit until I agreed to go with him to Tommy Shirley’s after-party. That was the night Mani had earned the title of Captain Keg Stand. He regretted it the next morning, but being a good and loving sister, I nursed his hangover with stiff coffee and greasy eggs and never once said “I told you so.”