“Would kill you, too, when Dearg’s Curse sent the same magic against you.” Urgently, she crossed the room and caught him by the shoulder. “It’s not worth it, boy.”
“But the Sidhe would be free—not only the Cachamwri, but the Morven kingdom, too.” He turned to look his grandmother in the eye, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Isn’t that what a hero would do?”
“Llyr—”
“Fear not, Grandmother. I am no hero.” He laughed shortly and turned away. “Perhaps that’s why Cachamwri doesn’t answer when I call.”
The basketball hit the pavement with a ringing thud and bounced back into Gerald Bryce’s hand. A spring breeze kissed his shirtless chest as he feinted with the ball and broke right, circling a knot of his jostling, laughing friends.
Gerald dribbled down the asphalt court in a hail of cheerful insults in the bright glare of the lights. In the darkness beyond the park’s outdoor basketball court, lightning bugs flashed in the honeysuckle-scented air. He didn’t even notice. He was too intent on proving a point to the boys from home.
Spotting an opening to the chain net, he surged for it, dribbling skillfully. A long brown arm snaked around his body in an attempt to bat the ball from his hand, but he threw an elbow back at its owner. Tyrone yelped and faltered, and Gerald kept going. Leaping up, he grabbed the metal rim of the hoop and stuffed the ball inside. It bounced on the pavement below, and Gerald hung from the rim, grinning at his frustrated friends. “Who’s a pussy now, huh?”
Tyrone grinned at him. He’d never been one to hold a grudge. “You got lucky, college boy. Let’s see if you can do it twice.”
But as Gerald dropped to his feet, the sound of hands slowly clapping drew his attention. He turned, saw who was applauding, and stared.
She was, hands down, the whitest woman he’d ever seen. Her long red hair was teased into a mane that tumbled halfway down her back, like a really early Janet Jackson style. She wore this black bustier deal, showing off a pair of really nice boobs that jiggled as she strutted across the concrete in thigh-high black leather boots. Her leather skirt was so short, he’d bet she showed cheek when she bent over. Two pairs of handcuffs hung from her wide, studded belt, jangling over fishnet stockings. Pretty legs, but somebody really needed to tell the chick it wasn’t 1985.
“Who the hell is that?” Bill whispered as she came toward them. “She looks like a hooker.”
“Ain’t no real hooker dresses like that,” Tyrone said, his voice low.
And he was right. Verdaville prostitutes wore T-shirts and jeans and not much in the way of makeup. If any of them had ever dared go out dressed like this girl, every good Christian mama within ten miles would be calling the police to come get her off the street.
The girl came to a hip-shot stop, handcuffs jingling a cheerfully kinky note. “Very nice,” she cooed, giving Gerald a blatant once-over. “I’m impressed.”
“Can we help you?” He asked with the automatic courtesy his mama had drummed into his head. Then he had to drive an elbow back into Bill’s ribs when the boy snickered at him.
“Why yes, I do believe you can,” she said in that seductive rasp, and took a step closer until Gerald felt the chill of the handcuffs brush his belly. It took a lot of effort, but he managed to resist the urge to look down and see what her boobs were doing in that low-cut top. Then, to his absolute shock, the lady put out a hand and laid it right in the middle of his sweaty chest. “What nice muscles. You must work out hours every day.”
“Uh…” Gerald had no idea what to say. Behind him, his ex-friends broke up, falling all over themselves laughing at him. He shot them a glare, then returned his attention to the girl. Her eyes were big and green and pretty. “Are you lost?” It was the first thing that came into his head.
She started tracing a design on his chest with her long red nails. “Well, now that you mention it, I am new in town. And I’m really thirsty.”
Damn, she was giving him a hard-on. He swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I had a nice glass of white zin last night, but tonight…” She smiled. A dimple flashed in that pale cheek. “Tonight I think I’m in the mood for coffee. Something black and strong and full of cream. You know where I can get a really good cup of coffee, Gerald?”
Wait a minute—how did she know his name? He frowned, but as he started to ask her, she looked up, and he forgot the question. Instead he heard himself say hoarsely, “Yeah, I know a place.”
“That’s good.” She hooked an arm in his. “Why don’t you show it to me?”
“Oooooh, Gerald!” Tyrone hooted. “Dawg!”
His friends yelled catcalls as she drew him gently away, but he didn’t hear them. He was too busy looking down into her lovely face.
For just an instant, he thought he saw something flash in those big, pretty eyes, something…horrible. But then it was gone.
He must have imagined it.
Diana pulled into the carport of her little brick ranch and parked. Collecting her purse, a bag of groceries, and the takeout she’d bought from Verdaville’s sole Chinese restaurant, she slid out of her Honda and headed for the door.
Damn, she desperately craved a quiet evening in front of the boob tube. After the day she’d had, she wasn’t up for another run-in with vampires, fairies, or anything else that went bump in the night.
Though Llyr bumped really well.
There had been one nice thing about that nooner, Diana decided as she unlocked the door one-handed and pushed it open with her hip. At least it’d had the effect of turning the Burning Moon down to a simmer. Her body was still purring, even after an afternoon spent arguing with a DHEC inspector about the treatment pond.
Murder or no murder, the city’s business went on.
Diana flicked on the overhead, sending light washing over her sunny yellow kitchen. She dropped her purse and packages on the marigold center island and noticed her answering machine was blinking. She hit the PLAY button and went to put away the soft drinks she’d bought.
“Hellloo, Diana!” her mother’s recorded voice caroled from the answering machine. “Your father sends his love. Call me, sweetie. I was talking to your third cousin, Sandra Waltz—you remember Sandra from the big family reunion…” Actually, Diana didn’t. The annual Direkind Reunions were madhouses with thousands of attendees. God knew which one Sandra had been. “Anyway, she knows this very nice young…lawyer.” Werewolf. “And she’d love to introduce you. Call me, sweetheart. You’re not getting any younger, you know! Love you! Bye!” The machine beeped, signaling the end of its messages.
Diana tilted her head back and groaned up at the ceiling. “Oh, God, just what I need. A blind date with a horny shifter during my Burning Moon. I’d be pregnant before breakfast. No, Ma, uh-uh.” With a disgusted snort, she pulled a can of soda from the six-pack, collected her bag of takeout, and made for the living room. She’d call her mother later. Hopefully after Marly London had forgotten all about her candidate for fuzzy fiancé.
Plopping down on her blocky, overstuffed couch, she scooped up the remote, turned on CNN, and started rummaging in the paper bag for her carton of shrimp chow mein.
At least she didn’t have to worry about Llyr getting her knocked up, she thought, delving a plastic fork into the carton in search of shrimp. Direkind could only get pregnant with other Direkind; werewolf DNA was just different enough to make it impossible to crossbreed with either a regular human or humanity’s Magekind cousins, the Sidhe.
On the other hand, if you bit a human and infected him with Merlin’s Curse, his DNA would change and all bets were off. Either way, Diana had no intention of getting involved with anybody. In a few years, she hoped to be hired as city manager somewhere much bigger than Verdaville. Once that happened, she could think about finding a mate.
Diana had worked her way through half the carton and most of a news cycle when the phone rang. She scooped it off its kitschy Porky Pig base. “Diana London.”
“What happened to �
�hello’? You are not at work, sis.” Her brother’s deep voice was amused.
Diana grimaced and tucked the phone between her shoulder and cheek. “Sorry. Habit. How’s it going?”
“Decent,” Jim said. “Getting ready for the gallery show next month. You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Her brother’s paintings of the rural South, with their sense of lurking magic and darkness, had started attracting attention in the American art world when he was barely twenty-five. The upcoming New York show would be his third major opening in five years. Diana loved attending the shows, if only to see people’s reaction to Jim. He didn’t exactly fit the stereotype of a pale, sensitive artist, not with those quarterback shoulders and feral black eyes. She loved to tease him that he’d gotten so popular because critics, female and otherwise, tended to fall violently in lust with him. There was absolutely no grounds to the accusation—he really was that good—but it never failed to put his tail in a twist.
“Have you spoken to Mom yet?” he asked.
“Oh, God, are you going start on me about that damn…lawyer?”
There was such a long pause she groaned, knowing he was about to do just that. Finally he sighed. “You’re not a male, Diana. You can’t afford to play games with the moon. You keep this up, you’re going to turn somebody who isn’t suitable. And then I am gonna have to kill him.”
It wasn’t a figure of speech. Jim was the family’s warrior male, now that Dad was in his fifties and too old to fight. If she turned somebody not worthy of the Curse, it would be Jim’s duty to take care of her mistake.
“Give me credit for a little sense,” Diana said hotly. “I’m not going to have sex with the first redneck I pick up in a bar.” Now, the King of the Fairies…
“Diana, you’re thirty years old. Every year that goes by, the Burning Moon gets worse. How long do you think you can stay celibate before you snap? You need to—”
“I’m not celibate.” The minute she blurted out the words, she winced. She was normally a better politician than that, but she’d never been able to play games with Jim.
His silence went on so long, it grew ominous. “I really don’t like killing people, Diana.”
“You’re not going to have to kill this guy, Jim. He’s Sidhe.”
“Sidhe?” She heard a thump she suspected was his big feet hitting the floor. “How the hell did you meet a Sidhe?”
“He came to town investigating a vampire murder and—”
“Wait, wait—one of the Magekind went off the rails in Verdaville? Dammit, Diana, why haven’t you reported it? This is the very thing we were created to prevent!”
“The killer is not Magekind. She was made by some kind of demon alien or something. It’s complicated.”
There was a long, ominous silence, during which Diana winced. Finally her brother said quietly, “Then maybe you’d better explain it to me.”
For a moment Diana gave serious thought to cussing him out and hanging up on him. She decided against it. He’d just show up in town tomorrow, looking to kick vampire ass. Jim took his duty as family warrior seriously, never mind that Verdaville was her responsibility. And she did not need to juggle him and the Sidhe and a psychotic vampire.
After she finished the story, there was another long pause, this one simmering with amusement. “You slept with Llyr Galatyn?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Jim’s laughter boomed in her ear. “Man, Granddad would chase his tail for joy. You go, girl.”
She grinned. “Glad you approve.”
“My little sister, Queen of the Fairies.”
“Don’t you start!”
“I can see it now. He’ll fall in luuuuv, and the next thing you know…”
“If you dare mention this to Mother, I will drive to Atlanta and bite you. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Oh, come on! You seriously don’t expect me to keep this to myself?”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known you’d repeat it!”
“But King of the Sidhe! That’s just too good.”
“It was a one-night stand, Jim. Look, Llyr Galatyn is not gonna fall for a werewolf. Heck, his men were talking about putting a leash on me.”
“They what?”
Oh, God, he was back in protective alpha male mode. “Don’t sweat it. Llyr put a stop to that line of conversation in a hurry.”
“Good. Cause, you know, I can come to Verdaville and knock some teeth down fairy throats.”
“Yeah, and after that you can run around peeing on trees. The city’s shrubbery isn’t up to it, Jim. Go paint something. I’m hanging up now.”
“No, wait. Seriously, do you need help? Because I can break away for a couple of days and come up.”
She sighed. “I appreciate the offer, babe, but Verdaville is my responsibility. And if I need help, I’m sure Llyr would be happy to provide an army to back me up.”
Diana could hear the grin in his voice. “Well, God knows I’d hate to horn in on a budding romance—”
“Oh, shut up.” She dropped the phone back in its cradle, cutting off his rolling laugh.
Diana was in the middle of a deeply erotic dream involving Llyr’s blond head between her thighs when an insistent ringing woke her. Blearily, she reached for the phone and fumbled it off its cradle. “London.” Glancing at the clock, she stiffened as adrenaline instantly started pumping through her blood. Three A.M. calls are never good news to a city administrator.
She was right.
“We’ve got another one, Diana,” the chief said. “I need Luna again.”
“Damn. Okay, let me call…the FBI agents, and I’ll be right there.”
“Two thirty-five Fairview Drive. Wear your uniform,” he said, and hung up.
Stopping only long enough to drag a T-shirt out of a drawer—she really didn’t want to call Llyr naked—Diana padded into the kitchen in search of her purse. She pulled out the heavy gold mirror from the side pouch she’d tucked it into, frowned at its reflection of her disordered hair, and dug for a comb. Once it was relatively neat again, she briefly considered reapplying her makeup. Then she decided she was being ridiculous. “Llyr?” Clearing her throat, she tried again. “King Llyr Galatyn?”
Nothing. Was she doing it right? “Your Majesty?”
The mirror suddenly blazed with light so bright she was forced to glance away. When she looked back, Llyr stared out at her, his expression grim. Evidently three A.M. calls weren’t good news for Sidhe kings either. “Yes, Diana?”
His throat and shoulders were bare. She tried not to wonder if he was naked. “There’s been another murder, Your Majesty. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Are you there now?”
“No. Gist just called me.”
“As soon as you arrive, use the mirror. I’ll come to you.”
She nodded. It was the middle of the night—if she called from somewhere private, nobody would see him gate in. “I’ll do that.”
He murmured some Sidhe farewell, and the mirror reflected her own face again. She tucked it back in her purse and went to get dressed.
Diana parked the next street over from Fairview Drive, beside a section of sidewalk where the streetlight had burned out. She made a mental note to have the street department replace it and got out of her car. After making sure there was no one around, she pulled out the mirror. “King Llyr?”
A point of brilliant light appeared in the air in front of her. Diana took a hurried step back as the point swelled into a gate. Bevyn and Naois stepped out, dressed in suits. A moment afterward, Llyr himself appeared, Egan and a Sidhe she didn’t recognize behind him.
“Well met, Diana.” The king rocked back on his heels to study her. “What sort of costume is that?”
“It’s not a costume, it’s a police uniform.” Diana rested a self-conscious hand on her weapon’s belt. Her PR-24 rapped against her hip, leather belt creaking. Her sidearm was holstered next to the baton, while other pouches held
ammunition clips, handcuffs, and a canister of pepper spray. “I’m a reserve cop. A volunteer.”
A wicked smile teased Llyr’s mouth as he contemplated her. “I approve.” His guards showed no expression at all, but she could almost smell their amusement.
“Yeah, well, unfortunately we’re not here for fun and games. We’ve got another murdered man and a vampire to worry about.” Turning on her heel, she stalked toward the corner.
“You’re right, of course,” Llyr said, following her. “I’ll have my men quarter the area to ensure the killer isn’t nearby.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll do it.” Diana shot him a glittering look. “If you hear any howls and screams, come running.”
Then, reaching for her magic, she changed.
To Llyr’s Sidhe eyes, the transformation looked like an explosion of magical light. When it faded, a huge black wolf stood where his slim lover had been. Before he even had time to speak, she was running, a dark, furred blur swallowed almost instantly by the darkness.
Llyr cursed softly and ran after her, his hard mortal-style shoes ringing on the sidewalk, his men at his heels.
“Your Majesty, what are you doing?” Egan called. “You could be pursuing this creature into you know not what danger!”
Oh, he was well aware of the risk. That was why he had no intention of letting her go alone.
Unfortunately, he had not reckoned with the werewolf’s supernatural speed. Though he was faster than any mortal, Diana was even faster than that on her four legs, and she soon outpaced him.
Luckily, she also left a hint of magic in the air that made it possible to track her. Surefooted in the light of the moon, the Sidhe followed her across yards, jumping hedges and colorful objects that appeared to be children’s toys. Llyr found himself splashing through a wading pool made of some kind of fabric, grimacing as he soaked his breeches to the knee. He didn’t break step, though he allowed himself a moment’s smile at the splashing and growled curses as his men hit the same obstacle behind him.
Master of the Moon Page 9
