by C. A. Storm
That wouldn’t do. Not at all!
Turning, I tried to find her. From my great height, I was easily able to scan over the heads of the tiny humans, but I couldn’t see her.
I wanted to roar with frustration as the scent continued to fade, and it was fading quickly.
Uncoiling, I began to follow the scent trail, the press of humans around me instinctively cringing away from me as I quickened my pace until I was running.
This fucking human body could only move so quickly, and the lessons Audrick had drilled into my head about not upsetting the humans kept me from pushing beyond those limits while they could witness it. The Glamour that helped protect us was growing ever weaker, particularly in places crowded with so many humans.
I was slowed by the glacial speed of the crowd of people pushing out through the exit, and by the time I hit the street, the scent was gone, the trail cutting off.
FUCK!
“Um, Mister Vindorm, sir?” a hesitant voice asked from behind me, drawing my ire.
Turning, I met the wide, blue-green eyes of a young man. He was nearly as tall as I was, almost as broadly built, but thicker in the waist. With his dark auburn hair cut short, he was dressed in worn jeans, a denim jacket stretched over his thick chest, and a worn cowboy hat perched on his head. In his thick, blunt hands, he held a small, handwritten sign with my mortal name scrawled on it in bold, black letters: Vilhelm Vindorm.
This must be the one Audrick had sent to pick me up.
Drawing in my anger, I ruthlessly walled it off and assumed the cold, calm façade I had spent many years perfecting.
“Já, I am Vindorm,” I finally replied.
I must admit, I was a little impressed that the boy continued to meet my gaze without flinching, though he did tilt his head slightly, instinctively ceding dominance. Definitely a Shifter, then. I inhaled, and ignoring the lingering scent of her, I smelled the fur beneath his skin, the distinct musk of an ursine, one that was vaguely familiar.
A bear? It took me a moment, but Audrick’s reasoning finally dawned on me.
“Great!” He grinned, his wide smile one that only the very young seem to have. “I’m Arnie, your ride to Cœur de Lyon, sir! Let’s just grab your luggage and we can scoot. We’ve got a long drive ahead to the Estates, sir.”
I quirked an eyebrow but nodded, “Scoot? Yes, let me go grab my bags, then we can…scoot…along then.”
Arnie tipped his hat at me and leaned back against his beaten-up pick-up truck, while I turned and stalked back into the airport to get my bags.
Meanwhile, I began plotting. I had her scent now, I knew she was out there, somewhere, and I could already feel the faint mystical bond that connected us forming, connecting our souls. Once I had settled in at the Estates, made my social, polite commitments, I could then hunt. After all, now that I had found her, there was nowhere in this world, or any other, she could elude me for long.
I could be patient. After all, we dragons were known for our patience.
Chapter 8
Yuki | Lion’s Pride Hotel, Denver, CO | December 6, 2017
The rest of the ride to the hotel passed in relative silence, broken only by the clink of ice in the glass of single-malt Koh had poured himself.
At least he wasn’t trying to drown himself in it this time.
Granted, like almost every supernatural I had ever met, whether a Yōkai or one of the self-dubbed Uncanny ones, we all tended to have a high tolerance for alcohol, just as we had for any other poison or toxin. Unless it was supernaturally brewed, it only gave us a warm buzz, at the most, and even then, it took gallons to truly knock us sideways.
Unfortunately for me, I had accepted some of my grandmother’s homemade plum wine the night before, which had resulted in my earlier hangover.
But between the echo of that hangover and the rich red wine I had sipped on the flight, I figured I should take a break from the booze for a little bit.
We finally arrived at the hotel we had been booked into. As I stepped out of the limo, I looked up, and up, and up. The edifice of the elegant hotel was a stunning example of modern Art Deco architecture, with gold-mirrored glass combined with ornate soaring stone columns, complete with statuesque, lion-headed and feather-winged figures flanking the entry.
A deep burgundy carpet led up the amber-marble steps into the front lobby, which was equally posh and almost over-the-top extravagant, but somehow managed to retain a sense of class and refined elegance.
Alas, I had almost allowed myself to forget what time of year it was. Possibly because of the lack of snow outside, and with my mind otherwise occupied elsewhere, the lights strung along the buildings outside hadn’t registered; not when one lived in Shinjuku, where the lights were always flashing.
An enormous Christmas tree dominated the lobby, towering to nearly reach the chandelier suspended high overhead. This one sat upon a pedestal, where you could just see that it had been planted in rich, dark soil, making it seem it had been decorated where it had been found in the forest.
Around the tree, forest creatures of gold wire and cut crystals refracted the twinkling, multi-hued lights strung around the branches, positioned as if they had sought shelter beneath the overhanging boughs. The tree was draped in silver and blue tinsel, glistening as it swayed gently in the breeze let in as the doors opened. Ornaments hung from the branches, ranging from delicate blown-glass spheres that looked like they had captured snowflakes within them interspaced evenly with hand-carved wooden ornaments, ranging from polished spheres of cedar through tiny, intricate scenes of winter animals.
The top of the tree had an enormous figure, a feminine form of delicate-looking glass, in glittering silver, ivory white, and palest blue, like a Winter Queen gazing down upon the mortals from her tower on high. The entire tree had an almost pagan feel to it, between the wooden ornaments and the fresh smell of the tree and soil filling the air.
Well, at least it was tasteful, and pretty, and there was no sign of Santa Claus anywhere, so that was a bonus.
Skirting the tree, we headed to the check-in desk, our valet following behind us with our luggage in tow.
“Good evening,” Koh purred in his sexy British accent. “I believe you have a reservation under the names of Nekosan and Shiro?”
Nekosan? I thought with a mental snort. Sir Cat? Really? REALLY? Well, my last name means White, so guess it’s fitting.
“Of course, sir,” the perky young concierge beamed at Koh. “One moment, please.”
She pulled up something on her computer, and after a few moments of her fingers rapidly flying over the keyboard, she looked back at us. Still beaming brightly, she slid over two black keycards, embossed with the hotel’s logo of a crowned lion head surmounting the scripted name, Lion’s Pride Denver, tucked into black folders with our room numbers and other papers.
“Your rooms are ready for you. We have you booked through Friday morning, and your packages have been delivered to your room.”
“Thank you,” both Koh and I responded simultaneously. I jerked my eyes up toward him suspiciously, only to find he was also pinning me with a similar suspicious look.
“Um, which one of us had packages delivered?” I asked, turning my attention back to the concierge, who was glancing between us with wide eyes.
“Both of you. Your packages were delivered earlier this morning, and we took the liberty of securing them in your rooms for safe keeping, as requested, ma’am.”
Ma’am? I forgot about that. The rueful thought crossed my mind. American and Japanese politeness were very different, but somehow, the American ‘sir’ always seemed complimentary, while ‘ma’am’ just made me feel old.
Reaching out, I took my card and managed a smile. “Thank you,” I scanned her name badge, “Betsy. Sorry, it’s been a long flight, I’m just ready to crash.”
“Of course! Your rooms are on the Platinum Level,” she gestured to an elevator tastefully hidden behind ornately carved wooden screens. “Those elevators are private for o
ur Platinum guests. They’ll take you directly to your floors and we’ll have your luggage brought up to you.”
Once more giving us that wide, beaming smile, she continued, “Thank you for staying at the Lion’s Pride while you’re here in Denver. We hope that you’ll enjoy your trip and if there’s anything we can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call the concierge line!”
“Thank you,” I responded with equal brightness, giving her a faint bow before I turned away and let the smile fall from my face.
Too damned perky for two in the morning, I thought uncharitably as I headed for the elevator. It wasn’t her fault, but perky people exhausted me, and I was already worn out from the last twenty-four hours.
I heard Koh talking to the concierge, but I tuned him out as I left him behind. I think I’d had enough cat games for the night.
The elevator slid open silently, and I’ll admit, a part of me appreciated the fact that it wasn’t a mirrored elevator. I was apparently still a little rattled from my last elevator ride. Stepping in, I saw that there were no buttons, just a slot for the keycard.
Placing my card in the slot, there was a gentle chime and the doors closed. Again, the elevator was absolutely silent, the ride smooth, as it ascended, and soon enough, the doors slid open to reveal a tastefully decorated lobby.
Glancing at the folder, I checked my room number and grinned. Lucky number Platinum-13!
I headed purposefully toward my suite, focused on just making sure my packages had arrived safe and sound, taking a shower, then getting some actual sleep—hopefully nightmare free—although as I moved through the lobby and down the hall, my mind mentally noted every little detail of my environment. A habit ingrained straight down into my very soul.
I noted every security camera, every door, the number of steps it took between doors, between the elevator and my room. I noted the emergency exit, the location of the lights, the width of the hall, the height of the ceiling.
I even noted the nearly forgotten feel of Glamour permeating the walls.
The Lion’s Pride was owned by the same Sidhe family that owned the Cœur de Lyon Estates we’d be heading to this weekend, where the ball would be held. The Leon Clan of Sidhe were infamous for their neutrality amongst the European-descended Uncannies almost as much as for their extensive empire of hotels and resorts throughout the world.
They even owned a hotel in Tokyo, and although it had only been completed in the last few years, it was popular amongst the local Yōkai because it catered specifically to supernaturals.
Glamour? Oh, sorry, I forget sometimes that not everyone’s familiar with some of the terminology I throw around. See, Glamour is what the Uncannies call the strange, mysterious force that covers the world, protecting supernaturals from being revealed to the public at large.
It’s almost sentient, in that it responds without prompting, causing Mortals to doubt what they just saw, making them forget seeing a four-hundred-pound werewolf tearing a man limb-from-limb or a vampire draining a corpse dry.
It didn’t always exist. Apparently, when the Tuatha, what humans call “gods of old” were chased from this plane of existence by the Enoch, they used the last of their power to protect their descendants before they slammed most of the Portals between realms closed. Now, the Tuatha were locked away on the other side of the Portals, but the Glamour had been their last “Fuck You” to both the Enoch and the Mortals who had betrayed them.
It heralded the end of magic, or at least, that’s what most people thought.
In Japan, we were pretty isolated, so we were less affected than most of the world when the Glamour covered the realm. The Glamour there was a bit different, thinner, more nebulous, and mixed with our own rather unique energies. Unfortunately, our gods were forced to retreat eventually, too, just a little later than the European and American gods, and this was the world we all now live in.
Now that I was back in America, I needed to readjust to this mindset and remember that I didn’t have homefield advantage here. Luckily, one of my college buddies was a Sidhe, and had been happy to help me learn the “American Way of Uncanny Life,” so I wasn’t at a complete disadvantage.
Oh, one other thing I noticed? Not a single Christmas decoration in sight!
Stepping into my room, I was once more pleasantly surprised by the décor. It still carried that Art Deco-Gothic feel, but here it was softened with natural wood floors, polished to a rich, dark gleam. The walls were a dark, neutral gray that allowed the gold-bordered mirror and paintings of the Rockies to pop.
The suite had a large front room, with a couch and coffee table, and a table and chairs sectioned off with a small kitchenette and wet bar. Through a side door, a king-sized bed dominated the room, situated to face the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark Rockies in the distance. The bathroom was a dream, with a large Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower, both large enough to easily accommodate four or five American-sized people, or like ten of me—and that wasn’t a diss on “American-sized” people, considering most of you were ‘normal’ size, and I was tiny even for your typical Japanese female.
Setting my laptop case on the desk and my backpack on the bed, I pulled out the ofuda my grandmother gave me. Nicking my thumb on a prominent canine, I traced a few kanji on to six of the slips of parchment, then placed one on each of the outer walls, in the four cardinal directions. I then placed one on the floor in the center of the suite, then looked up ruefully.
With a sigh, I let my flesh slip away, becoming little more than a Yuki-shaped flurry of snow. Rising to the ceiling on a phantom wind, I secured the final ofuda to the ceiling just as I heard a soft, tentative knock on the door and a voice, “Ma’am? I’ve brought your luggage.”
Returning to the floor, I slipped back into skin, letting blood and bone reform with a thought as I strode to the door, where I stopped. And glared.
There was a peephole.
It was about four-inches above my head.
Fucking average height people, ruining the bell curve for the rest of us!
With another sigh, I opened the door, slipping a hand up to caress the cross-shaped earring dangling from my left ear idly as I gave the young bellboy a smile, “Thank you!”
He blushed at my smile, which I’ll admit was quite flattering. He was probably a few years younger than me, and if he was on this floor, he was a supernatural, which meant that probably like me, he hadn’t undergone his first milestone; that moment at which supernaturals truly came into their own.
Stepping aside and fully opening the door, I waved my right hand, “Just leave it there, please.”
“Oh, of course!” He blushed even hotter, hurrying over to put my large bag down next to the couch. I reached into the pocket of my sweats, pulling out my wallet—glad that I’d already converted to US currency—and fished out a twenty.
When I pressed it into his protesting hand, I gave him a wink, “Think of it as an early Yule gift.”
Ducking his head, he mumbled his thanks and hurried out, gently closing the door behind him and leaving me standing there, still grinning. Hey, it’s flattering when you can make a young, handsome guy blush with just a hello and a smile.
Shrugging, I turned away from the door and with a quick chant, I activated the wards I had placed.
Instantly, the entire suite cooled as my magic swirled, the windows frosting over from within. The magical wards would prevent outside scrying and any electronic surveillance; I liked to be prepared for any eventuality, and despite the reputation of the Leons, I couldn’t feel completely secure in a room booked by the Wicked Queen.
Walking back to the desk, I saw the packages that I’d had Miki order for me sitting there. I reached for the first one, quickly opening it and pulling out the untraceable satellite phone, equally untraceable cell phone, and encrypted wireless earpiece.
Firing up the cellphone, I pressed my thumb to the button, letting it read my biosignature, then unlocked it with the 12-digit code Miki made me me
morize. I fired off a few quick text messages, first letting the girls know I had arrived safely and that I’d received the packages, then fired off messages to my grandmother and mother, telling them I was in Denver and ready to get some sleep.
With the time difference between Denver and Tokyo, though it was about 0300 here, it was 1900 in Tokyo, so they were all either just waking up or getting ready for their nights ahead.
Knowing that regardless of the time, they’d still respond, I turned the phone on silent and plugged both it and the satellite phone into their chargers.
Okay, the rest of this can wait until tomorrow, I thought as exhaustion settled heavily on my shoulders. Tossing my ballcap to the couch, I stripped off my clothes, letting them fall where they would as I padded through the bedroom and toward the shower.
A good, long soak in that tub sounded heavenly, but I knew I’d just fall asleep there, and the bed was calling my name like a long-lost lover.
Feeling the cool metal of the medallion swaying between my breasts, I reached down and clasped it.
“Masa, I’m going to shower and go to sleep, so I’m going to let you out for the night,” I said aloud, knowing the room was secure with my wards in place.
There was a static charge as I released Masa from the charm, and the ghostly image of a massive, snowy-white akita manifested in front of me, looking up at me with solid-white eyes, tongue lolling out in amusement as her tail wagged energetically behind her.
‘Thanks!’ Masa mentally projected, then she suddenly froze, her tail halting in mid-swing as her muzzle snapped shut. Plopping back on her rump, she tilted her head to one side and stared at my chest. ‘Yuki? What’s that?’
Confused, I glanced down to where my hand was wrapped around her medallion. “Um, it’s your fetish.” Looking back up at the crazy canine, I said slowly, patiently, “You know, the physical connection that allows us to communicate and for me to summon you?”
Huffing in exasperation, I know she rolled her eyes at me, even if they were orbs of solid white. ‘Aho! Not that! I mean what is that mark on your chest!’
