“There is no need for that, my lord,” came a soft-spoken contradiction.
A rustle went through the room as everyone shifted to look in the direction of the speaker. Tansy rose to her feet and turned around toward the door she’d entered a moment ago. The sigh that rippled through the room echoed her feelings.
For Jacan stood there.
Jacan was a marvelous specimen of a male Morphate. His muscular build and stunning height aside, it was his coal-black sheet of hair flowing down to the middle of his back and the obsidian glitter of his eyes that riveted all attention whenever he entered a room. Those black eyes held the chill of a true warrior within them. He was dressed in faded blue jeans that clung to every muscle with well-worn familiarity. He wore no shirt, only a buttery soft leather vest worked to a natural beige that was almost white, which covered the expanse of bronzed skin across his chest. His magnificent arms were bare, except for the lone braided circlet of leather he wore around his upper left biceps, a beautifully crafted piece made of a much darker leather, painstakingly softened and woven. Small, curving sparrow feathers rimmed the lower circumference of the band, making a perfect soft brown ring around his arm that swayed with every movement or breath of air.
Tansy felt her heart pounding in delight as her beautiful mate moved into the circle of Morphates loosely surrounding Ambrose. Everyone waited with patience, knowing what would come even before he displayed obeisance to his Alpha. The gorgeous warrior reached to wrap a possessive hand around the back of Tansy’s neck and he dragged her against him for a hard, hungry kiss. As he kissed her, his hand absently wrapped her long red braid around his fist again and again. Finally he reached the end of the rope and used his hold to tug her back away.
Jacan glanced away from his woman to look at Ambrose. The Alpha was watching them with obvious pleasure and a small hint of revulsion as well. Pleasure because his sister had wed the most powerful Morphate man in all the clans who wasn’t an Alpha, the one man who might give Ambrose concern if it ever came down to a contest for his position as Alpha; but the revulsion was actually because he would never understand the feelings they had for one another. Nor could he stomach the idea of monogamy.
Jacan smiled at his clan leader, a small quirk of compressed lips. He released Tansy and made his obeisance with a kneel. He rose quickly, holding out an arm to Tansy, who slid herself against his side like a holstered weapon. Knowing Tansy for the cutthroat fighter that she was, he thought it a very accurate piece of imagery.
“Tansy and I will obtain this target for you,” he said at last, finishing his leading entrance statement.
Ambrose flared up like a Siamese fighting fish, but instead of gills fanning out, he took in a breath of indignation and flexed his not inconsiderable muscles. His face flushed a rosy hue of outrage that clashed terribly with the bright red-gold tint of his hair.
“Jacan, we have finished this conversation and I won’t tolerate … !”
“I hardly call you spouting dictates based on emotional whim to be the makings of a conversation.”
One could have vacuumed the world with the sudden intake of breath in that room. Very few people stood up to Ambrose, and none dared do so in public. But Jacan was no ordinary Morphate. If not for the fact that Jacan was completely loyal to Ambrose, the Alpha leader might consider him a dire threat. His sister’s mate, it was rumored, was even more powerful than he was. However, Ambrose’s first lieutenant was devoted to his lady, and therefore her family as well. He would do nothing to hurt Tansy.
“Tansy won’t be put at risk,” Ambrose said with finality, although in a far calmer tone than was expected.
“I’d never risk Tansy, you know that well enough. But if you continue to send these lesser assassins instead of your best, then you’ll continue to get less than satisfactory results.” Jacan’s tone turned casual as he moved to take a seat in a comfortable chair, tugging Tansy in his wake until she slid into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. It never ceased to amaze the Dark Phoenix Clan members how openly affectionate these two deadliest of creatures could be. There wasn’t a Morphate among them that didn’t fear the wrath of either one of them alone; as a united team they were an unstoppable force. “Tansy, my lover, wouldn’t you like to kill the Morphate traitor?”
“Oh, ever so much, my darling,” she breathed with excitement flashing in her mocha colored eyes. Her hands slid forward over his face to cradle it, holding him for her slow, sensual kiss. She smiled as she pulled away, turning to look at her brother as she pressed her cheek against Jacan’s. “However, I’m also willing to stay here making love to you, amusing ourselves by watching the next few failures.”
“Good point, minx,” he laughed with delight. “My woman has shown me the error of my ways, Ambrose. I’ll wait patiently for you to conclude you require us.”
Jacan hurled himself out of his chair, sweeping up Tansy in the same movement. Without even another word or glance at their Alpha, they took to the halls, heading for the suite they occupied. Ambrose watched them go with a mixture of irritation and amusement, and then his attention shifted to Alda, who passed the couple as she moved smoothly into the room and then toward him. She was wearing white, his favorite color on her because of the fascinating contradiction to her ebony skin.
Ambrose chuckled in spite of his earlier temper. He held out an arm to Alda. She took it, letting him lead her deeper into the reception room. Seeing his good humor return, his clan relaxed back into what they’d been doing.
The clan headquarters was an enormous skyscraper that, once upon a time, had been a luxury hotel with all the finest trimmings money could buy. Then, after the gangs had overrun Phoenix, the hotel, like all the other grand buildings of the city, had been left to fall into disrepair. But the Morphates had rescued it from such a sad fate. The main body of the second floor, which had once been part of the convention rooms, was now a clubroom. There were pockets of chairs grouped against corners, walls, and surrounding gaming tables. There was a long bar that filled the entire room with the rich scent of exotic coffee roasts and other unusual treats.
“Perhaps this calls for a temporary relocation,” Ambrose mused aloud. It was an unwritten law that Morphates must remain inside their territories, but he didn’t see Devona adhering to that law, and since he had never agreed to the law, he didn’t see any reason why he should either.
They would relocate to his property in the lower Adirondacks. ‘They’ meaning his entourage of the moment, his security forces, and a few more of those assassins Jacan had been speaking of. It would put him within striking distance of the traitor, making her more easily accessible.
Privacy and security would also be provided by their location in the farthest reaches of the Adirondacks. It was a property with acreage that stretched for miles in all directions. The main house was for gatherings and served as residence to the upper echelon of the clan; extended wings held suites for those closest to Ambrose by blood or by favor. The vast property held a number of smaller buildings, houses, and cottages to contain the rest. In all, the crème de la crème of his clan ran almost to 400 brethren. In Dark Phoenix his clan was known for being the largest grouping of Morphates around, and therefore the most powerful. Splitting away could weaken his position somewhat. But he felt it was a risk he had to take.
“So what do you think, Alda? Am I foolish to want to keep Jacan and Tansy away from the danger the traitor poses?”
“Considering the weaponry she terrorizes us with, I think you’re wise to show reserve,” she commended soothingly, smiling as he led her to their prominent seats at the head of the room. “However, you must also consider that there are none so skilled, nor so ruthless as your baby sister and her beloved.”
“As always, the measured voice of reason, pet,” he said expansively as he pulled up her hand to kiss her knuckles. “And you’ve always had that keen vision of the future, haven’t you?”
“Ambrose, I’ve already told you what I’ve seen of t
he future,” she said.
“Yes. I have seen it too,” Ambrose mused, stroking his beard.
Soon, very soon, he’d subjugate all of the other Cities, forcing them to name him undisputed leader of all Morphates. All Cities would become his clan, and he would be Alpha over them all. There were six major Cities to contend with, but although his was the largest, his enemies were also powerful in their own ways. Lucky for him their ideals prevented the other Cities from ever forming true alliances. They depended on their Alpha Council to keep things calm and orderly. But neither he nor the Alpha of Los Angeles had found following the rules to his taste. And Ambrose was quite close with that other Alpha. Quite close indeed.
As for the sects that had broken off from all of the Dark cities, he thought them of little consequence. They were neither large enough or organized enough to be worth his time or interest.
“You have no specific advice or opinions on this issue?” he coaxed her as they settled in and a servant hurried to set out footstools and provide the little comforts they usually desired.
“Only what I’ve said. Devona has betrayed her own breed with mercury. She will clearly become aggressive toward you.” Alda’s attention seemed to slowly fade out, her patois thicker as she turned contemplative. “She must be stopped soon before she gains any footholds within the Morphate political structure.”
Ambrose almost scoffed aloud at the idea. No Morphate would side with her once it became widely known what she had done to betray her own people.
“This other thing is different.” Alda tilted her head thoughtfully. “By taking the humans under her hand, she surrounds herself with an unusual resource.”
This time Ambrose couldn’t contain his derision. “Ha! I hardly call them a resource! I give them credit for stumbling into the schemes of the one Morphate who could give them a real weapon against us. But all prey has defenses. It will only make the hunt more worthwhile.” Ambrose waved her comment off with another huff.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this resource,” Alda warned him. “It could make the difference in Devona’s campaign for power. Perhaps you should consider sending Tansy and Jacan. Send them now while she’s still vulnerable.”
“Humans will make no difference in her vulnerability,” Ambrose sneered. “She’s alone in the world. The only thing she’s had on her side is luck and damnable determination. There are other assassins who will do well enough. In fact, you will help me choose,” he suggested.
Alda frowned with irritation, as she always did when he didn’t take her seriously. Ambrose was unpredictable in what advice he chose to listen to. He had a terrible blind spot when it came to humans, seeing them as nothing more than food, slaves, or entertainment. Alda, however, was convinced that Ambrose ought to be more careful about dismissing them. But she knew he wouldn’t listen to her.
Once he destroyed Devona forever, Ambrose would attain awesome preeminence. Letting Alda decide on an assassin was potentially a historic occasion. If she chose successfully, it would always be remembered. She eagerly began to consider his question. There were many great assassins in the clan, some a little insane and unpredictable, like the berserker Ambrose had most recently sent, and some like Jacan who were cold and flawlessly methodical. Since she could not choose Jacan or Tansy, Alda named the closest parallel.
“Send Torque,” she suggested smoothly. Those who were listening to their exchange made noises of approval when they heard her choice. “And Rhiannon,” she finished, eliciting gasps of amusement and a small smattering of applause. “Jacan’s idea of sending a team has strong merit. They are powerful individuals, but have the ability to work in tandem should you decree it. Rhiannon has that savagery required to tear a swath through Devona’s human defenses, and Torque won’t be deterred from his main target.”
“Hmm. Excellent choices,” Ambrose concurred with a sly smile that put gleaming confidence in his eyes. “Devona will never be expecting such a combination. Or any combination for that matter. Morphate assassins usually work best alone. Devious, devious girl!” Ambrose laughed, grabbing her by the back of her neck to force an enthusiastic kiss on her, which she took most readily. “Call them to me at once!”
Devon strode into her bedroom, kicking off her heels and stripping off her ruined gown with furious determination. She walked naked to her closet and snatched up a skirt and sweater. She wriggled into the blue crepe skirt, settling it in place low on her hips, and then slipped into the white sweater, the long sleeves covering half her palms and the hem baring her midriff. Feeling warmer and sufficiently no-nonsense, she padded barefoot to a large locked chest at the bottom of another closet. She keyed in the code and it sprang open. After withdrawing supplies, she shut it.
Devon marched across the hallway, knowing instinctively that Liam would pick the room closest to hers. She found the door ajar and smiled to herself that she knew him that well already. Anybody else would’ve gone at least one door down to afford an illusion of privacy. All Liam was interested in, now more than ever, was protecting her.
She walked into the suite without bothering to announce herself. Devon crossed the sitting room to the bedroom, where she could hear a commotion taking place beyond the door. Colin leaned casually against the near wall, cautiously checking his weapon. At her questioning look, he chuckled.
“I know what my brother’s like when he’s in pain. They don’t pay me enough to go in there.”
Brother. Devon felt the breath rush from her lungs. The reaction of shock and panic baffled her. As she stared at him, she asked herself how she had missed it. Although Colin was a little leaner than his brother, they were both big men. Now that she was looking for the resemblance, there were uncanny similarities in their bone structure and features. However, Colin’s eyes were gray and his hair was an even jet as opposed to Liam’s blue-black with its sparks of silver.
Colin watched their latest client’s expressions as she absorbed his revelation of kinship with Liam and knew she was comparing the two of them. He didn’t mind in the least. Liam and he were similar in some ways, yet also dissimilar. Colin had far fewer cares in this world than Liam did, and thought his brother took on too much responsibility, sometimes overstepping himself.
It made him the perfect man for this job, though. Liam was probably the only man Colin knew who would aggressively throw himself in the path of Morphates. The team would eagerly follow, of course, but Liam … he’d fought Morphate fangs and claws, somehow managing to keep his life in spite of it. That envenomation and attack had nearly crippled him—a fate worse than death to men of their ilk. As it was, the incident had cost him his job in the Service. Yet, he still had the fortitude to take on the threat to Devon Candler.
Colin watched the lady in question contemplate the door to Liam’s bedroom and the ruckus beyond. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t hesitating out of doubt, but was rather squaring herself for battle. He knew the look well and a grin exploded over his face as he waited to see what would happen next.
She plowed past him, completely ignoring his dire warnings, and he quickly turned to watch her enter the battlefield.
Devon opened the door just as Kellen Gordon went flying back from the bed as if shot from a cannon. She instinctively shifted her bundles to a single hand and reached for him with the other. She caught him by the left arm, driving her weight forward into his back and shoulder to halt his momentum. Then she jerked him hard onto his feet.
“Thanks,” he said, running a hand through his wildly spiked hair now that he had regained his balance.
Devon ignored him the instant he was no longer in danger of cracking his head on the floor or furniture. She let go of him quickly as she turned back to see three other team members trying to hold Liam down, apparently so Inez could inspect and tend his wound. Liam had been stripped from the waist up. His face was contorted in agony and his entire upper body wore the sheen of pain and fever. She took all of this in with a mixture of frustration and fury. Not a o
ne of them had listened to her, and all of this suffering was completely unnecessary!
“Out!”
The bellow was so sharp and so similar to the irrefutable tone of a drill sergeant that the soldiers automatically snapped around to face her. Even Liam settled down considerably, though she was willing to bet it was because his comrades had suddenly stopped pressing down on him. An advanced symptom of Morphate envenomation was hypersensitivity when touched. Rough handling could be extremely painful for a victim.
“Devon, you shouldn’t …” Inez tried.
“I said out. This is still my house and you will respect that,” she demanded, her pale green eyes snapping with warning anger. “If you want your commander on his feet again, you will leave him to me. Trust me when I say I know more about this than any of you ever will.”
“You … ?” Another female soldier snorted in disbelief. She stuck her hands on her hips and squared a belligerent jaw. “Look, we can take care of our own. If we need someone to dress us up in high fashion, we’ll give ya a call. But this is our area of expertise and we got it covered.”
Feeling she was properly dismissed, the team members reached to recapture Liam.
“Oh? So that means you already know that every time you touch him like that, the pain you cause is just like stabbing him about a hundred times?”
Her words caused all sets of hands to freeze before coming into contact with Liam, who sighed audibly in relief. Devon watched him suck in hard, labored breaths for a second before flicking cold, irritated eyes around the room. She settled on the woman who had addressed her so rudely.
Dangerous Page 9
