Shadow’s Edge np-1

by J. T. Geissinger

  One of the Assembly members had even floated the idea she might be connected to whomever was now stalking the Ikati. Motivated by anger or revenge, she had both the reasons and the wherewithal to stand against them.

  Leander had been restrained from snapping the man’s neck in two when this idea was forwarded. He’d very forcefully reminded them she didn’t even know about her father until he told her.

  She was guarded carefully by a rotating watch of four of their strongest men, was brought food and water on silver trays, was allowed to see anyone she chose, but she denied access to anyone but Morgan. It had been tolerated for the past few days, but he knew the Assembly was getting restless. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she was forced to provide irrefutable proof that she was Ikati, she could Shift, she was friend and not foe.

  So far Leander was the only one who had seen her Shift to vapor. In these perilous times, his word alone was not enough to convince the rest of them that she was indeed one of their kind.

  We can’t know her mind, Leander, the Alpha from the Manaus colony had said. She remains a danger to us until she is proven otherwise.

  His neck had also been in danger of Leander’s grip.

  His gaze found Morgan standing across the ballroom. She was pale and erect with her back against an alabaster column, clad in an uncharacteristically chaste dress of simple ivory satin. She wore a guarded look, but he sensed her elation.

  He frowned. Morgan hadn’t seemed herself the past few days. Only planning this ill-conceived and hastily arranged dinner party had brought her—barely—out of her strange and fevered distraction. She remained silent through the Assembly meetings, through all their heated arguments about what to do with Jenna, wearing an enigmatic expression very close to the one on her face now.

  She turned her head and caught him looking. With a Mona Lisa smile that lifted one-half of her mouth, she put two curved fingers to her forehead and inclined her head.

  His frown deepened, but then he was distracted by someone laughing very loudly in his ear. He angled away. He ran a finger under the stiff collar of his shirt and pulled it away from his burning skin. Not only was the room overcrowded, it was overheated.

  The Council of Alphas was scheduled to meet this evening at ten o’clock, after the dinner. After the—unbelievably stupid—dancing. The orchestra already labored away in a box of their own on the second floor, far above the crush, sawing on violins and blaring into horns, playing under branched candelabras that threw an uneasy glow over them all. Slices of moonlight washed through the second-story windows, gleaming pale over the gathering below.

  A brooding Christian sidled up to him. He wore a perfectly cut jacket of sable and fawn, an Italian silk shirt open at the throat, and clutched a large glass of single-malt whiskey in his hand.

  Leander knew it was his fourth whiskey so far tonight. He’d been watching Christian carefully since Morgan’s comment in the East Library. The comment that felt castrating with the horrible, cutting surge of jealousy it brought. The comment that made him so angry he nearly couldn’t speak.

  He’d never been in competition with his brother. Nor did he want to be. But he suspected, in a dark, abandoned part of his heart, that a competition was exactly what the two of them were ensnared in—albeit a silent, unacknowledged one. He couldn’t describe the excruciating misery this brought him, both for himself and for Christian...for what it might mean to their relationship.

  Leander had another suspicion he would never admit to himself. Doing so would be like unlocking Pandora’s box to unleash the selfish, snarling beast inside him that had no thought for anyone but himself.

  The suspicion was this: no matter the pain it caused them both, he would do anything to claim Jenna as his own.

  Anything, including laying waste to all his familial ties and every Law that bound him.

  “All the usual suspects,” Christian said dryly. He lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed the amber liquor, draining it quickly. He lowered his arm and motioned to a waiter hovering nearby for a refill. “I think our friend Alejandro over there is going to challenge you to a duel later.”

  Alejandro, the Alpha from Manaus, Brazil, who had impugned Jenna’s motives, glowered at Leander from behind a protective cluster of women who flitted about him like delirious moths. He was tall, as tall as Leander, though somehow lacking physical substance, as if you could put your fist into his abdomen and it would simply come out through his back, trailing smoke.

  He had long teeth and a slick smile and wore his hair in the combed-back and pomaded style of a mid-century Sicilian mobster. His colony was small—as were all the other colonies in comparison to Sommerley—but his cunning and ambition were not.

  “Good,” Leander said, gazing at him evenly. He was the only other unmarried Alpha, younger than Leander by four years and a lifetime, conceited and pompous and too fond of himself for his own good. “Maybe then I’ll get the chance to finish what I started in the Assembly meeting.”

  Alejandro dropped his gaze and turned his attention to one of his female admirers, a rotund woman cocooned in a dress two sizes too small, which caused her ample bosom to be in imminent danger of breaching the restraints of the delicately beaded neckline. He lowered his head and whispered something into her ear. She broke out in a flurry of giggles and waved her plump hand in front of her face.

  And then a few strange things happened at once.

  First, the orchestra missed two bars of the sonata entirely. The violinist pulled his bow in an awkward, off-key screech in between. They stumbled for a moment, unable to find their way back to harmony while Leander looked up at them, eyes narrowed.

  Then a hush fell over the ballroom. People stopped talking in midsentence, stopped walking about and laughing, the ice in their drinks even seemed to stop clinking. Silence filled the room. The plump, laughing woman with Alejandro lifted her hand to her mouth, clutched his arm, and sank her fingers so deep into it that Leander almost felt the bruise forming from where he stood.

  Alejandro frowned down at her—all his teeth showing though he wasn’t smiling—then lifted his gaze. He too froze in place, as if struck by an arrow.

  At the exact same moment, Leander heard a hissed inhalation from Christian. His danger-sense rising to gnaw at his skin, Leander whirled around.

  And there she was, an angel swathed in demon red.

  Jenna stood poised at the arched doorway, one hand resting lightly against the head of a marble statue of a muscled panther in midleap. The other trailed slowly down the narrow, cinched curve of her waist outlined beneath the scarlet red Valentino gown he’d told her not to wear, but had known she would exactly because of it.

  She was serene, smiling mysteriously as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if she were not facing down an entire room full of eager beasts ready to pounce on her at a moment’s provocation, the living dark heart of the tribe gathered as one to bear witness to her glory.

  Or her imminent destruction.

  She was always beautiful, in his memories, in his best fantasies. But now she became, with the candlelight marking her skin and the shadows dancing over her face and body in layer upon silky layer, something searingly magical and poetic, like the brilliance of a sunbeam slicing through a thundercloud.

  She wore her hair madonna-loose, tumbling in gorgeous honeyed waves down over her bare shoulders, over the milky white contours of her throat and chest and arms that stood in perfect contrast to the vivid hue of her gown.

  A part of his mind—the part that could still think, that was not dazed by her magic—noted her sensual, knowing smile, the look of calm control in which she took all of them in, a roomful of silent and deadly accusers.

  She shifted her weight. The high slit in her gown slithered open, revealing one long, bare expanse of perfectly toned and curved leg, which ended in a delicate high-heeled sandal of crimson red. He felt the beat of his heart as his gaze moved over that finely turned ankle, up that bare calf and knee and t
high so familiar in his memory, familiar from the erotic, aching dreams that wrung him dry night after night like a poison that ate through his blood.

  Mine, he thought, hungry. The word flooded him with something like despair.

  Her eyes found his across the room. Her sensual smile now deepened to something distinctly provocative.

  Christian exhaled through his teeth, a soft whoosh of astonishment, and it broke the spell.

  Leander stepped forward, the blood pumping back into his heart. He crossed the silent ballroom, people falling back, agog, to let him pass. He came to a stop a few feet away from her, close enough to smell her subtle perfume of fresh air and winter roses, close enough to reach out and stroke her arm.

  With concentrated effort, he restrained himself from touching her. He gave a little bow instead. “Jenna,” he said, smooth and light, “you’ve decided to join us. I’m happy to see you.”

  Her lips quirked. A fleeting shadow crossed her face, then disappeared. She reclaimed her composure with a toss of her head. “Well, I do hate to miss a party,” she said, equally light. She fixed him with a level gaze, her chin lifting. “And I was growing tired of the enforced solitude.”

  Someone new approached, but Leander was unable to look away from her.

  She was safe. She was here, standing so blithe and beautiful in front of him, having somehow gotten past her retinue of guards. She appeared unhurt—more than unhurt, she appeared luminous. Exquisitely so. And oddly confident. Recklessly confident, he would say, in light of the current circumstances.

  He felt every eye in the room burning like firebrands into his back.

  But she remained as if separated from them all by a layer of glass: serene, unperturbed, as if she thought herself nothing more than a curiosity in a museum case, a shrunken head brought back from the deepest bowels of the Amazon, on display for all to see.

  He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  “Careful, love,” he said, his voice stroking. “They’re all looking for any reason to lock you up and throw away the key. Don’t give them one.”

  Jenna raised an eyebrow in return, cool and haughty as Cleopatra before the Romans. “They? Not you?”

  He smiled, very slightly, in spite of himself. “My reasons are different from theirs, of that I can assure you,” he murmured. He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, willing her to respond, to give him any clue she felt anything at all for him.

  But naturally she gave him nothing but a chilly smile and her perfect profile as she turned her head to the person now upon them.

  “Jenna.” Morgan glided to a stop next to his elbow. “You look lovely.” Leander saw the two of them exchange a secret, knowing smile.

  “It’s my favorite, I think,” Jenna said, offhand. She smoothed her palm over the layers of ruched silk gathered just under the bodice, at the swell of her breast where it met the upper part of her ribcage. “I’ve never been partial to red, but this one...well, the fit is perfect.” She glanced sidelong at Leander, her smile warming almost imperceptibly. “For some strange reason, I just love it.”

  “May I get you something to drink?” Morgan asked her, deferential.

  “Champagne?” Jenna replied, still smiling. “That seems rather appropriate, don’t you think?” Morgan nodded, her lips mashed together, and drifted away toward a waiter.

  “You two seem to be forging quite the friendship,” Leander said, watching her go. There was something amiss here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She and Morgan were close now, it seemed...and how the hell had she gotten past the guards?

  Every minute fissure and crack in the room had been sealed off before her arrival. Even the door was protected with invisible sealant to block her from Shifting to vapor and escaping. No precaution had been spared, but somehow it hadn’t mattered.

  The music started up again and people were beginning to talk, if only in hushed whispers. Every eye in the room was still trained on the two of them.

  Jenna’s smile deepened, became mocking. “I’ve been told, by a very reliable source, that it’s good to have friends.” The green in her eyes turned a shade darker. “People whom you can trust in times of need.”

  Morgan returned and handed Jenna a glass of champagne, its crystal bowl filled with madly roiling bubbles. She did it so politely Leander imagined an invisible curtsy with the gesture. Another look passed between them, and Morgan placed her fingers lightly on Jenna’s forearm before turning to move back into the crowd, toward a still-gaping Christian.

  His gaze was fixed firmly on Jenna’s leg, still insouciantly jutting from the high slit in her dress. It then traveled slowly up her waist, her breasts, her face.

  Christian realized Leander was staring at him at precisely the moment Morgan reached his side.

  Leander met Christian’s eyes with a cool, steady look of his own, until his brother dropped his gaze and turned away. Morgan said a few words into his ear. Christian nodded stiffly, then stalked off into the crowd.

  “Are you? In need, that is? Of anything?” Leander asked, turning back to Jenna.

  “I am...well.” He thought he saw something in her eyes, something that might have been either pain or anger, swiftly erased.

  “Yes, Morgan said as much. Though not much else,” he added, pointedly.

  She only smiled, still mysterious.

  “You weren’t badly hurt?” he prompted.

  “My foot wasn’t badly hurt, no,” she equivocated, moving her gaze over the gathering in the ballroom. “It’s healed now. Thank you for your concern.”

  “So quickly?” he pressed, unconvinced. “There seemed to be a great deal of blood—”

  “Morgan is a very good nurse,” she replied vaguely, peering over his shoulder.

  This polite, sterile conversation was beginning to make the palms of his hands itch.

  What had she been doing for the last four days? Why had she not spoken with him? With anyone else but Morgan? When could he speak with her alone? Why the hell was she being so remote?

  “Just out of curiosity, who is the tall, handsome man standing with all those women against the far wall?”

  He didn’t have to turn his head to know who she was referring to. He answered her through clenched teeth. “Alejandro. Alpha of the Brazilian colony.”

  Her eyes came back to his. “You don’t like him.” She seemed amused by this.

  “No. I do not like him.”

  She smiled. “Well, you might want to leave, then. He’s headed our way.”

  Leander turned just as Alejandro, oblivious to everything else around him as he honed in on Jenna like a bloodhound on the hunt, shouldered through a cluster of whispering Assembly wives. They fell back as one, shocked, twittering.

  Leander cupped Jenna’s elbow, lightly, and began to turn her away toward the door. “Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to talk,” he murmured, noting with no small surprise that she didn’t draw her arm from his light grasp.

  “Oh, no,” she answered. “I’d love to hear what he has to say. After the last few days of enforced solitude, I’m in desperate need of some stimulating conversation.” Her gaze flashed to his, sharp, then darted away.

  “Madame.”

  Alejandro was suddenly there, pushing past Leander with a stiff shoulder, purposely ignoring him. He broke Leander’s grip on Jenna’s elbow with a practiced bow: low, obsequious, and swift.

  “You are...” He cleared his throat, let his gaze drift over Jenna’s figure, lingering on her décolletage. “Muito bonita. Even more stunning than I have heard.”

  Leander had to work very hard not to smash Alejandro’s face in with his fist.

  “How very suave,” Jenna said, smiling coyly.

  She shocked Leander by lifting her hand toward Alejandro. He bent over it, his lips barely stroking over the surface of her satiny skin. “That seems to be a rather rare quality these days,” she added lightly, looking down at his helmet of shining dark hair. “Although one I so e
njoy.”

  Alejandro straightened, still holding Jenna’s hand, and shot a victorious look at Leander. His gaze slithered back to her face. His eyes were wide and unblinking and he wore a swooning, torporous expression, as if he’d gorged himself on a rich dessert and was finding it exceedingly difficult to digest.

  “Obrigado, beautiful lady,” he purred. “I’m afraid not all of us are born with the ability to be pleasant to others. But as I always say, um charme pouco vai um longo caminho. A little charm goes a long way.”

  “Well said. I completely agree,” Jenna replied smoothly, allowing her hand to rest in Alejandro’s palm as if she might never remove it. They gazed at each other for a moment, both of them smiling. Jenna wore an expression of slightly amused curiosity, and he hoped to God it was only because of Alejandro’s hair.

  Fury erupted within him, white hot, a firestorm of deadly, devouring flame.

  Jenna moved her gaze once again to a place beyond Leander’s shoulder. She frowned, then recovered her placid expression and tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a graceful shake of her head. “Wonderful. Here comes the cavalry,” she murmured, barely moving her lips.

  Four men were behind him now, crowding in, then eight, then twenty. Leander felt them all, their concentrated energies focused with lasered precision on Jenna, who still smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  The Assembly. The Alphas. The firestorm grew, a merciless howling inside his skull.

  “Lady Jenna,” a voice said over his right shoulder.

  LeBlanc, the Alpha from Quebec, damn him to hell. They wouldn’t even give him one moment alone with her, to talk to her, to warn her.

  “Perhaps you would care to join us in the drawing room for a moment. I’m afraid we have much to discuss before we can continue with our party.”

  “Gentlemen. Of course,” Jenna replied easily. She disentangled her hand from Alejandro’s pinched grip, took a delicate sip of her champagne, then lowered the glass and licked her ruby lips, deliberate and slow. She smiled at the group of men, looking at each in turn.