Kate Daniels Book 1 - Magic Bites

by Ilona Andrews

  "Are you going to call him?" I asked.

  "Yes," Curran said. "Suggestions?"

  "He loses his temper when things slip from his control," I said. "And he thinks with his dick." It wasn't much.

  Curran picked up the speakerphone and dialed the number. The long tone sounded through the room once, twice. A click announced that the phone was picked up and Bono's voice said, "I see you've got my message."

  "I got it," Curran said.

  "Did you kill the little girl, cat? Is she lying on the floor someplace? Are you looking at her now, wondering if she would've been good to fuck? I can help you with that. She was sweet, clumsy and dumb, but sweet. A bit dry too, but she bled a lot, so that evened things out."

  Curran's face was relaxed, almost tranquil.

  "Is your girlfriend there with you?" Bono asked. He was babbling, excited, as if high on something. "The tall, dark-haired one with sharp eyes? I looked for her, but she was gone, so I took the human blonde you had before her. I'm going to have her for lunch tomorrow. The trick with fresh meat is to soften it someplace warm. But then you eat your meat raw, so educating you on subtleties of cooking is a waste of time. My children are getting your girl ready to fillet. Would you like to hear her scream?"

  There was a sound of a door swinging open and a woman's voice cut through. "Please no," she begged in sheer panic. "Please, please, please…" Me. It should've been me. There was nothing I could do but listen.

  Curran's face was still calm. He picked up a chair and bent its metal legs into twisted curves.

  Suddenly the woman choked, reaching a new intensity of terror, and broke into sobs, loud, heart-wrenching cries. Her desperation filled the room. She had no hope. She knew she was dying and she knew that there would be no escape. She screamed sharply once, twice, and fell silent.

  Bono's voice snarled, "Idiot!" and Arag's unforgettable, inhuman whimper emanated from the phone.

  "He punctured an artery," Bono's voice returned. "It's so simple—cut the stomach and pull out the intestines, but no, he manages to get his claws into an artery. Now I'll need to wash the innards. I'll have to kill him after all."

  The whimpering receded, moving farther from the phone. "So tell me," Bono said, "did she sound like that when you fucked her? She wouldn't scream for me, she only sobbed. A real disappointment, that one. Are you there, half-breed?"

  "I'm here. And I too have something for you to hear. Say hello, Kate."

  "Hello," I said.

  There was silence on the phone. "It's not her," Bono said. "She's still in her house."

  "How's the neck?" I asked. "Still spitting up glass?"

  "She is here," Curran said. "With me. Tonight, while you're waiting for your corpse to get soft, think of me and her. Think of her begging me for it."

  "I'll get her in the end." Bono voice was taut with strain.

  Curran made a loud sigh. "What is it about you and my sloppy seconds?"

  Bono slammed the phone. I turned and left the room.

  I WANDERED THE HALLWAYS UNTIL I FOUND THE room where the Crusader and I almost had our little showdown. Nick was gone. I hoped he had enough sense to stay in the compound. Pissing Curran off right now was pure suicide. I closed the door and went to the window. It was raining. The gray sky spewed gray water onto the dull grass far below. The grayness from the outside seeped into the room, leeching the color from the sparse furnishing. The rain would end eventually, leaving the grass and the trees brilliant green, vivid with fresh color. Strange how something so colorless and drab could rejuvenate the world.

  There was a pair of gray sweats and nothing else in the small dresser by the bed. I placed Slayer and its sheath onto a Spartan blue blanket, stripped, and put on the sweats. I started slow, stretching, jumping an invisible rope, until warmth spread through my muscles. I cracked my neck and attacked the punching bag.

  I wasn't sure how much time had passed. Sweat drenched my sweatshirt and the T-shirt under it, and the fabric stuck to my back. Sometime after my legs began to hurt, I heard a knock. My brain brushed the sound aside. I launched another kick, connected with a solid thump, launched another before my mind put on the brakes. "Come in."

  Curran stepped into the room and closed the door. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and stretched. He sat down on a chair, hands resting on his knees, looking at the floor, and waited for me to finish.

  "He called back," he said when I was done.

  "What did he say?"

  "He raved for a while. Promised to kill me. He won't attack Keep."

  "You expected him to?"

  "No. I hoped."

  I sat on the bed. It wouldn't play out the way we hoped it would. Bono refused to be provoked into something rash, where numbers would be on the Pack's side. In this new age, combat between individuals decided the fate of many.

  Bono would challenge Curran. It was inevitable. Curran had threatened his masculinity; he had made it personal, and when the challenge came, Curran would have to accept it. He was the Pack leader, the alpha male who didn't have the luxury of backing down. He would not hide in the safety of Keep, while the upir raged, murdering everyone whose death he thought likely to bring us pain.

  I looked at Curran. "Your…" I paused searching for the right word. Girlfriend seemed inadequate, woman too impersonal. "Your lady," I finally said. "Is she safe?"

  "Yes," he said. "She's here."

  I nodded, screams of another woman echoing in my ears. Curran looked up at me, his eyes haunted. He looked older and tired.

  "It's not that I don't care," he said. The screaming didn't stop for him either.

  "I know."

  "I can't let him intimidate me."

  "I know," I repeated quietly.

  "I'm sorry," he said and I wasn't sure exactly what for.

  He left.

  I sat on the bed and thought. Everyone had a weakness. It was the law of nature that for each being there was a predator, or a disease, or a vulnerability built into their very core. The upir had to have a weakness. It wouldn't be in any book. If that was the case, the crusader would have found it by now.

  I thought about everything that had happened since Greg's death, carefully going over events, trying to recall every detail. I thought about Bono, the places he visited, the people he might have met, the things he did.

  The rain pounded harder. The sweat-drenched clothes grew cold on my back.

  My room had no phone. I got up and went down the hall, trying different rooms, until I found one that did. I closed the door and dialed the number.

  "Hello," said a male voice with the smoothness of someone for whom courtesy was a part of the job description. "You have reached the People's inner office. How may I help you?"

  "I need to speak to Ghastek."

  "Mr. Ghastek is busy at the moment…"

  "Put him on. Now."

  He didn't like what he heard in my voice. The phone clicked and Ghastek came on the line against the background noises.

  "Hello?"

  I heard quiet voices discussing something. He wasn't alone.

  "You had to know," I said. "He was your journeyman for two years."

  "I fail to understand…"

  "Don't," I snarled.

  There was so much fury in my voice that he fell silent.

  "Tell me, Ghastek. Tell me what you know."

  "No," he said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think clearly. I could go down there and slaughter everything in my way. I had a lot of frustration to vent. By the time they pulled me down, the People's stable would be awash in blood. I could do that. I wanted to do it very much, but then it wouldn't solve my bigger problem.

  "He will come back for you," I told him. "He loathes you. He's committed now and after he kills everyone he hates, he'll find you and you'll be raising vampires for him and his brood. You'll be his short-order cook."

  "Do you think I haven't thought of that?" Ghastek whispered fiercely.

  "Then tell me what you k
now. Tell me!"

  Silence answered me. A moment passed, then another.

  "I have nothing to tell you," Ghastek said and the line went dead. I fought the urge to hurl the phone against the wall.

  "Asking the People for information is both futile and stupid," said Nick behind me. "They wouldn't sell you a spare umbrella in a shit storm."

  I turned. Nick's hair, pulled back from his face into a ponytail, looked two shades lighter. The stubble had vanished, leaving a hard but pleasant, open face. He crossed the room, moving like a mature martial artist, fully confident in his skill and no longer competing to prove himself, but still too young and too fit to grow a sensei paunch. I could tell he was both quick and trained, armed with a muscle memory that would allow him to counter a kick or a punch without pause or thought.

  He stopped a respectable distance away, and I realized he smelled like Irish Spring soap. For a moment I wasn't sure if I was looking at the same man and then our gazes met. The familiar urge to step back flooded me.

  "Why, you're adorable," I said, trying not to break into a nervous laugh. "All that you need is one of those little earrings in one ear."

  He gave me his hard stare.

  "I'm just curious," I said. "When you do that to people, do they usually start to shake and fall to the ground quivering with fear?"

  "They usually just die surprised," he said.

  "Must not have worked on the upir then."

  He swung a large knapsack over his shoulder.

  "Going somewhere?" I wondered, sitting down on the bed. My reaction time was probably close to his, and there was enough distance between us. If he tried anything, I had time to evade.

  "Yes."

  "And how are you planning on getting past the Pack sentries?"

  "I'm planning on you getting me out," he said. "They took away my wolfsbane, but I know you have some."

  I rubbed my face with my hands. I did have wolfsbane—I would have been an idiot to venture within the Pack's territory and not bring any. And I was probably better at using it, too. "Why would I help you escape? Do you have any idea how pissed Curran will be? I might as well slit my wrists now."

  "Considering how the upir plans to use you, it might not be a bad idea."

  Nick stepped to me, reached out slowly, and brushed my hand with his fingers. A sharp tingle of magic nipped at my skin and his fingers glowed with white radiance, as if he had dipped his hand in fluorescent paint.

  I pulled away. "Would you stop doing that?"

  His gaze probed me. "Who are you? Where do you come from?"

  "I'm pretty sure I came from my mom and dad," I said. "See, when a man puts his penis inside a woman's vagina…"

  "I know how to kill him," he interrupted.

  I shut up.

  Nick crouched next to me. "Back in Washington, I tracked him down to the Shrine of the Gorgon. He'd helped himself to the priestesses and slaughtered the priests, but before Archiereus of the shrine died, he told me how to kill him. But I need my tools. Help me make it out of here, and I'll come back with a weapon to fight him."

  "Why not just tell Curran?"

  He shook his head. "The Beast Lord won't listen. He's got tunnel vision: keep the Pack safe. He won't let me out."

  "Tell me," I said.

  "Will you help me?"

  "Tell me first and I'll do what I can."

  Nick leaned toward me. "Bone of prey," he whispered. "You kill him with bone."

  "I'll help," I said. "But while you're out, I need you to do me a favor. Bring me a present, Nick."

  CURRAN LOOKED AT ME. HE WASN'T GIVING ME A hard stare. He was just looking at me with no expression at all. "Where's the Crusader?" he asked. His voice was level.

  "He needed some 'me' time," I said. "I might be wrong, but I don't think he's a team player."

  There were seven of us in the room: Curran, Jim in his jaguar shape, Mahon, two lupine sentries, the stable master, and me. The sentries and the stable master looked decidedly uncomfortable. Their eyes still watered from the wolfsbane and the left sentry had a full-blown allergic reaction, complete with red rash and a running nose he probably desperately wanted to wipe. If it wasn't for Curran, he might have made a mad dash for the handkerchief, but the Beast Lord's presence kept him rooted at attention, and so he just stood there, both faucets dripping.

  Curran nodded calmly, feigning understanding. He was too composed for my liking. In his place I would've exploded. I flexed my wrist lightly, feeling the edge of the leather bracer full of silver needles rub against my skin. Mahon had politely requested to hold Slayer for me while Curran and I had our little talk. Just as well. It's not like I could kill Curran now. Should. It's not like I should kill Curran now. I could always try. Later.

  The Beast Lord crossed his arms on his chest. His face looked placid. Calm before the storm…

  The jaguar at my feet tensed and tried to look smaller. Nick needed a bit of a distraction while he rode like a bat out of hell on the horse commandeered from the Pack stables. I'd provided that distraction by leading Jim and his posse of pissy shapechangers on a merry chase through the countryside.

  "Just so we're clear," Curran said. "You did understand that I didn't wish you or the Crusader to leave Keep?"

  "Yes."

  "That's what I thought," Curran said.

  He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. My feet felt no floor. His fingers crushed my neck.

  I clasped the hand that held me and jammed a long silver needle into his palmar nerve between the index finger and thumb. Curran's fingers trembled. His hand opened releasing me. I slid to the floor, dropped, and swiped at his legs. He fell. I rolled away and came to my feet. On the opposite side of the room Curran rose to a half crouch, his eyes burning gold.

  The whole thing took maybe two seconds. The stunned audience never got a chance to react.

  Curran reached for the needle, pulled it out, and dropped it to the floor, never taking his eyes off me.

  "It's okay," I told him. "I have more."

  He lunged from a half crouch into a spectacular pounce. I dashed forward, aiming to come under him and flick the needle into his stomach. And we both crashed into Mahon.

  "No!" the Bear growled.

  I bounced off his leg and sat onto the floor, stupidly blinking. Mahon grabbed Curran by his shoulders and struggled to keep him still. Huge muscles bulged on his shoulders and arms, splitting the seams of his sleeves.

  "Not now," Mahon grunted. His reasonable voice had no effect. Curran locked his hands on Mahon's arms. I could see the beginnings of a judo style hold there, but Curran did not follow through. Instead it degenerated into a brute contest of strength. Mahon's face went purple with effort. His feet slid.

  I got up. Mahon's arms trembled, but Curran's face had gone pale from the strain. The Bear against the Lion. The room was so thick with testosterone, you could cut it with a knife. I looked at the sentries.

  "You and Jim might want to leave," I told them.

  The younger lycanthrope stirred. "We don't take orders from…"

  The older male cut him off. "Come."

  They filed out the door, taking the jaguar with them.

  I went to the locked men and very gently took Curran's right wrist and tugged on it. "Let go, Curran. Please, let go. Come on. You are mad at me, not at him. Let go."

  Slowly the tension drained from his face. The gold fire ebbed. His fingers relaxed and the two men broke off.

  Mahon puffed like an exhausted plow horse. "You are bad for my blood pressure," he said to me.

  I shrugged and jerked my head in Curran's direction. "I'm even worse for his."

  "You left," Curran said. "You knew how fucking important it was and you still left."

  "Nick knows how to kill him. He needs a weapon and you wouldn't let him out," I said.

  "And if the upir had caught you," Mahon said softly. "What would you have done then?"

  I took a sphere Nick had given me from my pocket
and showed them. The size of a walnut, it was metallic and small enough to perfectly fit into the palm of my hand. I squeezed the sides gently and three spikes popped from the sphere, moist with liquid.

  "Cyanide," I explained.

  "You can't kill him with that." Curran grimaced.

  "It's not for him. It's for me."

  They stared at me.

  "People were dying," I said. "He was laughing, and all I could do was to sit tight and be safe."

  Curran growled. "You think it's easy for me?"

  "No. But you're used to it. You have experience with responsibility for people's lives. I don't. I don't want anybody else to die for me. I'm up to my knees in blood as is."

  "I had to send three patrols out," Curran said. "Because of you. None of them died, but they could have. All because you couldn't stand to not be the center of attention for a few minutes."

  "You're an asshole."

  "Fuck you."

  I started sniffing. "What the hell is that stink? Oh, wait a minute, it's you. You reek. Did you dine on skunk or is that your natural odor?"

  "That's enough," Mahon roared, startling both of us into silence. "You're acting like children. Curran, you've missed your meditation, and you need one. Kate, there is a punching bag in your room. Make use of it."

  "Why do I have to punch the bag while he meditates?" I mumbled on the way out.

  "Because he breaks the bags when he punches them," Mahon said.

  I was almost to the room when it occurred to me that I had obeyed Mahon without question or even doubt. He had that eternal father-thing about him that managed to throw me off track every time. There was no defense against it or at least I didn't know of one. He didn't use it when he fought with Curran. I tried to figure out why while I dutifully punched the bag. My punches were rather pathetic. Then exhaustion settled in. A mere twenty minutes later I gave up, took a shower, and fell onto my bed without finding an answer.

  CHAPTER 10

  SOMEONE STOOD OVER ME. MY EYES SNAPPED OPEN and Curran's face slammed into focus. He leaned against the wall next to the bed looking at me.

  "What?"