Blood Magic

by Eileen Wilks

  Rule’s brother, Benedict, had long wanted Rule to have bodyguards. Once Rule accepted the necessity for Leidolf’s guards, Benedict had promptly sent an equal number of Nokolai guards. They’d negotiated. The Nokolai guards had weekend duty while Leidolf handled weekdays.

  Rule suspected that was what Benedict had wanted all along. Lily suspected he was right.

  She tore up a half slice of ham and put it in Harry’s dish, and he fell upon it like the starving beast he wasn’t. Harry approved of ham.

  So now the Leidolf guards lived in two of the smaller apartments in this building. More compromising had been needed there due to the question of who would pay for their living quarters. Nokolai was wealthy and could afford to subsidize them, but initially Isen insisted that Leidolf pay rent. Rule, wearing his Leidolf Rho hat, had refused. Nokolai benefited from having its Lu Nuncio guarded.

  Of course, Rule could have done what he wanted about the rent, since he controlled Nokolai’s investments. But that would have been a clear—to him—violation of his duty to Nokolai, so he’d brought the matter to his father for negotiation. Only Isen could deal officially with another clan—even when that clan was represented by Isen’s heir.

  It was sure as hell complicated. Lily couldn’t recall the exact details, but she thought Leidolf ended up paying utilities for the two apartments plus a token rent.

  Kind of like her. She sighed and shut the refrigerator. Then for a moment just leaned against it, so tired she hardly knew what to do next. She let her eyes close . . . and saw once more Cullen’s motionless body stretched out on the ground, his eyes blank and staring.

  Lily shivered. The sound of the front door got her moving.

  Rule was in the little entry foyer, emptying his pockets. Unlike her, he had no problem dumping things the moment he stepped inside, which was why she’d put a small bowl on the console table for his keys and change.

  His hair was messy. It so seldom looked mussed. His eyes were tired, distracted. And he was wearing that silly T-shirt.

  Her heart turned over. “Hey,” she said, walking up to him and sliding her arms around his waist.

  “Hey, yourself.” He ran his hands down her arms, then rested them at her waist. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Harry,” she explained. The warmth of him settled her, and if she was a bit warmer some places than others, that, too, was pleasant. “Then I got to thinking . . . Rule, was Cullen dead? Before Nettie got to him, I mean.”

  “It depends on how you define death.”

  “Define it for me.”

  He sighed and straightened. “His heart had stopped, but our magic sustains us for a time without a heartbeat.” He paused. “It was close, though. Too damned close.”

  “I’m told close counts in horseshoes. When it comes to staying alive, it’s pretty much yes or no. We got a yes tonight.”

  “So we did.” He nuzzled her hair. Sighed. She felt some of the tension drain out of him.

  “I’ve got a question.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “How long can you go without a heartbeat?”

  “If you mean me, personally, I’m pleased to say that I haven’t checked,” he said dryly. “It varies from one lupus to another, and also with the amount of damage involved.”

  “Give me a rough average.”

  “This is very rough, but perhaps double the time a human could survive. Ten minutes or so. I know of one lupus who went substantially longer, but he’s unusual.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My father.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Your ability to last without a heartbeat isn’t a deep, dark secret, but it isn’t exactly common knowledge, either, is it?” She considered that, frowned. “Yet this perp didn’t expect a thrust to the heart to be enough. He reinforced it with a spell.”

  “Or she.”

  “I’m tired of saying he or she. I don’t mean it. The perp’s male. I saw him.”

  He brushed her hair back from her face. “You’re just plain tired.”

  True. “I’m thinking the perp knew about the party. Seems like a pro would have, and I’m leaning that way. He’s got the moves of a professional. If the timing was intentional, why? What advantage would there be to killing Cullen with everyone around?”

  “He—or whoever hired him, if this was a paid hit—wanted to make a public statement.”

  “Maybe.” Was Rule still fixated on the marriage-as-motive deal? “Or maybe he likes having a crowd. Some pros like to take out a target on the street, at a game, someplace where they can blend with a crowd to get close. This killer wouldn’t have trouble blending, would he?”

  “Not if he can make people think he’s someone else.” He fell silent a moment. “Cullen would have seen the killer’s Gift if he hadn’t been struck from behind.”

  “Yeah.” Lily straightened. “Yeah, I should have thought of that. I should have asked Cullen . . . Maybe Cynna will know. Is it more likely a spell or a Gift that lets him hide in plain sight? Gifts work better. That’s what everyone tells me, and Max said this took some real juice to pull off. So if it’s a Gift, is it one of the mind Gifts, like telepathy or charisma? Max thought it was, in which case—”

  “Cullen’s shields would have blocked it. Yes, I think you’re right. The perp had to strike from behind.”

  “If he knows about Cullen’s shields, he did. Maybe the backstab is his standard MO. I need to find out if—”

  His mouth came down on hers. Soft, not hard, with a lover’s certainty and a taste of tongue. Heat curled low in her belly. Her fingers curled, too, holding on a little harder. “What was that for?”

  “You.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, then deserted them for her neck. “You need to go to bed.”

  “Probably, but not to . . . ah.” He’d done that thing with his fingers at her nape that made her shiver. “Sleep,” she said, trying to mean it. “Not sex. I need sleep.”

  “You need to shut your mind off.” He painted a rune along her collarbone with his tongue. “Or you won’t sleep.” Now his hands reached for one of their favorite spots . . . her rump. “I can help.”

  A chuckle slipped out. “Always thinking of others.”

  “Certainly. For example, I think you’re too warm.” His hands deserted their post to find the zipper in the back of her dress. He pulled it down slowly, drowning her in another kiss, this one deeper, richer.

  Seconds later, her dress crumpled to the floor, and his hands found new places to touch while his mouth tended to a spot on her neck he liked.

  “Hey.” The stirring was sweet, familiar, new. Always new. “I have a question. Something I’ve been wondering all night.” Her hands slid to his denim-clad butt. “Commando?”

  “Mmm. I can’t remember. Perhaps you should check.”

  She did. She slid the shorts down to discover that, indeed, there was nothing beneath them but Rule.

  He clasped her hand and her waist, leaving several inches between them, and murmured, “We missed our dance.” And he began humming.

  So she danced in bra and panties with her beautiful, naked Rule, with the lights of the city twinkling at them from the window wall. He danced her into the living area, humming a 1930s torch song, one that had been old-fashioned even back when he was born.

  Lily didn’t dance with him because he was right, though he was. She did need to shut off her mind. But a quick, hot bout between the sheets—or on top of them, or in the foyer, wherever—would have taken care of that. She didn’t need to spin around the floor at nearly 3 A.M.

  He did. He needed surcease, comfort, sex, and sleep.

  The sex was easy. Sleep? She couldn’t guarantee that, but sex would surely help it along. She had a good shot at comfort, too, thanks to the mate bond. As for surcease . . . that’s what this dance was for, wasn’t it? Surcease means to bring to an end, and he meant to bring this long, difficult day to an end his way, with the stubborn insistence that blood and violence might be part of
their lives, but only part.

  Play was just as real. What was romance but a lovely bit of play between man and woman?

  Absurd, stubborn, impossibly romantic man. He kept touching her, but nothing they couldn’t have done on any dance floor.

  Not yet.

  He paused their motion to bend and switch off the one lamp they’d left on. She laughed softly at the sudden darkness, the city lights, and herself.

  His hands settled on her hips as he continued to move to his own music, but the tune changed to one with a hard, definite beat. “Something’s funny?”

  “Me.” She looped her arms around his neck, swaying with him, humming along this time. So selfless she was, willing to give up a little sleep for a man who was clearly determined to make sure it would be no sacrifice. How did a woman give to a man who was so determined to give to her?

  She tried harder. Lily smiled into the dimness and eased closer. Now she brushed against him with every motion.

  He liked that. He rumbled low in his throat in a way she wouldn’t dream of calling a purr—even if it did remind her of Dirty Harry. His hands tightened on her hips. One of them began wandering . . . brushing her lightly here and there, but never in the place that had begun to ache for him. She pressed closer.

  “Uh-uh.” The hand at her hip tightened, keeping a hint of space between them. Suddenly he whirled her around—once, then again—making her laugh in spite of her frustration, ending with them at the dark tunnel of the hall. Once more he slowed.

  Two slow, humming turns into the hall, her bra fell to the floor.

  Her panties slid down her legs at the entrance to the bedroom.

  His fingers slid between her legs just as they reached the bed. An easy caress, a gentle rub, one quick stroke—and she went over.

  The climax whited out her brain. She forgot about legs and standing. Fortunately, he scooped her up and tossed her on the bed before she collapsed. He followed her down and, with the aftershocks still pinging through her, he slid inside.

  He’d dawdled all he wanted, it seemed, for he finished with quick, hard strokes that overloaded her sensitized flesh, bringing her a second pop.

  The next she knew, he’d collapsed on top of her, his breath coming heavy and fast on the side of her head. She lifted one limp hand, stroked his chin. “Mmm. Tangy,” she murmured.

  “Tangy?” He was amused, sleepy.

  She nodded, eyes closed. “Like a whole-body SweeTART. The second one, I mean, not the first. The first was . . .” Her drowsy brain couldn’t find a sufficiently explosive food to compare it to. She settled for, “Wow.”

  “Ah.” He lifted off. “Wow here, too. Scoot. I’ll get the cover.”

  She scooted, tugged with him, and wiggled herself under the covers. There was a wet spot on the comforter—the only disadvantage of sex with a lupus. They couldn’t get or give STDs, so no condoms were needed. No condoms meant wet spots, unless you took precautions. Which they’d forgotten to do . . . again.

  But no matter. She’d wash the comforter in the morning.

  Rule draped one arm over her. Lily snuggled close, closing her eyes, savoring the comfort of the bed and the contact, enjoying her limp body, the drugging pull of sleep.

  A thought wiggled up from somewhere.

  Rule hadn’t made love like a jealous man, had he? There’d been no possessiveness, no claiming, in either part of their dance. Was she relieved or disappointed?

  She couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Lily sighed and let go.

  FIFTEEN

  IT was still full dark when Rule stood in front of the window wall in the living area the next morning, sipping coffee. His view faced west, out toward the ocean. The moon hung near the horizon, her face half shadow, half light. Lily still slept. He’d reset the alarm to make sure of that. She wasn’t always realistic about how much sleep she needed.

  He watched the darkness and listened to the song of the partly veiled moon and remembered jealousy.

  He’d experienced it, of course. Lupi weren’t immune to the urge to hoard, whether it be toys, attention, love, or sex. Young lupi in particular—those who hadn’t yet been received into the mantle—were subject to the flashy emotional noise of jealousy.

  Sometimes adult lupi were, too.

  A familiar sadness stole over Rule as he remembered his brother Mick. Mick had been ten years older than Rule, nine years younger than Benedict. Unlike Rule and Benedict, though, he’d been raised away from Clanhome until puberty rendered that impossible. His mother had refused to let Isen have custody until almost too late.

  Rule often wondered how much that had shaped him.

  Others had seen a simple dominance struggle between Mick and Rule—normal and even healthy. Rule knew it had gone deeper, been more twisted. Mick had been jealous of Rule. Jealous when Rule was young because of the time Rule had with their father. Jealous when they were both adults because Isen had named Rule Lu Nuncio. Mick’s thinking had been so deformed by the bitter emotion he could see that only as a father’s preference, not a Rho’s choice. A theft of love.

  Lupi had a name for that particular form of jealousy: fratriodi, or brother hatred. It was a grave sin. The poison of Mick’s jealousy had left him open to the manipulations of a woman named Helen, who’d used it—and an ancient staff—to control him.

  Yet in the end Mick had chosen to save Rule instead of killing him. He’d died, but he’d died clean of fratriodi.

  Sexual jealousy was as poisonous as any other type. Rule had no intention of indulging in it. But this wasn’t jealousy, he decided as he turned away from the window. He crossed to the breakfast bar, where his laptop waited. An illicit curiosity, perhaps.

  The program had long since finished running the calculations he needed. He’d begun dabbling in currency trading, needing a way to bring Leidolf’s disastrous finances into better shape. It was risky, no doubt about that, especially with the shaky state of the world economy.

  But that very instability left room for traders to make—or lose—large amounts of money with a relatively small initial stake.

  He checked his input figures one last time, then put in his buy order. Then he opened his browser and logged on to the site he used for background information on those he did business with. Google was handy, but this site, operated by a detective agency, offered a bit more. For his monthly fee he could obtain a records check on almost anyone. If that raised questions for him, he could contact the agency for a deeper look.

  Beck, Cody, he typed in the first field. In one of the other fields he entered San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. Then he hit SEARCH.

  Short of death, it was impossible for him to lose Lily. She’d agreed to marry him, and would have been faithful even without the conventional human bond. She loved him. He knew that.

  But he wanted very much to learn what he could of the man she’d spoken of with such smothered regret.

  “You changed the alarm setting.”

  Rule smiled. Lily looked so disgruntled and tidy standing there in her pressed dress slacks, sleeveless white shirt, and bare feet. Her hair was still damp from her shower. She held the bunched-up comforter under one arm. “Only by forty-five minutes,” he said.

  “Which isn’t enough to help. Just means I’ll be running late all day.” She came into the kitchen, where Rule was getting his second cup of coffee, took down a mug, and held it out. “Harry didn’t wake me, either.”

  “I bribed him with ham.” Rule filled Lily’s mug and took the comforter from her. “I’ll wash it.”

  She slid him a grin, took a sip, closed her eyes, and took another one.

  He loved to watch her enjoy coffee. His coffee. She drank the stuff regurgitated by cop shop coffeemakers, but she didn’t enjoy it.

  He opened the sliders that concealed the washer and dryer in their nook off the kitchen. “Nettie’s still asleep, as she should be. She expended a great deal on Cullen yesterday. Max won a hundred dollars from Jason at poker. Either he didn’t
cheat or Jason is smarter than I realized. Cynna and Cullen are asleep, or were an hour ago. Toby’s with my father. When I spoke with him, he was worried about Cullen, but, ah, unaware of the spell. I decided to allow him that ignorance.”

  “He’s not too upset?”

  Rule shook his head. “He thinks Cullen is healing normally. He wanted to go see Cullen, but when told he couldn’t, fell back on wheedling for permission to hike up into the mountains with some of the other children.”

  “Hmm.” Lily followed, coffee cup in hand. “You’ve been busy. Up awhile?” She glanced at the breakfast bar, where his laptop was up and humming, though with a screensaver at the moment. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to.

  “I’m fine, Lily. You know I don’t need much sleep.”

  “You need some, though, and the way things have been going lately—”

  “Is temporary. I may have found someone to help with Leidolf’s investments. Your father recommended him.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “A human?”

  “Unfortunately, Leidolf hasn’t invested in its members’ education sufficiently. I don’t have anyone within the clan who can handle the sort of transactions I’m interested in.” He wouldn’t mention just whom Lily’s father had recommended. More fun to surprise her, if things worked out. “Will you be going to the hospital right away?”

  She grimaced. “I need two of me. Maybe three. I’ll get to the hospital, but not yet. I had an idea while I was showering. A way to guard Cullen pretty damned effectively that doesn’t involve me or Cynna, and it just might help with something else, too. Uh . . . I wondered if you wanted to go along. If you drove, I could get some work done on the way.”

  Amused, he tugged her hair. “You wouldn’t be trying to guard me, would you?”

  “Maybe a little. I don’t really think she’s involved. According to what Cynna told us it’s unlikely, and besides, she would have tried for you or your father. Or that’s what I think, but maybe I don’t know how an Old One with a really big grudge lays her plans, so . . .” She shrugged. “Either way, I can use the drive time to read some stuff I requested. Research is getting me a list of suspected professional hits that might match this perp’s MO.”