The Dragon Bodyguard_Silver Talon Mercenaries

by Sky Winters

  That looks like the Lobo Pack, thought Damien, scanning the crew of mean-looking men who were performing security for the evening.

  Seeing a crew of up-and-comers like them reminded Damien of his first few years working security in the area, back before he was the leader of one of the top mercenary teams.

  "Oh my God," said Ingrid, her face pressed up against the window, her eyes on an elegant woman with silver hair and dressed in a ruby-colored gown. "Is that Senator Wilkins? I love her!"

  Damien sighed.

  "Try not to ogle the politicians," he said. "That's not going to be the only one you see tonight and acting like a little girl meeting one of the Jonas Brothers isn't the look I want for my date."

  "Sorry," she said, her shoulders sinking a bit at the upbraiding.

  "Listen," said Damien, deciding to finally let her in. "Tonight isn't just about networking. Someone in the city is gunning for senators, and I have a sneaking suspicion they might be here tonight."

  "Are you serious?" asked Ingrid, her green eyes going wide. "Like, to kill them?"

  "No," said Damien, "not to kill them. The other night my crew and I fought off an attack at a senator's home. The crew was professional, and they knew just when to strike. Knowing where senators are going to be and when they're going to be there isn't something that just anyone knows – that's insider info. So, I'm thinking that whoever made the attack is someone who's close, someone who runs in these circles."

  It was clear to Damien from the surprised expression on Ingrid's face that she didn't quite know what to make of this information.

  "Just stay close to me. I don't want you wandering off and getting into any trouble."

  "I just…" she said, clearly nervous about what she was going to ask. "Are you going to be able to keep me safe?"

  "Of course," said Damien. "You'll be meeting the rest of my crew in here. We're the best in the business, and no one, no matter how well-trained and organized, would be stupid enough to try an attack on a place like this. It'd be suicide."

  "Okay," said Ingrid. "Good."

  "Now," said Damien. "Let's get out there. Just FYI, however, don't be surprised if you have paparazzi snapping pictures of you."

  "Really?"

  "Really. I can't say why, exactly, but since I've been working with these DC bigwigs, I've had more than a few of these vultures trying to find out all sorts of things about my personal life. So, try not to give them a show."

  "I'll do my best."

  The limo door opened and just as Damien warned, flashes began going off immediately. Damien stepped out first, turning around and extending his hand to Ingrid. She followed close, the bright pops from the digital cameras causing her to become quickly disoriented.

  "Such a fucking zoo," said Damien, speaking over the clamor of the crowd. "I don't know why they allow these assholes around here."

  "I don't know if I like this!" shouted Ingrid.

  Damien led her down the narrow lane up to the stairs, flanked on both sides by the paparazzi. He did his best to keep her close, but eventually, one of the more eager of the paparazzi grabbed Ingrid by the wrist and pulled her close.

  "Mr. Kennedy!" shouted the photographer, a wiry man who looked barely out of high school. "Who is this you're with?"

  Damien's eyes snapped first onto the man's hand on Ingrid's wrist, then onto the photographer's face. His animal roared to life, and anger boiled inside of him. Some protective instinct kicked in, and with lightning-quick speed, he rushed over to Ingrid and pulled the man's hand off her wrist. Then, he reached for the man's collar, grabbed it, and pulled him close.

  "You touch her again and I'll fucking break your neck, got it?"

  The man nodded, a look of terror on his face. And as soon as the nearby photographers turned toward the display and started snapping pictures, Damien knew he'd made a mistake.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! he thought, realizing he'd just gave them the scene of the evening.

  He let go of the photographer and gave him a light shove back into the crowd. Ingrid watched the whole display with an expression of uncertainty.

  "Let's go," said Damien, slipping his arm around her waist, and leading her up to the stairs.

  Goddamn, that was fucking stupid of me, he thought. But when I saw him touching Ingrid, I just couldn't help myself. I wanted to do far, far worse to that little prick. But why am I feeling so protective of this girl?

  Damien nodded to the members of the Lobo Pack and they let him and Ingrid pass without issue. Moments later, they were in a grand ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings, gorgeous chandeliers, and packed with crowds of the city's elite.

  "Holy crap," said Ingrid, looking around.

  Then her hand shot to her mouth.

  "Sorry," she said. "I know you told me not to look too star-struck, but holy shit!"

  "Get it out of your system," said Damien, the anger still boiling inside him.

  Ingrid clammed up. Damien knew he was being harsh, sure, but he needed her to be on her best behavior for tonight. After all, this evening wasn't just about having fun.

  Damien scanned the room, his eyes settling on a group of tough-looking men in sharp tuxedos, all with a drink in their hands and a beautiful woman on their arms. They were far louder and rowdier than any of the other stuffy party-goers. A sly smile crossed his face.

  "Come with me," said Damien, leading Ingrid by the small of her back over to the men.

  "There's the boss!" shouted a tall, strapping man with close-cropped blonde hair and a wide scar on his otherwise handsome face.

  These were the Red Claws, Damien's crew. Damien was relieved to see them; being around high-society types was always annoying for him, even though they were his bread and butter.

  "Smith," said Damien, giving his coworker and friend a quick half-hug and slap on the back.

  Damien greeted the rest of the men in his group, along with the women. He couldn't help but take a little sick pride out of the way the women looked Ingrid up and down in that jealous, competitive way that women reserved for girls they were intimidated by.

  "How's Anders?" asked Damien, eager to know how his friend was doing after the attack.

  "Better," said Smith. "Claw just grazed him. He'll be fine in a day or two. I told him he could sit out tonight, and he didn't seem too bummed out by that."

  "Claw?" asked Ingrid. "Did you guys guard a zoo or something?"

  Damien flashed his men a severe look, one that made it clear Ingrid wasn't aware of their shifter nature, and that he wanted to keep it that way. The expressions they returned made it clear they got the message.

  "Codename for enemies," said Damien. "We had a little run-in the other night. Nothing to worry about, though."

  The answer seemed to mollify Ingrid for the moment. Damien knew it was only a matter of time before she found out about his shifter nature, but he figured that was something he could ease her into.

  "What's the scene?" said Damien, taking a pair of glasses of wine from the tray of a passing server and handing one to Ingrid.

  "Usual stuffy bullshit," said Cutter, a stocky, shorter wolf. "Lots of glad-handing and networking.

  "Heard you made quite an entrance," said James, a slim, lean man in a stylish tux, with a shock of oak-colored hair tied into a top-knot. "Talk of the party."

  "Fuck," said Damien under his breath. "It's those fucking paparazzi. I couldn't help it."

  "I wouldn't worry too much about it," said Smith. "The only talk I'm hearing about it is people saying they wish they had the balls to do the same thing."

  But it wasn't Damien's image he was worried about – he was mad that he'd lost control in the way he did. He felt he should be above that sort of thing, especially in a scene like this.

  "Jesus, man," said James. "You gonna introduce us to your date or what?"

  "Oh, of course," said Damien. "This is my date for the evening, and my new nanny – Ingrid Parker. Ingrid, these are the Red Claws, my mercenary group."

&
nbsp; The group introduced themselves to Ingrid, and Damien watched them closely. He could tell they wanted to do more than give a polite introduction, but they knew better than to act too boorishly in front of the boss. The girls, on the other hand, were clearer in their intentions; the best Ingrid got from them was a curt "hello" and a cold handshake.

  Goddamn, thought Damien, a little amused by the whole thing. I'd take a pack battle with another group of wolves before a day in the life of a beautiful woman.

  Before the conversation could continue further, the side doors to the ballroom opened and another group of hard-looking men entered. They were similar to the Red Claws, but their tuxes were all a little more ostentatious, and the girls on their arms had far more piercings and tattoos. The men all carried on as they entered, beers in their hands, their voices carrying over the gentle strains of the string band on stage.

  And they were led by Miller, a tall, brawny man with wild blue eyes and even wilder blonde hair. His arms were raised in some kind of alpha-male gesture as he entered, and it looked like his muscles were about to burst out of his gaudy tuxedo.

  Damien knew right away that this was the Blood Moon Mercenary Group, his biggest competitors in the city.

  "Was wondering when these fuckers were gonna show up," said James.

  "Who are they?" asked Ingrid. "They…don't seem like they fit in. At all."

  "That's the Blood Moon Group," said Damien. "We're not the only merc group in the city. And these guys, well, what they lack in professionalism, they make up for in efficiency."

  Cutter scoffed.

  "Leave it to the boss to say things in the most diplomatic way possible," he said. "'Efficient' is one way to put it; I'd say these guys are ruthless psychos who'd kill their parents for an extra zero on the payday check."

  Damien watched as Blood Moon approached a group of congressmen. The stuffy, stiff congressmen regarded the group with polite tolerance, but one of them, a slight, elderly man with short silver hair, eagerly welcomed the group. Damien recognized him right away as Senator Alderman.

  "Look at that scene," said Cutter. "Talk about your mismatched couples."

  "No kidding," said Smith as the group watched Miller slap Alderman so hard on the back in greeting that the tiny man's drink sloshed over the rim of his glass.

  The commotion from where the Blood Moon was gathered with the congressmen carried through the room.

  "I don't like this," said Smith. "Those two've been getting pretty goddamn cozy recently."

  Damien agreed, but he wanted to learn more about the situation before coming to any conclusions. Normally, mercenary groups would move from client to client, preferring not to become the chosen bodyguards of any particular VIP. This prevented any sort of deeper entanglements forming that might affect a group's ability to be impartial protectors for anyone who needed them. But over the last month or so, Blood Moon had been working exclusively with Alderman, and Damien knew it could only mean trouble, one way or another.

  Damien did his best to take the attention off the Millers and the rest of the group, turning the subject to lighter topics. After a time, the group broke up to make the rounds and he took Ingrid aside.

  "How you holding up?" he asked her.

  "Um, it's still a little overwhelming, but I think I'm getting used to it. Kind of. I don't think any of those girls liked me, though."

  Damien smirked.

  "My boys like beautiful women, and beautiful women tend not to like other beautiful women around their men."

  A deep red blush broke out across Ingrid's face.

  "You think I'm beautiful?"

  Damien felt a strange tugging at his heart at this question. There was something about Ingrid's sweetness, her down-to-earth nature, that he'd be lying if he said didn't appeal to him. In a town full of status-seekers and people out for nothing but whatever power and money they could get their hands on, a girl like her who had her head on her shoulders was a breath of fresh air.

  But he did his best not to let his emotions show. Despite what happened the other night, he wanted to keep things as professional as possible between them.

  "You're a very good-looking girl," Damien said. "And you'd better accept that. Because in a town like this, a beautiful girl who doesn't know how gorgeous she is makes an easy target for a flatterer."

  Ingrid's face stayed red and she looked away, clearly unsure of whether or not to take this statement as a compliment, or a warning, or both. And that was exactly what Damien wanted.

  Damien took Ingrid's arm into his and the two of them made their way through the party. He stopped in with some of his previous clients, all congressmen or high-ups in lobbying firms – the types who'd need the sort of protection he offered. Ingrid started off the interactions being a little shyer than Damien would've liked, but she warmed up quickly. After about their fourth senator, Ingrid was the perfect date.

  "I think that went well," said Ingrid as the two of them left a conversation with one congressman or another.

  "You're acclimating yourself well," said Damien. "You might just have a knack for elbow-rubbing."

  "Oh, I don't know about that."

  But the little smile that appeared on Ingrid's face told a different story. He'd brought many, many different women over the years to events like this, and all of them seemed to always go gaga at the idea of meeting so many powerful, influential people. And once they got their first taste of this kind of life, they only seemed to want more and more. Damien hoped Ingrid would be different, that she would retain that humble, sweet nature that was causing him to be more attracted to her by the day.

  Dammit, he thought. Don't fall for the fucking help. That's the last complication you need.

  The walls of the ballroom were lined with mirrors, and spotting Ingrid at his side, looking radiant in her dress didn't help matters much.

  "Well, well, well," came a cocky voice from behind Damien. "If it isn't the fuckin' paparazzi-choker himself? And the man who's stealing all my goddamn business in this town?"

  Damien winced. He didn't need to guess who was behind him. And if there were any doubts, a whiff of the raunchy wolf-scent in the air would've made it abundantly clear.

  "Miller," said Damien, turning around and coming face-to-face with the alpha wolf of one of his biggest competitors.

  Miller looked as cocky as ever, his eyes just as wild as they were when Damien first spotted him from across the ballroom. Miller always seemed slightly manic to Damien, like he was always on the high of finishing a dangerous mission, mixed with the buzz from a few shots of whiskey. Miller had found another one of the floozy-type girls, the kind with tattoos up and down their arms and dresses that were just a little too scandalous for settings like this, and now had two adoring women on his arms.

  "I heard you sent that poor kid with his cheap DLSR packing, my man," said Miller. "Good! Fucking great! Someone's gotta keep those little shits in line."

  "Heard he pissed his Dockers," said one of the women. "Deserved it."

  Miller let out a loud, barking laugh.

  "Yeah, he did. But don't act like you two fuckin' girls don't get wet at the idea of landing on the front page of some gossip blog."

  The two girls exchanged a look of agreement.

  "And who's this fucking smokeshow?" asked Miller, looking Ingrid up and down. "Got plans for later tonight? I think I got room for one more over here."

  Ingrid didn't know what to say. It was clear to Damien that she wasn't the type of girl who was used to being talked to that way.

  "Miller, I know being a fucking child who acts like every pair of breasts is the first he's ever seen is your thing but try and act professionally for just one goddamn night."

  Anger boiled in Damien. Part of him wanted to grab Miller by the lapels and put a claw right into that too-pleased face of his. But the better part him, the part that realized this would go over about as well as a dead cat in the punch bowl, prevailed.

  "Saw you and Alderman have
been getting pretty cozy," said Damien. "When's the wedding?"

  Miller let out a dismissive snort.

  "Payday's a payday," said Miller. "But there's a little more to it than that."

  "Oh?" asked Damien, intrigued.

  "Yeah," said Miller. "But I'll leave it at that. Let's just say that when our working relationship is over and done with, there won't be much more competition here in Capital City."

  "Sounds promising," said Damien.

  "You don't know the half of it," said Miller.

  Damien and Miller exchanged another look before Damien raised his hand in a gesture that indicated he was ready for the conversation to be over.

  "As much as a pleasure as it always is, Miller, I should get back to it."

  "Peace!" said Miller, turning to leave. "Be seeing you real soon, Kennedy."

  Damien, out of the corner of his eye, saw the eyes of Miller's dates linger on him as they left. He shook his head, knowing this was par for the course for women like that.

  "I didn't like that guy one bit," said Ingrid.

  "That's because he's a real piece of shit," said Damien.

  He was very, very suspicious about Miller's relationship with Senator Alderman, knowing that a man like Miller was never up to any sort of good. Damien had known enough wolves like Miller over the years to understand they weren't in the business of looking out for anyone but themselves. Hearing that he was forming something more than a temporary working relationship with a senator made every one of Damien's nerves stand on edge with suspicion.

  The two of them went back to the party and Damien, despite himself, found himself enjoying the evening. He was never one for these types of affairs, but something about Ingrid's company allowed him to relax and enjoy himself.

  "I don't want to ruin the evening," said Ingrid as the two of them danced. "But I can't help but ask about, um, what happened the other night."

  Damien winced. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially tonight, but he knew he was kidding himself if he didn't think this was going to come up sooner or later.

  Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now, he thought. If she takes being turned down poorly enough to leave my employ, better to know now rather than weeks down the road.