Entering her office, Malin paused. She was asleep at her desk, hair in a messy braid down her back. Malin’s nostrils flared and he grimaced. She smelled as if she’d been at the palace in the company of Geza last night. Studying her, the rise and fall of her slender back, Malin’s hand balled into a fist. How many times had he thought her asleep and reached out to touch, only to have her wake and turn a red, gimlet eye on him?
“Surah,” he said quietly, touching her shoulder.
The shoulder twitched, Malin’s hand tensing to keep from stroking the back of her neck. The dress she wore draped a body honed from years of hard physical training–Surah, even more than Malin, had had something to prove as they all grew up. Geza, once slated to become Prince, was assured of his place in life–he wasn’t half-human like Surah or defective, like Malin. Malin knew it was part of the reason he’d fallen in love with her over the long years of watching her grow from girl to woman–she understood him.
“I’m awake,” a muffled response came from the vicinity of her folded arms. She straightened a moment later, tugging on her braid as if that would help her wake, slanting impassive night-sky eyes at Malin before looking at her watch. “Huh. You’re late.”
“My apologies. How is Geza?”
Surah sniffed. “Our mutual half-brother is himself.”
Mutual, because Geza was a link between them. Malin shared a father with Geza, as Geza shared a mother with Surah. Malin’s mother, Ciodaru’s only legal wife and Consort, had tolerated Adagia, but never liked her. And despised Surah for her human father, though she had never abused the girl. That would have been showing far too much emotion. However, people sometimes forgot Malin and Surah shared no blood as they’d all, more or less, been raised as siblings in the court. Something Malin rebelled against as he grew older and realized the love he felt for Surah was far from brotherly. The love he sometimes imagined the reticent doctor returned.
But as a Prince, by birth if not by function, he wasn’t given to foolishness or self-delusion. So he said nothing, did nothing, when otherwise he might have spoken. Because the threat of rejection still far outweighed the possibility of acceptance. What could he offer her in their world? He was a grounded gargoyle, a former Prince stricken from his throne. And despite her work, she’d shown no interest in existing among humans, which might have given him a chance. But she was young, and beautiful, and intelligent. Wealthy and still royal, despite her human blood. Eventually, Geza would contract an advantageous marriage for her. That was the right thing. The best thing for her, despite what Kausar said. Malin told himself this all the time—and even began to believe the lie.
“Sit down,” Surah said shortly, rising from her desk, the previous night’s dissolution manifesting itself in her habitually short temper. When the woman was sober, she had the easy countenance of an angel–although mischievous. But she was rarely sober these days. Malin noticed a slight tremble in Surah’s hands as she opened the cabinet in the corner, withdrawing a tiny, sealed bottle and packaged needles.
“Do you need more tablets?” she asked.
“Yes.” Malin didn’t explain why he’d already run out, and Surah didn’t ask. She didn’t have to.
Malin sat down on the paper covered examination table, watching with some amusement as Surah sprayed her hands with a protective sealant. Force of habit, since it wasn’t necessary. Not with a gargoyle’s superior immunity–and since they were friends, it was doubly unnecessary.
Pulling up his sleeve, Malin eyed Surah dubiously, but said nothing about the tremble as the doctor prepped his arm, then slipped the tiny needle into his flesh, injecting him with the serum that was a stopgap measure to halt the symptoms of his degenerative disease. A stopgap that was increasingly ineffective. The tablets addressed the seizures, and those were beginning to fail. Malin knew he didn’t have long left before the inevitable; before the night skies were taken away from him forever.
Malin touched the back of Surah’s hand, meeting her eyes. Surah’s gaze flicked away for a moment, then looked back on his, seeming almost reluctant. “Have you thought about what I said the other day?”
Surah grimaced. “This seems to be my week for people telling me I have a drinking problem.” She pulled away, presenting her back to Malin as she busied herself cleaning up supplies. “I don’t have a problem. I’m not an alcoholic.”
Malin didn’t say anything. Sometimes it was better to let a person’s conscience do the talking. Malin knew Surah’s self-accusing spirit wasn’t dead, just buried under a brick load of pain.
They all had pain.
“I have a question,” Surah said.
Malin stilled, the tone of her voice alerting him. “Yes?”
Surah turned, locking eyes on him. “When I find the cure for this–when you’re completely healed, what are your plans?”
Malin blinked. “What do you mean?”
Surah stared at him, inscrutable, a hand resting on the counter. “What are you going to do with your life? You have a successful corporation with the humans. You’ve built a life for yourself. What’s next? A mate, garlings?Will you let Geza find you a wife?”
Malin laughed, harshly. “Never.”
Surah hesitated, looked down. “I think that would be a shame.”
His brow arched. “You want to see me married?”
She looked over Malin’s shoulder, fingers tapping on the counter. “No. But…I would like to have your sons. I mean, see your sons.”
He wondered about the slip of the tongue, especially as it was accompanied by a faint tinge of color on her cheekbones. Malin slid off the table, instincts alerted, closing the distance between them in one languid step. They were almost of a height, though Malin had always been the taller by a few hairs.
“I won’t take a wife of my brother’s choosing,” Malin said, watching Surah carefully. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t continue my father’s line.” He paused, lowered his voice. “I would need a partner to help raise them.”
Surah’s gaze returned, unreadable. Not for the first time the female’s beauty struck Malin. Surah’s mother had been famed for her angelic features, wings with the sheen of a black pearl, face and form so perfectly symmetrical, she may well have been one of the statues humans liked to say they were. Not to their faces, of course. Though diluted by her human father, Surah’s face still echoed her mother’s—and she didn’t even know it.
When the doctor didn’t respond, Malin sighed internally, and continued the conversation. “Why, Surah? You’ve never asked me about this aspect of my life before.” Malin watched her eyes flicker in thought as she chose a response.
“Lavinia asked me to stop the research.”
“What?”
A male with less control would have put a fist through the wall. Malin’s shoulders swelled, fangs itching to burst from his mouth. It pained him doubly because it was daytime. Hopefully the serum would kick in soon. Surah didn’t move, unaffected by Malin’s temper. She’d grown up with it, after all.
“She thinks you’ll kill Geza and take the throne.”
Malin stumbled back a step. “That bitch.” He’d practically raised that boy, being well into early adulthood when the garling prince was born. In fact, he still remembered that day; a solemn, round-faced Surah, with messy braids, staring down at the bundle in her mother’s arms as the woman looked at Malin, formally applying to him for protection of her son. Ciodaru had been wild by then, his mind nearly gone from the ravages of the disease.
“And what do you think, Surah?”
“I think you have honor,” Surah said softly. “I think you’ll keep your promise to my mother.”
After a moment, Malin looked away. “Don’t place me on a pedestal, Surah. You’ll be disappointed.”
“You haven’t yet.” She paused, looked away. “Disappointed me.”
Malin’s knuckle brushed Surah’s cheek. “You look like your mother. I’ve…tried not to fail her. It would be hard for me to fail you as well.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment a strange, thrumming tension arched between them. Then Surah shifted and it was over, leaving Malin to wonder if he had imagined the flare of connection.
4
When the appointment was over Malin left the building, stepping out in the bright, morning sun with a suppressed hiss. Putting his darkened lenses back on, he got into his ground transport–a humiliation he gritted his teeth and bore—and drove downtown to his offices. What did the young humans say? ‘Another day another problem?’ Or something similar, but highly apt. He’d learned to enjoy his businesses, valued the life he’d crafted for himself outside of court.
He’d even grown to appreciate the humans in his employ. One could only hear about children, and leaky faucets, and sports competitions for so long without becoming sucked in. They wanted the same things Malin’s people wanted, for the most part.
When he arrived at his offices and stepped through the sliding glass doors into the lobby, he knew immediately something was off. He locked eyes with the uniformed man at the front desk immediately.
“What’s wrong, Benson?” he asked.
Benson remained stiff, narrow shoulders straight despite his advanced age. But Malin had hired the man because he’d been ex-military, and precise during his interview. Malin liked preciseness.
“There is no problem, sir,” he replied, perfectly correct. “You have guests upstairs.”
Malin’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t have any appointments, and anyone else would have been tossed out on their asses, so that meant….
“Gargoyles.”
“I would say so, sir. In human form. They were insistent.”
Malin tensed. “Did you resist?”
“No, sir. I did as you instructed during the protocol training, escorted them upstairs and put them in the waiting room with refreshments.”
A bit of malice peeked through an otherwise neutral expression. Likely because the ‘waiting room’ was equipped with a lock from the outside, which could be activated at the desk. Just for these instances. It was designed to allow his employees a way to protect themselves without being aggressive. Contain a threat without the threat understanding it was being contained. Though, by now, whoever was waiting in that room probably had a damn good idea.
“Very good.”
Malin didn’t waste another moment, allowing his man to punch in the elevator code for him. At the top, the doors slid aside silently, revealing another small, lushly carpeted lobby with a young woman at the desk, a round, brown face surrounded by tight, dark curls. Her normal smile was gone, replaced by a pinched mouth and slightly flared nostrils. Malin’s office was down the hall, but the guests would be waiting in the locked room right beside the receptionist.
“Mr. Ioveanu,” she greeted.
He paused. “Did they give names, Bea?”
“They felt introductions were unnecessary, Mr. Ioveanu.”
He studied her—and knew he would ask his secretary to send Bea a small gift later. She hated rudeness, and he hated unhappy employees. “Where they polite?” She was a pretty young woman, and he knew what the males of his species tended to think about human woman. That they were available for the taking.
“As polite as one would expect from men with rocks for brains, Mr. Ioveanu.”
Malin winced.
She proceeded him down the hall and unlocked the door and Malin stepped in, senses fully alert. Three gargoyles rose, Kausar, Nikolau and Tomas, facing him with varying degrees of annoyance on their faces–but no anger. Bea’s agitation made sense. Malin glared at Nikolau, who raised a brow. Niko rarely came into the city, preferring the company of gargoyles. But when he did, he always managed to offend a human. Especially a human woman. He seemed alternately fascinated and repulsed by them.
“What did you say to her, Niko?” Malin asked, a hint of a growl in his voice. Niko was one of his oldest acquaintances—nearly a friend in the last few years—but Malin wouldn’t have the warrior insulting female staff.
Niko crossed his arms. “Nothing. You should ask her what she said to me.”
Kausar glanced between them both, then subtly inserted himself in Malin’s line of vision. “I’d heard about your locking door, boy,” his former sword master said. “Good call, there.”
Humor shone in dark eyes for a split second, before disappearing back behind an old warrior’s stoicism. His long hair was braided and bound at the neck, and he wore the vest and loose pants of his rank. The humans would think him a middle-aged man, albeit in excellent fighting condition. They would be right. But middle-aged for a gargoyle was several centuries longer than for a human.
Malin studied him. “Kausar, why are you here?”
“May I sit?”
“Of course.” Malin gestured, taking a seat himself, eyes sweeping over a tray of untouched refreshments: little shortbread cookies and small bottled waters and sodas. “How long have you been waiting?”
“The morning.”
Malin’s eyebrow rose. And they weren’t angry at being locked in? That, more than anything else, told him that whatever the warriors wanted, it was serious.
“I see. This isn’t a social call, then.” He rose. “Shall I order us a light meal? We can speak in my office.”
He ordered from his office after settling them onto a couch dragged in front of his desk. The cafeteria below sent up a platter of various sandwiches and sliced fruit. More cookies and tea in flowered mugs.
Niko rolled his eyes. “Human women. See?” He held up a tiny yellow cookie with pink frosting—and sprinkles. “They have no idea how to serve a warrior.”
“Why should they?” Malin snapped, avoiding Niko’s eyes. Bea had a rather vindictive sense of humor. “No wonder you’re still single.”
Kausar snorted, while Tomas laughed quietly, the youngest of them having little to say–ever. Malin noticed that Niko’s disgust didn’t stop him from devouring a half-plate of cookies, though.
“We heard your sister is making progress with the research.”
“She isn’t my sister,” Malin replied, shortly. “We share neither a father nor a mother.”
Niko looked at him. “Interesting attitude to take, considering. Does that mean she’s no longer under your protection?”
Malin inhaled sharply, half rising before Kausar put a hand on his thigh. “Niko didn’t mean anything by that. He’s just stupid.”
“If he goes around saying things like that, he’ll make her a target.” Niko leaned back in the couch, crossing his arms. “I already have to block warriors from doing stupid shit when Geza isn’t paying attention. Petru was about to follow her home from the palace the other night. But if you don’t want me to bother—”
“What?”
Niko watched closely, then shook his head. “Damnit, Malin. You can’t—”
“I can’t what?”
“That girl would die for you,” Kausar said, glancing warningly at Niko. “You think an old warrior doesn’t recognize that kind of spirit in a warrior? We’re trained to recognize it.”
“I don’t want to talk about Surah.” He put his cup of coffee down on his desk, wishing for something…stronger. But no, that was Surah’s weakness, not his.
“Alright.” Kausar shifted in his seat, running a tongue over his teeth. “I’m a plain speaker, son, so I won’t waste your time.”
Malin stared at the only man allowed to call him son. Switched his gaze to Niko and Tomas, the former who turned his head to stare him down, the latter who stared at the mug clasped in his hands.
“We want you to take back the throne.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Kausar’s eyes narrowed, then he grinned. “You heard me, Prince. You’re just stalling for time.”
Time he needed. The words ignited a ruthlessly ignored desire in him. A desire on par with his craving for the man he couldn’t have. The desire of a born Prince to rule, a gargoyle warrior trained by the elite to prove his worth.
“Geza’s weak,” Niko said.
Kausar’s face set. “His habits are distasteful to those of us who respect discipline. He’s allowing his advisors more and more unchecked authority to make decisions that should be vetted by the assembly.”
Malin’s thoughts raced, though he let nothing show on his face. “Who is we?”
“I’m not going to give you names just yet,” Kausar said. “The three of us–we were chosen to represent the faction. Figured you were less likely to tell me to go to hell than anyone else.” He paused. “Besides Surah. We haven’t been able to get to her.”
“And you won’t,” Malin said, rising, restless. “Leave her out of your politics. She wants nothing to do with it.”
Kausar watched him pace. “You think she’ll be able to remain neutral? Sister to one Prince, doctor and…friend to another?”
The look Malin leveled on his old teacher was cold. “Leave her out of it.”
The weapons master lowered his head briefly. “Heard. What say you, Malin?”
“Have you forgotten my weakness?” His arm swept in a dramatic half circle. “The whole reason why I am here and not in my rightful place?”
“The way we figure, either Surah will fix you and it won’t matter any longer–or she won’t, and you’ll have our muscle to make up for the lack.” Kausar’s expression was grave. “We don’t need the body of a warrior on the throne. We need his mind, and his heart. We can do the rest.”
“And Geza?”
“You know our way.”
He did. Rule, or die. Malin had gotten a pass because he was defective. It would kill Surah. She loved the boy Prince, though it was hard for an outsider to see under all that broody, sardonic, scientist angst.
“I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t ready to kill Geza–not yet. He loved the boy Prince as well, in his own way.
Summer Shifter Nights Page 10
