“Be still,” he commanded.
The royal line was weakening, no doubt. The entire race was weakening. Many magics they’d once mastered were long lost to them, and the remaining few greatly diminished until all that was really left was the ability to shift, and fly. Only centuries of obsession with species purity allowed even that. Many saw Ciodaru’s weakness as an indictment on the entire species. Regardless, though Malin was not the sorcerer he might have been were he born a thousand years ago, he could still, in bursts of unrestrained anger, manifest a kind of telekinesis that could momentarily discomfit an enemy. Or a friend.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, tugging. Malin’s eyes clashed with her own, a mental tug of war Surah had a feeling she would lose. Because if she were honest with herself, she craved Malin’s touch. Was glad for an opportunity to even hold his hand without having to explain herself. But it was too much.
“Malin, let me go.”
“What is wrong with you? You’re injured.”
“Are you nuts? If we were on a training field, you’d have yelled at me for stopping over a scratch.”
Malin dropped Surah’s hand and took a step back. “My apologies. I didn’t know my touch was so abhorrent to you.”
Surah’s heart stopped. “No! That’s not what I meant.” She took a deep breath. “Look—”
Malin turned away, slashing a hand in the air. “No matter. Why did she try to kill you?” He paused, glanced back at Surah. “Or frighten you, rather. Mogrens don’t miss.”
It was Surah’s turn to grimace. “That’s what Geza said,” she replied without thinking.
Malin’s eyes widened in outrage. “You told Geza? If he had responded appropriately, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Geza said he’d have to deal with it his own way. I think he’s afraid of the Mogrens.”
“There is no fear in Ioveanu’s sons,” Malin said. “This was just a warning. If she sent two, in plain sight, it was an opening feint. The Mogrens are, in their way, honorable.” He glanced at Surah. “Forgive my temper.”
“You shouldn’t let Geza upset you, though.”
Malin, on the other side of the room, turned on his heels and walked straight towards her, a light in his eyes that warned the Surah not to move a single step back. The anger she saw echoed her own–only Malin had the claws and fangs to do something about it.
“Why are you so angry, Malin?”
He stopped in front of her, jaw tight. “You really don’t know?”
Oh, the irritation. “If I knew I wouldn’t ask.” Wasn’t that how questions worked?
“You are mine. Under my protection–the protection of a true Ioveanu Prince. If anyone gets to murder you, it will be me.”
Surah ran her tongue around her teeth, changing her napkin, though the blood had mostly clotted by now. “Gee, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”
“You know what I feel about you,” Malin said, stony. “You don’t know how to handle it yet. Or me.”
Their eyes locked. But this time–this time Surah stepped forward rather than retreating. She could tell herself the wine made her reckless–the heightened emotions swirling about the room clouding her judgment. She could lie like that, and get away with it.
“I’ve known you since we were children.”
Malin smiled, cold and proud. “I was not a child when you were birthed. You did not know me when we were children.”
Maybe not, according to gargoyle customs. But humans considered sixteen underage, no matter how well one could swing a sword or swive a servant.
“Then say, I’ve known you longer than anyone else save your mother.” Surah’s voice lowered. “We’re… courting.”
The smile faded, turning impassive. “We are.”
Surah’s eyes closed. “I’ll have to tell Geza. What do I tell him? But if we don’t mate then all this drama will be for nothing. Your anger with him, with Petru. I know about your fight, by the way.”
The Prince’s expression didn’t shift. “Good.”
“What do I tell Geza so he will understand?”
“What do you think you should tell him?”
“You have the formula, Malin. I only have its parts.”
Malin grimaced faintly. “Scientist metaphors, Surah. I only speak one human language.”
Discarding the napkin, Surah looked around for a small hand broom and dustpan, stalling. She knew her heart beat in her throat, her breath came a little quicker, and blood roared in her ears, alerting her that she was preparing to say something she hadn’t intended to say. Ever. She swept glass from the counter, crouched to herd shards from the floor into the dustpan. She felt, rather than saw, Malin lean over the counter to watch.
“What are you doing, Surah? I have servants for that.”
She stood, shrugging. Emptied the pan into the wastebasket and put the cleaning tools away. “I don’t have glass in my hair do I?”
“I should check.”
Surah stood absolutely still, back to Malin as the male stepped around the counter behind her. Felt the heat of the Prince’s body. Hair on Surah’s back rose as her skin pimpled. The backs of her thighs and buttocks tensed from the tingling. Malin stood not even the width of a hand behind her and Surah knew if she shifted, just a little, she could press herself against the stone hard body and hope the arms would wrap around her.
Surah saw from her peripheral vision hands hovering on either side of her head. Felt the pads of Malin’s fingers sweep slowly through long strands of her hair. She suppressed a tiny shudder as a callused fingertip brushed the edge of her earlobe. Her ears were doubly sensitive.
Malin lowered his head, breath warm on Surah’s neck. “I don’t see any glass,” the gargoyle said quietly. “We’re courting. You said a long time ago it doesn’t go against your oath as a doctor.”
“No.”
Malin’s hands left Surah’s hair, hovering in the air on either side of the doctor’s shoulders. Cupped, as if the palms were filled with flesh.
“Then as we are courting, do you think I don’t have a right to be angry someone tried to take you away from me?”
“I understand anger. Just not the violent temper.”
Malin laughed softly. “Surah. That was not violence, or temper. When I go to Geza, to teach him how a Prince should respond to a threat to his bloodlines, that will be temper. Violence.”
Surah turned, almost in Malin’s arms. “Do you love me?”
Malin froze, a split second where some unnamed emotion flashed in his eyes. Then he relaxed again. “Of course.”
“Then don’t confront Geza,” Surah said. “That is likely what Lavinia wants. For you to prove how unstable you are, and maybe as a bonus, kill each other. He is my brother. You—” Surah paused. “I don’t want either of your deaths.”
“You don’t have any right to ask that of me.”
“I do.” Surah held Malin’s eyes. “I haven’t given you the right to avenge me.”
The Prince’s haughty smile was both sad and bitter. “And if I take the right? What then, my love?”
Surah stepped away from him, those two words snatching her breath. He said them so easily. “I won’t play games with you. Please don’t start a war with Geza.”
Malin was silent several moments, but in the end, he agreed. He would not fight his brother. He would not weaken their bloodline, or the seat of the Prince. But he would confront Lavinia—and Surah was fine with that. In a fight between the two of them, her money was on Malin. Who, astonishingly, wanted Surah to remain behind.
“I’m not a child.” Surah said, eyes wide in outrage. “I’m coming with you.”
8
Ioveanu’s sons were not cowards.
Malin told himself this enough times that it should have made a difference. But he’d allowed his own weakness to hold him back from declaring himself years ago when he should have. Now that he knew he hadn’t imagined the yearning in Surah’s eyes, he could strangle himself for waiting. A
s he now waited. Every moment she spent in his arms was a torment because she wasn’t ready yet–not for what he wanted. To unleash the desire he’d nurtured for over a decade. To take her, make her his, hear his name on her lips as she surrendered to him. Even if she hadn’t been one of the most beautiful women in the court, he would want her. He would crave her even if she wasn’t the key to his survival.
Perhaps if he hadn’t so ruthlessly trained to maintain a warrior’s stoicism, he could have opened up easier. After all, how much time did he have left? True, the serum kept the madness at bay, but with every day he felt an encroaching weakness. His fingers cramped even now, and the blades of his shoulders where his wings unfurled. That frightened Malin the most. But not more than the thought of never being free to love the female he knew better than his own skin. Was he moving them too slowly? He’d thought to give her time to get used to him, to them. But there was no time left, not with Petru challenging his claim, and the Mogrens thinking there was no consequence for harming her. He would have to declare himself in front of the assembly, and soon.
The assembly gathered at midnight, Geza and his Council sat around the table on a dais in the great room of the Palace. Malin’s uncharacteristic presence stirred voices–Surah at his heels stirred even more.
Geza sat with his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table. His wings were tucked tightly around the narrow-backed chair, designed specifically with winged individuals in mind. When he spied his brother and sister, the wings half-unfurled in surprise before snapping back into place. He didn’t rise.
“Malin. Surah. Take a seat at the table.”
Sajal’s eyes narrowed, Lavinia merely watched. The others expressed disapproval in the stiff set of jaw and shoulders. Malin was technically a Councilor, though he’d never formally taken up that duty. But Surah, Surah was only Geza’s human half-sister. Useful for a future marriage alliance, but by rights, she should have been barred from the assembly–at least in the opinions of enough gargoyles that Surah choose to stay away.
Malin approached, placing his hands on the table, rage howling inside him for release. A simmering, seething mass until he’d walked through the assembly doors, as soon as his eyes rested on the face of the treacherous bitch who dared lay a finger on what was his, he felt the tingle of his wings and claws and fangs. He’d shifted back to human before entering, even though they were in the deep of night, because he wanted them to think him weak. Vulnerable. Trapped in his human form like a child. That way, when he took the heads of every enemy in this room, their shock would sweeten his victory.
Surah moved beside him, glancing at Malin from the corner of her eyes. Malin ignored the look, but inwardly asserted calm, focus. Surah cared for Geza–Malin loved his brother as well. But he was made of the same stern stuff as Ciodaru–he would not hesitate to kill Geza if he refused to protect the one thing that mattered to Malin. His woman.
“Welcome, Lord Malin,” Lavinia said, contralto tones measured. “Your chair has remained empty for you.”
Malin pinned her with his gaze. She remained uncowed, unruffled. Meeting his glare with the aplomb of a seasoned warrior—and politician. Dangerous.
“I didn’t come for the chair,” he said.
“Then why did you come, brother?” Geza asked, an edge in his voice. He shifted in his seat, a dangerous tell for a ruler. Malin’s eyes narrowed on him. The boy needed training. Was Geza’s new sword master too womanish to discipline him properly?
Frowning, Malin answered his brother. “I came to offer warning.” His attention shifted back to Lavinia. “If another finger is lifted against the Prince’s sister, he will not have to retaliate. I will.” Turning his head to Geza, he met the boy’s gaze. “Prince, you must maintain neutrality in matters among your Council. That is wise. But I can act on your behalf, and you will be held blameless.”
“Well, not now that you’ve announced it aloud, Malin,” Lavinia said, somewhat dry.
“Yes, even now.”
“You have no to right to speak for her,” Sajal said. “And even less right to threaten the Prince because of her.”
Malin turned his head, looked at Surah. She glanced at him, looked down at the floor, then sighed.
“Malin and I are courting. He is my chosen husband, when the time is right.”
The silence in the room was deafening. Geza stared at Malin, face slowly hardening. “Surah is my heir,” his brother said.
“So she is.”
“Is this an attempt at a coup, Malin? Is this a challenge?”
“Knock that off,” Surah said, scowling. Her moment of reticence evaporated as she glared at Geza. “Not everything is about you or damn court politics.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Geza snapped. “Your hand in marriage is nothing but political. And you want to wed the former Prince? Are you insane to think I would allow it?”
She folded her arms. “Then disinherit me.”
Geza snorted. “As if Malin—”
“I don’t care,” Malin said. “I can protect her. She doesn’t need you.” He paused. “You need her, but you’re too silly to see that.” Malin shrugged. “I’m richer than you anyway.”
Geza gaped for a split second before outrage bronzed his cheeks. “Why, you insolent bastard.”
Malin grinned, showing his fangs. “Meet me in the training yard anytime, fledgling.”
Surah sighed. “Would you two quit?”
“I told you she would cause trouble between them,” Sajal said. “Daughter of a human and a—”
Malin slammed his balled fist into he table. “Say it so I have an excuse to kill you where you sit.”
Surah’s eyes closed. “It’s always straight to the kill zone with you, isn’t it, Mal?”
“Perhaps we should pause for a moment to allow cooler heads to prevail,” Lavinia said, meeting his eyes. “Are you certain of this path, Malin? You are the eldest. These children don’t fully understand what they’re doing–but you don’t have the excuse of ignorance.”
“Who’s a child?” Surah demanded even as Geza growled, snapping fangs at Lavinia. So…point taken.
Malin knew Surah didn’t fully appreciate the ramifications of their relationship. She’d spent too many years protecting her heart from the prejudice directed towards her over her birth. It never occurred to her, even when she was made Geza’s heir, just how valuable she was. Not only politically, and as an heiress, but in her own right as a scientist working on behalf of the Ioveanu’s. So she would be blind to the ripples their mating would cause in court. And that was Geza’s fault, for allowing her to think he’d trade her away to a warrior of moderate status—a game Geza played with his sister, so she didn’t come to understand how powerful her position at court truly was.
“I am certain,” Malin said, staring at Lavinia. “And I will take the consequences on my head.”
She inclined her head. “We must all do what we think is right, Malin.”
His smile was wintry. Bowing to Geza, he turned, Surah at his side. Malin paused. “You don’t want to stay for the assembly, Princess?”
Surah glanced at him. “Ahhhh…no. That’s all right. I’m sure they’d be more…uh…productive without me.”
They walked to the doors, the low murmur of voices among the assembled increasing as they passed. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of movement caught his attention. Malin glanced over casually. Kausar nodded towards him, expression grave. He flicked his fingers in an old battlefield symbol. The symbol to offer support in the face of an approaching enemy.
Surah waited until they’d lifted off the grounds before speaking. “What was that?” she asked. There was subtext going on between Malin and Lavinia she was missing.
Malin’s attention remained fixed on traffic beneath and above them, a tricky business when so many lanes were open this time of night. Or an excuse not to look at her. “You know the signs as well as I do.”
“I know what it means. I want to know what it means that h
e gave you that sign now.”
Silence reigned for several moments. Surah held her peace, knowing patience would serve her far better when dealing with Malin. As they descended to the landing pad on the top of Surah’s apartment building, he finally answered. “Kausar has told me of a faction that wants me to take back the throne.”
“What?”
It was all coming to a head too soon. She’d waited several years for something like this. The closer she came to curing Malin, the more gargoyles would emerge wanting to support the eldest Ioveanu Prince, rather than his still maturing younger brother.
“You heard me.”
“And what did you tell him? Malin, what did you tell him? And why are we here?”
Malin shut down the transport, turned finally to face Surah, irritation open in his face. Irritation and heat. Glittering dark eyes fixed on Surah’s face, then traveled along her body like a visual brand, finally meeting her half-frozen stare. Frozen, because suddenly she felt herself the object of an undeniable regard that, until now, Malin had masked. Denied every time their gazes remained locked a little too long. He’d always seemed to be holding back with her–but after his declaration in front of the Council, was that all gone? Had that been the only thing he’d been waiting on to take them to the next level–formal acknowledgment of their relationship?
“We’re here to pack you a suitcase. You’ll have to stay with me for a while.”
Surah didn’t think she liked the tone of that. “Well, excuse me for being an unwanted houseguest. I didn’t ask to—”
Malin leaned into her, seizing the back of her neck. “You talk too much,” he said, voice deepening to a guttural croon.
Surah blinked slowly, the beat of her heart rising slowly to stifle speech. “What…did you want me to do instead?”
“Be silent.”
And she was.
9
Malin captured Surah’s lips even as his free arm slid around her waist, pulling her as close as possible in the tight confines of the transport. His lips stroked hers, subtly lengthened fangs nipping at her mouth, just shy of drawing blood.
Surah shuddered, not bothering to control the movement. Malin’s lips were soft against hers, the skin smooth and slightly salty, in contrast to the hardness of his chest pressed against her softer curves. For once she felt free to show what she felt. What she wanted, and needed. But with freedom came doubt. She tore her mouth from Malin’s, hands rising to his chest.
Summer Shifter Nights Page 13
