“That’s nice,” Curran said. “It smells like rotten food in here.”
Desandra shrugged. “Why are you here?”
No trace of an accent. She spoke like she was born in the United States.
“We’re here to take care of you.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She bared her teeth. “You’ll make the deal with whatever clan pays you more and sell these little parasites in my stomach. So go, make your deals. Nothing will change for me. Nothing ever changes for me.”
“Are you done?” Curran asked.
“You could’ve taken me away from all this,” she snarled.
“You wouldn’t last a week in Atlanta,” he said.
She stabbed her finger in my direction. “And she’s better? After all of your grandstanding, and oh, I’m the Beast Lord and nobody is good enough for me, you mated with a human? A human? You’re just like them.” She waved her arm at Hibla and the djigits. “You don’t give a fuck about what happens to your human wife if she’s challenged. Why don’t you just leave?”
Muscles played on Curran’s jaw. “Think what you want, but I’ll stay here and I will protect you.”
“Do you really think they’ll give you panacea for it? Come on, even you’re not that stupid.”
Gold flashed in Curran’s irises. I had to stomp on this fast before it spiraled out of control.
I put my hand on Curran’s shoulder. “I think it would be best if you gave us a little space.”
He glanced at me.
“And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you sent Doolittle up here.”
Curran shook his head and looked at Derek. “Close the room. Nobody comes in unless Kate says so.”
“Yes, my lord,” Derek said.
Curran strode out of the room.
“That’s right!” Desandra called out. “Walk away!”
Derek parked himself in the doorway.
I surveyed the bedroom. I’d seen this kind of mess before in Julie’s room, when she went through an “I don’t want to go to school” stage. “Hibla, why is this room dirty?”
“The lady won’t permit us to clean it,” Hibla said. “Her father ordered it cleaned once, and we did. The lady returned it to its previous state within a week.”
Just as I’d thought. I turned to Desandra. “May I come closer?”
She stared at me.
I waited.
“Sure.” She shrugged.
I crossed the room, stepping on clothes—there was no choice. Something crunched under my feet. I sat next to her on the bed.
“I get what you’re doing. You don’t feel in control of your life, but this bedroom is your space and you can do whatever you want here. Here you’re in control. Unfortunately, having food on the floor isn’t healthy. It rots. Mold grows on it and gets in your lungs.” And the mess made her that much harder to guard.
She sneered at me. “I’m a shapeshifter.”
“Shapeshifters are resistant to disease but not immune. Rotten food also gives bugs a place to breed, and it smells bad. Broken glass isn’t safe for anyone to walk on. People who bring you food may not always be shapeshifters. They could be hurt, and they’re only doing their job.”
“I don’t care.”
“Having a dirty room doesn’t really help you regain control over your life. That fight is out there.” I pointed at the open door. “The mess just makes you appear deranged, which signals to people that it’s okay to treat you as if you’re not a person.”
Desandra dug her hands into her matted hair. “What do you want from me?”
“May I have your permission to clean this room?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I take pride in my job. Right now my job is to take care of you and keep you safe. This bedroom is unsafe for you and your future children. The mess also makes it difficult to protect you.”
Desandra stared at me. “And what if I rip out your throat?”
I dug through my memory to fights with Julie. “Why would you do that? I didn’t do anything mean to you.”
“What if I say no?”
Andrea shrugged. “If you say no, then we won’t clean the room. But I do have to tell you that the room smells bad, and that smell has settled in your clothes and hair.”
At least in the United States, telling a shapeshifter they smelled bad was the ultimate insult. If that didn’t motivate her, nothing would.
Desandra growled in my face.
“I’m on your side,” I told her. “If you want to demonstrate that you’re in control of yourself, you might want to take it into consideration.”
“I don’t want you to clean anything.”
“Very well.” I rose.
I made it ten steps to the door before she said, “Fine. Clean it.”
“Thank you.” I turned to Hibla. “Please bring trash bins, cleaning supplies, and hampers.”
Desandra growled. “Are you always such a doormat?”
“Yes.”
“So you always ask permission for everything?”
“She’s the alpha of the Atlanta Pack,” Derek said without turning. “She killed twenty-two shapeshifters in eleven days to be one, and she has the same power as the Beast Lord. She doesn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to do anything.”
That wasn’t exactly helpful. “I’m here for one purpose only: to keep you safe. I act in your best interests. I don’t care who is born first and I won’t be taking any bribes. I will do my best to accommodate you, but when your safety is on the line, I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you safe. If it means I have to hog-tie you and stuff you into a bathtub, I’ll do it and not worry about your feelings.”
Desandra sighed.
Hibla reappeared with bags and a cart filled with cleaning supplies, including gardening gloves. I put them on and began picking up the trash. Andrea joined me. Desandra watched us for about five minutes, trying to ignore the fact that we were there, then got off the bed and started stomping around and picking up her clothes.
That was how Doolittle found us, on our hands and knees, scooping up trash.
“What’s going on?”
I straightened. “This is Dr. Doolittle. He is the Pack’s medmage.”
“Doolittle?” Desandra peered at him. “For real?”
“It’s what I choose to call myself.” Doolittle peered at her, then looked around the room. “Oh my. Now then, young lady, why are you dirty?”
Desandra sat on the floor and looked at him with a helpless expression on her face. “Because I like it.”
“I do realize that this is a castle,” Doolittle said in that patient soothing voice that made it impossible to say no. “However, I have used the restroom and it appears that modern plumbing was successfully installed.”
“You can’t make me clean myself,” Desandra declared.
“My lady, you are not two years old. In fact, you appear to have reached maturity, and I’m reasonably certain that nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to do. Come on up to the bed, please.”
I held my breath. Desandra sighed again, got up off the floor, and sat on the bed. I exhaled quietly. Doolittle put his fingers on her wrist, counting her pulse.
“Incoming,” Derek said.
“Who is it?”
“Jarek Kral.”
I joined him at the doorway. Andrea moved to the middle of the room, between us and Desandra, and checked her crossbow.
The man I had seen in the photograph during Barabas’s briefing strode down the hallway toward us. He seemed bigger in person, taller, wider, with the type of raw strength that usually meant a nasty fight.
I turned to Desandra. “Do you want to see your father?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, defeat plain on her face.
“It does to me.”
“Then no. I don’t want to see him.”
Jarek Kral reached the door. This close the photograph really did him justice: same wavy brown hai
r, same large, roughly hewn face. His features could’ve been more refined, if they weren’t tinted with cruelty. I knew the type. He was the type of man who could explode over the smallest thing and the explosion would be violent.
The sneer was bigger in person as well.
He reached the door. “Move,” he said in an accented voice.
“Your daughter doesn’t want to visit now,” I said.
He stared at me with dark eyes under heavy lids, as if he just now realized I was blocking his way. “Who are you?
“You may call me Kate. I’m the Consort of the Beast Lord.”
“Step aside.” His eyes flashed green.
“No.”
Behind me someone gasped.
His voice boomed. “Who told you you can do this?”
And here we go, straight into the lake of drama without taking our clothes off first. “You did.” I pulled the contract from my pocket. “This document says I must serve your daughter’s best interests. She determined it’s in her best interests not to speak with you right now. This is your signature. It gives me all the authority I need.”
He snatched the paper from my hand and ripped it.
“I have another copy,” I said.
“I’ll rip out your throat!” he snarled.
Like father, like daughter. “If you try, you won’t live to see your grandchildren and my job will be done. I’ll get to go home early. So please do try. I miss my house already.”
His eyebrows came together. His upper lip trembled.
“An assault on the Consort will be treated as an act of war,” Derek said.
A guttural snarl ripped from Jarek. Clearly, he hadn’t bothered to look up “personal restraint” in the dictionary.
I reached behind me and put my hand on Slayer’s hilt. “This is your last warning. Do not attempt to enter.”
“What’s going on?” A man ran up the stairs. He was blond, tall, and muscular, with features that would make an angel proud—Desandra’s first husband, Radomil, from the Volkodavi pack. A woman followed him, slightly older than me, slender, with a wealth of golden hair braided back from her face.
“Stay out of this!” Jarek snarled. “You’ve done enough.”
Radomil shot back something in a language I didn’t understand. A torrent of words spilled from Jarek.
“You’re a pig!” Radomil snarled back in English. “A filthy pig. Leave Desandra alone!”
“Get out of my way!” Jarek roared.
“If Kral doesn’t abide by the agreement, why should we?” the blond woman said.
I let them scream at each other. It didn’t affect me unless one of them tried to enter the room.
A tall, dark-haired man closed in on us. Where Radomil’s face had a healthy, sun-tanned glow, this man radiated intelligence and weary awareness. He saw Jarek and Radomil. His dark eyebrows came together. His lips narrowed into a hard line. Yellow light rolled over his irises. Uh-oh.
The man accelerated. It had to be one of the Belve Ravennati brothers, but which one I couldn’t tell.
Without slowing down, the Italian raised his fist and swung at Jarek. The big man moved aside and the Italian hammered a punch into Radomil instead. Radomil snarled like an animal and lunged at the Italian.
More people flooded the hallway from the left, an older dark-haired woman in the lead.
Jarek spat something. Radomil and the Italian grappled, snarling.
“If they change shape, we bar the door,” I murmured.
Derek nodded.
Radomil shoved his opponent forward, tripping the Italian. The dark-haired man dropped to the ground with a lupine growl. Any moment now they’d go furry, and then things would be infinitely worse.
An eerie hyena cackle rolled through the hallway, a high-pitched, insane laugh that made you shiver.
Suddenly everyone stopped. Aunt B stood in the hallway.
“So this is what our European brothers and sisters have been reduced to,” she said, her voice carrying through the castle. “Brawling in the hallways like spoiled schoolchildren. No wonder you had to send for our help.”
Go, Aunt B!
The alpha of Clan Bouda looked at the dark-haired woman. “Hello, Isabella. It’s been a long time.”
“Hello, Beatrice,” the dark-haired woman squeezed through her teeth.
“Is that your son on the floor?”
Isabella snapped a short command. The dark-haired man rolled to his feet and strode over to her. Isabella slapped him. The sound rang through the hallway. The Italians turned and left without another word.
I looked at Jarek Kral. He pointed his finger at me, opened his mouth, clamped it shut, turned, and walked away.
The blond woman said something to Radomil. He pulled away from her and stalked off.
“You must forgive my brother,” the blond woman said. “He is a very kind man. He just doesn’t understand politics.” Her eyebrows came together. She pointed over my shoulder. “Who is that man?”
“He is a medic,” Andrea answered.
“A medic? Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said. “He is just performing a routine physical exam.”
She actually looked concerned. “Is he going to draw blood? Desandra, I can hold your hand if you need me.”
“It’s fine,” Desandra called.
I pulled my official Order voice out of the mental trunk where I’d kept it stashed for months, ever since I quit my tenure with the Knights of Merciful Aid. “I’m sorry, I have to ask you to leave.”
“Fine, fine. Just . . . Don’t torture her. She’s been through enough.” The woman turned and hurried down the stairs after Radomil. I glanced over my shoulder. Doolittle was holding a large syringe filled with pinkish liquid. Desandra petted her stomach.
“What is this for?” I asked.
“Amniocentesis,” Doolittle said. “It’s a routine screen of amniotic fluid. We want to make sure everything is proceeding as it’s supposed to.”
Aunt B approached us. “Well, that went nicely.”
“You told my father no,” Desandra said to me.
“Sure.”
“He’ll kill you for it,” Desandra said.
“He may find it much harder than it appears, dear,” Aunt B told her. “Dinner is coming up. Kate, you may want to change. You smell like the sea. You two go. Derek and I will watch after Desandra while you’re changing.”
I turned to Derek. “I will send Eduardo. When Desandra is ready to go, the two of you will follow her. Nobody comes in the room if she doesn’t want to see them.”
“Got it,” Derek said.
“The rooms are just down the hall,” Aunt B said. “Here, I’ll walk partway with you then head back.”
We strode down the hallway.
“I told you so,” Aunt B said quietly.
“Told me what?”
“Please, Kate. The fresh young thing on the pier? She even wore white.”
“And?”
“Nothing at all, dear. Just reflecting on the color. How virginal and bridal.”
Yes. I’d noticed. If they were trying to influence Curran by shoving Lorelei under his nose, they weren’t very subtle about it.
“Yours is the first door on the right. Andrea, you and Raphael are across from them. The rest of us are just down the hall,” Aunt B said. “The sound really carries through here. You can hear practically everything, so if you call we’ll come running.”
Got it. Nothing said in the rooms would be private, and our hosts were likely listening really hard. “Good to know.”
“I’ve checked and the dinner is a formal affair. Do wear a dress, Kate.”
I killed a growl, and Andrea and I went down the hallway.
“We’ve worked worse jobs,” Andrea said.
“Mm-hm. This whole place doesn’t feel right to me.”
“I’m with you,” she said.
We reached my door. I waited until Andrea opened hers across the hall and went inside, and th
en I stepped into our room and shut the door behind me.
A sizable room, as far as bedrooms went, with tapestries and rugs on the stone walls. An open door offered access to the bathroom on the left. A large wooden poster canopy bed waited in the center, complete with silk pillows and gauzy purple curtains. It looked like something out of the historical romances Andrea liked to read.
Curran came out of the bathroom.
I nodded at the bed. “Someone robbed an ancient music video.”
“I know. It creaks like a sonovabitch, too.”
“Great. If we decide to make love, we might as well just get down to it in the hallway. Half of the castle will know about it anyway.”
Curran closed the distance between us. His voice was a quiet whisper in my ear. “There are no peepholes that I can see, but someone is listening to us. I heard him breathing through the wall.”
So we were trapped in this stone cage, with a pack of unstable shapeshifters, trying to protect a woman in need of urgent psychological help, and spies were listening to our every breath.
I put my arms around Curran and leaned my head against his shoulder. “Have I ever told you how much I like the Keep?”
“No.”
“I love it.”
He grinned. “Even the stairs?”
“Especially the stairs.” The stairs separated our top floor from everybody else, and the walls were soundproof.
He kissed me. His lips sealed my mouth and the world stopped for a long moment. When we came up for air, I didn’t care if anybody was listening to us. Little golden sparks danced in Curran’s eyes. He didn’t care either.
“Do we have time?” he asked.
I looked at the clock. Twenty before ten. “No. We’ll be late.”
“Tonight, then.”
I grinned at him. “It’s a date.”
Guard Desandra, get the panacea, go home. A simple plan. All we had to do was get through it.
* * *
The dinner took place in a colossal great hall, and I walked into it with my hand on Curran’s arm. The Beast Lord wore a black suit and a gray shirt. Curran always stopped me in my tracks, whether he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sweatpants, or nothing at all, but this was new. Custom-cut, the suit flattered him while allowing for freedom of movement, and if he had to change shape, the weak seams ensured that the suit would come apart with minimal effort.
Magic Rises kd-6 Page 11
