I started to argue. I didn’t want to slow down and think yet. But I couldn’t keep moving endlessly either. But as Brahm headed off, I called his name. “Hey, can you reach out and see if anybody has heard anything from House Patel yet?”
With a nod, the grizzled, gray witch moved off.
Turning, I met Damon’s eyes.
He was still waiting where he’d been a few minutes earlier, but now he walked over to me, moving slow and careful. There was a concealed rage burning in him, banked down behind the wall of his control.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said in a blunt voice.
“It’s got to be done.” Looking at the bodies, I shook my head. “Can’t leave them piled here. The whole damn city will be a toxic dump if we do.”
“Other people can do it.”
He had that look in his eyes—that over-protective, inherently male look that made me want to punch him even as I kind of wanted to just lean against him and sigh, all at the same time.
He wanted to take care of me.
I didn’t need it, no. But nobody had ever really wanted to Do such a thing for me before.
There was no hiding from this, though.
“What else am I going to do? Retreat back into the Lair and hide and pretend there aren’t hundreds of bodies? Hundreds of people who didn’t need to die?” Waving a hand at the mostly empty streets, I tried to ignore the dead. Blank, empty faces. The stench of blood and waste.
Doyle came striding by, two bodies, one stacked on top of the other, in his arms. He met Damon’s gaze and offered a quick nod as he continued on. He stopped at one of the piles, lowered the bodies down, then went back.
Another wolf tromped past us.
“Babies, Damon…babies who didn’t need to die. All because of fucking Banner, the Assembly. Bureaucrats. Assholes.” Shaking my head, I moved to another body and caught the woman under the arms.
Damon, without speaking, joined me and although he didn’t need my help, the two of us carried her body over to the pile for House Whittier, a collection that might go untouched by that particular clutch of vampires.
Assholes.
Brahm passed by us as we left, carrying a body on his shoulder.
I paused to wait for him to come back this way and Damon stood at my back silently.
“What happens if House Whittier doesn’t collect their dead?” I asked, thinking of the young vampire, barely old enough to shave that I’d seen earlier.
“They’ll collect their dead,” Brahm said peaceably. “Otherwise, their dead will go to them.” He gave my shoulder a quick pat and the heat felt good. I was chilled to the bone.
Then he was gone, moving away at a slow, yet substantial pace that took him to the other side of the road where he set about taking care of another body.
Damon spoke before I turned to face him.
“I’ve got more people coming into help with the clean-up. Dair is sending men in as well.”
“That’s good.” I swiped my forearm over my brow, slowly turning to face him. “There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“You’re still staying here.” It wasn’t a question.
Rocking back on my heels, I studied Damon’s face. He didn’t look mad. He just looked…resigned.
That made me smile a little.
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
A frustrated breath escaped him as he averted his gaze to stare out over the bodies. “Can we make a deal?”
“Depends on what the deal is.”
“I want some answers about what’s going on here—about what went on last night. Only way to get them is to talk to the vampires.” Finally, he looked back at me. “I’m not too fond about doing that and leaving you out here without me watching you, not when I got this funny feeling in my gut.”
He wasn’t the only one.
I’d felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop for…hell. Ever since I’d been summoned to Amund’s house. Each little pile of shit we’d stepped in was just one more clusterfuck.
There was something bigger going on and I couldn’t figure out what it was.
I didn’t like it at all.
But…
“You’re not putting me in a cage, Damon,” I said softly.
“I want you to come with me.”
I jerked back in response.
He moved closer, wary now. “Not just you. I plan on putting all of this in front of the Assembly. And I’m making it formal. The blood-suckers themselves are so fond of all these rules, so I’m going to use them, this time in my favor. If I make it a formal visit, I can take a formal retinue, and that includes my mate.”
“Your mate.” I curled my lip at that term.
I hated it.
He knew it.
“What else do you want me to call you?” He crooked a grin at me. “The little woman?”
“Do that and I dump fire ants into the bed while you’re sleeping.”
“So mean.” He whistled softly and reached for me, hooking a hand in the front of my pants to tug me closer. “I want you with me. I know how you feel about them, Kit. But…” Damon stopped speaking, shifting his gaze from mine to stare at some fixed point beyond my shoulder. “Something weird is going on. I’ve been unsettled about all of this and my base instincts are telling me to lock you up tight and throw away the key. Since that’s not going to happen, I’m trying to be reasonable and just keep you with me.”
“Insisting that you keep me where you can see me might not be all that reasonable,” I advised. When he finally looked back at me, I reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’ll go.”
Relief flashed in his eyes.
“But not because you feel the need to protect me like some pretty china doll.” I took a deep breath, then told him about the weight that had been building in my gut. “You’re not the only one who thinks there’s something going on. I do, too. I can feel it. Taste it. So…yeah, I’ll go. But don’t expect me to stand off to the side looking pretty. I’ve got questions of my own and I plan on getting answers.”
“You’re still going to look pretty.” He tipped my head back and kissed me, hard and fast, moving back before I could nip his lip.
Then we parted. Before I could ask what he planned to do in the meantime, he hefted a body in his arms and lifted.
I waited a moment, then looked around. Just as I went to a smaller form, one easy for me to move, though, a movement at the end of the street caught my eye.
Slowly, I straightened and stared, trying to pick out what it was I’d seen.
I couldn’t though. I had no idea what it had been.
A flash of sunlight off pale hair, maybe. That was it.
Chapter Nineteen
Somebody shook me awake.
Instinctively I rolled and grabbed the knife I kept under my pillow.
“Shit, girl!”
Shoving my hair back, I stared at Shanelle.
She had leaped back the second silver flashed, but I’d felt the familiar resistance when the knife pricked flesh.
“Damn it.” Grinding the heel of my hand against my eye socket, I waited for the fog to clear my head. “You can’t sneak up on me like that, Shanelle.”
“I figured you’d wake up before I did anything.” She shrugged. “I called your name twice.”
“You…” Dropping my hand, I shook my head. “Hell.”
She read my face better than I liked. “You were exhausted. It’s rough out there.” A grimace twisted her face. “I was patrolling for eight hours earlier. Almost two dozen vamps tried to come on our grounds. Two dozen, Kit. It’s insane.”
“How many did you kill?”
Her face brightened. “I killed four of the suckers.” She dropped down on the edge of the bed, brushing the blood from her neck. The nick was already healed. “You never get to kill vampires. It was like a free-for-all.”
Frowning, I looked away.
“What’s that look for?” Shanelle gave me
a quizzical look, head cocked. “I…ah…well, I got some idea of your history and I’d think you’d love going all-out on some vamps.”
“If it was the right one, yeah.” If I didn’t freeze. Looking back at her, I shook my head. “This is…messed-up, though. I don’t like vamps, as a rule. The younger ones are different, though. They are still closer to human.”
“What I killed wasn’t human.” Her mouth was grim.
“That’s because their masters were killed.” I didn’t know if she understood much about how the younger vampires relied on the older ones for sanity and control and I wasn’t going to explain it if she didn’t.
But Shanelle offered a slow nod. “I heard Amund decided to take that long slow walk. He was one of the few I had respect for. But…” Her eyes narrowed. “You said masters—and Amund chose his death. Even if he had his people off him, that’s a chosen death. He wasn’t killed per se.”
“I wasn’t talking about Amund. A handful of the higher-level vamps were taken out last night. It looks like assassination.” Rising, I went to stretch and froze.
There was an outfit hanging on the coat tree just inside the door way.
All black, mostly leather. And no way in hell was it Damon’s.
“What is that?”
“That’s why Damon sent me.” She stood up and went to retrieve the clothes. “You need to shower and suit up—and eat. The Alpha told me that you need to eat. Although he did say it was a request, it wasn’t exactly phrased as one.”
My belly rumbled almost as if on command, but I still too busy glaring at the leather.
“I’m still waiting on an answer. What is that?”
She turned and met my eyes, sighing. “Kit. You know, the last thing I ever expected was to halfway like you—”
“Same goes,” I fired back. Was that a leather skirt? What the hell? Was he dressing me up like some sort bondage doll?
“But I do like you,” she said, continuing as if I hadn’t spoken. She approached me with a solemn look on her face. “And because I do, I’m going to be blunt. When you’re out working a job and you look like a half-starved waif—”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Hey, it’s true. And it’s genetics—has to be. I mean, sure, your aunt is tall and lithe…I mean, she kind of looks like some Amazonian goddess or something or something.”
I clenched my jaw reflexively, not saying anything out of habit.
Shanelle, unaware, continued. “But you were born looking so…” She waved a hand at me. “You’re petite.”
“I’m about to reevaluate the me liking you thing,” I told her.
“No, you’re not.” She winked at me before laying the clothes on the bed. “Anyway, it’s not an issue if you tramp around in cargo khakis, those boots you love so much and a vest that just might have a nuclear bomb tucked away inside one of the pockets. It’s actually works for you…on the job. I’ve seen you fight, remember?”
Setting my jaw, I waited.
“But when you’re going as the Alpha’s mate—”
“I don’t like that word.”
She shrugged. “What do you want me to call you? You’re his. He’s yours. I guess I could call you the Alpha’s baby girl, but that seems to lack…oomph.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I said.
“I know. Same goes. I think that’s why we ended up getting along.” She shrugged and gestured to the clothes. “Damon has status in this territory. With status comes expectations. You need to match those expectations. And more…”
Now she turned to me and the humor was gone from her eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she met my eyes. “You need to make a statement, Kit. A giant, big-ass statement that you’re not the broken doll some psychotic vamp tried to make you into.”
My breath tried to squeeze itself into nothingness as my throat locked up.
“And dressing up like some bondage babe in leather makes…what statement?” I hated that she made sense. I hated that I understood exactly what she was saying.
I hated it.
And I was probably going to do exactly what she’d asked.
She moved closer and held out a hand.
Uncertain what she wanted, I waited.
When I didn’t back away, she reached up and touched one finger to the tattoos that had been worked to hide—or at least disguise—the scars on my neck. “I wanted to know. So I talked to somebody—and don’t ask who. I don’t want you angry. I can’t be a good advisor to you or Damon if I work blind. I have some idea of what was done. I felt the scars when we were working out and if you know they are there, you can still see them. They’ll look for them, Kit. They’ll look and unless you make it damn clear that you wear every scar you carry unashamed, that you know each one made you stronger, they’ll find a way to use it against you.”
Her fingers were hot against my skin. I felt colder than I liked.
Taking one careful step back, I cleared my throat.
“So…don’t hide your scars. And don’t go in there looking like a courier from the Assembly. Go in there looking like that bad-ass bitch who was strong enough to catch the attention of the Alpha—the one who was strong enough to survive one of their psycho vamps. One who is strong enough to stand on her own. Walk in there looking like a damned queen, Kit. Wear all that attitude and make them sit there and suck it up. You’re the Alpha’s mate, damn it—that means something—he chose you and he doesn’t choose the weak. They’ve been thinking you’re just a toy for him. Prove them wrong.”
Heat flooded my cheeks and I looked over at the clothes she had laid out.
“Again…leather?”
Now a grin split her cheeks wide.
“Clothes are armor, babe. Trust me.”
⸸
An hour later, I stood in front of a mirror.
The image in the mirror blinked in time with me.
I made a face.
So did she.
Okay, it was me, but it sure as hell didn’t look like me. I had to give Shanelle credit, though. I didn’t look like anybody’s toy and if somebody insinuated otherwise, the woman staring back at me looked like the kind of woman who’d made people eat their words.
“How do the boots feel?”
I glanced down at them and shrugged. “Like boots. Perfect size, too.”
“Think you can move in them?” Shanelle asked, moving closer.
I’d already tried. Nothing I wore was an impediment. “Yes.” Shooting her a sidelong glance, I asked, “Did you have a hand in coming up with this get-up?”
“A hand?” She tsked under her breath. “I did the whole ensemble, sweetheart. I talked to Damon a month or so back, told him that at some point, you might need clothing a bit more…upscale for certain events. This is just one part of it.”
Making a face at her, I went back to studying myself.
I wasn’t surprised she had a hand in it. She tended to wear clothing that…well, it put me in a mind of bondage babe or biker babe—or she just looked like she stepped straight off a runway. Lots of leather and black and designer style pieces that played up her stellar figure. And she never had a problem fighting in anything she wore.
I’d seen her grab a youth who was losing control of his newly shifted figure and flip, then pin him, all without breaking a sweat. She’d been dressed in a suit that would have looked at home on a 9-5 banker.
The shifter had been almost as big as Damon and she’d handled him like he was a toddler.
“This is all custom designed, isn’t it?”
“Only way to get gear like that.” She shrugged, leaning a hip against the counter.
Smoothing a hand down my hip, I blew out a breath. The skirt wasn’t exactly a skirt. It was designed over skin-skimming…well, shorts might be the word and they were thin, moveable, breathable. The leather consisted of two panels that fell in front and back, giving the look of a skirt.
That design was echoed again in the blouse, a tube of material that provided supp
ort and movement, while a leather halter went over the top. It was form-fitting as well, no extra material to get in the way. I’d already tried to put my sword on, hoping I could bitch my way out of it, but the sword went on beautifully. So did an arm sheath that Shanelle had provided.
I slid the blade given to me by Amund into it.
There was more steel tucked into each of the boots, the leather rising up to my knees.
I definitely didn’t look like a half-starved waif.
Shanelle had taken five minutes and worked magic on my hair and face and now I was staring at a woman who looked like a stranger.
“Nobody’s going to recognize me.”
“Bullshit.” Her eyes gleamed.
⸸
When I moved into one of the rooms Damon frequently used for talking with his lieutenants, he glanced up, a faint smile on his face.
Still, he went back to talking to Scott in a low voice as I stood there in a pair of black boots and a skirt that left inches of leg bare.
A blast of cool air from the vent filtered in and danced over skin that wasn’t left exposed all that often. I wasn’t cold, but I wasn’t used to having this much skin naked either.
Scowling, I crossed my arms over my chest.
But I didn’t even have a chance to complete the movement before Damon’s eyes came back to me, slowly.
He blinked, then reached up and dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes. Another slow blink, followed by a tightening of his jaw as he looked me up, then down.
Scott glanced in my direction. His double take was almost comical.
In the next thirty seconds, I found myself the focus of way too many stares. Refusing to squirm under so many gazes, I moved to the table where they all gathered. As I took a seat, I stared Damon dead in the eye. “What?”
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose, then gave his head a slight shake. “Kit.”
“Damon.”
Others were still staring at me.
Damon growled.
Eyes moved away so fast, he might as well have jerked their heads by a chain.
Haunted Blade (Colbana Files Book 6) Page 17
