Mortal Ties

by Eileen Wilks

  That’s what they’d done. Drummond had reverted to his misty, untalking shape for most of the session, though he had formed up enough to comment now and then. They were useful comments, so Lily had passed them on. And maybe no one came up with any breakthrough ideas, but brainstorming got them farther along. And more invested. It put them on her team. Lily had felt satisfied as she rode down to the ground floor.

  Drummond joined her as she stepped out of the elevator in his fully formed version, his usual scowl in place. “What you did—that was creepy as hell.”

  Lily glanced around. The lobby was empty except for the security guard, but her back was to him as she walked away, and he was plugged into his iPod, listening to something with lots of bass. That made for lousy security, but came in handy at the moment. If she whispered…“A ghost is telling me something’s creepy?”

  “You yelled right in my mind!”

  “That’s how mindspeech is supposed to work.” Lily felt a bit smug. Mostly she couldn’t make the mindspeech thing work. She’d been practicing for months now with Sam, but her ability remained so erratic as to be useless. Maybe this was a breakthrough? Can you hear me now?

  He winced. “Don’t do that.”

  Get used to it. I don’t want people to wonder why I keep talking to myself.

  He sighed. “I can see that. I handled it wrong up there, but I was so…why did you hand it off to Bergman? I could have helped. I’m supposed to help, dammit.”

  The lobby had revolving glass doors. She could see Scott waiting right out front, as arranged. She glanced at Drummond and shoved on the glass. Because she’s good, and this frees me up to do what I’m good at. Unless you know something against her, she added as she stepped out into a chilly San Francisco night. Maybe Drummond had worked with Bergman and had some reason to object. They were roughly the same age. The age he’d been when he died, anyway.

  “No,” he said grudgingly. “Bergman’s competent. But you don’t get anywhere by handing the juicy cases off to someone else.”

  “Depends on where you want to go, doesn’t it?” Whoops—she’d forgotten and spoken out loud. She glanced over her shoulder—no one nearby, so maybe no one noticed.

  Not even Drummond. He’d stopped dead and was staring at the car with loathing. “I hate it when you go in the car,” he’d said—and winked out.

  He hadn’t come back when she called him. Lily was beginning to understand why responsible mediums rolled their eyes when asked about getting supernatural aid from the dead. Ghosts—coherent or not—just weren’t much help.

  She didn’t see him at the hotel, either. Marcus and Steve were on duty in the hall when Lily approached the suite trailing her own contingent of guards. She greeted them absently, used the key card, and opened the door.

  Joe sailed down the short entry hall to land on his back with a grunt, right at her feet.

  TWENTY-SIX

  LILY’S gun was in her hand before she even thought about it. Joe grinned up at her. “Whoops. No alarm needed. Rule’s been showing me a few tricks.”

  Joe was wearing boxers. Period. Rule was in shirt and dress slacks when he appeared at the end of the short hall. The shirt was unfastened. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was already pretty messed up. Sweat gleamed on his chest. “I should have warned you.”

  Lily holstered her weapon. “Or at least thrown Joe the other direction.”

  Steve was shamefaced. “It’s my fault. I knew they were working out. I should have told you before you went in. It didn’t occur to me you’d…sorry.”

  “No one got shot, so I’ll accept the apologies.” Steve hadn’t been around her much, and he was Leidolf. He wasn’t used to women who reacted the way she did. “Next time you’ll know.”

  Rule, however, had been around her plenty, and while she hadn’t shot anyone, she might have. It wasn’t as if he never made mistakes, but this…this had been stupid in the didn’t-bother-to-think sense. That wasn’t his kind of mistake. Lily closed the door and moved on into the room, studying him while trying to look like she wasn’t. “I don’t see any damage to the furnishings.”

  “We moved things around to make room.” Absently he began buttoning his shirt.

  “Where’s Cullen?”

  “Casting his Find spell. Again.”

  “It didn’t work?”

  “Oh, he claims it worked. He said the spell located the prototype, but it doesn’t know where that location is. Apparently that makes sense to him.” Rule ran a hand through his hair a second time, but this time with fingers spread to smooth it down. He glanced around. “It was a good bout, Joe. Thanks. Everyone on duty, take your posts. Off duty, get some food or sleep or head for the hotel gym.”

  The sitting room emptied quickly. She and Rule were as alone as they’d been since she climbed in his lap last night…God, yes, that was only a little over twenty-four hours ago, wasn’t it? As alone as they ever got lately. She walked up to him and put her arms around his waist, leaned her head against his chest, and hugged.

  He sighed and hugged back, rubbing his cheek along the top of her head. For a long moment they just stood there, neither of them speaking. He smelled of fresh sweat and the faint, underlying scent that was his alone. Even her poor human nose could identify him from this close. “What do you smell like?”

  “Hmm?” He raised his head. He was smiling slightly.

  “If I could smell you the way your men can, I mean. What were they smelling when you and Joe were working out?”

  His smile fled. “Tension,” he said at last. “I hope they didn’t smell the anxiety. If they’d been in wolf form, they would have.”

  “Hence the sudden need to throw Joe around.”

  “Hence that.” His smile returned, but didn’t make it to his eyes. “Hence turning suddenly stupid. I thought I was dealing with this better.”

  “This” being his unexpected acquisition of a brother? His worry about her? The war? All of the above, she thought, and stretched up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You’re dealing okay. You sent Patrick to look out for Beth. If you hadn’t, they’d have gotten her.”

  “I didn’t claim to be stupid all the time, but I can’t afford even brief bouts of it.”

  “I didn’t shoot.”

  “And thank God for that, but—”

  “Point being that you aren’t perfect, you aren’t going to turn perfect just because you feel like it’s all up to you, and sometimes you have to rely on other people to do the right thing. What did Scott do when I drew?”

  “Shifted to the side so he could leap past you if needed. Todd turned enough to keep both you and the hall in view. Mike…his posture suggested he was ready to take you to the floor if there was a threat. I need to talk to him about that. Standing orders are that they never block your shot. And yes, I take your point, which I gather is something about teamwork.”

  He sounded irritated about the whole concept of teamwork, which she gathered had something to do with being a Rho and, therefore, a control freak. The latter condition she understood only too well, so she gave him another quick kiss to tell him that, then simply lingered, held close, and thought about all the questions she’d been saving up for when they were alone. And didn’t want to ask any of them. She didn’t want to talk at all, not with her body stirring and beginning to yearn.

  She sighed. “We need to talk.”

  “Why do those words always sound so ominous?” he murmured. But he was more relaxed now, more himself. “You want to discuss the venue for the wedding?”

  Their wedding had been so far from her thinking the last twenty-four hours that his question took her aback. She shook her head. “This is about the case. The cases.”

  He squeezed her waist and let go. “All right. Would you like some wine to go with our words? I had a pleasant Syrah with dinner. There’s some of that left, or I could open the Riesling the wine steward recommended.”

  “Some Riesling would be good.” As he moved
to the room service cart she took off her jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, and began unfastening her shoulder harness. “Why Leidolf?”

  “Hmm?” He inserted the corkscrew and began twisting.

  “I wondered why you brought an all-Leidolf squad with us.”

  “Oh.” With a soft sound like a sigh the cork came out. He reached for a wineglass. “Call it a gut impulse, but my head agreed.”

  She set her shoulder harness on the table and toed off first one shoe, then the other. It felt good to wiggle her toes, dig them into the plush carpet. “What did your head say?”

  “That it’s hard on my Leidolf guards at Nokolai Clanhome. They’re surrounded by Nokolai and constantly see me in my role as the other clan’s Lu Nuncio. They need time with me as their Rho.”

  He wasn’t making any effort to lower his voice, which meant any guards in the other bedroom who were awake could hear him easily. Which meant he was okay with that. Maybe he wanted them to. Lily picked up her jacket, shoulder harness, and shoes and carried them into the bedroom that was hers and Rule’s. “It’s kind of weird to hear you call Nokolai the other clan. I know what you meant, but…do you think you’ll become more Leidolf than Nokolai?”

  Glass clinked. “The balance has shifted, but I’ve been Nokolai all my life. I won’t lose that. It’s too much a part of me.”

  She set her shoulder harness on the bedside table where she could get it in a hurry, if needed. Shoes and jacket went in the closet. “And your gut said?”

  He came into the bedroom carrying two glasses. “I wanted Leidolf around me. I wanted them to feel the change. They may not consciously notice, but they’ll feel it. Leidolf is truly mine now.”

  “That’s a very dominant way of seeing it.”

  His grin flashed. He held out one brimming glass. “I’m a dominant kind of a guy.”

  In the lupi sense of the word, she reminded herself as she accepted the wine. He knew he was in charge—but of the clan, not her. Which was sort of the problem, considering what she needed to tell him. Lily took a sip of wine. “Hey. That’s really good.” Good enough to burst through her preoccupation and make her notice. “It tastes kind of like the sky looks up high in the mountains. You know—really saturated, but crisp.”

  He took a sip, too, his eyes steady on hers. “I agree. I’ll have to tell the wine steward we approve. What is it you wanted to talk about that you can’t bring yourself to talk about?”

  He was too damn perceptive at times. She sighed. “Before we left Clanhome, Cynna asked me to promise I’d let her know if we needed her. You said Cullen can’t make his Find spell work. We have two people missing that we’re pretty sure are hostages. We need Cynna.”

  “No.”

  He said that coolly and with complete assurance. It was exactly the reaction she’d expected. In his mind this was a clan matter—Nokolai clan, not Leidolf this time, but either way, his territory. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

  “Lily, stop and think,” he said impatiently. “Bringing Cynna here could be the reason for all of this. Why is Friar kidnapping people? That’s what you keep asking, isn’t it? Maybe because he wants the best Finder in the country to show up and try to find them. Stealing the prototype might get her here, but if not, grab some people, too, because that’s exactly the sort of thing we’d need her for. Exactly the sort of thing she’d want to come here for. Cynna has no apprentice. If she were killed, the clan’s memories would be lost.” He shook his head. “It’s unthinkable.”

  “And it’s still not your decision. Look.” She set her wine down on the bureau and went to him. “You lupi have been around for over three thousand years. In all that time, has a Rhej ever died before she could pass on the memories?”

  His eyebrows went up. “It hasn’t happened, therefore it won’t? You usually argue better than that.”

  She laid her hands on his chest, wanting the contact. “It hasn’t happened, and maybe there’s a reason. You protect your Rhejes in every way possible, and that’s got to be part of it. What if the Lady protects them, too? By warning them, maybe, in certain special circumstances. Like if a Rhej who hasn’t passed on the memories is about to do something that’s apt to get her killed.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “I’m pretty sure the Rhejes know a lot of stuff they don’t talk about.”

  “The Lady doesn’t speak to her Rhejes often. I know that much.”

  “Speech isn’t the only way she communicates with them, though. Hannah talked about having dreams or feelings about stuff. And the Lady is a patterner. Like Friar, only with aeons more experience and knowledge. She’d be able to read patterns really well. She’d have a good sense of when one of her Rhejes needs to stay home.”

  He didn’t say anything. She felt the tension thrumming through him.

  “When Cynna asked me to promise I’d call if we needed her, she said she might not be able to come. She wanted me to call, but she couldn’t say if she would come or not. I didn’t think much about it then, but later I got to wondering…was she just keeping her options open? Or did she think she’d get some kind of mystical thumbs-down if coming here was a bad idea? Either way,” she finished gently, “Cynna gets to decide. Not you or me.”

  His breath gusted out. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Nice of you to include yourself in the we-don’t-get-to-decide-for-her ultimatum.”

  “Yeah, well, I was tempted to find a loophole in my promise. Don’t think I wasn’t.”

  “You’re going to call her.”

  “I am. But not right this second.” She drifted her hands up to his shoulders. “I’m all talked out at the moment. You?”

  He lowered his hands to cup her hips. Then he just looked at her, his gaze intent, as if he needed to find something in her eyes. Uncertainty pinched at her. “What? What is it?”

  He smiled slightly and shook his head. “Nothing. Or nothing important, and I find I, too, am not in the mood to talk.” He bent his head and nibbled at her lips. “Especially not of unimportant things.”

  She leaned into the kiss. He reciprocated for a moment, then pulled back, tending to the side of her neck instead of her mouth. Delicious little thrills raced over her skin, a goose-bumpy delight that made her smile as she reached for the buttons he’d just refastened on his shirt.

  He smiled at her with lazy, hooded eyes and covered her hand with his. “Not yet,” he whispered, and turned her hand up and kissed her palm.

  He wanted slow. He wanted lingering and teasing, and she was not in a patient mood. As with so much in a relationship, compromise was key.

  She compromised by cupping his balls. And squeezing exactly the way he liked.

  He gasped. When he smiled this time his eyes were still hooded, but not lazy. Not at all. “So that’s how it is, is it?” And he launched his counterattack.

  Lupi move really fast when they want to.

  She didn’t notice any buttons go flying, so maybe he’d unfastened her pants before sliding his hand inside. But then, she didn’t notice much at all except his fingers sliding, parting, moving. She forgot what she’d meant to do to him and grabbed onto his shoulders for balance—then, because her hands were right there, grabbed his head and pulled it down.

  No more nibbling. This kiss was hot and deep, and she twisted against him, reveling in the flood of feeling. Wanting him to be flooded, too—to turn loose, pop the clutch, let go of that fearsome control he used and needed everywhere else in his life and go flying with her.

  The flying buttons came from his shirt. It took her two tugs because he bought quality, and the thread didn’t break easily.

  He laughed. His eyes were on fire and he laughed, full and delighted, and he jerked her tank up over her head and lowered his head and…

  And she remembered something. “The door,” she said, as he traced a hot, wet path with his mouth along her collarbone and down.

  “What door?” He hadn
’t removed her bra. He didn’t let that stop him.

  “The…ah, ah…” She had to pause and gulp in a breath. “The door to the bedroom. It’s open.”

  He paused ever so briefly to glance that way. “But so very far away.” He resumed what he’d been doing.

  Which was incredibly distracting, but she choked on a laugh and grabbed his head and said as firmly as she could, “Rule. The door.”

  He flashed her a grin as impish and delighted as that of any little boy with a frog he meant to present to the girliest girl in class. He was thinking about making her forget the damn door, she knew it, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop him, but the guards—they could hear too much. Even if they didn’t come out of their bedroom—and they wouldn’t. He’d sent them there and they wouldn’t come out until shift change, but even so—

  “The door,” he agreed, and straightened and drew her hand to his lips again, but this kiss was placed softly on the back of her hand—a knight’s salute to his lady, not a seduction.

  She used those few seconds to get rid of the bra and everything else, too. She might not be as fast as a lupus, but she was motivated.

  He closed the damn door and turned and stopped, looking at her. “Sometimes,” he said softly, and stopped, then started again, “I often wonder why human men are so fixated on how a woman looks when there’s so much more to explore, and so many kinds of beauty—why obsess over one particular version? But sometimes, when I look at you, I understand.”

  And sometimes, when he looked at her the way he was now, she was beautiful. Not just okay. Not even really pretty. Beautiful.

  “And you’re mine.” He sounded smug as he slipped off the shirt she’d ripped open and reached for the zipper on his slacks. “Not theirs. Mine.”

  That smugness made her want to laugh because it was so innocent. Possessiveness was a forbidden delight for lupi, not one Rule was used to, and most of the time he was wary about indulging in it.