Thea Harrison - Storm's Heart

At long last she pulled onto the short one-way street where the Regent was located, and she could see the hotel’s well-lit portico ahead. There was also a mob of people milling about, huddling under umbrellas and awnings as they talked and drank coffee.

Camera crews and television vans. Of course.

And there was Tiago, wearing his mad assassin’s face as he leaned against a crosswalk post and watched the oncoming traffic on the one-way street with those dark killer’s eyes. He was quite the satanic figure, massive and motionless and clad in black, and wholly focused on her. She tried not to let the sight of him affect her as she looked away, but her hyperawareness of his presence added to her clumsiness. He looked so savage. No, sexy. No, savage. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

She carefully pulled the SUV over to the curb and parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. “Big, tough, scary Wyr,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Tiago’s chin lowered to his chest as he looked at her. The downward angle of his eyebrows became more pronounced. The overhead streetlamp slashed black shadows across his hatchet-carved features.

The skin at the back of her neck tingled. She whispered, “You can’t hear me whisper from all the way over there, can you?”

He tilted his head in silent acknowledgment. Adrenaline pulsed. Her bones were wiser and more sensible than her foolish brain. They reminded her that his mad face was the last thing many creatures saw before they died.

Phooey. The keys clacked as her shaking fingers turned off the ignition. The spurt of adrenaline was a weak one that fled as her muscles seemed to turn to goo. She slumped in her seat. It hurt to breathe.

A light tap sounded at the window. She forced herself to look up. Tiago stood at the driver’s window again. His madassassin face had morphed into sharp concern. He put his flattened hand on the window. It looked as big as a dinner plate. “Faerie,” he said. “Niniane. Please open the door now.”

Her arm felt like it weighed fifty pounds as she pushed the lock button. He yanked the door open and leaned over her, his brow creased in a frown. He put a hand to her forehead and took in a quick breath.

“They all want Niniane Lorelle,” she said to him. Her voice sounded tinny and weird, and echoed in her own ears. “But who am I kidding? That girl died a long time ago. Tricks is just going to have to fake it.”

His expression gentled in a way she would never have believed if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The satanic killer morphed into a handsome worried man. “Niniane didn’t die,” he said. He stroked her hair. “She just went into hiding for a very long time. She’s a brave, beautiful woman who needs medical attention now.”

“I know, it’s infected,” she said. She watched as a man from the crowd noticed them and began to walk toward them. A few others joined him, then more. An internal quaking rattled her limbs, and her breathing grew choppy. She gripped Tiago’s thick, strong wrist, and her gaze clung to his. “Please don’t leave me until I get better. I can’t do this alone and sick. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

Death came back into his face as he glared at the oncoming crowd. “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried,” he said. “And you might recall, faerie—you’ve tried. Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

She nodded. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and pulled out of the SUV. He took the Glock from his waistband and pointed it at the crowd. People cried out and jerked to a halt. In his deep battlefield-carrying voice, Tiago said, “Her highness has survived two assassination attempts in less than thirty-six hours. Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t shoot you, because I will. Back the fuck up.”

The crowd stumbled back, staring at him. Niniane stared at him too. He was pure aggression, from that powerful muscled body to his hatchet-hewn face, black hair shining wet from the rain and those hard, glittering eyes. The last of her strength ebbed away as she relaxed. He really would take care of everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A flicker of his eyes, a small, brief quirk at the corner of his lips. He told the crowd, “Everybody—move across the street. Now.”

She must have closed her eyes for a minute, because suddenly there were uniformed police all around. She startled violently as her overtaxed body tried to pulse another alarm, but something must have happened when she wasn’t looking. The police had recognized Tiago and were helping, not confronting him. They cleared the path to the hotel.

Tiago leaned into the SUV one more time to ease his arms under her shoulders and knees. She tucked her face into his neck as he cradled her against his broad chest. Cameras started to flash, sparking in the wet night like fireflies. Tiago’s Power enveloped her, a warm masculine blanket of inexhaustible energy. She concentrated on his scent, on his massive strength, which kept the rest of the chaotic, dangerous world at bay. Thank you, thank you.

Uniformed staff held the doors as he strode into the Regent. He headed toward the reception desk, intensely aware of the small shivering female in his arms. She felt so vulnerable. Rage swept over him again as he recalled the footage of when she was knifed.

A distinguished, well-dressed human male with salt-and-pepper hair approached Tiago before he was halfway to the desk. The male was flanked by hotel security. Tiago bared his teeth at them when they were still several feet away. “Stop there.”

The men froze and regarded him with wide-eyed wariness. The human in the suit said, “Sir, whatever we can do—please know the full resources of the hotel are at her highness’s disposal.”

“We need a suite on a secured floor,” Tiago ordered. “It should be at least two floors away from the Dark Fae delegation. And her highness needs medical attention. Get a doctor. Make it happen now.”

The suit nodded and spoke in an urgent low voice into a handheld. He said, “If you’ll follow me, sir.” He gestured and they strode to the elevators. Security fell into step behind them. The suit looked at Niniane, then back to Tiago, worry in his eyes. Her knife wound had bled through the dressing and the T-shirt. A patch of red showed clearly against the light material. She had not bothered to slip on the flip-flops. Her delicate pale legs and feet seemed very bare. Tiago raged that her wounded nakedness was so visible to the public.

He and the suit stepped onto the elevator. Tiago snapped at the security guards, “Take the stairs.”

They jerked to a halt. As the doors shut, they turned to sprint away.

He looked at the suit and said, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, sir. You’re the Wyr sentinel Tiago Black Eagle,” said the human. “Lord Cuelebre called personally and informed us of your involvement. It is my understanding Lord Cuelebre has also been in contact with Chicago PD. I’m the hotel manager, Scott Hughes.”

Tiago nodded. The seven Wyr sentinels had a legal authority that had several things in common with that of a federal U.S. Marshal, although there were several discrete differences as well that mainly had to do with the chain of command. When Tiago was in the States, among other things he had the authority to apprehend fugitives from Wyr justice, enlist help from willing civilians, and protect Wyr judiciaries, dignitaries and witnesses. He assumed control of the current situation from a long-standing precedent. Niniane had been a public member of Wyr society for many years, and she had often been under the sentinels’ protection.

It helped to have some of his road smoothed. Now was not the time to fuck around with an argument over jurisdiction and weapons privileges.