Ilona Andrews - Magic Rises

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

“Yes. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real that we made it.” I leaned closer against him.

“Kate?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.”

“I am an ass. And an arrogant egomaniac. And a selfish bastard.”

“The first two, yes. But you’re not selfish.” I stroked his arm, feeling the muscle underneath the skin. “You are the way you are, Curran. You have your valid reasons. I am the way I am and I have my reasons, too.”

He kissed my hand. “I love you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

“I love you, too.” I looked into his face. “What’s wrong?”

He took out a small wooden box and handed it to me. What the hell could be so important about a wooden box for that kind of speech?

“What’s in here?”

“Just open it,” he growled.

“I’m not going to open it after you said all that. It might blow up.”

“Kate. Open the box,” he said quietly.

I opened it. A ring looked back at me from black velvet, a pale band with a large brilliant stone with a pale yellow tint. I knew that tint. He’d given me a ring set with a piece of the Wolf Diamond.

“Are you going to say psych ?”

“No,” Curran said.

Oh boy.

Readers often ask why we cut what seem to be perfectly good scenes. The bigger the book, the better, right? It doesn’t always turn out that way. A novel is more than just a collection of scenes. It’s a story, a cohesive whole, and when we edit, we try to make sure that every scene included fits into the narrative and serves some sort of purpose. We really wanted to show Saiman’s rescue, but there just wasn’t a way to include it in the novel. No matter where we put it, it stuck out. So instead we’re offering it to you here as a bonus. Because these are deleted scenes, you will see some identical phrasing and things that tie back to the original manuscript. We hope you’ll like it.

Knock-knock.

My eyes snapped open. Darkness filled the bedroom. I reached over and touched the covers next to me. Empty. Curran must’ve gotten out of bed. Usually I woke up when anything in the vicinity moved, but Curran could be very quiet when he wanted to be, and he had taken it as a personal challenge to sneak in and out of our bed without disturbing me.

Knock-knock.

I dragged myself out of bed, slipped on a pair of sweatpants, and swung the door open. A tall, lean man stood on the other side. Barabas, a weremongoose and lawyer extraordinaire. Since I’d joined the Beast Lord and his fifteen hundred shapeshifter nutcases in the Keep, Barabas had helped me navigate the rough waters of Pack politics. Pack papers said he was my advisor. He ignored them and called himself my nanny.

Barabas never did anything halfway, including his hair. Bright red in sharp contrast to his pale skin, it usually stood straight up on his head like a jagged flame. Today he must’ve done something special to it, because his hair didn’t just look spiky. It was shiny, almost fluorescent, and stiff. He looked electrocuted.

I searched his eyes. No alarm. Whatever it was, it wasn’t urgent. I made some sniffing sounds.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Checking the air for smoke.”

“Why?”

“Because you know I dragged myself to bed less than two hours ago. You wouldn’t wake me up unless it was an emergency. I’m guessing you must’ve set the guard room on fire with your hair and now you want me to evacuate.” Kate one.

“Ha-ha. You have a phone call, Alpha.”

I hated to be called Alpha. Kate one, Barabas one. A draw. “Who is it?”

Barabas looked disgusted, as if someone had just offered him some moldy bread. “The Clerk from the Guild. He says it’s about the pervert.”

“Saiman?”

“Yes. The Clerk says it’s an emergency.”

Okay. “Lead on.”

Saiman was an information broker who happened to also be an expert on all things magic. He’d also made a small fortune in shipping and other ventures. He charged exorbitant prices for his services, but because I had amused him, he had offered me a discount in the past. I had consulted him a few times, but he kept trying to entice me into his bed to prove a philosophical point. I’d put up with it until he’d had the stupidity to parade our connection in front of Curran. The Beast Lord and I had been in a rough spot in our relationship, and Curran didn’t take that exhibition well, a fact that he expressed by turning a warehouse full of luxury cars Saiman had slipped past customs into crushed Coke cans. Since then, Saiman lived in mortal fear of Curran. He avoided me and all things shapeshifter like we were a plague.

Saiman feared physical pain, so he maintained a VIP account at the Mercenary Guild for times when he needed to use brute force. Unfortunately for him, the Pack now owned twenty percent of the Guild and I was in charge of it. I’d flagged his account, making sure I was notified about his activities. Saiman wasn’t exactly vindictive, but he had a long memory, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t spring any surprises on us.

Anything involving Saiman would make Curran lose his temper. A pissy werelion was rather difficult to live with. He wasn’t in a great mood today anyway. We’d had some trouble with a small pack in Florida. With the Pack’s headquarters located in Atlanta, they must’ve felt far enough away and safe, so they’d made excursions into our territory and raided a Pack business. We could quash them, but it would be bloody.

“Do you know where Curran is?”

“He went out to talk to the Lonescos.”

Figured. The Lonescos ran the rat clan within the Pack. The rival Florida pack consisted mostly of rats, and Curran must’ve still hoped for a peaceful resolution. Peaceful in post-Shift Atlanta was a rare luxury. “Did he seem optimistic?”

Barabas shook his head. “No.”

We arrived at the guardroom and Janice offered me the phone. A seasoned guard, Janice was a werejackal, about ten years older than me, with blond hair and a big smile. She looked like a soccer mom on steroids.

I took the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Kate?” the Clerk’s familiar voice asked. The Clerk had a name, but nobody among the mercs used it. He was simply the Clerk and he didn’t seem to mind the name.

“Yep. What can I do for you?”

“Saiman’s been kidnapped.”

“Aha.” Aha was an excellent word. Neither a question nor a statement.

Janice scribbled on a piece of paper, transcribing the conversation.

“They’re holding him for ransom. They dropped the note off at his accountant, who called us.”

“How much do they want?”

“A big one.”

“A million?”

“That’s right.”

Barabas’s eyes went wide. Janice clamped her hand over her mouth for a second. The Guild charged ten percent of ransom for rescuing kidnapped victims. That was quite a chunk of change.

“Where do they want the money delivered?” I asked.

“Mole Hole, in the crater. You know the place.”

Everybody in Atlanta knew the place, but I knew it really well. That was where my insane aunt nearly killed the lot of us and almost burned the city to the ground. That was where I had killed her and almost lost Curran.

“Any details?” I asked.

“I’ve got the note. It says, ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I’m under heavy guard. Please draw one million dollars and deliver it to the Mole Hole before sunrise or my attackers will see red.’”

“Odd note.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the Clerk said. “We got one the other night that said if we didn’t come and get this guy, the kidnappers would feed him to a giant tortoise. Do you want me to do anything about this?”