Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

Johnny rotated on a circle of brass in the center of the rotunda and studied the overhead panes of glass in hues of blue and yellow and green, then asked, “Why is it empty?” Around him, the members of his own pack and the Omori halted as well.

A few paces ahead, “tour guide” MacPhearson realized he wasn’t being followed. Warily, he scanned the group, as if conducting a head count. “The city acquired the building and the tower attached for new government offices, then those plans stalled. So here it sits until they decide what to do with it. And it’s my responsibility to make sure this structure remains intact—a responsibility I take very seriously. So, if your security has reason to believe we may have a situation here today, I need to know about it.”

Gregor drew nearer and said, “This is all standard procedure, Mr. MacPhearson. We’ve not acquired any intel suggesting adverse events today. We just take our responsibility very seriously as well.”

MacPhearson studied Gregor for several seconds. “I’ll permit a few of your men to access the first and second mezzanines, so long as I send one of my men for every one of yours.”

“Agreed,” Aurelia said. “Where is the podium to be placed?”

“Podium?”

Aurelia shuffled her papers.

Kirk stepped up beside Johnny, and as he looked at his sharpshooter, he recalled the man’s attraction to Red’s bodyguard. He leaned in, “Do you by chance have Zhan’s cell number?” he asked in a whisper.

Kirk gave him one solemn nod, but his wordless answer told Johnny that this was a secret. He pulled Kirk aside. “I need you to contact her. Coordinate with her to find Red.”

“She’s missing?”

Johnny nodded.

“I’m on it,” Kirk said and left.

“Page three of the contract the Zvonul offered—where are you going?” Aurelia snapped.

“I gave him an errand,” Johnny said smoothly.

She gave him a nonplussed stare, then turned back to MacPhearson. “Page three of the contract states that we require a podium ‘designed to denote some level of status.’ It also serves as cover should shots be fired.”

“I don’t have anything to do with the contract, just the building.” MacPhearson took a phone from his pocket, punched a number. “Do you know anything about a podium in the contract? Page three?” he said into the phone.

Johnny’s phone rang. It was Hector. Kirk had told him to call and he hadn’t. “ ’Lo?”

“Hi, John . . . I mean, sire. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I need to ask you something. Not on speakerphone, and not where others can hear.”

Johnny drifted away from the group. “Go ahead.”

“Were you expecting that . . . fit . . . you had last night?”

A flashback of writhing in his kennel hit him. He remembered seeing Hector beyond the bars. Not far away, Aurelia dropped her file and bent to pick it up. Her ass was so damn nice—he turned away. “Why?”

“John, please. Put aside the authority and the need to know my motive before you reveal anything. I get how the politics make life difficult; I was Ig’s assistant for years. Just, right now, be the guy Ig and I used to drink with. Be straight with me. Did you know?”

“No.”

Hector swore.

“Why?”

“Ig knew people. We have sources inside the haven. We know what happened. Your girlfriend called your phone last night, early. She warned me you were going to have a fit. She said it wouldn’t last long and that you’d be fine. She said you knew about it, and you didn’t. She lied, John. She lied and she did something. Something magic. You need to know what it was.”

“I’ll find out. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“She’d marked the vampire. Twice. She had control of him, you understand? The haven was essentially under her control. We can’t afford to have that happen to our Domn Lup.”

“Hector, I can handle it.”

“I bet the vamp said that, too.”

Iwoke up. My body still hurt, but there was light on my face.

Johnny’s here.

I blinked until things came into focus. Well, not things, but thing: the small black candle about two feet away from my head. It was dripping dark wax into the powdery white salt. The little flame was reassuring. It meant that someone—

“You’re awake.”

I recognized that voice. It wasn’t Johnny. Oh hell.

With his knees bent up and his arms clasped around them and the long sleeves of his black robe covering him, Creepy had completely blended into the background, which seemed to be iron. The meager illumination didn’t stretch very far.

It seemed my call through the sorsanimus had worked and been answered, by Menessos anyway. I lifted my head; it wasn’t easy with the crick presently in my neck. “Untie me.”

“I cannot.”

“What? Menessos sent you to—”

“Menessos did not send me this time.”

Exhaling slowly, I let my head rest against the salt again. This is where Menessos’s nondisclosure deal starts biting me in the ass. I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to know the answer but asked anyway, “Then why are you here?”

He pitched forward onto his knees. The salt—there had to be tons of it here—shifted as he disturbed it. He repositioned the candle so it was a foot or so away from the crown of my head. Then Creepy lay down in front of me, mimicking my pose exactly. “My eyes are addicted to your beauty.” He reached for my cheek. “And my hands yearn—”

“You have to untie me.” I didn’t have time for this, and I certainly didn’t want to know more about his yearnings.

His touch trailed to my neck. “I don’t have to do anything,” he whispered. “I don’t even have to be here. . . .” His fingertips glided so softly over my shoulder.

Every nerve was hypersensitive. Pain jolted through me. I gasped and tensed and shouted, “Don’t!” That only made it worse. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Your flesh is heated and swollen, so tender.”

“My shoulder’s out of socket,” I said through clenched teeth. “Don’t touch me.”

The next thing I knew he was wiping my tears. Then, as if sampling the most decadent confection, he licked his fingers. “I cannot bear to see you in such pain.”

“Then help me,” I pleaded. Even Creepy’s help would suffice.

With purpose, he sat up. I was grateful for his change of heart—until he grabbed my shoulder. I tried to scream no or don’t or stop or any other cease-type command, but as he shoved the bone into place what left my mouth was a wordless and primal expression of agony.

The sharp intensity disappeared, but an awful ache remained as I tried to relearn how to breathe.

“There.” Creepy’s fingertips brushed my cheek and he lay down again. “That’s better, is it not?”

When I could speak, I said, “Please untie me.”

“I told you I cannot.”

“If you can repair a screen door, you can make a rope untie itself.”

“Yes. I am capable of that.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Help me!”

“It is not that simple, Persephone.”

My stomach gave a little heave as I recalled Menessos saying our new ally had taught him to think through the pain. My knee-jerk reaction was to not make any deals with this man, but I was not in a position to negotiate. “Explain,” I growled.

“Liyliy needs you to do something.”

Fuck her. Luckily, before the thought became words that escaped my lips, I decided expressing negatives to the one person—well, whatever Creepy was—who might get me out of all this was a bad idea. “What would that be?”