Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

“The first rule of etiquette a boy learns when he’s about to enter society is that civility is due to all women. No provocation, no matter how unjust and rudely delivered, can validate a man who fails to treat a woman with anything less than utmost courtesy.”

The boys hung on his every word. He glanced in her direction.

“I have met some incredibly unpleasant women, and I have never failed in this duty. But I must admit: your sister may prove my undoing.”

Rose pulled the magic to her. “Get out.”

He shook his head with a critical look on his face.

She clenched her fist. “You have ten seconds to exit my house, or I’ll fry you.”

“If you try frying me, I’ll be seriously put out,” he said. “Besides, pancakes taste much better fried, given that they are sweet and fluffy and I’m full of gristle. Would you like one?” He held the platter out to her.

The magic vibrated in her, ready to be released.

Jack slid off his chair and stood in front of the blueblood, blocking her.

“Move!”

“He saved me from the beasts,” Jack said quietly.

“What beasts?”

“The beasts outside. They attacked me.”

“How do you know he didn’t conjure the beasts in the first place?”

“To what purpose?” the blueblood asked.

“To get into the house!”

“And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?”

Rose halted. She wasn’t sure why he would want to do that. If there was something he hoped to gain by entering the house, she couldn’t think of it. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t trust you.”

He nodded to the boys. “Start on the pancakes. Your sister and I need to have a talk.” He moved toward her.

She raised her head. If he thought he could order her around in her own house, he was in for a hell of a surprise. “Fine. We’ll talk outside.” Where Jack couldn’t shield him.

The blueblood nodded, sidestepped her with smooth grace, and held the front door open for her.

“Don’t hurt him, Rose!” Georgie said.

Jack looked like a wet kitten: miserable.

Rose marched onto the porch, shut both the door and the screen door firmly behind her, and pointed to the path. “Road’s that way.”

He descended the steps. Without the cape, he didn’t seem quite as massive. The light, supple leather of his black jerkin hugged his broad, muscular back, which slimmed to a narrow waist caught by a leather belt, and long runner’s legs in gray pants and tall dark boots. His movements had a sure but light quality about them. He wasted no gesture, economical yet adroit, and as he walked across the grass to the smoking stains, she was reminded of her grandfather. Cletus had moved like that, with the agility of a natural fencer. But where her grandfather had been lean and relied on speed, the blueblood, while probably fast, looked very strong. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t jumped onto her Ford, the old truck would have crumpled around him like an empty soda can.

The blueblood stopped by the stain and glanced at her. She crossed her arms. He held out his hand, inviting her to join him. Fat chance.

“Please grace me with your presence,” he said as if she were a lady at some ball and he was inviting her on a balcony for a private chat.

He was mocking her. She bristled. “I can see everything from here.”

“Do you care for your brothers?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then I fail to understand why you take their safety so lightly. Come here, please. Or should I carry you?”

She jumped off the porch and walked over. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He knelt by the stain and held his hand above it. The power coalesced below his palm. He murmured something in a language she didn’t understand. The magic flowed, following his words, and the smoke condensed into a shape.

An awful beast stared at her. It was tall and long, with the deep chest and hindquarters of a greyhound. Its head on a long neck was almost horse-like in shape, except for the four dull gray slits of the slanted eyes. The creature’s paws were disproportionately large, their fingers long and armed with three-inch claws. The thought of those claws ripping into Jack made Rose gulp.

Obeying the wave of the blueblood’s hand, the beast opened his mouth. Its head nearly split in half, its maw gaping wide, wider, showing rows of triangular teeth, bloodred and serrated, designed to shred meat.

“There were two of them,” the blueblood said softly. “One came from the left and the other from behind the house. They stalked Jack and meant to kill him. I understand that your education is lacking and you don’t trust me, so listen to your instincts instead: you know that this is an aberration. This isn’t an animal, but something else entirely. Put your hand into it.”

“What?”

“Touch it. You’ll feel the residual traces of its magic. It won’t harm you.”

Cautiously Rose touched the smoke. Her fingers tingled with magic, and she felt it, an awful sensation of touching something slimy and rotting, yet coarse, as if she’d stuck her hand into a putrid carcass and found it filled with sharp grains of sand. She recoiled.

That wasn’t enough. She had to learn more.

Rose forced her fingers back into the smoke. The revolting sensation claimed her hand again, and she grimaced, looking away, but held her hand within the creature. Her fingers numbed, and then she sensed a distant echo of foul magic, pulsing like a live wire within the memory of the beast. It was an alien magic, impassive and cold like the blackness between the stars. Rose withdrew her hand and shook it, trying to fling the memory of the feeling from her fingers. He was right. This was no natural animal.

The blueblood collapsed the smoke shape and offered her his hand. “Touch me.”

She stared at his palm. Calloused. Probably from swinging that bloody sword.

“I won’t bite,” he said. “Not until you’re in my bed, anyway.”

“Never happen.” She put her hand into his. Magic slid into her fingers. He was letting her see his power. It shone within him, warm and white, like a distant star. The star dimmed and vanished, as if hidden by a cloak, and suddenly Rose found her fingers in the hand of a man, who was studying her with a knowing smirk. His skin was warm and rough, his grip firm, and her mind came right back to his “biting in bed” remark.

Rose jerked her hand out of his fingers. His point was clear: even she knew that to summon those beasts, he would’ve had to open himself to their greedy magic. It clung to her still, trying to worm its way inside. Anybody in prolonged contact with the beasts or their source would be permanently tainted. She had detected none of their miasma within the blueblood. He was clean.

The blueblood raised his hands, as if asking for her feedback.

“You’ve made your point,” she admitted. “You didn’t bring them here. You’ve made much of your education, so I take it you know what they are. What are they, and what do they want?”

He looked lost in thought for a moment. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’m calling them ‘hounds’ for now.”

Great. Fantastic.

“I know they wanted to kill Jack,” he said. “I don’t believe he was a particular target. They would’ve gone for anyone else in his place. Their magic is . . .”

“Clingy,” she supplied.

The blueblood nodded. “It seeks to assimilate. It’s dangerous.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“That’s why I’ll stay with you tonight,” he said.

Rose blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t come all this way to have my future bride consumed by some aberration. You’re ill equipped to deal with this threat. If your sensibilities won’t permit my presence in your house, then I’ll remain here.” He pointed to the porch.