Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

Elsie let go of Mr. Clooney and clutched the armrests of her rocker. They wouldn’t be getting her out, not where the beasts could get her.

“If you’re refusing to listen to reason, Leanne and I’ll have to take you out by force.”

Elsie dug her nails into the wood.

“Suit yourself.” Amy sighed, leaned over, and tried to pull her free. “Oh, my Lord in Heaven, she tied herself to the chair. With her good scarves, too.”

She went into a crouch to pull loose the knot by the chair legs, and Elsie raked her face. Blood swelled. Amy stared stunned, tears swelling in her eyes. “Grandma!”

Elsie raised her hands, her bony fingers curled like claws. “You leave me alone!”

Leanne struck at her left hand, pinning it down with both of hers. Elsie scratched at her, but Amy clamped her right wrist to the armrest. Elsie snapped, trying to bite, and Amy pressed her left hand onto her chest, pinning her to the chair. Elsie growled and gnashed her teeth, but couldn’t reach Amy’s arm.

They looked at each other.

“Now what?” Amy breathed. “I can’t reach the knot, and if I let go, she’ll claw us bloody.”

“Kenny Jo!” Leanne called. “I’ll get him to untie the knot, and then we move her just like this right into the shower. Kenny Jo!”

The screen door banged, and Kenny Jo crossed the living room and stepped into the bedroom. The glyphs shivered a little. Elsie buckled against Amy’s hand. Kenny Jo wasn’t a dud like Amy. “Run!” she yelled at him. “Run!”

“Ma?”

“I need you . . .”

The first creature padded from behind the couch and stared at Kenny’s back. He turned and went white as a sheet. The creature stepped forward, rocking on its haunches. Kenny stumbled back. His mouth gaped open. He choked, struggling, gulped, and screamed, setting the glass on the windows ringing.

ROSE didn’t remember her coffee until Declan was done with his workout. Her drink had gone cold. She got up to get a fresh cup just as he strode through the door. He dwarfed the kitchen, big, golden, and intimidating. At least his shirt was back on, which was definitely a good thing. “Coffee?” she asked.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She had hoped he’d take a shower, which would have gotten him out of the kitchen. She could’ve used a moment to cool off.

Up close, she caught his scent: a faint aroma of sandalwood and a very male musk emanating from his tawny, sweat-slicked skin. No, she told herself firmly and took a step out of his reach. He looked superb, he smelled like a drug, and if she went over and found out how he tasted, she would throw away her freedom, independence, and future with one kiss.

“I apologize for my attire,” Declan said.

His attire was quite fine, thank you very much. In fact, she should probably go and get a big black trash bag and slide it over him. It would certainly make her life easier. “Not a problem. We don’t have much use for ceremony and formal clothes in the Edge.”

His gaze snagged on her Clean-n-Bright uniform. “Why are you wearing that?”

“It’s my uniform. Everyone in my company wears it.”

“It’s hideous.”

Rose felt her hackles rise. The neon green uniform was hideous, but she didn’t appreciate him pointing it out. She opened her mouth.

“Yet despite it, you look lovely,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she told him.

“It’s not flattery,” he said coldly. “Flattery requires exaggeration. I’m merely stating a fact. You’re a beautiful woman wearing an ugly sack of unnatural color.”

Rose stared at him, not sure what to make of it. Was it a compliment or an insult? Unable to decide, she shrugged it off.

“It’s customary to offer breakfast to boarders,” he said.

“I hope you enjoy Mini-Wheats. That’s all we have.”

She pulled a box of cereal from the shelf and poured it into two bowls. “I wanted to thank you for saving Jack. And for staying with them and making pancakes.”

“I did what any honorable man would do,” he said.

“That said, I still refuse to go away with you.” She added milk and pushed one of the bowls toward him.

“Duly noted.” He hesitated as if deciding on something. “The boys are very brave.”

“Thank you.”

She sat across from him and looked at him. “Suppose, just for the sake of the argument, that you win the challenges. What are your intentions toward me? Am I going to be auc tioned off to the highest bidder like a prized cow, or are you planning on keeping me for yourself?”

His eyes turned dark. “Did someone try to auction you off, Rose?”

“That’s not important.”

“On the contrary. The slave trade is forbidden in Adrianglia. If someone’s selling people, I want to know about it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what would you do about it?”

“I’d make them deeply regret it.”

She had no doubt he could. “Why do you care?”

“It’s my responsibility as a peer of the realm to make sure the laws of Adrianglia are upheld. I take it seriously.”

“All that is good,” she said, “but you still didn’t answer my question. What are your intentions toward me?”

He leaned forward. Some of the hardness drained from his eyes. They turned deep and very green. “I intend to have you.”

“In what sense of the word?”

A narrow smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. He looked utterly focused, like a cat about to pounce. “In every sense.”

Rose choked on her coffee.

Georgie stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Instantly, Declan leaned back, his face casual.

There was a moment there when his eyes had lit up, and she thought he might have been pulling her leg. Almost as if he said that just to get a rise out of her. Could he be joking? Surely not. Not that she would put it past him to make fun at her expense, but he didn’t seem capable of humor.

Rose added another bowl, poured the milk, and distributed the food. Georgie crawled into the chair next to Declan and poked at his Mini-Wheats with a spoon.

“Thank you for the meal,” Declan said, picking up his own spoon.

“Thank you for the meal,” Georgie echoed. Well, at least one good thing came from the blueblood being here: Georgie said thank you without being reminded.

Georgie looked at Declan, probably waiting for a clue to his next move. She understood why. Something about Declan telegraphed “man.” It wasn’t his face, although he was heart stoppingly handsome, if grim. He had a great build and he carried himself well, but that wasn’t quite it either. It wasn’t his swords, or his cloak, or his leathers. It was something unidentifiable, something in his eyes or in the air he projected, something she couldn’t quite pin down.

For lack of a better word, Declan radiated masculinity. The “depend on him in a dark alley” kind of masculinity. The “hit the bad guy with a chair before he shoots us” kind of masculinity. If they were attacked, he wouldn’t hesitate to put himself between them and the danger, because that’s what men did. The boys didn’t stand a chance.

Under different circumstances, she might not have stood a chance either. But experience had taught her very well: bluebloods were to be feared and avoided. All that rock-steady manliness could be an elaborate act. She had to watch her every step.

Declan put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Georgie hesitated. Getting him to eat was an ordeal lately. He was hungry all the time but ate like a bird, a bite here, a bite there. And if he didn’t eat enough, he got shaky.

Declan chewed, scooped more cereal into his spoon, put it into his mouth, and glanced at Georgie. Georgie fidgeted under the pressure of those green eyes, picked up his own spoon again, and started eating.