Ilona Andrews - Magic Bleeds

He strode out of the bedroom. A door swung open with a soft whisper. A barely audible voice murmured something. I couldn’t make out the words but I recognized the rasp—Derek.

A moment later the door swung shut. Curran entered the bedroom and stopped when he saw me looking at him.

He looked . . . at home. His hair stuck out at a weird angle, probably dried odd, since we went from the tub straight to bed. His face was peaceful. I’ve never seen him so relaxed. It was as if someone had lifted a huge weight off those muscled shoulders.

And dumped all of it on me.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“A little past five.” He paused in midstride and leaped on the bed.

I rubbed my face. I dimly recalled getting out of the bathtub, wrapped in a criminally soft towel, and letting him convince me that we needed to lie down and rest for half an hour. We slept for a solid ten hours at least. “I meant to go and talk with the old woman and to call Andrea. Instead I passed out here with you.”

“It was worth it.”

It was totally worth it.

“No more tubs for me.” I jumped off the bed and pulled on a pair of Pack sweats. “They make me lose all sense.”

Curran sprawled on the bed with a big self-satisfied smile. “Want to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“It’s not the bathtub, baby.”

Well, aren’t we smug. I picked up the corner of the lowest mattress and made a show of looking under it.

“What are you looking for?”

“A pea, Your Majesty.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I jumped back as he lunged and his fingers missed me by an inch.

“Getting slow in your old age.”

“I thought you liked slow.”

A flashback to last night mugged me and my mind executed a full stop.

He laughed. “Ran out of snappy comebacks?”

“Hush. I’m trying to think of one.”

As long as we kept sparring, I could pretend that surviving today would be a breeze.

Curran slid off the bed, presenting me with a view of the world’s best chest up close. “While you’re thinking, Raphael and Andrea are waiting for us downstairs. Nash doesn’t matter, but if I keep the scion of Clan Bouda waiting for too long, I’ll have to smooth his feathers, and I don’t feel like it.”

“Feathers?”

“Yes.” Curran snagged a white T-shirt from the drawer. “B’s precious peacock. Strutting around and making sure all the ladies faint in his wake.”

I arched my eyebrow at him.

“He’s not a bad guy.” Curran shrugged. “Spoiled, arrogant. Good in a fight, but thinks with his dick. When things don’t go his way, he throws a tantrum. Andrea is perfect for him—unlike his mother, she doesn’t buy any of his bullshit.”

“So if I invite him over for tea and cookies . . . ?”

“As long as it’s in public, it wouldn’t be an issue. Just don’t expect me to show up. I’ll be indisposed. If you invite him into our rooms, I’ll rip his head off.”

“Is it because you’re jealous or because it would be a breach of Pack protocol?”

“Both.” The muscles along Curran’s jaw tightened. “He handed you a fan so you could fan yourself while watching him. If he steps a hair out of line, he won’t live to regret it and he knows it.”

I slid Slayer’s leather sheath on my back. “Now is probably a good time to mention that I made a deal with his mother.”

Curran stopped. “What sort of deal and when?”

I sketched it out for him while putting on my boots.

Curran grimaced. “Typical. She picked a moment when you were at your weakest.”

I shrugged. “It’s a good deal for me.”

“It is. But then she tried to feed you. That’s my privilege.” Curran held the door open. “B will always push you to see how far she can make you bend. I won’t interfere with the way you handle her, but if it was me, I’d call her to a meeting once this is over. Somewhere public where the two of you would be on display. Make her wait. Half an hour ought to do it.”

“Are you actually holding the door for me?”

“Get used to it,” he growled.

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh, stepped through the door, and Mr. Romance and I went down the stairs to the conference room.

RAPHAEL PACED ALONG THE WALL, FLIPPING A knife. Andrea leaned against the table. Her face was grim.

Raphael nodded as Curran and I walked through the door. “M’lord. M’lady.”

Andrea blinked, her eyes opened wide. “Kate? What are you doing here?”

“She’s his mate. Where else would she be?” Raphael’s voice dripped bitterness. Something had happened between them and it wasn’t good.

“It’s not the same for her,” Andrea said without turning around.

“No, it’s not. She actually came through when our people were dying.”

“She had a choice. I didn’t.”

Raphael’s eyes shone with red. “She had the exact same options you did.”

“Enough,” Curran said.

Raphael turned around, spinning his knife, and resumed his pacing.

Curran glanced at me. “You quit the Order.”

“Ted made it a choice between Brenna’s SOS phone call and keeping my ID on my neck.”

“So you picked the shapeshifters over the knights,” Raphael put in.

Andrea shot him a look of pure fury.

“No,” I said. “I picked people in danger over a direct order to ignore them.”

Now things were clear. I went to help the shapeshifters and Andrea stayed, and now Raphael wanted to bite her head off for it.

“I have your dog,” Andrea said.

Thank you, Universe. “Has he barfed anywhere?”

“He ate my bathroom rug, but other than that he’s okay.”

“I owe you a rug, then.”

She nodded.

I perched on the table. “What’s the Order’s plan for dealing with Erra?”

Andrea grimaced. “Ted’s brought in some female knights from Raleigh and they’re setting a trap for her at the Mole Hole. Tamara Wilson is here. Master-at-arms, blade. She’s supposed to be out of this world good and immune to fire. Ted’s going along with your plan to directly challenge Erra. They’ve put her name on a flag and are flying it over the Mole Hole.”

The Mole Hole used to be Molen Enterprises until it exploded. The slender glass tower once belonged to the Molen Corporation, owned by one of the richest families in Atlanta. Rumor said the Molens had gotten a hold of a phoenix egg. The plan was to hatch the egg, so the young phoenix would imprint on them, giving them a superweapon. The phoenix did hatch, but instead of going “Mommy!” it went boom. Took out the Molen tower and the three city blocks around it. Phoenix didn’t squat once they hatched. They rose, like ancient rockets, straight into the sky.

Eventually the dust cleared, revealing a perfectly round crater. About a hundred and forty yards across, it gaped almost fifty feet deep and full of molten glass and steel. When the crater cooled two weeks later, a foot-thick layer of glass sheathed its bottom. Enterprising citizens cut steps in the crater’s earthen wall, turning it into a makeshift amphitheater. All sorts of legal and illegal events took place in the Mole Hole, from skateboarding competitions and street hockey to dog fights.

“The Mole Hole is in the middle of the city.” I frowned.

“Fifteen minutes from the People’s Casino, twenty from the Witch Oracle in Centennial Park, twenty-five from the Water and Sewer Authority,” Andrea said.

“How badly was the Order trashed?” Curran asked.

“It was still smoking when I left at the end of the day,” Andrea told him.

“Then Moynohan needs to administer severe and very public punishment,” Curran said. “The Order must save face.”

“He’ll get plenty of spectators at the Mole Hole,” Raphael said. “The last time I was there, the buildings on the edge of it were packed full. At least three thousand people, maybe more.”