Ilona Andrews - Magic Bleeds

“Not that many,” Curran said. “Most of the deaths will be from people trampling each other.”

Thanks, Your Fuzziness, that makes me feel loads better. “Ted doesn’t care about the loss of life. He deals in large numbers: the welfare of many outweighs the lives of the few. I can’t do that.”

“I know.” Curran leaned back. “We’ll take a squad from each clan, female fighters only.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How many per squad?”

“Between five and ten. We position them along the roofs. You’ll wait on the street by the Casino. She’ll chase you. If you back away far enough, my . . . our people will swarm her undead helpers. You and I will key on her.”

As plans went, it was painfully simple, but anything else depended too much on Erra’s actions and she was unpredictable.

“It makes sense.” I played with my sword, running my hands along the blade. “You shouldn’t go to this fight. You’re male and a shapeshifter; that makes you twice as vulnerable to Erra.”

“I have to go. It’s in the job description.”

“It’s not a fight that you can win, Curran.”

“I don’t get to cherry-pick the battles I know I’ll win.”

A narrow smile curved his lips. He looked wicked and almost boyish at the same time. Something jabbed me right under the heart, where I stored my fears, and they surged through me all at once.

He was mine. He cared for me, he made me lose all sense, he didn’t give a damn about my father. He was what I wanted, because he made me happy. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone in my life.

I knew how this dance went—I’d gone through its paces before. As soon as I started to care about someone, death would snatch him from me.

Curran was going to die.

There was nothing I could do to prevent it. He would die, because that was what always happened.

My throat constricted. “Let me take care of it.”

“No. You aren’t strong enough on your own. You’ve fought her twice to a draw.”

“I almost had her.”

Curran nodded. “I heard. And you could’ve taken her, too.”

My voice came out flat. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”

He grinned. “No time for that now. Maybe later.”

I closed my eyes. There wouldn’t be any later.

“Are you imagining me rubbing it in?” he asked.

“I’m counting to ten in my head.”

“Is it helping?”

“No.”

“It doesn’t help me with you either. I used to lift weights to alleviate frustration, but someone blowtorched my weight bench. How did you do it, by the way?”

“I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

I felt like I was trying to hold back a giant rock as it rolled down the mountain. No matter what I did, it just kept rolling, grinding at me with its weight.

He was going to die.

“There is another reason,” Curran said. “You’re my mate. I installed you in my rooms. You aren’t yet alpha. To get you confirmed as alpha, I’d have to bring you in front of the Council and they will bitch, and moan, and drag it out, and our time is short. Besides, the true alpha authority comes once you’ve proven yourself. That takes weeks, months sometimes, and several kills. Because you’re my mate, the shapeshifters will treat you with courtesy, but in the field, when they’re between life and death, they won’t listen to you. Seven squads means seven female alphas. You’ve seen how well they get along on their own.”

It was hard to argue with him, because he stubbornly insisted on making sense. “Put one of the alphas in charge, then.”

Curran’s blond eyebrows crept together. “And raise one clan above all others, while undermining your future authority? They’d never let you forget it.”

I held his gaze. “I know Erra. I know what she is capable of. You don’t. Do you at least respect me enough to let me take the lead on this?”

He didn’t pause. “Yes. But I’m still coming with you. I need to be there.”

The frustration burst from me. “Argh.” I pushed to my feet. “I fucking hate her for putting me through this. When I get my hands on her, I’ll rip her legs out and feed them to her, boots first.”

THE SHAPESHIFTERS DIDN’T BELIEVE IN JAILS. TYPICAL punishments were death or labor. In the rare cases when they did sentence someone to isolation, they exiled them to a remote area.

The Keep did have several holding cells, large, empty rooms equipped with loup cages. One of them held my “bodyguard.” Curran insisted on walking with me to the door. Somehow, despite the early hour, the hallways of the Keep were full of shapeshifters, who made valiant efforts not to stare at me.

“For nocturnal people, you’re terribly active in daylight,” I murmured.

“The curiosity is killing them. They’d mob you if they could get away with it.”

“That would go very badly for everyone involved. I don’t like crowds.”

Curran pondered that for a moment. “I have some final arrangements to make and then I’m free. Would you have a nice dinner with me?”

“I’ll cook,” I told him.

“You sure? I can have it made.”

“I’d prefer to cook.” It might be our last dinner.

“I’ll help you, then.”

He stopped by a door. “She is in there. Can you find your way back by yourself?”

“I have an uncanny sense of direction.”

He presented me with his Beast Lord face. “Right. I’ll have a compass, chalk, a ball of string, and rations for five days brought to you.”

Ha-ha. “If I get in trouble, I’ll ask that nice blond girl you designated as my babysitter.”

Curran glanced at the young blond shapeshifter who’d discreetly followed us from his quarters. “You’ve been made. You can come wait by the door.”

She walked over and stood by the door.

Curran took my hand and squeezed my fingers.

The shapeshifters froze.

“Later,” he said.

“Later.” I may have had a hell of a lot of baggage, but he was no prize either. Living with him meant living in a glass box.

Curran released my fingers, glanced at the hallway, and raised his voice. “Carry on.”

Suddenly everybody had someplace to be and they really needed to get there.

I opened the door and walked into the cell.

A large rectangular room stretched before me, completely empty except for a loup cage, eight feet tall, with the bars the size of my wrist. The magic was down, or the bars would fluoresce with enchanted silver. Eight support beams extended from the cage’s ceiling and floor, anchoring it to the Keep itself.

The woman sat within the cage, in the same cross-legged pose as the last time I’d seen her. Her spear leaned against the wall, well out of her reach.

I approached the cage and sat cross-legged on the floor. I could’ve covered the floor of the room with all the questions I wanted to ask her. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, would she answer?

The woman opened her eyes. Completely black and impenetrable, like two chunks of coal.

We looked each other over. She had the face of a woman who spent a lot of time outside and laughed often—her pale brown skin was weather-beaten, crow’s feet fanned from her eyes, and her mouth seemed perpetually hiding a sardonic laugh, as if she was convinced she was the only able mind in a world of fools.

“He’s very strong.” An odd accent tinted her voice. “Stubborn and proud, but very strong. He’s a good choice.”

She meant Curran. “What’s your name?”

“Naeemah.”

“Do you really shift into a crocodile?”

She inclined her head—a nod in slow motion.

“Crocodiles are cold-blooded.”

“That is a truth.”

“Most shapeshifters are mammals.”