Ilona Andrews - Magic Bites

A lean shadow flickered in the corner of my eye. On the left and above me a graceful jaguar stretched on the jutting block of concrete, an elegant statue encased in the liquid metal of moonlight.

Homo Panthera onca. The killer who takes its prey in a single bound.

Hello, Jim.

The jaguar looked at me with amber eyes. Feline lips stretched in a startlingly human smirk.

He could laugh if he wanted. He didn’t know what was at stake.

Jim turned his head and began washing his paw.

My saber firmly in hand, I marched across the street and stepped through the opening. The darkness swallowed me whole.

The lingering musky scent of a cat hit me. So, not a bear after all.

Where was he? I scanned the building, peering into the gloom. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the walls, creating a mirage of twilight and complete darkness. I knew he was watching me. Enjoying himself.

Diplomacy was never my strong suit and my patience had run dry. I crouched and called out, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Two golden eyes ignited at the opposite wall. A shape stirred within the darkness and rose, carrying the eyes up and up and up until they towered above me. A single enormous paw moved into the moonlight, disturbing the dust on the filthy floor. Wicked claws shot forth and withdrew. A massive shoulder followed, its gray fur marked by faint smoky stripes. The huge body shifted forward, coming at me, and I lost my balance and fell on my ass into the dirt. Dear God, this wasn’t just a lion. This thing had to be at least five feet at the shoulder. And why was it striped?

The colossal cat circled me, half in the light, half in the shadow, the dark mane trembling as he moved. I scrambled to my feet and almost bumped into the gray muzzle. We looked at each other, the lion and I, our gazes level. Then I twisted around and began dusting off my jeans in a most undignified manner.

The lion vanished into a dark corner. A whisper of power pulsed through the room, tugging at my senses. If I did not know better, I would say that he had just changed.

“Kitty, kitty?” asked a level male voice.

I jumped. No shapechanger went from a beast into a human without a nap. Into a midform, yes, but beast-men had trouble talking.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’ve caught me unprepared. Next time I’ll bring cream and catnip toys.”

“If there is a next time.”

I turned and there he stood, wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants. A modest shapechanger, how refreshing. You wouldn’t even know that he had changed, save for the glistening sheen of dampness on his skin.

He looked me over slowly, judging, taking my measure.

I could blush demurely or I could do the same to him. I chose not to blush.

A couple of inches taller than me, the Beast Lord gave an impression of coiled power. Easy, balanced stance. Blond hair, cut too short to grab. At first glance he looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, but his build betrayed him. His shoulders strained his T-shirt. His back was broad and corded with muscle, showing the power and strength a man developed in his early thirties.

“What kind of a woman greets the Beast Lord with ‘here, kitty, kitty’?” he asked.

“One of a kind.” I murmured the obvious reply. Eventually I had to look him in the eye. Better sooner than later.

The Beast Lord had a strong square jaw. His nose was narrow with a misshapen bridge, as though it had been broken more than once and hadn’t healed right. Considering the regenerative powers of the shapechangers, someone must’ve pounded his face with a sledgehammer.

Our stares met. Little golden sparks danced in his gray eyes. His gaze made me want to bow my head and look away.

He regarded me as if I was an interesting new snack. “I’m the Lord of the Free Beasts,” he said.

“I figured.” Perhaps he expected me to curtsy.

He leaned forward a little, puzzling over me as if I were an odd-looking insect. “Why would a knight-protector hire a no-name merc to investigate the death of his diviner?”

I gave him my best cryptic smile.

He grimaced. “What have you found out?” he asked.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you that.” Not with the Pack suspect.

He leaned forward more, letting the moonlight fall on his face. His gaze was direct and difficult to hold. Our stares locked and I gritted my teeth. Five seconds into the conversation and he was already giving me the alpha-stare. If he started clicking his teeth, I’d have to make a run for it. Or introduce him to my sword.

“You will tell me what you know now,” he said.

“Or?”

He said nothing, so I elaborated. “See, this kind of threat usually has an ‘or’ attached to it. Or an ‘and.’ ‘Tell me and I’ll allow you to live’ or something like that.”

His eyes ignited with gold. His gaze was unbearable now.

“I can make you beg to tell me everything you know,” he said and his voice was a low growl. It sent icy fingers of terror down my spine.

I gripped Slayer’s hilt until it hurt. The golden eyes were burning into my soul. “I don’t know,” I heard my own voice say, “you look kinda out of shape to me. How long has it been since you took care of your own dirty work?”

His right hand twitched. Muscles boiled under the taut skin and fur burst, sheathing the arm. Claws slid from thickened fingers. The hand snapped inhumanly fast. I weaved back and it fanned my face, leaving no scars. A strand of hair fell onto my left cheek, severed from my braid. The claws retracted.

“I think I still remember how,” he said.

A spark of magic ran from my fingers into Slayer’s hilt and burst into the blade, coating the smooth metal in a milky-white glow. Not that the glow actually did anything useful, but it looked bloody impressive. “Any time you want to dance,” I said.

He smiled, slow and lazy. “Not laughing anymore, little girl?”

He was impressive, I’d give him that. I turned the blade, warming up my wrist. The saber drew a tight glowing ellipse in the air, flinging tiny drops of luminescence on the dirty floor. One of them fell close to the Beast Lord’s foot and he moved away. “I wonder if all this changing has made you sluggish.”

“Bring your pig-sticker and we’ll find out.”

We circled each other, our feet raising light clouds of dust from the dirty floor. I wanted to fight him, if only to see if I could hold my own.

His lips parted, releasing a snarl. I swung my blade, judging the distance between us.

If we fought, and if I survived, I’d never find out who killed Greg. The Pack would tear me to shreds. This was getting me nowhere. I had no choice but to lose face. I stopped and lowered my blade. The words didn’t want to leave my mouth, but I forced them out anyway. “I’m sorry. I’d love to play but I’m not my own person at the moment.”

He smiled.

I did my best to ignore the condescension I saw in his face. “My name is Kate Daniels. Greg Feldman was my legal guardian and the closest thing to a family I’ve had for many years. I want to find the scum who killed him. I can’t afford to fight you and I won’t show off my magic. I just want to know if the Pack had something to do with Greg’s death. Once I find the killer, I would be more than happy to indulge you.”

I offered him my hand. He halted, studying me, and then the fur melted away, absorbed through the follicles that produced it. The Beast Lord took my hand in his human palm and shook.

“Fair enough. Right now I’m not my own person either,” he said. Being a Beast Lord, he probably never was.

The gold in his irises shrank to mere flecks. His control was unbelievable. The most adept of shapechangers could choose between three forms: human, animal, and beast-man. To change a part of your body into one form while keeping the rest of it in another, as he had, was incredible. Before this night, I would have said it couldn’t be done.