Lili St Crow - Defiance

A thin amber tide of spilled coffee covered the floor. Christophe faced Hiro next to the table near the wall, the silver samovar on its side and chugging out a waterfall of more hot coffee. Bruce had hold of Hiro, while Augustine had grabbed Christophe’s arm. The aspect rushed and crackled over all of them like a forest fire.

Ezra was suddenly right next to me, appearing out of thin air with a little whispering sound.

I hate that. I let out a thin little shriek, which managed to distract everyone. Ezra caught the back of my hoodie, bracing me as I almost went over, and Christophe’s eyes flashed.

“Settle down !” Augustine shoved Christophe back against the table, and Bruce had all he could do holding Hiro back. Hiro leaned forward, his fangs out and the thrumming coming from his slim chest.

Djamphir don’t growl like wulfen. But when they make that sort of humming noise, they mean business. It’s more like a subsonic vibration than anything else, and it sounds like it can rattle china right out of the cupboard.

“You should probably calm them down.” Ezra made sure I was on my feet and stepped away. He lifted a silver Zippo, flicked it open, and scooped up his cigar.

Great. Thanks, that helps a lot. I found my voice. “Stop. Stop it.” Made sure the earring was safe in my left hand and stepped forward.

Normally, putting yourself between two crazy-angry djamphir isn’t the smartest thing to do. But I braced myself and slid between them, stepping in the tide of coffee. It sploshed against my sneakers. “ Stop. Both of you. Stop it.”

Christophe inhaled sharply as I edged between them, cutting off his view of Hiro. “Dru—”

“I need you guys to simmer down.” I aimed for a businesslike tone, but just got a shaky almost-squeak. “Anna would like it if you both killed each other, wouldn’t she? You’re playing right into her hands. Or someone else’s.”

I didn’t have to say whose.

Hiro’s face contorted once, his eyes glowing dark amber. His fangs had scraped his lower lip, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his chin. I swallowed, hard, and hoped the bloodhunger wouldn’t hit. If I started going crazy now, there was no telling what could happen. My shoulder throbbed—I was going to have a bruise there.

It would match the rest of me. This was turning out to be one sucky-ass night.

Hiro stared at me. I stared back, trying to plead with him silently. I don’t know what he saw, but his face changed and the aspect slid away. He straightened slowly. His hand came up, and he wiped at his chin. Bruce didn’t relax, though, locking his other arm, braced in case he lunged.

I nodded. Turned, splashing even more in the tide of spilled coffee. That was going to be a bitch to get cleaned up, and it might stain the hardwood. Not my problem right now, though. “Christophe.”

He didn’t look calm. Blue eyes fixed on Hiro, pale and cold and glowing, his fangs out and Augustine straining to hold him back. Augie’s foot slid a little in the coffee, and Christophe half-lunged forward. August shoved him back, but his hold was slipping.

I did the only thing I could think of. It wasn’t the best thing, mind you, but I think he deserved it.

I slapped Christophe.

It was agood hard crack, too, unwinding from my hip. The sound bounced off the walls, and Bruce let out a curse that would have made Dad proud.

The blow actually knocked Christophe’s chin to the side. Some sense came back into those mad blue eyes, and now he was looking at me instead of Hiro. Anger and readiness leaked slowly out of his body, but Augustine didn’t relax. If anything, he tensed more , like he was afraid Christophe was going to go postal on me.

Of all the things I was worried about right at the second, that wasn’t one of them. Which was oddly comforting.

A queer little smile touched Christophe’s lips. “Go ahead,” he whispered, as if it was just the two of us in the room. “Go ahead, kochana . Hit me again. I’ll let you.”

A chill walked down my back. He’d said something like that to my mother, a long time ago. I’d dreamed it, or seen it, or something.

Who did he think he was talking to now ?

“Settle down.” Now I sounded more like myself. The earring dug into my palm. “I like Hiro. Leave him alone.”

Christophe’s shoulders dropped. His fangs retreated slowly, and it was so quiet I heard the crackle of his jaw structure shifting. His hair, slicked down under the aspect, ruffled a little like he’d run his fingers back through it. “My apologies.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t make you apologize to him. Even though you should .” I nodded at August. “He’s okay now. Aren’t you, Christophe? I can belt you again if you need it.”

The mark of my hand flushed briefly on his cheek, already fading. Blond streaks threaded back through his hair. A small movement went though him, like an animal settling into itself. “Save it for sparring practice.”

“Yeah.” I slid the earring, carefully, into the little coin pocket on my hip. “Sounds good. Now will you guys sit down and behave? It’s been a hideous day—or night, or whatever—and I’m tired.”

August slowly let go of Christophe, a finger at a time. The air was tight and hurtful, tense and nervous. The touch throbbed inside my head like a bad tooth, soaking up all the rage and hurt. It felt the way a house does right after a huge vicious fight but before someone starts cleaning up the broken stuff—thick, a little lonely, and a whole lot unsettled.

I waited until Christophe straightened. He tugged on his sweater sleeves, as if he was used to wearing a suit. I had a mad Technicolor flash of him pulling down snow-white cuffs, adjusting the fit of a black jacket with tails, and had to blink to clear it. Behind me, Hiro and Bruce were silent, but I could feel their readiness. It was just like those bars Dad used to take me into, the ones I’d find on instinct that would lead us to the Real World. I’d sit and sip my Coke, and he’d take care of business. A couple of times things had gotten hazy, and it had felt like this. Like a thunderstorm just about to let loose.

Once, and only once, Dad had drawn a gun and we’d left without what we came for.

I pushed the memory away. “Will you simmer on down? Both of you?” There. That was just the right tone. Polite but firm.

Christophe inclined his head. The blond was back in his hair, thick streaks and highlights. “Of course.”

I turned back to Hiro. Who was already stepping back, shaking off Bruce’s steadying hand. The blood on his chin had disappeared, but I could still smell it. The inside of my mouth was dry, and my throat ached. The bloodhunger turned over uneasily inside my bones and, thankfully, retreated.

Hiro bowed slightly, inclining from the waist. I couldn’t help myself—every time he did that, I bowed back. He always looked pleased when I did, and you know, when in Rome, right? If it kept him happy, okay. I felt like an idiot doing it, but I’d feel like an idiot for not doing it, too. Might as well be polite.

“Forgive me.” Hiro stepped back, mincingly. Headed for his seat, with stiff shoulders and his usual graceful glide. “I thought he meant you harm.”

Oh, great. That’s really smoothing the waters there, Hiro. I didn’t blame him . . . but still. The urge to say Christophe would never hurt me rose to my lips, but I swallowed it. “Well, um. Never mind about that. Let’s just sit down and discuss this.”

“What is there to discuss?” Christophe stalked away behind me. Now he was going to pace like a caged tiger. “You are not to even think of risking yourself anywhere near that location. We should send teams to look it over and pick up any traces. Two combat units and two sweep teams, as well as a tracker.”