Lilith Saintcrow - Taken

He dug in his pocket for quarters, found none, and took a quick look around. Nobody was watching—the place was packed for dinner, waitresses hopping to and fro but nobody at the front just now. There was a clatter from the kitchen, and one of the cooks cursed as steam hissed.

Zach curled his fingers around the top of the door and gave a quick downward yank. There was a popping zing! lost under all the other noise, and it burst open pretty as you please. He grabbed a paper and shoved it closed.

It was righteously purple prose, especially since the millionaire in question—Mark Harris, who didn’t rate a picture for some reason—owned a good chunk of the town. A few more pieces of the puzzle that was their new shaman snapped into place. It was a “bitter divorce,” but the accusations of domestic violence and stalking apparently weren’t news.

Why didn’t she move further away? But then he thought of her bare apartment, and how it took money to stay on the run. And just how jealously a rich man would guard his money during a divorce. Sophie probably hadn’t had a choice. She was damn lucky to have had a friend to help her escape.

Her dead friend. Another thing to hold the upir to account for.

He scanned the rest of the article. They’d recovered a body identified as hers, but Sophie was alive and well.

You know, that just about screams “coverup.” He mulled over this for a few seconds, a shape he didn’t much like turning inside his head.

They needed a defensible place to stay, and they needed to make contact with any other Tribe in town. There had to be more. With other Tribe backing them and a place to stay, they could handle upir and make their shaman comfortable.

Think quick, Zach.

Julia’s voice floated across the restaurant. “He’s right there. Let’s ask.”

“I don’t—” Sophie began, and he hurriedly folded up the newspaper, sticking it under his arm just as Julia bounced up.

“I want a cinnamon roll. There’s a place down the street. Can I take the shaman?” His sister bounced on her toes, her hair swinging. She sounded about twelve years old again, and for a moment he wished they’d found the shaman sooner.

Wishes don’t feed your Family, though. Or protect them .

Sophie’s shoulders slumped, and she looked away, out the plate-glass window of the diner. Rain spattered dully, and Eric arrived, picking at his teeth with a mint toothpick and looking supremely unconcerned.

“Can I?” Julia persisted.

“Later.” His eyes met Eric’s. “Take Brun. You three need to find a place for our shaman to live. Fleece a crowd if you have to. Get us a house. Somewhere in the suburbs, okay?”

Eric nodded. His eyes narrowed a little, but he wasn’t about to ask questions.

“But I want—” Julia subsided as he eyed her. She’s giving up way too easily, you know. Storing up trouble for later.

“Later,” he repeated. “Pick us up downtown, near the fountain, at eight sharp. Got it?”

“Eight sharp. Where are you headed?” Eric dropped his eyes in case Zach didn’t want to say. Sophie pulled her new jacket—one of Kyle’s, actually, and far too big for her—up on her shoulder. Her black vinyl purse was still damp.

“We’re going to ask a few questions. I’m taking our shaman with me and looking for Tribe.”

“But why? What’s the—” Julia shut her mouth so fast she almost lost a chunk of her tongue.

The growl retreated under Zach’s skin. Sophie was hugging herself now, her pale eyes wide as plates, staring at him. He wanted to reassure her, tell her she wasn’t alone anymore, calm the rabbit-thumping of her pulse and the fear that was so much a part of her scent it almost canceled out the calm a shaman could bring. “Come with me, Sophie.” He didn’t phrase it as a request, which was wrong—the alpha didn’t give a shaman orders.

Still, she nodded, a curl falling in her face. It hurt to see how she almost-flinched, her shoulders coming up, when he stepped close to her.

Well, he knew one thing for certain now. Someone wanted her dead. Maybe it was the upir, maybe not; it didn’t make a goddamn bit of difference. What mattered now was protecting her, not just to keep his Family alive but also because of the way she glanced up at him—her eyes stuttering to his face to read the emotional weather there, bracing herself for God alone knew what.

She shouldn’t have to look like that.

He was inside her personal space before he realized it. She almost backed into Julia, who stepped smartly away. Zach caught Sophie’s arm, his fingers closing gently but irresistibly, and he realized what he was about to do only when his mouth met hers.

It was a brief pressure of lips, tasting of spearmint gum—how had she gotten hold of that? It didn’t matter, because the contact burned right through him, the smell of her filling his nostrils and the animal in him circling once, a fierce sweet pain running through the center of his bones.

He inhaled just as she let out a soft, shapeless, shocked sound; her breath touched his mouth and for a moment he was drowning in it. The rest of the world—diner, Family, the sound of the rain and traffic a formless hum outside—vanished in a white glare, and he wouldn’t have cared if the whole world had gone up in flames just that moment. He inhaled again as she breathed, the air touching his skin laden with her, an unfamiliar weakness spilling through him.

She was shaking like a rabbit. He blinked, loosening his fingers one by one and straightening. It took him two tries to find words.

“Everything’s okay, Sophie.” He wanted to rub his cheek against hers, bury his nose in her hair; the conflicting desires shook him before he clapped a lid on both of them.

She blinked. Her mouth slightly open, she looked dazed and adorable. Those eyes of hers behind the glasses were velvet winter sky, with fine threads of gold in the iris. If he looked closely he could see a very, very light feathering of paler hairs at her right temple. She’d have a streak before long, when her body finished settling into the balanced chemistry of a shaman’s.

Just looking at her this close made him want to kiss her properly, but she wouldn’t be ready for that . He heard, very dimly, Brun saying something and the diner’s door closing behind his Family.

They were alone now, just him and his shaman, standing in front of the cash register and the broken newspaper hutch. “We’re going to go visiting. I’ll ask the questions, you just sit and look pretty. Okay?”

Sophie blinked again, losing that dreamy look. She didn’t smell like fear now, which was a blessing. “I…I guess so. Why on earth did you do that? ”

What, you can’t guess? His smile widened. He didn’t quite let go of her arm, and she didn’t resist as he pulled her toward the door, the newspaper tucked safely away. “Maybe I like you, shaman.”

“Maybe?”

You sound so surprised. “Definitely. Try to get used to it.”

She muttered something vaguely uncomplimentary, and he was surprised into a laugh. He really did like her. And there was an edge of something else creeping through her scent now, replacing that maddening tang of fear. Something warm and familiar, the first thread of a Carcajou’s musk.

All in all, Zach reflected, things were looking up. Though he still had to figure out who was trying to kill her.

If I have to sit in another seedy bar, I’m going to tell him to take his shaman job and shove it right up his —Sophie shook the water out of her hair. If she had to put up with more Sophie shook the water out of her hair. If she had to put up with more cigarette fug, the smell of stale beer, sticky floors, or filthy bathrooms, she was going to say to hell with this.