Charlaine Harris - Wolfsbane and Mistletoe

Unless, as it turned out, he got into trouble with them.

I’d never found out what he’d done to be named vargulf , the Were equivalent of blacklisted. It must have been something pretty bad, as it’s considered a fate worse than death. All the privileges of rank were forfeited, including clan protection. It wasn’t quite the same as hanging a target on his back, but it was close. Anyone who had a grievance against him, including anyone jealous of the position he’d once held, was free to kill him without fear of clan retribution. He had no reason to do Arnou any favors.

“I thought you said that being Were is all about honor,” I said a little desperately. Because I could haul him off to jail—maybe—but I couldn’t force him to help me. “Was that more talk? Or did you mean it? Because if you meant it, I don’t see how you can stand by while a girl of your own clan—”

“Ex-clan. And I didn’t say I was going to stand by. I said you were better off out of it.”

“Meaning what?”

“That whoever did this managed to overcome, not only the girls themselves, but their bodyguards. Were bodyguards,” he said for emphasis, as if I’d thought they’d be something else. “Your superiors must really want to get rid of you, to send you on such an errand.”

“The Corps is a little busy lately,” I said dryly. There had always been animosity between the Silver Circle and its Black counterpart, a bunch of dark magic users with no scruples and less conscience, but it had recently erupted into full-scale war. This left the Corps seriously stretched for help and probably explained why they had yet to toss me out on my ear. “And no one else knows much about Weres.”

“No one else has had a vendetta declared against them, either. Lobizón blames you for the deaths of their wolves.”

“I know.” It was old news, the proclamation being issued the day after the battle as custom required, “before the blood of the dead grew cold.” It wasn’t the vendetta itself that worried me, though. The clan had already seen what two mages could do; I doubted they wanted to be facing a whole cadre of us. What was keeping me up nights was the thought of what would happen if word leaked back to my superiors. If they discovered that I’d been marked for death by an important member of their vital new alliance, I’d be out the door in about a nanosecond. And that would leave Dad and me facing, not a handful of Weres, but the whole clan.

On our own.

I’d lived with what had felt like a hand clenched around my neck for seven months, knowing that it was only the Were dislike for speaking about clan business with outsiders that was saving me. Ironically, Lobizón’s respect for tradition was currently my best defense. But it was anyone’s guess how long it would hold.

“Lobizón isn’t involved in this,” I said, trying to sound as if the vendetta was no big deal. “And I intend to stay as far away from them as possible.”

“That would be a good trick.”

Something in Cyrus’ tone worried me. “Why?”

“Because they’re currently in town for the Ulfhring ,” he informed me quietly. “I thought you knew. It begins tomorrow.”

“They’re holding it here ?” The clan leaders usually assembled in upstate New York for their yearly meeting, in Arnou’s home territory. “Why the change?”

“The new alliance. They want to show solidarity with the mages, and they’re based here. Every senior clan leader is either already in Vegas or will be soon, along with his or her entourage. You need to lay low until they leave, not go prying into their business.”

“It’s not prying if we were invited,” I pointed out absently. No wonder Gil was nervous. All the clans with missing daughters were in town and were planning to chew his ass out. Possibly literally, if he didn’t turn up something soon.

“You can try that argument on the families of the Weres you killed,” Cyrus said quietly. “But I wouldn’t give good odds on your success.”

“You can’t expect me to just sit around. The Ulfhring can drag on for days!”

“Then let your partner check things out for you.”

“I don’t have a partner.”

Cyrus placed his cigar in an ashtray, then before I could blink, he’d crossed the room and invaded my personal space. “What happened, Lia? Did no one want to work with someone who smelled a little too much like clan?”

“I just transferred here.”

“You’ve been here six months.” It looked as if I wasn’t the only one keeping tabs.

“I told you, we’re shorthanded—”

Cyrus interrupted me by taking a deep breath right beside my ear. “I’ve met half-Weres before and they smell human. Just human. They don’t smell familiar, like family, like home . Why do you?”

Before I could answer, his mouth came down on mine, warm with brandy and rich, sweet smoke, his hands sliding down to my hips, and for a moment, it was as perfect as if we’d never been apart. As if he’d spent the last six months mapping out my body every night. I’d never wanted anyone else like this, not even close.

It had been the original Bad Idea. I’d known it when I met him, known it when I kept going back, again and again, for glimpses into the Were world, for help with cases I couldn’t crack, for that intoxicating sense of belonging I got every time we were together. Known it when I seduced him for the first time.

I’d agonized over it for weeks, never having been with a Were, knowing damn well I shouldn’t be with this one, not even sure how to go about it as Were seduction techniques weren’t something I wanted to ask Mom about. In the end, the answer was simple: Just kiss him and strip him and let him take me to bed. Sleep beside him afterward, my face tight against his neck, the wild, unmistakable scent of clan engulfing me. Kiss his temple in the morning before getting up and steal his last doughnut on the way out the door.

It would have been a great recipe, except that I was a war mage and he was someone who took the law as a not-very-serious suggestion. Eventually, after my life imploded, I’d done the right thing and walked away. Because Cyrus on the side of law and order wasn’t happening, and I didn’t want to have to put my boyfriend away someday. Because it was already so hard to leave that it scared me. Because Cyrus had taught me that it was possible to never stop being friends and yet to end up enemies. And that walking away is sometimes the only way to stay sane.

“Anyone else would have been paired up almost immediately,” he murmured. “Why risk your life for the Corps? They don’t care if you live or die.”

“And you do?”

“Strangely enough, yes. Which is why you’re staying here.”

“I’m a war mage , Cyrus. I don’t need protection!”

“You do from Lobizón. If they kill you in some back alley, with no witnesses, they can deny it to the Corps. In the current situation, they’d probably get away with it. Not to mention that you’re a young woman who smells like clan: exactly the type going missing lately.”

“And you’re a Were. Just like those bodyguards that were killed!”

“Yes, except the only person I’m going to have to look out for is me.”

“You need me. If Were resources were enough to deal with this, they never would have called us in!”

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m not staying here,” I said flatly. And, fortunately, there was no way he could make me.

“You are if you want my help.” Except that one.

I’d seen his mouth set in that hard, tight line before, and decided not to waste more time arguing. “When will you be back?”

“That depends on how forthcoming my sources are.” Cyrus put a hand around the back of my head and rubbed his thumb along the side of my neck. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. And keep your head down.”