Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Why would I be mad at you? Is it because as soon as we had sex, you jumped out of our bed and rushed to see your ex-fiancée and was gone for almost two hours?”

“One hour.”

I checked the clock by my bed. “One hour and twenty-two minutes.”

“There was a hysterical child on the other end of the line. When I got there, his sister woke up and started crying. Then Rynda cried.”

“Did you soothe them to sleep?”

He gritted his teeth. “I made sure they aren’t crying.”

“Great. Then the problem is resolved. I’m going back to bed.”

“I asked you to wait for me and you didn’t.”

“Why would I stay there, Rogan? You weren’t there. I have my own bed right here.”

“What exactly did you want me to do? Was I supposed to listen to her scream and tell her to fuck off because I would rather stay in bed with you?”

“So now I’m the bad guy?”

“Well, yes, a little bit. I went to do something nice and you got mad about it. You’re overreacting.”

Ooh, no he didn’t.

“Nevada, as the Head of a House, there will be times I will have to get out of bed, no matter what we’re doing, and go take care of things.”

“Taking care of your ex-fiancée is House business?”

“I’ve known her since we were children.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s practically family.”

“And what am I?”

He realized he’d walked into it.

“As it happens, I’m also about to become a Head of a House. You’re right, sometimes things do come up, and we have to leave and take care of them. I’m not just going to lay all sad in your bed waiting for when you decide that you’re done blotting another woman’s tears. I have profile requests to evaluate and kidnappings to solve.”

“What profile requests?” he growled. “Who?”

“Not you, if that’s what you’re asking. You didn’t check on our genetic compatibility.”

“Who, Nevada?”

“Do you think if you snarl enough, I’ll tell you? You’re not that scary, Rogan, and I don’t respond well to intimidation. Maybe you should lather up some spit.”

“Who was it?”

He was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let go of it until I told him, and it had very little to do with what I wanted to fight about. Fine. “House Tremaine and House Shaffer.”

“Did you say yes?”

“Not to Tremaine.”

“You said yes to Shaffer?”

“Yes.”

He lapsed into silence. His face arranged itself into a cold mask. “You’re right. You are becoming the Head of your House. Might as well start planning now.”

Oh, for the love of . . . “They asked for my basic profile to eliminate the possibility of familial relations, because they’re worried I might be a Shaffer love child.”

“They asked for it to ensure that there are no complications preventing a match,” he ground out. “That’s the first step.”

I leaned through the window and savored the words. “You’re overreacting.”

A door swung open somewhere and Catalina called out, “Mom says that you should either have sex or stop arguing, because it’s past midnight and all of us are trying to sleep. Figure yourselves out!”

The door slammed shut.

“That’s okay,” I hissed. “We’re finished talking. Just one question before I go: in your expert opinion as the Head of a House, when Rynda called you, was it a true emergency? Was it something that absolutely couldn’t be resolved without your presence, or was it another opportunity for her to make sure that you’re emotionally engaged to take care of her and her children if Brian doesn’t make it? And if it was a true emergency, why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

I slammed the window shut. There. I got it out.

He stared at me through the window, turned, and strode across the street.

That’s right. Just walk away.

I threw myself on the bed. Well, that went well.

Something thudded outside.

Now what?

I got up and went to the window. He stood in the middle of the street. A stream of pallets and huge tires flew past him, stacking themselves on the ground under my window.

I just stared, mute.

The stack grew with ridiculous speed. He was building a ramp to my window.

I pulled the window open again. “Are you out of your mind?”

His face was grim. “No.”

“You’re expending a huge amount of magic doing this.”

His expression told me he didn’t care.

The flood of tires ended midway up; the pallets stopped too. He’d run out of building materials.

The door opened again. “Mom says—” my sister started.

A fire escape ladder tore itself off the building across the street on my left and wedged itself in the stack. Several cement bags landed on its base, anchoring it.

Catalina shut the door without another word.

He walked up the ramp, climbed the ladder to my window, and held his hand out to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m kidnapping you back to my lair. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight and all other nights.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“And do I have any say in this?”

“You always have a say. If you say no, I’ll leave.”

He wore his Prime face, inscrutable and detached. But his eyes gave him away. He was barely in control and hanging on by the tips of his fingers.

We could either work through this mess or I could sit in my room and steam in my own hurt feelings. I grabbed his pair of sweatpants, pulled them on, stuck my feet into my slippers, and put my hand in his.

My cell phone rang.

Who the hell would be calling me at midnight?

I raised my finger. “One second.”

The phone streaked across the room and held still in front of me.

I took it and answered.

“Nevada Baylor.”

“There you are,” Vincent Harcourt said.

“Hello, Vincent.” My voice was so sweet, you could drip it on pancakes. I put him on speaker. “So nice of you to take time away from terrorizing children to call me.”

“I had a spare moment.”

His voice set my teeth on edge. So smug.

Rogan took my hand. Together we walked down the ladder, then the ramp toward his HQ.

“I see you filed for trials.”

It wasn’t enough he had almost killed Rynda’s children, Edward, and a houseful of people. No, he decided to call me in the middle of the night to rattle me.

“Do you think you can be a Prime?”

“You tell me. How did it feel when you couldn’t move and stood there shaking, trying with all your will to keep me out of your mind? Did it feel like I’m a Prime?”

Heat flared in Rogan’s eyes. He smiled, low and lazy, looking at me as if we were in the middle of a ballroom and I wore a ten-thousand-dollar gown instead of his T-shirt.

“Touché,” Vincent said. “Too bad you won’t make it to trials. You might have been interesting.”

“Is this the part where you threaten me?”

“No, this is the part where I educate. You don’t know how the game is played, so I’ll explain it to you. You’re dead. Your mother is dead.”

In my head I saw my mother lying in place of Edward Sherwood, a bat-ape creature digging in her stomach. You bastard.

“Your cute sister is dead.”

He would pay for this.

“Your other sister is dead.”

Other? He took the time to opine on the cuteness of my sisters while threatening to kill them. Oh, I wish he was within bullet range. I wish.

“The two idiots who live with you are dead.”

We walked into the HQ. Rivera, Nguyen, and two others from before, the blond woman and a dark-haired man, were still there. At the sound of Vincent’s voice, Rivera came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. Rogan shook his head.