Eileen Wilks - Blood Challenge

LeBron, one row up and on the other side of the aisle, seemed to be coping well with their airborne imprisonment. Rule couldn’t tell about Jeff, who was back in economy. But Jeff claimed to be less affected than most by the claustrophobia common to lupi.

Rule wished he could say the same for himself. Jeff was in the economy section because there had only been four seats available in first class—one for LeBron, who was senior; one for Lily; and two for Rule. On long flights, he needed one of the seats next to him empty. It kept him from pacing the aisle. Much. Fortunately, they’d been able to get three of those seats together, so he had Lily on one side and an empty seat on the other.

Flying didn’t bother Lily. Not at all. She worked or she talked or she napped, entirely at ease. The last time they flew across the country—which was, unfortunately, quite recent—he’d asked why the loss of control didn’t trouble her.

“I don’t have control over all the drivers I encounter when I’m driving,” she’d said, “but that doesn’t keep me off the road. And statistics show I’m a lot safer on a plane than surrounded by the idiots on I-5.”

Wonderfully logical, and no help to him. It wasn’t the dangers of flying that got to him. It was being locked up.

He hadn’t asked how she dealt with that. Intellectually he accepted that humans didn’t respond to entrapment the way he did. Deep down, though, he worried that if he drew her attention to the fact that they could not leave , she’d start noticing it, too, and lose her easy acceptance. She was …

Studying him, he found when he glanced at her.

His eyebrows lifted. “Do I have mayonnaise on my chin?”

“I was just wondering what it would be like to miss you.”

He kept his face straight. “I didn’t realize you were angry with me.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m pretty sure you know it isn’t what I mean. I’m not upset by the m—”

He cleared his throat before she could use the words, jerking his chin at the seats in front of them. Mate bonds were exceedingly rare. They were also a tightly kept secret, not to be spoken of where out-clan might hear.

“Right,” she said. “Anyway, I’m not upset about that anymore. Frustrated sometimes, but not upset. But most couples know what it feels like when the other one’s away on a trip or something.”

“Hmm.” Crossing the country hadn’t been on Lily’s to-do list today. She’d had to tie a few quick knots in some of the loose ends on her open cases, which was a frustration for her. “I don’t think I’d like missing you.”

“I don’t think I’d like it, either. It’s just weird to not know how it feels.” She slid her hand into his. Immediately some of his tension eased. The mate bond’s gifts, like its drawbacks, trended toward the sudden, the unstoppable, and the physical. “Of course, we were separated when you were in hell—at least part of my memories are about separation. But that wasn’t a normal absence.”

His lips twitched. “True. I suppose most couples experience absence because one of them is in Detroit or Dallas, not the demon realm.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Only a little.” The plane jittered as they hit a spot of turbulence. He didn’t flinch, and was proud of himself for it. “You’re getting good at that.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Distracting me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you. Although there’s one means of distraction you haven’t tried.” He tickled her palm with his tongue and her fingers curled in, cupping her scent there. His nadia didn’t wear perfume. Nor did she object to his selecting lotions and shampoo for her, so the subtle blend of almond from her skin and apple from her hair pleased him almost as much as the underlying scent that was Lily. He inhaled deeply, dreaming on that scent, his eyelids drifting down.

She cleared her throat. “It’s kind of crowded here for that sort of thing.”

He smiled agreeably. “It takes ingenuity, but I could ask for one of those skimpy blankets they have. If you put it in your lap—”

“Now who’s being distracting?”

“It’s working, then?”

She smiled and pulled her hand away, bending to take out the small spiral notebook that went everywhere with her. “I have some questions.”

“Naturally.” So far, they’d spoken very little of the killings. There had been a great deal to do, and do quickly, so they could leave. Rule had spoken with his father and his guards, and he’d a second, brief conversation with Alex. He’d also had to call the Lu Nuncios of the five other clans involved to assure them he still planned to hold the circle he’d called. Meanwhile, Lily had been busy with calls to the local FBI office, someone in the coven she’d been working with, her Grandmother, her mother, and her boss, Ruben Brooks.

Brooks was one of very few humans who knew about the mate bond. When he recruited Lily for the Unit ten months ago, he’d understood and accepted the limitations the bond imposed on her. So far, he hadn’t complained about the way it sometimes affected her job.

Once they boarded the plane, they’d quietly discussed how Rule planned to handle the press. Then they’d worked on their laptops. Rule was playing some risky financial games, trying to get Leidolf on a sounder footing, and had to stay on top of currency fluctuations. Lily had worked on a report—one of those loose ends.

“The killer has been ID’ed as Raymond Cobb,” she said. “I have precious damn little on him. You’ve met him, right?”

“When he came for the gens subicio , yes.” Every Leidolf lupus had attended that. Exceptions were made only for the dying. Each clan member presented himself to his new Rho and ritually submitted, allowing the mantle to recognize him.

Normally, the submission was the important part; the Rho would have grown up knowing every clan member. Rule had grown up knowing Leidolf as his enemy. He’d needed both the submission and the mantle’s recognition.

“Do you remember anything about him?”

“A tall man, grizzled, looks about fifty. Angry, but it seemed an old anger, not directed at me. A bitter man, perhaps.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “There were over six hundred lupi at the ceremony. He must have made an impression for you to recall that much about him.”

Rule shrugged. “Not really. Ah …” Lupi kept many secrets, but only one was the Lady’s secret. The mantles. They were not named where out-clan might hear. “You might say that my gut recognized him and helped me remember all those I met that day. I could name each Leidolf clan member now.”

“You didn’t mention that before.”

She was right. He hadn’t noticed the omission, but now that she mentioned it … “What I carry encourages silence about it. Them. They don’t enforce or even suggest secrecy, but they …” He fell into vagueness, as he so often did when trying to describe the mantles. “It’s more as if silence is the default setting, easily overridden, but I have to notice to override it.”

“Hmm.”

Two-mantled , some were calling him now. Rule wasn’t comfortable with the phrase, which struck him as both pretentious and portentous. Portentous because of a prophecy Etorri spoke of about a two-mantled leader—a prophecy they hadn’t shared with the other clans, but that was Etorri for you. Their vague mutterings lent “two-mantled” its portentous aura.

It was also pretentious. Rule didn’t carry two full mantles. He held all of Leidolf’s mantle, yes, now that the old Rho was dead, but only the heir’s portion of Nokolai’s. But “one-and-a-portion-mantled” didn’t have the same ring, did it?