Reap the Wind (Cassandra Palmer 7)

I saw it before it landed, a quick contraction of his fingertips on the chair arm. A subtle pinch of the smooth leather. Only it didn’t feel subtle. It felt hard, a sharp sting that, okay, under the right circumstances might have been welcome, but these were not those. These weren’t even close to those, and—

And then he did it again.

I looked up to see a small smile curving the perfect lips, just a little smirk, which would have been enough on its own. But it wasn’t on its own. It was hanging out with a couple of whiskey-dark eyes that were sharp and amused—and open.

And fixed on mine.

And steamy abruptly went nuclear.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“You’re too damned calm,” Kit said, getting up to pour himself a drink. “It’s annoying at the best of times, but right now it’s verging on the obscene.”

“You would prefer me to panic?” Mircea asked, his eyes on me as I slowly got up off the floor.

“I’d prefer you to act human—”

“That would be difficult.”

“You know what I mean,” Kit snapped, sloshing something into a glass. “Show a nerve for once!”

“You needn’t be concerned,” Mircea said, watching me walk toward him. “We’ve put together an excellent team.”

“It’s not the team I’m worried about. It’s the damned fey!” Kit swept out a hand. Which went right through me, like I wasn’t even there.

Because I wasn’t. Not for him. I was in Mircea’s head, or he was in mine; I didn’t know which.

But I knew one thing.

Two could play this game.

“If any fey are injured tonight, it will be on their own heads,” Mircea said, one eyebrow going up as I rounded the desk. “They are acting illegally, in violation of treaty—”

“Yes, and the treaty matters so much to them!” Kit said bitterly. “They’ve never followed it, never had any intention of doing so. The Green still farm us for slaves, the Dark are constantly trying to slip past the border, and the so-called Blue Elves—”

“They prefer ‘fey,’” Mircea murmured as I stopped in front of him. “‘Elf’ is considered pejorative.”

“Like I give a damn what they prefer!”

Mircea didn’t comment. He also didn’t move. He just sat there, looking up at me, eyes glinting wickedly.

Because he thought I was bluffing.

No, I thought grimly; he knew I was. He played these games with me all the time. Like in those dreams I’d been having lately, which I was now sure had been him. Like all those times he’d evaded questions, ignored hints, dodged open-ended comments. And he always got away with it. Because how do you tie down a master vampire? How do you get his attention? How do you make him listen?

I decided I might have just figured it out.

I watched his eyes widen slightly as I dropped the towel and straddled him.

“At least the Green are up front about it,” Kit said, glaring at a map on the wall. I assumed it was of faerie, since that’s what he was talking about, but I didn’t more than glimpse it. Because Mircea had already recovered.

Strong arms pulled me abruptly against him, the height difference assuring that, even with me kneeling on the chair, we were face-to-face.

“They look down those long noses of theirs and tell us to mind our own business,” Kit said. “But the damned Blue Fey, oh, they’re our good friends, our staunch allies—and they smuggle more than the rest combined!”

“It’s unfortunate,” Mircea murmured, dark eyes gleaming into mine. “But some friendships outlive their usefulness, and have to be discarded.”

“You don’t get to choose my friends,” I told him. “Any more than you get to play around in my head!”