Magic Bleeds (Kate Daniels 4)

What in the world . . . I rewound for a few seconds.

“It’s just like the old contract,” Mark said. “You should still have the tape of it in the box from last year. It’s the one numbered thirty-four. The only thing we did was change the dates and two paragraphs involving the new city ordinances. The first is on page three. Count two paragraphs down. It now reads . . .”

Solomon Red couldn’t read. And Mark had covered for him all these years. None of the mercs knew.

“Kate?” Mark’s voice called.

What now?

I stepped out of the room and looked down. Mark stood on the floor below. Next to him waited two men. The first was muscular and dark. He didn’t really need help in the menacing department, but he chose to amplify his badass status by wearing a long, sweeping black cloak edged with wolf fur. Hello, Jim.

The man next to him wore Pack sweats. For shapeshifters, sweats meant working clothes—they were easy to rip off before a fight. The man stood with the easy animal grace particular to the very strong. Even from this distance, his pose telegraphed violence, tightly coiled and reigned in, but ready to explode at the slightest provocation. The mercs sensed it and gave him a wide berth, like scavengers recognizing a predator in their midst.

The man looked up, tilting his head of short blond hair. His face matched him—powerful and aggressive. A square jaw, prominent cheekbones, nose with a misshapen bridge that had been broken but never healed quite right. Gray eyes glanced from under thick golden eyebrows and locked on me.

Curran.

CHAPTER 7

THE TRICK HERE WAS INDIFFERENCE, I DECIDED AS I took my sweet time coming down the stairs. Act cool. Detached.

Something potent and violent boiled inside me and I strained every nerve in my body to keep it on its chain. I could do this. I just had to stay cool. Zen. No punching in the face. Punching would not be Zen.

The stairs ended. I wished I knew the jackass who’d made the staircase so short. I’d throw him down the damn steps so he could count them with his head. I stepped onto the floor and walked over to the two shapeshifters, looking straight at Jim.

“Jim. What a lovely surprise.” I smiled, aiming for cordial.

Mark winced and took off. I caught a glimpse of my smile in the wall mirror. Very little cordiality but lots of homicidal maniac. I dropped the smile before I caused an interagency incident.

Jim nodded at me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Curran’s face. Like looking into a glacier.

“Please relay my greetings to the Beast Lord,” I said. “I appreciate his willingness to alter his extremely busy schedule and make an appearance.”

Curran showed no emotion. No gloating, no anger, nothing at all. Jim looked at me, looked at Curran, looked back at me again. “Kate says hi,” he said finally.

“I’m ecstatic,” Curran said.

My hand twitched to touch Slayer’s hilt protruding over my shoulder.

Silence stretched.

“What can I do for you?” I asked finally.

Jim glanced at Curran again. The Beast Lord remained stoic.

You stood me up, you sonovabitch. If I made it through this in one piece, I’d need some sort of medal to commemorate it.

“The Pack would like to extend an offer of assistance to the Order in the matter of the Steel Mary,” Jim said.

Knock me over with a feather. The Pack cooperated only when forced. The shapeshifters almost never volunteered. “Why?”

“Why is irrelevant,” Curran said. “We’re willing to put our considerable resources at the Order’s disposal.”

We stared at each other. Add some whistling and a rolling tumbleweed, and we’d be all set.

A green sheen rolled over Jim’s eyes. Reacting to the tension.

A couple of mercs lingered some distance from us. A third one stopped. They were expecting a brawl and didn’t want to miss it. We needed to get away from the audience.

I nodded at the small workout room, separated from the main floor by a wall of frosted glass. The hotel had used it for private dining. The mercs had emptied it, thrown some mats into a corner, and turned it into a makeshift dojo. “Let’s go someplace more private.”

We moved off the main floor. Curran stalked into the room as if he owned it, turned, and crossed his arms on his chest. Biceps bulged, stretching the sleeves of his sweatshirt. If there was any justice in the world, he should’ve gone bald, lost all his teeth, and developed a terrible skin rash. But no, the bastard looked good. In perfect health.

Just keep cool. That’s all I had to do.

I shut the glass door and locked it.

“The Pack has a personal stake in the matter,” Jim said.

“I see no basis for the Pack’s involvement.”

“Solomon Red was a closet shapeshifter,” Jim said softly.

The world stood on its hands and kicked me in the face.

“The man was deeply religious. It was a difficult thing for him. He didn’t shift but he had to live with the urge. The Pack gave him special permission to operate on his own in exchange for a cut of the Guild’s profits. First Joshua, now Solomon. There is a pattern.”

“How much of a cut?”

“Ten percent.”

Ten percent of the Guild’s take was a lot of money. Someone had killed two shapeshifters and just bit a large chunk out of the Pack’s income.

Curran kept watching me and I couldn’t shut him out enough to properly concentrate. “Who else knew about Solomon?”

“The Council.”

Fourteen people, two alphas from each clan. “So either this was a coincidence, or you have a traitor among the alphas.”

Jim’s eyes flashed green. “There are no traitors on the Council.”

I sighed. “Of course not—how dare the mighty shapeshifters have human vices.”

Curran leaned half an inch forward. “We’re not mercenaries, Kate. Don’t measure us by your standard.”

Thank you, Your Majesty. I looked at Jim. “The Order appreciates the offer of aid from the Pack, but given the sensitive nature of our investigation, we decline your assistance at this time.”

Curran showed me the edge of his teeth. “Are you implying my people can’t be circumspect?”

I looked at Jim. “Please relay my congratulations to His Majesty on learning such a big word all by himself.”

If Jim had been in his feline form, his whiskers and his fur would’ve stood on end.

I kept going. “Also please explain to him that either he has a traitor in the ranks, which means that his people aren’t circumspect, or Solomon’s murder was a coincidence and the Pack has no reason to bully its way into the Order’s investigation.”