At least they were getting easier.
“Kung fu, actually. Though they have a lot in common. Gotta keep myself in stockings and fans, as my Aunt Brigid used to say. Thanks for the pastries. See you later!” Jen walked out, fighting the instinct to turn toward the three masculine voices chatting on the sidewalk a few paces away: Mikhail’s quiet tones, Joey Hu’s warmer voice with a smile in it . . . and that other voice, slightly husky, with a sense of authority ringing through it. Not the blowhard kind. More like this Nikos Demitros knew exactly who he was, and what he was doing. But he still could . . . have fun.
Like spar on the sidewalk of a beach town with a total stranger.
Well—she told herself firmly, the way a mature adult widow in her fifties should—if she saw him again, great, and if not, fine. She was free of the weight of grief, free of the iron grip of emotion.
Free as air.
What a relief!
TWO
NIKOS
Yes, she said rubber chicken, commented his unicorn.
She did not say that, Nikos responded testily, annoyed by the laughter shimmering under his unicorn’s melodious inner voice. Why would she say that?
The laughter intensified. Nikos smelled a trap. It had nothing to do with the fact that Jen had been speaking English. One of Nikos’s powers as a mythic shifter was to understand any language, as long as he was in the presence of the speaker. So comprehension wasn’t the question.
He was not going to admit that he hadn’t caught the words because he’d been hypnotized by the sound of her voice. He did not intend to be lured down that road. There was already too much at stake. She spoke so quickly that I—
She said it very clearly, came the loftily calm voice. His unicorn was a simple, direct animal, tranquil except when roused by injustice or cruelty. But neither of those was in question. Instead, his unicorn apparently felt that the time had come for—Nikos refused to even think the word. But we don’t know local slang. Which could mean anything.
You didn’t hear because you were stunned by the knowledge that at last . . . Here the unicorn resounded like a mighty pipe organ, we have found our mate.
No.
Nikos shut his eyes. Not now. Not while he was facing the worst crisis of his life, increased by interlocking responsibilities. Echoes of past loss fueled his resolve: he had to say no and stick to it, before it was too late. If he was forced into an impossible choice between love and duty, it might put others at risk. Mates are for those who have time for a personal life.
Mates are, was the placid—and maddening—answer.
His unicorn often reminded Nikos of the sky: vast, powerful, wielder of mythic energies focused entirely on healing. And about as easy to influence as the sky. In vain he tried to reason with his animal, pointing out that with the current threat at home, the only thing more dangerous than having a mate would be for that mate to be human.
The unicorn remained as silent as a cloudless summer day, instead offering an image of a shimmering chain of gold: the invisible-to-humans mate bond.
Nikos thought: It’s not real if I say it’s not real.
The unicorn vanished, leaving ringing silence inside Nikos’s head.
Nikos drew a deep breath as he forced himself back to the here and now.
Here: a tiny town in Southern California, where Joey Hu, that sly nine-tail fox, had insisted on the meeting taking place. The imperial dragon knight Mikhail Long was also present.
Now: a vital mission.
Nikos Demitros, Kyrios of Vasilikos Alogo—one of the most ancient of the mythic islands—had come to his allies’ call, though the situation at home was rife with tension.
He’d used the opportunity to bring the two youngest recruits of his hetairoi—his elite guard—who were eager to test their wings and get a taste of the outside world before their first mission.
They’d flown the last leg of their journey that morning, Nikos using Joey as a beacon on the mythic plane. They’d shifted when they landed and saw what at first glance looked like a fight. Within a heartbeat Nikos had seen that it was no real fight. More like a demonstration or playacting, as neither he nor the girls noticed the cell phone camera. The girls, less experienced, had launched to what they thought was the rescue.
Nikos called them back—and then came the mistake.
He knew better than to give in to instinct. He trained his honor guard to keep control at all times, waking and sleeping. As leader and mentor, he expected the highest standard and tightest control from himself. But something in Jen Carlsen’s excellent martial training—her air of cool competence—her sea-colored gaze—all those together, perhaps, had slipped past his control enough for him to let go.
And it had been fun. No, not just fun. It had been amazing. Exhilarating. A dance of skill. To deny that would be to disrespect her excellence, which would be wrong. Especially as the entire problem lay with himself: he’d clearly enjoyed it too much.