asked.
"Do you remember how my aunt killed the head of the Mercenary Guild?"
"Not something one forgets," he said.
"They're still squabbling over who will be in charge."
Curran glanced at me. "That was what, five months ago?"
"My point exactly. On one side there are the older mercs, who have experience. On the other side there is the support staff. Both groups have roughly an equal share of the Guild as a result of Solomon's will and they hate each other. It's getting into death threat territory, so they're having some sort of final arbitration to decide who's in charge."
"Except they are deadlocked," Curran guessed.
"Yes, they are. Apparently Jim thinks that I'm supposed to break that tie."
The Guild's now dead founder was a closet shapeshifter. He left twenty percent of the Guild to the Pack. As long as the Mercenary Guild remained deadlocked, nobody was getting paid and the Pack alphas wanted that income stream to start flowing again. They put pressure on Jim, and Jim put pressure on me.
I did enough years in the Guild to be viewed as a veteran. Jim did enough years just as well, but unlike me, he had the luxury of keeping his identity semi-private. Most mercs didn't know he was high up in the Pack.
I had no privacy. I was the Pack Consort. It was the price I paid for being with Curran, but I didn't have to like it.
His Majesty drank his tea. "Not looking forward to settling the dispute?"
"I'd rather eat dirt. It's between Mark and the veterans led by the Four Horsemen, and they despise each other. They aren't interested in reaching a consensus. They just want to throw mud at each other over a conference table."
An evil light sparked in his eyes. "You could always go for Plan B."
"Pound everyone to a bloody pulp until they shut up and cooperate?"
"Exactly."
It would make me feel better. "I could always do it your way instead."
Curran raised his blond eyebrows.
"Roar until everyone pees themselves."
A shadow of self-satisfaction flickered on his face and vanished, replaced by innocence. "That's bullshit. I'm perfectly reasonable and I almost never roar. I don't even remember what it feels like to knock some heads together."
The Beast Lord of Atlanta, a gentle and enlightened monarch. "How progressive of you, Your Majesty."
He cracked another grin.
The male necromancer in the booth next to us reached under the table and produced a rectangular rosewood box. Ten to one, there was some sort of jewelry inside.
I nodded at Curran. "Your turn. How did your day go?"
"It was busy and full of stupid shit I didn't want to deal with."
The blond woman opened the box. Her eyes lit up.
"The rats are having some sort of internal dispute over some apartments they bought. Took all day to untangle it." Curran shrugged.
The woman plucked a golden necklace from the box. Shaped like an inch and a half wide segmented collar of pale gold, it gleamed in the feylanthern light.
I poured us more tea. "But you prevailed."
"Of course." Curran drank from his cup. "You know, we could stay over in the city tonight."
"Why?"
"Because that way we wouldn't have to drive for an hour back to the Keep before we could fool around."
Heh.
A scream jerked me to my feet. In the booth, the blond necromancer clawed at the necklace, gasping for breath. The man stared at her, his face a terrified mask. The woman raked her throat, gouging flesh. With a dried pop, her neck snapped, and she crashed to the floor. The man dove down, pulling at the necklace. "Amanda! Oh my god!"
Past him two pairs of red vampire eyes stared at us through the window.
Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber perspired, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran's arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and
"Do you remember how my aunt killed the head of the Mercenary Guild?"
"Not something one forgets," he said.
"They're still squabbling over who will be in charge."
Curran glanced at me. "That was what, five months ago?"
"My point exactly. On one side there are the older mercs, who have experience. On the other side there is the support staff. Both groups have roughly an equal share of the Guild as a result of Solomon's will and they hate each other. It's getting into death threat territory, so they're having some sort of final arbitration to decide who's in charge."
"Except they are deadlocked," Curran guessed.
"Yes, they are. Apparently Jim thinks that I'm supposed to break that tie."
The Guild's now dead founder was a closet shapeshifter. He left twenty percent of the Guild to the Pack. As long as the Mercenary Guild remained deadlocked, nobody was getting paid and the Pack alphas wanted that income stream to start flowing again. They put pressure on Jim, and Jim put pressure on me.
I did enough years in the Guild to be viewed as a veteran. Jim did enough years just as well, but unlike me, he had the luxury of keeping his identity semi-private. Most mercs didn't know he was high up in the Pack.
I had no privacy. I was the Pack Consort. It was the price I paid for being with Curran, but I didn't have to like it.
His Majesty drank his tea. "Not looking forward to settling the dispute?"
"I'd rather eat dirt. It's between Mark and the veterans led by the Four Horsemen, and they despise each other. They aren't interested in reaching a consensus. They just want to throw mud at each other over a conference table."
An evil light sparked in his eyes. "You could always go for Plan B."
"Pound everyone to a bloody pulp until they shut up and cooperate?"
"Exactly."
It would make me feel better. "I could always do it your way instead."
Curran raised his blond eyebrows.
"Roar until everyone pees themselves."
A shadow of self-satisfaction flickered on his face and vanished, replaced by innocence. "That's bullshit. I'm perfectly reasonable and I almost never roar. I don't even remember what it feels like to knock some heads together."
The Beast Lord of Atlanta, a gentle and enlightened monarch. "How progressive of you, Your Majesty."
He cracked another grin.
The male necromancer in the booth next to us reached under the table and produced a rectangular rosewood box. Ten to one, there was some sort of jewelry inside.
I nodded at Curran. "Your turn. How did your day go?"
"It was busy and full of stupid shit I didn't want to deal with."
The blond woman opened the box. Her eyes lit up.
"The rats are having some sort of internal dispute over some apartments they bought. Took all day to untangle it." Curran shrugged.
The woman plucked a golden necklace from the box. Shaped like an inch and a half wide segmented collar of pale gold, it gleamed in the feylanthern light.
I poured us more tea. "But you prevailed."
"Of course." Curran drank from his cup. "You know, we could stay over in the city tonight."
"Why?"
"Because that way we wouldn't have to drive for an hour back to the Keep before we could fool around."
Heh.
A scream jerked me to my feet. In the booth, the blond necromancer clawed at the necklace, gasping for breath. The man stared at her, his face a terrified mask. The woman raked her throat, gouging flesh. With a dried pop, her neck snapped, and she crashed to the floor. The man dove down, pulling at the necklace. "Amanda! Oh my god!"
Past him two pairs of red vampire eyes stared at us through the window.
Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber perspired, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran's arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and
Similar Books
The Party Line
Sue Orr
Between The Sheets - Complete Collection
Mia Cardine
Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive.
Joanne Armstrong
Artifact of Evil
Gary Gygax
Paradise: An Apocalyptic Novel
Nicholas Erik
Shaun and Jon
Vanessa Devereaux
Murder Most Unfortunate
David P Wagner
Her Outlaw
Geralyn Dawson
HeartStorm (HeartFast Series Book 3)
Linda Mooney
The Devil Wore Sneakers
Nora Leduc