Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

We’d stayed up until sunrise, hashing things out. When Karter left, just as the first golden edge of the sun slipped above the forest, he’d had a big smile on his face, and he walked like a man who had a crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. We loaded him up with Troy’s tissue samples for Doolittle and two golden collars for Luther Dillon at Biohazard. I needed to get a closer expert, but Karter was going back to Atlanta anyway, and Luther was the best.

I hit the sack the moment Karter had left and apparently slept nearly till the evening.

Curran kissed the back of my neck, stretching himself against me. He was so warm, and he smelled amazing. I almost purred, but then reality kicked in.

I turned around in his arms. Little golden sparks danced in his gray eyes.

“There are seven people in this house besides us. And all of them have preternaturally sharp hearing.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

“No, we won’t, and you know it. You promised me, no fishbowl this time around.”

He sighed and rolled onto his back.

Living as the Consort within the Pack’s Keep was like living in a fishbowl, constantly observed by way too many people keenly interested in every detail of our private lives. They wanted to know what we ate, how much sex we had, who we met, and what we talked about. When we were working out the details of the new plan, I made sure to cover that ground. We had to retain some privacy.

“Will you be okay?” he asked.

“It will be very difficult,” I told him solemnly. “But I’m sure the magic will hit within the next twenty-four hours or so, and it only takes me fifteen minutes to set up a soundproof ward. We must be strong.”

He laughed.

“Think pure thoughts,” I told him.

“I meant will you be okay with the plan?”

“Yes. Do you think Karter can keep it a secret?”

It was a good plan. I liked it a lot. But it hinged on moving a lot of pieces into place under wraps, without most of the alphas knowing what was happening. The crack in the Pack could come without warning, and there was so much to do.

“Yes. Karter is strong enough to lead the whole Pack right now. He doesn’t want to do it, and I don’t blame him, but he does want to keep his people safe. He’s a leader, and he accepts responsibility for everything that comes with it.”

“Good.”

“I’m more worried about you. Are you sure?”

That was a question with a long and loaded answer. It was best to start at an easier place and work my way toward it.

“When the shapeshifters jumped us in the forest, and that big one tried to eat my head, and then I stabbed her?”

“Mhm.”

“I enjoyed it.” And there it was. I said it and waited.

“I know,” he said. “After you killed the skull mage, you turned to me and you were smiling. A big, bright smile. Old Kate smile.”

“Old Kate?”

“Dangerous Kate. Stabby Kate. My Kate.”

I raised my head and leaned it on my bent elbow. “Stabby?”

“Yes. Exciting.” He grinned.

So far, so good. “More words, bigger hole, Your Furriness.”

“You haven’t called me that in forever.”

“You haven’t roared in forever.”

His grin relaxed into a softer smile. “When I was on the wall, with Keelan’s pack at my back, it felt right. Seeing the enemy come, and meeting them, and stopping them. I missed it. It was a battle, Kate. We haven’t been in a battle together in forever.”

It was time to stop dipping my toes into the water and just jump in.

Like right about now.

Now would be good.

“Some pair of homicidal maniacs we are,” I murmured, buying time.

“We’re not maniacs. We do what we have to do, and we do it well. Like it or not, the world needs an occasional roar. Maybe in the future it won’t, but for now, it can use it… Someone is coming up the stairs.”

We waited silently.

A careful knock echoed through the door.

“Consort,” Jynx said. “There are two guys here to see you. They said they were ‘of the Owl.’”

“Thanks.”

She walked away. Saved by the visitors.

“‘Of the Owl’?” Curran’s eyebrows furrowed.

“My father is the gift that keeps on giving.” I rolled out of bed. “Come with?”

“Of course.” He chuckled low. “I’ll stand next to you and look menacing.”

“No need to stand. You can sit and look menacing.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

“Yes, be grateful that I’m a wise and benevolent ruler.”

We pulled on our clothes and walked out onto the balcony.

Two men waited on the street below us, blocked by a wall of shapeshifters. The younger wore an old green T-shirt and a red ballcap. The older man had chosen a worn gray sweatshirt and a white ballcap. They both wore jeans, and their beat-up work boots looked tired. A couple of day laborers waiting to be picked up, ready to work and perfectly harmless. Wouldn’t give them a second glance.

The older man looked up. His skin was like ancient parchment, a light, even umber. His face was long, made longer by a dense, short beard streaked with gray. His cheekbones stood out, the cheeks so devoid of fat that they had developed vertical creases. His eyes were dark and narrow under thick eyebrows. Everything about him, from the deep furrows in his forehead when he squinted against the evening sun to the harsh lines of his nose, was sharp, angular, and severe, and yet he was a handsome older man.