Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

Bruiser ended the discussion by calling Leo. I wandered around alone for a while.

There was no electricity in the untenanted building. The room where the round thing had appeared in the open window was empty except for a metal folding chair. The chair and the window sash had been dusted for fingerprints, the powder easy to spot in the olive green room, dusty in Beast’s sharp vision.

The place had been filled with too many cops and crime scene techs for me to get a specific scent, but I caught a whiff of lemon on the chair when I bent over it. The scent seemed familiar, but the memory wouldn’t come. Other than that, there was nothing.

From the doorway, Bruiser said, “NOPD thinks the person who was in this room had been here for days. A squatter, most likely. Kerlegan said that CSI hauled off several dozen sealed pee bottles and one sealed five-gallon container of feces.” He sounded aggrieved at having to say the words and I let my mouth curl up at the tone. “This entire building is empty and there are signs the person or persons have been in every room.”

I wondered how many other buildings had squatters in them and how many of the squatters were actually shooters. How widespread was the search for Bruiser or me and why? We wandered the second floor and I caught the fading scent in several places. “I know it’s stupid, but I smell lemons. Real lemons, not synthetic like in dish soap.”

Bruiser stopped, thinking, head tilted, his skin and eyes silvered in Beast’s vision. Mate, Beast thought happily.

He said, “There is a Mithran clan that scents of lemons, but there are no indications that Clan Des Citrons has left France to join with Titus in the Sangre Duello. If this shooter is one of their humans, then that opens up a number of possibilities, none of them good.”

“Vamps are ready to jump into the fray at any point where they can benefit,” I said. “Or at the end of the blood duel when they could declare war against the winner and take over.” And then I remembered. “I smelled this scent before.”

Bruiser’s eyes moved to me, waiting.

“This person has either been in my house or was standing on thin air outside Eli’s bathroom.” The window had been open. The entire house had been breezy. “Or maybe they followed me home and were standing on the brick wall outside the house, listening. Watching. Also I caught a faint whiff of lemons in HQ. On sub-five.”

Bruiser shook his head. “Someone is watching all of us?”

“And that someone had access to HQ. I’ll put Alex on it,” I said. “We’ll find them.”

“Derek can dedicate a few security personnel to your neighborhood.” He shrugged, looking relaxed, but I had a feeling he was a lot more concerned than he pretended. Casually, he added, “Dinner, then. And we’ll keep an eye out for trolling gangbangers and errant shooters.”



* * *



? ? ?

The Creole platter at the Gumbo Shop consisted of a large platter of shrimp Creole, jambalaya, and crawfish étouffée. I had two platters, inhaling the first one so fast I only noted it as a blistered sensation on the back of my throat. Bruiser had the red beans and rice with a lovely smoked sausage and the chicken espagnole with extra sides and a half bottle of wine. That was a total of four entrées between us and a mountain of dirty dishes when we were done. The waitress stared accusingly at my skinny frame. I had spent the last few weeks shifting too many times and not eating enough calories to replace the energy usage. I often wondered what might happen if I had to shift many times with no food in between. Would I shrink to nothing? Find myself stuck in one form until I found food? Was that what had happened when I first stole Beast’s body and shifted to human only now and then to heal? Beast called it the hunger times.

When we were done with the food, I accepted a half glass of wine and sniffed and tasted. It was okay. Bruiser was trying to educate me about the finer things in life and he described it as I sipped, saying, “This Cabernet blend has a healthy level of tannins, is full-bodied, with a medium level of acidity.” He twirled the wine and it ran down the glass in skinny trails. “It has good legs. It’s good with food. The oak has brought out the flavor of”—he paused and sipped noisily—“currants, a little black pepper, and tobacco.”

I sipped, watching him over the rim of the glass, holding it in front of me as I spoke. “Still. Nothing can beat the Boone’s Farm Fuzzy Navel, served in your best crystal. In your bed.”

Bruiser’s glass halted halfway to the table. The pulse in his throat sped; his breathing deepened; his face took on color. His brown eyes lost focus for a moment before they snapped to mine, his pupils expanding. His Onorio scent reached my nose, warmer than only a moment past.

I smiled, letting my lips widen slowly. Took another sip. “Not bad. But not as . . . good.”

“Well. There is that.” Bruiser returned my smile and took my hand in his, running his fingers along my knuckles. The pad of his thumb was heated, slightly rough on the inner side where some weapon had calloused his skin. He held my gaze as he stroked, telling me things he’d rather be doing, very wonderful things. So very, very slowly. The rough area scraped gently across my flesh. Heat spread up my arm and into my body like a slow-moving flood of need. Goose bumps quivered over me. My breasts tightened. My belly warmed and grew heavy. My lips parted and swelled as if Bruiser had kissed me. My breath deepened. My bones liquefied.

Magic . . . I couldn’t see it. No sparkles. No Gray Between mist of energies. But the scent was all Onorio: spicy, a little citrus, more blood orange and lime than lemon. This time maybe a little smoke, the scent of sweetgrass charred into the glowing embers of a long-burning fire. He kissed me, his lips and tongue heated.

Mate, Beast thought. My mate . . .

The scent of smoke rose, aromatic with sweetgrass. Bruiser chuckled low, the way men do when they know the effect they’re having on you. At the sound, my body thrummed, a boneless, trembling, shuddering need. I couldn’t have stood without assistance, let alone fight. “Oh, woman. What you do to me.”

“Ditto,” I managed.

“We should perhaps save this,” he said softly, “for the limo ride.”

I blinked. Blinked again. “Limo?”

“Lee postponed our appointments. I thought you might like a ride”—his lips tilted up again, his voice dropping on the last word—“around the city tonight. There is a blanket, a spare pillow or two, and a bottle of chilled Champagne in the limo out front. I’d like to be doing this to other parts of you.”

“Oh,” I tried to say. It came out as a sigh.

“And I’d like my mouth on you.” His eyes dropped to my breasts and they tightened painfully. “I’d like to taste you. Everywhere.”

Magic caressed me, velvet and the feathers of hawk wings, the prickle of nettles and dried leaves. Soft and stinging all at once. Icy and heated together. I was breathing too fast. Holy crap. If Eli had been here he would have told us to get a room. “Only if I can taste you back.”

“I’m counting on that. It might be a very . . . very . . . long night.”

“I’m counting on that,” I repeated to him.