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I tossed Slayer on the bed, never taking my eyes off of him, and put the maps on the sheets. “Back away, three steps.”
We stepped back in unison, he to the middle of the room, and I to the wall by the chair.
“On three. One,” he said, bending forward like a runner. “Two.”
He lunged for the maps. I grabbed the chair and hit him with it. He went down. I hit him again to make sure he stayed that way, stepped over him, and picked up the maps. “I win.” Now if only the room would stop spinning, I’d be all set.
He groaned and a torrent of obscenities burst from him.
“Your problem is, you underestimate me because I’m a woman.” I nudged him with my foot. “Hood’s name?”
“Bolgor the Shepherd, of the Fomoire.” Mist swirled and he vanished.
My legs gave out and I crash-landed on the bed. Fomoire? Fomorian. Morrigan’s old adversaries. Now the fish stink made sense: of course, a sea-demon would stink like fish. I frowned. Bran served Morrigan and Morrigan and the Fomorians hated each other. That made perfect sense. But what did this Shepherd want with Julie?
The door burst open and Derek charged into the room, followed by two female shapeshifters.
I held out the maps. “Here. That’s twice in one day. You owe me.”
Derek took the maps from my hands and sniffed them, while the two women checked the window.
“He’s gone,” the younger woman said.
Derek’s face trembled in fury. “I’m going to find him. Nobody does that to us twice.”
“What’s going on?” Curran stepped into the room.
Derek paled. Good luck explaining that monumental breach of security.
Bran snapped into the room in a corkscrew of mist, jerked my robe open and down to clamp my shoulders, and kissed me. His teeth clicked against mine. I kneed him, but he expected it and blocked with his leg. He realized his tongue wouldn’t make it into my mouth and let go. “I’ll still get you,” he promised.
Curran lunged at him and caught tendrils of mist.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Did he hurt you?” Curran said.
If my eyes could shoot lightning, I would’ve fried him on the spot. “Depends on how you define hurt.
What kind of show are you running here, anyway?”