CHAPTER 7
This wasn’t happening. This was a hallucination, caused by stress. Hugh d’Ambray, Roland’s warlord, wasn’t here. He was back in the United States serving my biological father. This was his long-lost twin with the same height, build, and hair, who knew nothing about me.
Hugh looked straight at me and smiled. It was the smile of a fisherman who’d just pulled a prized catch out of the water and into his boat.
No, it was him. All this time I’d been breaking my brain trying to figure out what Curran or the Pack had done to be targeted for this trap. It wasn’t Curran or the Pack. It was me.
“Please rise for the lord of the castle,” the same man called out.
People around me stood up. I locked my teeth and forced myself to move. Curran was squeezing my hand so hard it hurt.
Damn it all to hell. Could I not catch a break just once in my life?
Hugh waved. His voice carried through the hall, a kind of voice that could be quiet and intimate or cut through the clamor of a battle. “Sit, please. No need for formality, we’re all friends here.”
He was real. He was here. Adrenaline rushed through me, sending electric needles through my fingertips. If he thought I would roll over and give up without a fight, he would be deeply disappointed.
Everyone at our side of the table went very still. They were all watching Curran and me, and they realized something was really wrong. Andrea’s face turned chalk-white. She recognized d’Ambray. Before she left the Order of Merciful Aid, she had climbed high enough in its ranks to receive briefings about Roland, who was considered the greatest danger the Order would eventually face. She watched Hugh the way one watched a rabid dog. Raphael leaned closer to her, his eyes fixed on Hugh as well. He knew, too. She must’ve told him.
Hugh crossed the hall, coming toward us. Tall, at least two inches over six feet, he was muscled like a Roman gladiator, and his suit failed to hide it. He moved with perfect balance, gliding as if his joints were liquid. Before my mother and Voron had run off, Hugh had been Voron’s protégé. My adoptive father trained him, honing him into the perfect general to lead Roland’s armies. Fighting Hugh would be like fighting my father. It would be the second-hardest fight of my life. The first would be my real father.
I scanned the doorways. No troops. Hugh hadn’t called in the reinforcements. Did he think he could take me and Curran by himself?
Hugh was getting closer. Dark, almost black hair fell over his shoulders, longer than the last time I saw him. A small scar marked his left cheek—also a recent souvenir. His eyes were an intense dark blue and they laughed at me as he approached.
I stared back at him. Yep, the gig was up. Now what?
Hugh circled the table. He would have to sit next to Curran. Dear God.
Curran’s face turned into an expressionless mask. He squeezed my hand and leaned forward slightly, putting himself between me and Hugh.
Don’t attack him, Curran. Don’t. Do. Anything.
A djigit pulled Hugh’s chair out for him. Hugh smiled, a happy wolf confident in his lair, and picked up a glass. A server appeared as if by magic and poured red wine into it. Hugh raised the glass. “We have been truly fortunate to host the mighty Obluda of the Carpathians . . .”
He turned to Jarek Kral, who raised his fist with a self-indulgent smile. Behind him the four shapeshifters howled, and others echoed their howls at the tables.
“. . . the famous Volkodavi of Ukraine . . .”
Radomil and his family nodded. The members of the Volkodavi hooted and pounded their tables.
“. . . and the fearless Belve Ravennati.”
The Italian brothers nodded. Their pack members howled and slapped their table.
“Tonight we welcome honored guests to our humble abode.” Hugh turned to us. “The Beast Lord and his Consort join us to add their wisdom and expertise to the joyous occasion of welcoming new life into this world. You honor us with your presence.”
The silence was deafening. We would not be hooting or punching things.
Curran unlocked his jaws. “The honor is all ours.”
Hugh turned to the gathering. “Let us eat, drink, and celebrate.”
He sat, set down his glass, and turned to Curran. “I do so hate speeches.”
“I can imagine,” Curran said, the same calm expression on his face.
Hugh flashed him a quick smile. “I thought you might. You and I, we are men of action. At least once the speech is done, they’ll bring us food.”
A nod to The Princess Bride. It was my favorite book. Did he know or was this a coincidence? If he knew, how the hell did he know?
A string of servers came into the hall, followed by a cart pushed by another four. On the cart an enormous roasted boar lay on a huge platter lined with grape leaves.
“Ahh. Excellent.” Hugh picked up his fork. “I’m bloody starving.”
My heart was hammering at my chest as though I had just run a marathon. Voron’s ghostly voice whispered at me, “Run. You’re not ready.”
If I ran, Hugh would kill our people one by one until I came back. Not only had he trapped me, but he had trapped a handful of hostages with me as well. There would be no running.
The servers began distributing oversized platters heaped with meat and bread. The shapeshifters dug in. A plate was set in front of me: a thick cut of meat, cooked just enough not to be raw, bread, and a pomegranate split open, the red seeds glistening with the color of blood.
Barabas leaned over between Curran and me and cut a small piece from my meat.
Okay.
He ate it, cut a piece of the bread, scooped a couple seeds from the pomegranate, ate them and stood quietly, chewing slowly. Finally he leaned to me and said quietly. “It’s not poisoned.”
“A weremongoose,” Hugh said. “Most prudent of you.”
“We mean no offense,” Barabas said.
Hugh waved at him. “Of course. Would’ve done the same in your place. Can never be too careful.”
Apparently I had acquired my own personal poison tester. I made a note to talk with Barabas once the dinner was over.
Desandra rose. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Andrea and I stood up. My legs felt wooden. Desandra rolled her eyes and went around the table to the door on the left. We followed her. Behind me Hugh said, “So, Lennart, how was the trip? The Atlantic can be dangerous this time of year.”
We crossed the hall and stepped into the corridor. I sped up and took the point. We’d run the basic two-person detail. In trouble, one of us would secure the body, the other would deal with the threats. The magic was up, and that made me better equipped for countermeasures. During tech, we’d switch.
“Turn right,” Desandra said. “Will the two of you watch me pee, too?”
“Why is your English so American?” Andrea asked, her voice wooden.
“My mother took off two years after I was born,” Desandra said. “A nice American woman looked after me. My father hired her so I would learn the language. He said it would be useful. He wouldn’t let me take Angela with me when I got married. He threw her out of the pack. I haven’t seen her since.”
I didn’t like Desandra. I didn’t know her and she would prove difficult to guard, but I felt sorry for her.
Ahead of me an intersection waited. “Which way?”
“Left.”
We turned the corner. Another long deserted hallway lit with yellow feylanterns. No danger. No guards either. Hmm.
“Finally,” Desandra breathed. “Stupid pregnancy. Stupid babies. Can’t sit for more than two minutes without running to the bathroom. I swear if that little bastard, whichever one he is, kicks me in the bladder one more time, I’ll punch him.”
And my sympathy evaporated. “If you try to punch your unborn children, we will restrain you.”
“Cool your tits,” Desandra said. “I’m not going to punch myself. I just want these kids to be superachievers and get out of me already. Here. This door.”
Thank you, Universe.
I swung the door open. A typical bathroom: three stalls, a long stone vanity with two sinks. Solid floor, solid ceiling, a small ventilation window near the ceiling, six feet long, six inches wide. Steel bars guarded the window.