Raven Cursed

Derek snorted, ironic amusement flashing across his dark-skinned face, to vanish like a shadow. “Trust is a two-way street, Legs.”

 

 

Not that I let it show, but warmth filtered through my veins. He hadn’t called me by any of my nicknames recently, and he’d used two in the space of seconds. He wanted equality, did he? “I’ll tell you all my dirty little secrets if you tell me all yours. Starting with what you did for Uncle Sam in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

 

“I signed a nondisclosure statement upheld by Homeland Security.”

 

“And I have honor.”

 

Derek considered that. After a long moment, he held out a hand, as if asking for rapprochement. I took it and we shook, once, firmly. He chuckled softly, the sound purrlike. At the thought, hurt shot through me, a pain I squashed. Beast wasn’t gone. She couldn’t be. The remembered, faint sound of her claws on stone gave me hope.

 

“Honor, huh?” When I didn’t reply, he straightened his shirt and started to speak, but looked instead over my shoulder. I stepped to his side so I could see. The elevator dinged. The scent of human and vamp cascaded into the lobby. The twins. Bruiser. Grégoire. And Leo.

 

I checked the position of the security crew, the night blacking the front windows, and asked, “The boys?”

 

“Assembling in riot gear and moving to Alpha One. We need another five minutes.”

 

Which meant we needed a delaying tactic. I stepped to the elevator doors and said, “Leo.”

 

He held out his hand to shake mine, and though I didn’t want to tie up my right hand when I was on the job, it wasn’t something I could get out of without being embarrassingly rude. I tapped the mike and said, “Derek, you’re on.”

 

“I have command,” he said into my earpiece.

 

Ignoring the fact that there had been an uncomfortable space between the hand being offered and taken, I took Leo’s. “It has been brought to my attention,” he said, “that I needlessly contributed to your difficulties on this parley, my Enforcer.”

 

Oh crap. Enforcer. I had to deal with that, still. “Ummm, hunh?” I asked. I could have kicked myself for that scintillating comeback.

 

“When I banished Evangelina from my city, I did not know she had spelled my primo, George, and perhaps even me.” Having nothing to say to that, I glanced at Bruiser, the aforementioned primo. When I didn’t reply, Leo’s lips quirked and he released my hand. “That was an apology, Jane

 

Realization dawned. “Oh! Yeah, sure. Um, thanks. No problem.” I glanced at Bruiser again. He was laughing at me silently. Great. I’d acted the socially inept idiot I really was.

 

To my side, at the front of the hotel, pink light poured through the night-black windows. It was Evangelina, responding to my lure of Leo, who was not supposed to be here yet. “Crap! Weapons!” I shouted. Knowing Derek would get the vamps under cover, I raced to the front doors, throwing myself to the side and peering out. Evangelina stood in the circular drive in the open door of her sports car, the convertible top down, and behind the antivamp protestors. Over them a huge, misty, black bird flapped its wings. The protestors moved forward, a man out front, leading. They each held small pots and splashed something on the drive with every step.

 

In the backseat of her convertible sat Lincoln Shaddock and a slumped form I couldn’t identify. I wasn’t sure if either of them was alive.

 

“Freaking dang Murphy and his freaking dang laws,” I muttered, possible scenarios racing through my mind. “Brandon! Brian!” I shouted. “We got a Delta seven! Wrassler! I need my Benelli!” I needed the firepower of the shotgun, back in my room. I drew my puny .380 and checked the load.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

 

 

 

 

 

The Blood-Diamond

 

 

 

To the desk I shouted, “Lockdown. You are under attack.” When no one moved, I screamed, “Lockdown! You are under attack!”

 

The little uniformed girl found her head and raced to the phone. Civilians. Can’t live with them, can’t let them get slaughtered. A news van rolled to a stop and a cameraman jumped out, already filming. Especially can’t let them get killed in front of TV cameras. “Son of a freaking goat,” I whispered.

 

Out front, a bellboy decided to be a hero and shouted something to the protestors. The bird overhead beat its wings and called, a sawing sound. It attacked. The bellboy disappeared inside the winged black cloud. A primal scream of pain echoed against the building, cut off as if with a blade. When the shadow withdrew, the only thing left was blood splatter and a lower leg.