“Sir.” Chalton, his computer expert, looked over his shoulder. “They want to talk.”
Dage straightened in his chair and punched a series of buttons on the control panel to his left. A large image immediately filled the screen.
“Kayrs.” The figure moved closer to the screen and coal black eyes hardened. “It has been awhile.”
“Not long enough.” Dage acknowledged the current Kurjan ruler with a bored nod. “Sorry to hear of Lance’s death.”
He studied the iron ore and taconite making up the blank rock wall behind Lorcan. The headquarters could be anywhere from Russia to Brazil. Though his money was still on Minnesota, and when his intuition whispered, Dage listened.
“Yes, well.” Lorcan had pulled his bloodred hair back from his pale face, showcasing the blackness of his eyes. “Accidents do happen.” He shrugged and gestured with a slash of sharpened nails. “I was named Ruler last week. Things are about to change, Kayrs.”
“Really?’ Dage asked as another Kurjan moved into view to whisper something inaudible to Lorcan. “I don’t think so.”
Lorcan nodded at his subordinate and lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming. “You have the child.”
“What child?” Dage kept his voice neutral as Chalton ran fast fingers across the keyboard to gain information. He better not have a security leak. Though chances were the Merodize gang had already reported back to Lorcan.
“You know what child,” Lorcan hissed, his naturally red lips contrasting with the pasty whiteness of his skin. “Our Oracles have seen her destiny. You must turn her over to me now.”
“No transmissions in or out the last day,” Chalton mouthed silently, his hands tapping across the control panel. “No breach on our end.”
“There’s no child here, Lorcan. You might want to reevaluate your informants.” Dage’s bored façade remained in place. “Plus, what could you possibly want with some human child? Are you starting a school for humans?”
“Funny. This girl is special. She has the gift of sight we’ve been waiting for and is to be mated on her twentieth birthday to my eldest son, Kalin. The Oracles have declared the future that must happen, if any of us are to survive what’s coming.” Lorcan’s eyes gleamed to rusted purple. “And the mother is mine.”
Dage lifted an eyebrow at his brother’s certain response to
that claim. “Really? Something’s coming, huh? You know, I’ve always wondered why each Kurjan successor is just a bit nuttier than the one before. Is there some sort of lunatic criteria you guys try to meet?” And God help them all if that nut job Kalin ever took office. Dage hadn’t met him personally, but his nightmares told of a possible fate none of them would survive.
“Silence!” The force of Lorcan’s bellow sent his subordinates scurrying back a foot or two, and Dage watched impassively as Lorcan’s eyes morphed to a pinkish purple. “You will not mock the Oracles. They have seen the future to arrive. For even your people, the shifters will end us all.” Lorcan visibly struggled to control himself, his canines grinding like a rock crusher. “Turn the child and mother over now, and you will avoid the war you’ve run from the last three centuries. Last chance.”
Dage smiled the predatory grin he was known across the Realm for. “Fuck you.” He nodded to Chalton to arm the weapons stored deep below the earth’s surface.
Lorcan failed to hide an uneasy swallow. “Fine.” He moved back from the screen, apparently not willing to start his war at this time. “But you won’t be able to concentrate on human women for long, Kayrs. In fact”—Lorcan’s yellow teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness—”I think you’ll be occupied with more important matters. Soon.” With the last word, the screen went black.
“Damn it Chalton!” Dage keyed several commands into the console at his fingertips. “Contact our scouts and find out what the hell is going on.”
“Yes, sir,” Chalton replied absently, his gaze on the computers.
Dage sent out a message for his brothers to contact him. Jesus. Kane was across the ocean, Talen raced through the U.S. with a mate in tow,
a mate.
And Conn. Man, Conn had to get his life in order—distraction rode him hard these days. They all knew that red-headed distraction practiced powerful
magic in the land of the faeries, magic they might all need soon.
Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Dage sighed. He couldn’t order Conn to reacquire his mate, especially since they’d probably have to go to war for Moira ever to leave the green isle. He grinned. He’d liked that spunky witch from the get-go.
A request sounded through his earpiece, and he pushed a button to let the door slide open. Janie bounded inside and hopped to perch on his lap. “Hi, Uncle Dage.”
He settled her safely into place. “Hi, sweet girl.” Determination flowed through him to protect the perfect child. Her blue eyes gazed with adoration as she showed him the drawing she carried. “I made a monkey.”
Well, maybe. Or a dog with long arms. “It’s perfect.”
She grinned, giving a happy squirm. “Whatcha doin’?” Her world had apparently righted itself last night when he’d informed her that Talen and Cara were safe.
“Working.” He glanced around the rock wall surrounding the quiet cavern—only Chalton worked busily on his computer, his blond hair tied at the nape and out of the way.
“This is almost an empty room,” Janie said, grinning at Chalton. She gave him a tiny finger wave that pretty much ensured an excellent Christmas present from the computer expert. He gave her a half smile and mock salute before turning back to the console. Did Chalton just smile? Dage hadn’t known the guy had teeth.
Dage tweaked Janie’s pert nose. “Yeah. We just use this room for teleconferences.” Maybe the chamber was too stark for a little girl. He didn’t want anything to scare her. Ever.
“What’s a telie, a teliconf …” She pursed her tiny mouth in question.
He grinned. “It’s like a telephone but with a screen.”
“Like TV?”
“Yeah.” Except the monsters on television weren’t real.
He fought the frown that wanted loose. Janie needed to believe in the security and safety of her world.
“Are you worried about the war?” she asked, her small hands clasping together.
The frown won. “The war? It’s over, sweetheart.”
“No.” She shook her head, patting her prized picture. “Not that one. The one that’s coming.”
Awareness and something close to dread slid through his body. His muscles tensed. “You know about that one?”
“Yeah.” She frowned, her pretty blue eyes darkening as she met his gaze.
Regret filled him now. “I’m trying to keep it from happening.”
A wise smile much too old for her young face slid across it. “I know. But, it’s gonna happen and we need to fight.”
He shook his head. “I’ll fight, sweetheart. You won’t need to.”
She put both of her warm hands against his face, effectively immobilizing the ruler of the most powerful beings in existence. “I will need to. You know that, Uncle Dage. You do.”
God. Not while he drew breath. Fate was in for a beat-down in this case, and he needed to get back to work. Punching a code on his earpiece, he waited. “Jase? Meet me in the rec room, we need to plan.” Who would’ve thought his youngest, wildest brother would become the most dependable—at the moment at least. What the hell was his world coming to?
Several states away, Lorcan nodded to a subordinate to flip off the screen. Long nails clicked against the keyboard until only overhead fluorescents lit the underground control room. A black screen covered the rock on one entire wall with two consoles on either side—sterile and giving no clue as to his whereabouts. The thick Minnesota mountains provided safety from interlopers, enemies, and the sun.
He turned toward the door and swept into a long hallway furnished with priceless Picassos the world didn’t know about. Fucking Kayrs. The bastard was only fifty years older than Lorcan’s three hundred, yet an ancient wisdom rested in the king of the Realm. Bastard.
The plush white carpet muffled Lorcan’s heavy footsteps, and he inhaled the pure lilac scent he had infused into the air each morning. Almost as good as being aboveground or even outside. Almost.
Kayrs had no right for such superiority—most of the nonhuman creatures alive today were about the same age. Their ancestors had procreated quickly during the war, knowing that death was likely and a possible treaty prohibiting contact with humans on the horizon. Prohibiting contact with potential mates. Human ones, anyway.
Lorcan grinned as he opened the door to his private office. Not that he’d adhered to the treaty. Proof of his defiance lounged in a thick leather chair watching an ultimate fighting championship.
His son flipped off the television and turned to face him, deep purple eyes anything but interested. “You wanted to see me?” Boredom and just a hint of insolence coated the words.
Lorcan straightened his spine, shutting the door. He walked around his massive onyx desk, putting himself in the position of power with his chair raised. “Yes.” The bubbling of his six-foot long tropical fish tank failed to provide its usual distraction from its place against the side wall. “I understand you nearly killed Jastin during training yesterday.”
Kalin shrugged a large shoulder. “So.” He rested one broad hand on the arm of the leather chair, relaxed.
The casualness sent a shaft of irritation through Lorcan. Damn kid could at least pretend to be in fear of his father. His ruler. Lorcan studied his young son, noticing the way the black jeans and white shirt gave him an older, more dangerous aura than a fifteen-year-old should have. He’d tied his thick black-red hair off his neck, throwing the sharp white
planes of his face into prominence. His coloring was muted, more subtle than most. Lorcan tried to hide all emotion from the boy, knowing any weakness would be instantly exploited.
Kalin rolled his eyes. “He’s weak.”
Lorcan fought a chill at the nearly blank look in those unusual purple eyes. Most of his people had purple eyes, but Kalin’s were a purple almost mixed with green. Unnerving. Eyes should be purple, red, or black. Not the color of the hottest of fires, the green at the bottom of a polluted lake. “True. But, you’re going to lead him someday.”
“Then he should learn to fear me now.” Not by one decibel did the inflection change.
Lorcan cleared his throat. “Also true.” He reached forward and shuffled some papers on the desk. “I also wanted to discuss the fact that another woman has gone missing from St. Paul.”
“Really?” Black eyebrows lifted. “St. Paul’s a big city, father.”
Damn if pride didn’t infuse him with his siring of the little sociopath. “Yes. But we need to keep a low profile for a while. Not that I’m accusing you, son. But—”
“Accusing me of what, father?” Kalin leaned forward, his deep maroon lips creasing in a smile. “Of taking that woman off her back porch and carrying her into the forest? Of laying her down and stripping those silly yoga clothes off her lush body?” Sharp canines flashed in what could never be considered a smile.
Lorcan fought to keep his face calm, his eyes amused. He had hoped Kalin limited his rage to the training field—for now at least. He really didn’t want to have to relocate—he liked the weather and overcast skies in Minnesota. And if Kalin persisted in his escapades, the human authorities might become a bother.
Kalin hissed out a breath. “She shouldn’t have taken that dog out once darkness fell. Would you like to know how it felt to sink my teeth into her thigh?” A dark flush covered the
natural white of his cheeks. “Of how I took her body, her soul, and ultimately her blood as she begged? As she promised anything to live?”
“Kalin—”
“They’ll never find her body, father. I promise you that.” Kalin smirked, and Lorcan fought the urge to roll his own eyes. Taking such pride in killing a defenseless human female—the boy had maturing to do.
A knock on the door ended their discussion. “Enter.”
A tiny blond human shuffled inside carrying a Belleek tray set with two cups. “Morning tea, your lordship.” She kept her gaze down, focusing on the steaming shamrock teapot, each step carefully placed until she reached his desk.
“Orange zing?” Lorcan asked.
“Yes, sir,” the woman answered, her fingers trembling so the cup she extended rattled against the saucer. A sour milk scent mixed with the fragrant orange spice tea. Damn it. The woman’s fear would ruin his tea time.
“Lila?” Kalin asked, his voice dropping to silk from behind her. “Are you with child yet?”
She jumped, clanking the teapot down that she’d just picked up. Lucky for her not a drop spilled onto his thick desk. “Er, no Master Kalin, not yet.” Her gaze stayed on the pot even as her shoulders stiffened to rock.
Lorcan frowned. Damn. Blythe had mated her nearly a year ago—what was the problem? The clairvoyant woman had made a deal with the devil, and she’d better keep up her end. She was what, a starving homeless artist when they found her? The gods certainly had a sense of humor requiring his superior race to mate with their own prey.
“Hm. Pity that. Well, we could always use you for the experiments.” Leather protested as Kalin shifted his weight. “Or I could knock you up. Blythe need never know.”
Her gasp preluded the sharp smell of sulfur that accompanied raw terror.
Lorcan rolled his eyes. “You’re dismissed. I’ll pour my own tea.” Now the little shit was offering to procreate with the mates of his soldiers. What was next?
Her muffled “Yes, sir,” barely made sound as she all but ran out the door.
“Jesus, Kalin. She almost spilled on my desk.” Lorcan leaned forward and poured tea into his cup, raising his eyebrow at his son.
“No, thanks. Tea’s not my thing,” Kalin said, his gaze on the door.
A warning tingle wandered down Lorcan’s spine. “She’s a mate, Kalin. You leave Lila alone.” That’s all he needed—a war among his own people. Killing was a fine sport, but as a future leader, Kalin needed to learn diplomacy. Strategy. “Plus, the mating allergy might kill you at your age.”
Kalin shrugged, settling back into the chair. “No worries. She’s not my type.”
“You’re fifteen. You have a type?”
“Yeah. Fighting mad and desperate. I’d be bored in two minutes with that bitch. We should use her for the experiments.” Kalin flashed his canines again. “Speaking of challenges, how did the conversation go with the king? I take it they have our females?”