Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(47)

“Threatening a federal law enforcement officer?”

“Damn skippy.”

Rick’s face relaxed. Rain dripped from his hair and trickled over his forehead. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Jane. I’m sorry I shamed you. I’m sorry I was such a lousy human being that every single person who matters to me in New Orleans wants to punish or kill me. Including my mom.” A smile touched his lips. “She likes you. Still asks after you.”

I didn’t respond to that one. Rick’s parents were amazing. So were his sisters. I had liked them. A lot.

“I was magicked,” he said. “Not an excuse. There is no excuse. But you should know. I was spelled a long time ago, a blood spell, through my tattoos, but the working was left unfinished. When the incomplete spell was mixed with two types of were-taint, that messed me up. Bad.

“It took time but I’m free of it now. You and George are safe from me.” His smile widened. “But the day you two break up and go your separate ways, I’ll be back. Promise. And this time I’ll be the one doing the courting.”

Rick had told me only part of the real tattoo problem, but I elected not to comment on that now. “Sometimes things die, Ricky-Bo. And they stay dead.”

His smile fell away. “Sometimes,” he agreed. “Talk business now? And tell your second to put away his blades.”

“You know Eli’s my second?”

“I know a lot of things.”

And I had to wonder how and why. “No. I’m done with you. Eli. Bruiser. Limo.” I turned and walked away from Rick, through the rain to the limo and Shemmy and something more to eat. I was starving, and there was a fine tremor running though me. Nerves and not something to do with the new magics pulsing in the shape of a star around me and through me.

In the limo, Bruiser found towels and passed them to us. He handed me a box of energy bars and candy bars and I tore open a Snickers and munched down. Heaven. He had an odd look on his face as I ate. Sorta . . . bemused might be the right word. “What?” I asked.

“My Bruiser?” he asked.

I flushed scarlet and wanted to fall through the floor into the weapons container below our feet. “Ummm. He threatened to kill you.”

“So you laid claim to me?” His tone was full of peculiar emotions, feelings I couldn’t name. Didn’t understand. Except that he wasn’t teasing me. His eyes were warm, like melted milk chocolate with flecks of hot caramel, but gleamed like brown obsidian, a high sheen.

“Seemed the most”—I hunted for a word—“most expedient way to keep you alive.” I resisted squirming in my seat like a four-year-old.

Bruiser’s lips softened and parted, his bold, sculpted nose casting a shadow across his face. “Thank you. No woman has ever wanted to protect me.”

I frowned and almost said, No man ever wanted to protect me either, except that was a lie. Eli protected me. Leo protected me when it suited his course of action and future goals. Alex and the Robere twins. The Mercy Blade a time or two. I met Bruiser’s eyes and the smell of Onorio in heat flooded the room.

Beast peeked out, making my eyes glow. Mate, she thought.

“Get a room,” Eli grunted.

“I intend to. As soon as possible,” Bruiser said, his eyes still on me. And my blush, which had cooled, burned even hotter.

Beast might as well have been rolling in catnip, she was so happy.

Eli wasn’t the eye-rolling type, but if he had been, now would have been the time. He dragged our attention to business. “Without prior authorization of the governor, Rick is the official who has to authorize Jane’s use of force—unless there is a direct threat to the populace, in which case she can act unilaterally.”

“Rick?” I said, sitting up in my seat. “Not Soul?”

“Soul isn’t here.”

“She will be,” I said, remembering Opal in stasis in the lightning. That seemed important, but nothing came to mind. “Soon.”

“PsyLED has law enforcement control here, even over the feds,” Eli said. “This is Rick’s show. So keep that in mind.”

Bruiser laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. But Beast liked it even better than the Onorio heat.

“Moving on,” Eli said. “Alex uncovered some evidence—other than Grégoire’s panicked assertion and the rising of the revenants of their line—that Le Batard and Louis Seven are both in town. It’s possible that they’re in the Roosevelt Hotel in the French Quarter. The tip came from Grégoire’s boys just before they disappeared.”

Bruiser’s eyes sharpened and his entire body came alert, all without moving a muscle. “Disappeared?”

“Brandon and Brian aren’t with Grégoire and won’t answer calls,” Eli said.

“That is very strange. And unexpected,” Bruiser said.

“We got pics of this Louis and Batard?” I asked.

Bruiser passed me his cell phone. On it was a photograph of a small painted portrait. I studied the likeness of the two men pictured there. One was pretty, with curling brown hair, the other wore a van-dyke beard that accentuated a cruel mouth and hard eyes. “Louis,” Bruiser said, gesturing to the pretty one.

I grunted and passed his cell back. Heard the muted click and Shemmy said, “Excuse me, sirs, ma’am. But we have a report of a revenant rising in St. Louis Cemetery Number One. There’s already video of skeletal fingers pushing through a mausoleum wall. I’m assuming you want to go there?” Shemmy sounded eager, as if he found all this entertaining as heck. Let him get chewed on by a dog-fanged vamp and see how entertaining it was. I stretched my shoulder, peeved. I liked that word. Peeved. It was more refined than saying pissed.