Feversong (Fever #9)(107)

My gaze flew to Dancer’s. “How did you get this?” I demanded.

He smirked. “Hacked Ryodan’s computers. Tapped into his surveillance cams. Still trying to get into his mainframe.”

My heart sank. Ryodan was one dude Dancer didn’t want to be messing with. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape. You don’t spit into the wind. Suddenly I had an old Jim Croce song my mom used to play stuck in my head. “Turn it off,” I said stiffly. “And stay out of his stuff.”

He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. He hit the Pause button and said, “Mega, we always dick with Ryodan. That’s what we do. It’s like, a calling.” He mocked, “?‘Hey, Brain, what are we gonna do tonight? Gee, Pinky, take over the world and dick with Ryodan.’ Thought you’d be impressed. You have no idea how many bloody firewalls I had to hack to get this. Don’t know who’s running his system but he’s got security I’ve never seen before. Besides,” he dangled invitingly, “you haven’t seen the interesting part yet. Really want me to turn it off now?”

“What kind of interesting stuff?” I said, eyes narrowing.

“The truth about Ryodan,” he said softly, watching me closely.

I punched the PAUSE button, eyes glued to the screen. That man’s secrets: irresistible. As the video continued, another small group broke off, raced in, and again the others cheered. Morons. Sheep. Baaa.

They repeated the study of stupendous stupidity until there were only ten sheep left standing in the street. Bleating excitedly as if they were winning some kind of war, not waggling fluffy asses and leaping straight down the wolf’s throat.

Then Ryodan materialized in the middle of the crowd, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone, and his eyes were…weird, like, “Did his eyes just turn red? Go back!”

Dancer rewound and I watched it again. Sure enough—and it hadn’t been a trick of the moon—Ryodan’s eyes were pools of blood, backlit by a thousand icy lanterns. His snarl was abnormally large for his face, all mouth and fangs with barely enough skull to frame it.

Horns sprouted on that skull, confirming my teenage suspicions. I leapt to my feet, hands fisting.

I knew it—Ryodan was the devil!

There was no volume but I could see him snarling at the people in the street, and I didn’t need to hear it to know he was saying the same thing I’d be saying: You bloody idiots, why are you killing yourselves? And if you’re so hell-bent on dying, go do it somewhere else. Don’t fuck with my world.

Then all ten of them attacked Ryodan at once. He flung them off like he was batting Ping-Pong balls away. They attacked again and he flung them all off again, and when they realized they weren’t going to be able to take him down, they veered like a flock of dimwitted, synchronized birds straight for the black hole.

That was when it happened.

Suddenly, Ryodan morphed.

He just bloody transformed in the blink of an eye into one of those great black beasts that fought beside me at the abbey and had, later, eaten crimson runes off Cruce.

Bloody hell, but I’d been off my game! Not once had I pinned the beasts’ inexplicable existence up on my bulletin board and examined it! The beasts that Mac said she’d found Silverside were the Nine! Ryodan was a bloody shapeshifter!

He moved in a whirlwind of black-skinned muscle, talons, and fangs, ripping, slashing, tearing, gouging.

When he was done, he crouched panting, paws and muzzle slick with blood, surrounded by corpses. Then he dropped back on his haunches, ripped open a thigh, tore off a piece of flesh and began chewing, head swiveling this way and that, to ascertain that no other predators were approaching.

I looked at Dancer. He was watching me intently.

I got it then. He’d just done to me what I’d done to him when I came in and spooked him: told me what he wanted to say without words.

Can’t you see he’s an animal, Mega? Choose me.

Dancer knew I was torn between him and Ryodan, what they brought out in me, and I pretty much loved him for that, seeing me so clearly. That’s something when your friends know who exactly you are, good, bad, right, wrong, and just keep caring about you.

I stared back at the screen, wishing I had a problem with what I’d seen.

When pretty much the only thing I was thinking was: So, Ryodan’s immortal, pens a wicked daily, has super senses, and can shapeshift. Fucker.

What else could he do?

Years ago, when I’d told him I wanted to be like him, he told me to ask him when I was older.

I was older now.





MAC


When Barrons texted me to tell me he’d taken care of my problem with Lor, I was pacing the bookstore so briskly I was practically burning up the carpet, dissatisfied with the way I’d handled things.

I’d gone to Barrons for help. He’d taken care of it. It bothered me. I didn’t want to live that way, always taking cover behind my man from other men.

I’d battled my way through assault after trauma after indignity and survived them all. I was the queen of the Fae. But even if I weren’t, I was a woman that needed to know she could stand on her own two feet, toe her line, and demand it be obeyed. Once I transferred the True Magic to Cruce, what would I become—weak again?

Never. I liked who I’d become. I wanted to grow and evolve not backslide.