Serpent's Kiss (Elder Races #3)(75)

“Yes, of course we do.” She straightened and ran a hand through her short hair, making it spike all over.

She looked so rumpled and it was so unexpectedly adorable, Rune breathed between gritted teeth and pivoted sharply away. His hands shook. He felt like an addict looking to mainline his next fix. He was so busy fighting emotions that bucked like an untrained stallion that he missed the next thing that Carling whispered, although he felt her Power shoot out like an elegant, laser-focused spear.

A moment shivered. It held the trembling tension of a droplet of sweat about to fall from the Titan Atlas as he strained to hold up the world.

Then Rune sensed a maelstrom of energy streaming toward them from some undefined, faraway place. It tore through the open balcony doors and filled the suite with such a chaotic roar of Power, for a moment the walls of the massive hundredand-ten-year-old hotel felt as thin, fragile and transparent as newspaper. Then the walls settled into place around them, and the Power coalesced into a defined point.

This was a very old, Powerful Djinn. This one was a prince among his people. Rune’s lips peeled back from his teeth in an instinctive snarl. He took a wider stance and braced himself against the cyclone’s presence.

The figure of a man formed in the room. Long raven-black hair whipped around an elegant, spare, pale inhuman face. Narrowed crystalline diamond eyes showed through the strands. The rest of his body solidified. He was easily as tall as Rune, with a lean graceful frame that matched his face. The male wore a simple black tunic and trousers, and a fierce regal pride. He gained form and substance.

The Djinn ignored Rune as if Rune didn’t exist. All of his attention focused on Carling.

Rune loathed the slippery-assed son of a bitch on sight.

Because, see, the thing about the Djinn, the really irritating thing about the Djinn, is that they could dematerialize at will at any time, so you could almost never get a good solid physical blow landed on one. And even if you did manage to get in a good crack, they were spirits of air that assumed the form of physical bodies like wearing a suit of disposable clothes, so you could almost never really hurt them. To battle the Djinn, you had to engage them in a Power struggle.

Rune knew very well how to fight Djinn, but it just didn’t have the same visceral satisfaction as planting a fist right in the kisser, the way he wanted to plant his knuckles in that handsome, too-perfect, regal, aloof face.

Carling turned to stare at Rune. Her expression was incredulous. She said, “Are you growling again?”

Rune glared at her. Her adorable goddamn hair was standing up all over the place, and she was wrapped in that goddamn hotel bathrobe like she might have just gotten out of bed after having sex. Somehow the modern setting—the hotel, the skyline, the fluffy robe—made her makeup-free face look naked. He snarled, “Why didn’t you wait to call him until we had gotten some goddamn clothes?”

Her mouth dropped open. “But you said—”

Seeing Carling flummoxed was a rare sight. It made her look even more adorable. He might have enjoyed the sight, if he hadn’t been possessed by a trumpeting, untrained stallion. He put his hands on his hips and roared, “FORGET WHAT I SAID.”

The Djinn crossed his arms and raised a sleek black brow, looking so supercilious Rune started across the room toward him.

Suddenly Carling was there in front of him, impeding his path. She slapped her hands against his chest. He kept plowing forward, pushing against her strength, and her bare feet slid across the carpet. She said between her teeth, “I do not know why we are indulging in a fit of psychosis right now, but so help me, I will throw your crackbrained ass out the window if you don’t stop right there.”

The Djinn stared at them both. He smiled. He said, “I have seen this behavior in Wyr before.”

Glaring at him over Carling’s head, Rune spat words like they were bullets. “I want to know why you gave away three favors. And what Carling did for you.”

“Do you?” said the Djinn in a languorous drawl as he opened his diamond eyes wide. “Or you’ll do what?”

FOURTEEN

Rune hissed like a cat. He looked so feral and malevolent, Carling was jolted. She didn’t understand what was going on with him, but the aggression had flared in him again so hot it seemed to drive him with as much ruthlessness as a slave master’s whip. It finally sank in. He was really dangerous in that moment.

Even though his hands had changed, the fingers lengthening and tipped with killing claws, he gripped her shoulders with the same exquisite care as he always did. She was not at all concerned for herself. She knew she was quite safe with him, but she got a searing mental image of Rune and Khalil engaged in battle. If that happened, they would both sustain serious damage.

She cast around for ways to derail the situation. She didn’t see many options. She leaned her forehead against Rune’s chest and muttered to him in a low voice, “Rune, listen to me. This is not okay, and you’re beginning to alarm me. Don’t make me put a spell on you.”

His chest moved. He had taken a deep breath. His arms came around her. You can put any spell on me you want, he whispered in her head.

Aaaaagh, the idiot. She nearly did throw him out the window at that. She didn’t know how, in one moment, she could feel such a strong sense of connection with him, and then in the next feel like she was looking at some alien creature from one of those monster movies he said he loved. If there was ever a time he should not be flirting, it would be now.