Wicked Burn (Realm Enforcers #3)(14)

“Not really. Mum and Pops were married,” Nick countered, slashing across Henry’s forearm. His parents had died during the last war, as had many demons. Heat filled him along with purpose. Now he was committed, like it or not.

Henry snarled and tackled Nick, taking him down. His head bounced against rock, and stars flashed behind his eyes. Twisting his body, Simone in his head, he slammed his knife up and into Henry’s throat.

Henry’s eyes widened, and blood gurgled from his mouth. Angling to the side, he shoved his knife between Nick’s ribs.

Agony ripped through Nick’s body. “Fuck.” Drawing on a darkness he hadn’t realized lived inside him, he shoved harder until the hilt of his knife rested against Henry’s neck. Pushing up, Nick reversed their positions, twisting and slashing until Henry’s head rolled away from his massive body.

Oh God. Nick turned and puked. Then, wearily, his soul actually slipping away, he stood and wiped the knife off on his pants. Coldness settled down his body.

He staggered toward Henry’s head and grasped it by the hair. His stomach rolled. What had he done?

This would either work or get him killed, and right now, he wasn’t sure of the better outcome. The walk through tunnels to Suri’s office took an eternity, and he left droplets of blood the entire way. He shoved open the rock door without knocking.

Suri looked up from his desk. He was centuries old but appeared about twenty; the only sign of his true age was an ancient glint in his eyes. “What the hell?”

Nick strode inside and dropped Henry’s head on the desk. The neck impacted first with an odd squishing sound. It would take time and terrible deeds to gain Suri’s full trust, but now Nick was committed. God help him. “I think you have an opening in your organization.”

Nick was yanked back to the present day as the door opened. He returned from the past to see Simone sauntering in to sit on a thousand-year-old sofa against the rock wall, her green velvet skirt topped by a classic bustier lined with diamonds. She’d pulled her hair up with a fine ribbon, revealing her smooth neck and pounding pulse. A ruby choker, one probably worth millions, glowed against her pale skin.

He cleared his throat, trying to banish the darkness from the past. “I figured you’d go for a modern pencil skirt and blouse to face the accusations.”

Her gaze, dark and feminine, moved to his as she opened a ledger on her lap. “I have more power in this outfit.”

Yes, yes, she did. The woman wore beauty as a shield and wielded it like a knife. He’d always respected her for the gift and for never trying to be anything but who she was . . . a stunning, brilliant, vain, independent, sarcastic, loyal witch. There weren’t enough adjectives in the universe to truly describe her. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss the bomb you dropped on me earlier.”

“Now isn’t the time, Nicholai,” she murmured, her hands flattened on the ledger. She drew a pen from her pocket to make notations.

“What are you doing?”

She glanced up, her eyes refocusing. “We’ve been working on an economical package to assist younger witches wishing to attend human universities. The humans have discovered new advances in science that we can use.” Her eyes gleamed. The woman loved strategy and, well, money. He’d always known that.

“You’re working.” The woman was about to face serious legal charges, and she was working?

“Of course.” She frowned. “I have to get this finished.”

Oh, first they were going to talk, damn it. How in the hell could she and Bear be siblings? The only way would be for them to share a father. Was Simone part bear shifter?

The door opened, and a guard shoved Bear inside.

“Where’s Tori Monzelle?” Simone asked, half-rising and setting the ledger on the sofa.

Bear shrugged. “Dunno.”

Simone sat back down and swallowed. “They won’t hurt her.” Doubt infused her tone.

Bear had changed into pressed black slacks with a bourbon-colored button-down shirt that matched his eyes. An aqua-colored tie hung from his right pocket. “I jumped into the shower, and they took my jeans.” He sounded more bewildered than angry.

“One must dress to meet the f*cking Coven Nine,” Nick ground out, looking down at his pressed black pants and shirt with matching tie. “Whoever chose the clothes lacks imagination.”

Bear lifted prominent eyebrows. “Huh. Well, I got blue and light brown. Maybe they went on personality. The all black?” He pointed to Nick’s form. “Demon, I guess. Cranky demon.”

The damn bear couldn’t even speak in complete sentences. Rather, he chose not to. Nick set his hands in his pockets as casually as possible to prevent himself from going for the shifter’s throat. “Want to tell me how this all came out?”

Bear crossed the room to drop into one of two chairs aligned at a ninety-degree angle from the sofa. A marble table was set before him. He looked around the otherwise bare room. “No weapons here.”

Nick had already scoped out the room. “None.”

Bear appeared to be bored beyond belief, but a tension emanated from him that nearly choked the entire room. “Why don’t you sit down, demon?”

“Why don’t you tell me what has you so upset, shifter?” Nick returned evenly.

Bear kicked back and slammed his boots on the table. “I don’t like Ireland.”