Burned (33 page)

“I sent a message to the abbey,” Barrons says. “Said if they don’t give me Mac, we’re going to raze the fucking place.”

Ah, so both sides think the other whisked me off somehow. The night must have ended in a hostile standoff. I’m surprised Ryodan didn’t head straight back to the abbey this morning with the Nine, abduct Jada, and lock her in his dungeon.

“You believe they have Mac,” Ryodan says.

“Undecided. One moment I felt her, the next I didn’t. Haven’t felt her since.”

“Worried about her.” It’s a question, though Ryodan’s voice doesn’t rise at the end. I wait expectantly for Barrons’s answer.

“No.”

I bristle. That’s it? A lousy no? Doesn’t he care? Is this what our relationship is going to come down to: me finding out while invisible that I don’t even matter to him?

“She’ll be back,” Barrons says.

“She’s a vessel for the
Sinsar Dubh
, has virtually unlimited power at her disposal, there for the taking. I’m not certain you or I could resist such temptation.”

He’s not? Shit, shit, shit. That’s it. I’m doomed.

“She managed it once. She’ll do it again. Mac’s got a light inside her that’s inextinguishable.”

I beam, feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. If Barrons’s faith in me is that unshakable, I can do anything. Then I scowl. If he had so much faith in me, he would have trusted me to handle what happened between us that first day. Eyes narrowed, I flip him the bird.

Ryodan says, “She looked eighteen, nineteen.”

“Physically, I’d put her at twenty,” Barrons says. “Mentally, closer to thirty, in hard war years.”

If they’re talking about Jada aka possibly Dani, I agree with Barrons.

“She’s cold as ice.”

“You used to worry she’d get herself killed before she managed to grow up,” Barrons says. “Moot point now.”

“She’s fucking beautiful.”

Barrons studies him a moment then says, “Old enough for you.”

“That’s not why I watched over her.”

“Bullshit. We all saw the woman she could become. Just didn’t think she’d do it so quickly.”

“I wanted her to have— Ah, fuck, it doesn’t matter.”

“The childhood she missed. It’s gone. Adapt.”

Ryodan smiles faintly. “I loved watching her be young. Cocky. Swaggering around like she was invincible. She was supposed to have years of it.”

“She’s still swaggering. And feeling invincible.”

“She was healing. Until she and Mac fell out. It fucked with her head. I was going to be the concrete pillar that held up the roof while she redecorated her bunker. Give her time to choose who she wanted to be. Thought if I could keep her from having to make any brutal choices for a few years, she’d merge. Let her rebel against me rather than taking on the whole world. That opportunity is gone now.” Ryodan doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When he speaks again his voice is low, rough. “It’s as if
my
Dani died.”

I catch myself about to suck in an audible shocked breath. I may be unseeable but I’m not unhearable. The grief in his voice made me abruptly aware of my own. If Jada really is Dani, I’ll never again see that gamine grin, those sparkling eyes, listen as she mutilates the English language as only Dani
can. The night I chased her through the Silver was goodbye, my last look at the teen I’d grown to love as a sister. He’s right, it
is
as if my Dani died. The fourteen-year-old is gone, just gone, never coming back.

“When do we abduct her?”

Ryodan carefully places the dark blade on the empty desk and looks up. “We don’t. It won’t work with ‘Jada.’ She’ll only get more remote, harder. Lor’s going to lose it when he sees her. He adored the kid.” He rubs his jaw and for a moment the only sound in the office is the scratch of rough beard against hand. I hold my breath, suddenly acutely aware of every noise my body might make. “Speaking of Lor, how the fuck am I supposed to get him back from being Pri-ya.”

Barrons says, “He’s not Pri-ya.”

“Mac said—”

“She lied,” Barrons says flatly.

Gee, could you rat me out a little quicker, Barrons?

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“There are a few things you didn’t tell me either. You knew Dani had an alter.”

“Mac knows too much,” Ryodan says, changing the subject.

“So does ‘Jada.’ It’s a different world now. Women are different. We evolve. As does our code.”

“Convenient for you. Tell that to Kasteo. Ah, sorry you stupid fuck, you chose the wrong millennium to try to keep the woman you wanted.”

“That’s not why we did what we did and you know it.”

“What I know, brother, is you break every goddamned rule for Mac.”

“Back at you, Ry. Difference is, I’ll help you do it.”

“Lor has never been Pri-ya.” Ryodan shakes his head in disgust. “The princess can’t turn us. Son of a bitch, Mac’s ass is—”

“Mine,” Barrons says flatly. “You will never go there. You have a problem with Mac, you work it out with me. I am her shield, I am her second fucking skin.”

Whuh. I don’t currently need one but it’s kind of a turn-on.

Growling, Ryodan pushes up and is out the door so fast, I freeze, uncertain who to stick with. Then Barrons makes my decision for me by taking off after Ryodan, and I have to run to keep up with them. I scowl down at my shoes. Though my boots have rubber soles, they’re still making noise. Fortunately, so are theirs.

I have no doubt where Ryodan’s going and I’m not missing it.

If Lor thinks this means he doesn’t still owe me a favor, he’s wrong. He got nearly the full two weeks he bargained for.

Barrons ratted him out. Not me.

      26      

“Under my thumb, that Siamese cat of a girl”

LOR

“You are, hands down, the hottest fuck I’ve ever had,” Jo tells me as she collapses back on the bed, laughing. Her short dark hair’s a mess, her makeup’s gone, she’s slick with sweat and kinda glassy-eyed from lack of sleep.

And one damned hot fuck herself.

“God, where do you men come from? Are there more like the nine of you out there?”

I’m not going to say it. I don’t say stupid things like, “Better than the boss?”

Her face tightens and she closes her eyes. I kick myself mentally. There’s not a whole lot going on up there right now so kicking it doesn’t take much. Like, one foot and two toes. Not even the big one.

Jo’s been in my bed for twenty-four hours straight, leaving only to eat and piss, before climbing back in and going at it
again, one second a tigress spitting fire, the next snuggling up to me, a tiny slip of a woman under one of my arms, cheek on my chest like I’m not the bloodthirsty monster ancient cities called the Bonecrusher, who gorged on blood and death for breakfast and fueled their worst nightmares and lived by the motto “If you can’t fuck it, eat it, or use it for a weapon, kill it.”

I’m also not going to skim her mind for the answer she didn’t offer. People think we can read thoughts. We can’t. We just hear what they’re thinking real loud, some of us better than others, on top of their brains. Humans give stuff away all the time, practically tattooing their darkest secrets in neon on their skulls for anyone to see. Perverse fuckers. If they shouldn’t think about it, they do. If they should think about it, they don’t. “What the fuck do you mean ‘not a chance’?” I bellow indignantly.

She props herself up on her side, elbow bent, cheek resting on a dainty fist, and stares at me with fascination. Her short spiky hair is sticking straight up around her delicate face and she looks abso-frigging-lutely delectable. “What are you doing? Reading my mind? Can you
do
that?”

She not as disturbed by the possibility as most humans. I unclench my jaw and growl, “You could have taken out a goddamn billboard as loud as that last thought was.”

Her eyes sparkle with delight. “Can you help me find things in there? Maybe create a filing system?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She drops back on the pillow, smiling. “I’ll make it worth your while. God, I can’t tell you how glad I am that I took Mac’s advice and came here! She was right. You
are
just what I needed.”

“Mac
told
you to fuck me? As in sent you here?” I’m having a hard time deciding what I’m most pissed off about: that she thinks the boss is hotter or that Mac took advantage of my supposedly Pri-ya state by lining up her friends to score an epic fuck. Women.

“I’m so glad you won’t remember any of this,” she says cheerfully. “I can say anything. Do anything. Do you know how
freeing
this is? I may stay here for weeks!”

It’s like the thousandth bloody time she’s said the same bloody thing and I’m getting bloody sick of hearing it.
I’m so glad I came to see you! And even gladder that you won’t remember any of it!
Fuck that noise. I’m remembering every goddamn detail.

“Exactly how is Ryodan hotter?” I don’t believe he is. “What does he do that I didn’t?” I can’t believe I just said that. But I’m doing all kinds of shit I don’t do lately, getting trapped in magic, making deals with Mac, screwing a brunette for the first time in forever.

See, I got this hierarchy, and if blondes knew about it, they’d probably stop lining up at my bed. The lighter the blonde, the more perfect the roots, the less tempting they are to keep around. No woman over twenty-five is still platinum to the roots. Just ain’t happening if the babe ain’t Fae. The kind of woman that dyes her hair platinum is on the prowl for exactly what—and all—I’m willing to give: a fuck.

The darker the hair, the more complicated the deal. If she’s not obsessively maintaining her roots, her nails, her clothes, she expects things like discussions, dates, disclosures. Bloody hell, she wants respect. Which I’m all about giving. I respect them the entire time they’re sharing my bed and I treat them great when they’re not, flirting them up, telling them how
beautiful they are, while pointing them at the next man to help them get over me. I even get food for their kids, medicine and shit, ’cause times are tough. But if one of them starts to get clingy, I suddenly got a whole lot of work to do. Like, in another country.

By the time you work your way down the hierarchy to a brunette, you got yourself a woman who knows who she is, likes it enough that she ain’t gonna change, and is probably gonna try to change
you
, if push comes to shove.

Pushy, that’s what brunettes are. Even the dainty, fragile-looking ones.

Big-boobed blondes are all about the fun, the sparkle, the bling, the heat, the moment. I love ’em. I’m bugfuck crazy about ’em. They keep my life simple and sweet. They don’t inspire any of the feelings that made me the Bonecrusher.

“It’s not what Ryodan does,” Jo says slowly. “It’s more what he is.” Her eyes take on a serious sheen. “He’s like, unbelievably brilliant, ten steps ahead of everyone else all the time.”

Bullshit. He’s not that smart. I beat him at Triad. Once. About ten thousand years ago.

“I used to think he didn’t care about anything or anyone, but he does. Just not me. His passion runs deep. That’s why he’s always so controlled.”

Give me a motherfucking break. He’s controlled because he’s a control freak, plain and simple. Damn near every time he moves us, he ends up running the empire: king, dictator, or rutting pagan god.

“I think he’s the glue that holds you guys together. You’re his family and he’d do anything to preserve it.”

Okay, so she’s right about that. We had some dark times. Without the boss, I’m not sure where we’d all be. Scattered
across the globe, if not galaxies. Living alone. Living hard. But he forced us to stay together. And we’re glad he did. Well, most of us are.

“I see how he feels about his world and I want to be one of the parts he prizes. I want to be worth fighting for. Worth the same kind of effort he puts into the things that matter to him. Like Dani.”

I don’t tell her no human matters to the boss like Dani. “What the fuck does any of this have to do with sex? You aren’t talking about hotness, babe. You’re talking about wanting the man that doesn’t want you as much as you want him, and probably only for that reason. Boss is no fucking prize.” Chicks. Christ. They just don’t get it sometimes.

“Ryodan’s—” She breaks off and shakes her head sharply and I see the moment she decides to lighten it the fuck up—
thank you!
—but then she goes and screws things up by saying with a soft laugh, “Well, for one thing he’s not blond.”

I glare at her suspiciously and shove a hand through my blond hair. I refuse to believe a woman
—any
woman—practices my hierarchy in reverse. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Blond guys are hot and sexy and … well,
fun
and all that, but for some reason I usually avoid them. It’s the dark-haired guys that get me. I don’t know, I take them more seriously. They come off as more …” She sighs dreamily. “… dangerous. Ryodan is definitely more dangerous than you. I mean, really, what do you do? You screw blondes and act like a caveman. But back to what I really want to know: can you read minds and could you help me organize my thoughts? And if so, what do you want in exchange?”

“Ryodan,” I manage to say without snarling. Well, okay, so
maybe I snarl a little. “You think he’s more dangerous.” She not only just insulted my dick and what I do with it, she’s now moved on to insulting my fucking existence.

“I don’t want to talk about him. I came here to forget him. Can we just not talk about him?”

“You’re the one who brought him up.”

“I did not.”

“Indirectly. Don’t tell me I’m the hottest fuck if I’m not.”

“I’m surprised you’re still talking. I thought Pri-ya meant pretty much brain-dead. Don’t you have better things to do with your mouth?”

“Oh, honey, I got plenty of better things to do with it. Better than any fuck out there.” And I’m gonna prove it. She likes danger? I’ll show her danger. “And some of us got too many brains to kill.”

She laughs. “You? Yeah, right.”

I growl. A few chains would definitely help. We’ll see just who she thinks is the hottest fuck by the time I’m done with her.