Magpie (4 page)

It was only Everet’s quick reactions that stopped Kane crashing to the ground as he stumbled backward.

“Let me go!”

Everet gritted his teeth as he held back a sigh. The elders were expecting them. He had no time to question Kane further.

“Get dressed.” Everet released Kane, allowing him room to follow the order.

Kane glanced at the clothes. “No way. I’m not wearing this rubbish!” He picked disdainfully at the neat little pile, causing the shoes balanced neatly on top of it, to tumble to the floor.

“You’re going to see the elders in a few minutes,” Everet said. “You can do that dressed or naked, your choice.”

Kane parted his lips. He was about to say naked, Everet knew it. Then, Kane caught sight of his reflection in one of the steam-covered mirrors. Even through the distortion, his injuries were obvious.

It wasn’t just his face that looked like it had been through several rounds with a heavyweight-boxing champion. Kane looked down as he ran his hand over some of the more interestingly colored marks on his torso. He glanced at the clothes again, weighing his options. Finally, he turned to Everet.

“I want something else to wear.”

“Depending on what the elders decide should be done with you, other clothes might be provided. For now, your choices are those or nothing.”

Everet glanced across at the little pile of garments as he waited for Kane to make his decision. He’d be dammed if he could work out what the magpie wanted to make so much fuss about. They were clothes: Jeans, a long-sleeve T-shirt and trainers.

They weren’t all black, which would have made them perfect in Everet’s eyes, but they looked like they were about the right size for Kane—or as close as could be expected until the boy ate something that didn’t include a chemical high.

Kane gave a theatrical sigh and picked up the jeans. He turned to Everet. “What? You want to watch everything I do in here? Did the elders order you not to give me room to take a piss on my own, or do you just get off on that sort of thing?”

Everet ran an assessing eye over the boy. He looked a little steadier on his feet than he had been. The request was reasonable. “I’ll be just outside the door if you need me.”

Having closed the bathroom door carefully behind him, Everet leaned against the wall alongside it, shut his eyes and let his head bang back against the paintwork. No man who was that beaten up should have been able to exude so much raw sex appeal. No man who was that much of a brat should have made Everet want to do anything other than throttle him.

Everet adjusted himself within his now uncomfortably tight jeans. He needed to get out more, or at least stay in with another man, rather than on his own.

Minutes ticked past, no plea for assistance came through the door. Everet waited. Another few minutes. The boy was just taking the piss now.

Everet glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and rapped pointedly on the door. “Kane?”

Nothing.

Everet was just about to reach for the handle when the door swung inward.

If Everet had been inclined to think about it, it might have occurred to him that the supply of toiletries in the guest suite’s bathroom might extend past mere soap and shampoo.

Kane had obviously thought about it. He’d transformed his hair into a fashionably messed up style that made it look as if a lover had run his fingers through the golden-blond strands all night.

The fact that the bruises on his face appeared to have undergone an entire week’s worth of healing hinted that he’d found whatever makeup had been placed in there for guests to use, too.

Everet might have assumed there was a shaving kit in there. But, it would never have occurred to him that a man would take the razor out of said kit and use it to slice through his jeans in several places. One knee was cut open, so was a pocket and a point so high up on the inside of one thigh that, if Kane had dressed to the right, a lucky man might glimpse far more than mere leg.

What had been a perfectly normal long sleeve T-shirt had also been sliced and restyled while Everet had cooled his heels outside the bathroom door. Somehow, Kane had used his design skills to cover up the worst of his injuries and expose only healthy looking patches of skin.

Everet finished his assessment of Kane’s wardrobe and returned his attention to his face. It had obviously never occurred to Kane that the nest he’d borrowed those clothes from might expect to get them back in one piece. Mentioning the possibility now seemed pointless.

Everet turned toward the door leading out of the suite. “The elders are waiting for us.”

“What?”

Everet stopped and glanced back toward Kane. “The nest’s elders, they’re—”

“That’s all you’re going to say—” Kane stopped as suddenly as he started. He pursed his lips. “Whatever.” He strode past Everet, his steps now strong and confident.

Easily keeping up with him, Everet made no attempt to take the lead until Kane stopped at a crossroads, realizing he had no idea which corridor led to the elders’ meeting room.

Everet led the rest of the way. He’d put Kane in the guest suite closest to the elders’ meeting room and they were already in the more formal part of the nest, usually only used by the higher-ranking shifters. It didn’t take long to traverse the expensively carpeted hallways, lined with portraits of past elders of the nest that lay between the rooms.

As they walked, Everet kept a careful eye on his charge. If Kane was overawed by his surroundings, he didn’t show it. In fact, he gave a good impression of someone who had been born to roam around buildings like this. There wasn’t a hint of nerves to be seen in him. Poor sod, he was probably too high to realize how large an effect the forthcoming meeting could have on his life.

Stopping outside a high door surrounded by ornate carving, Everet rapped on one of the flatter bits of woodwork. His expression remained blank, but his mind worked overtime. The appropriate thing to do would be to simply deliver Kane to the elders and let them get on with it. So why didn’t it feel like the right thing to do?

“Enter.” Hamilton’s voice carried a thick undercurrent of displeasure that boded very ill for Kane. Everet opened the door and stepped back for Kane to walk in first.

Following him inside, Everet pulled the door closed and moved to stand to one side of it, waiting to see if anything else would be required of him before he went back to his regular duties.

Kane approached the long table where the elders convened their meetings. Only six men sat on the other side of the table that day, although there was room for more than a dozen of them to sit there comfortably.

“You’re the magpie the humans asked us to retrieve?” Hamilton snapped.

Kane stopped directly in front of him, about a yard away from the table.

As leader of the nest Hamilton occupied the central seat, but Everet sent up thanks that the eagle wouldn’t be making any decision regarding Kane’s fate without the input of the only man in the nest capable of really influencing him.

Ori, the nest’s swan, smiled shyly at Everet as their eyes met. Everet bowed his head slightly in due deference. For some stupid reason, he found himself incredibly relieved that there was someone at the meeting who might be inclined to be merciful toward Kane—not that the little brat had shown any sign of deserving it.

On Ori’s right, just as Everet expected, sat a hawk, sat Ori’s…

Everet’s thoughts faltered. Over a year after they’d come to some sort of arrangement, he was damned if he could work out how any of them were supposed to refer to Ori and Raynard’s relationship.

“I asked you a question,” Hamilton said, his words more clipped than ever.

“I heard you,” Kane said. “And yes, I am. Who the hell are you?”

Everet glared at the back of Kane’s neck. If he thought that kind of attitude would get him anywhere with Hamilton, he really hadn’t read the man well.

Damn it, even Ori wouldn’t be able to help him if they didn’t have the full facts.

Everet stepped forward. “I believe he is still under the influence of drugs taken while he was still among the humans, sir.”

Kane glared over his shoulder at Everet. “No, I’m not!”

Everet held his ground. It all came down to who the elders would choose to believe—a raven or a magpie.

Kane turned away from Everet and glared at the guys sitting along the other side of the table.

“I see,” the oldest man, occupying the biggest chair, said. He sounded even more prissy now than he had at the start.

Kane saw too. He saw very well indeed, and he didn’t like it one little bit. He ran his eyes over the men on the other side of the table. There was only one man who looked like an attractive prospect for a potential sugar-daddy. One out of six. If that was the best the nest could offer then Kane was screwed—worse still, it might mean he’d have to put up with being screwed by someone like the stuck-up bastard in the biggest chair.

“Perhaps if you both sit down and join us, we can work something out?”

Kane glanced at the youngest of the so-called elders. In spite of the white hair, he looked like he was only in his early twenties. The guy dropped his gaze when their eyes met, but there was no hint of flirtation in the gesture.

“He said sit.” That was the one promising prospective sugar-daddy, speaking from the right of the guy with the white hair. “And you too, Everet.”

A hand came to rest on Kane’s shoulder. The bloody raven. Kane shrugged irritably. The hand remained firmly in position.

Rolling his eyes and doing his damnedest to make it look like he was humoring them rather than giving in because he knew he was beaten, Kane slumped into one of the rather less impressive chairs lined up on his side of the table. He pulled one foot up in front of him on the cushioned seat and wrapped his hands around his bent leg.

The chair wasn’t built to accommodate bad posture. The small of Kane’s back protested almost immediately, but he stuck with it. Just like the pain he thought he’d felt from his bruises a little while ago, any discomfort soon slipped quickly away.

Only the buzzing in his ears reminded him that he’d need to get another shot of something good into his veins soon, if he wanted to remain impassive to anything the world and its heavy leather boots could kick out of him.

Kane was vaguely aware of the raven sitting alongside him, but he made a point of not looking in his direction.

“You’re marked, of course?” That was the grumpy old git again.

“Of course,” Kane sneered, in what was a bloody good impersonation of the other man’s tone, if he did say so himself.

“It is customary for avians to address those of a higher rank as sir.”

“Shall I tell you what you can do with your customs,
sir
?”

“Display your wrist.” Ice dripped off the words.

Kane was already sure the young guy with the white hair had to be straight, because he still hadn’t given off the slightest interest in either screwing or being screwed by him. He watched impassively as Mr. White-Hair placed his right forearm on the table, his palm up, his wrist exposed.

A tattoo covered the skin directly over his vein. The swirls and curves proclaimed a species. Kane bestowed a quick glance on it, but it wasn’t one he recognized.

Mr. White-Hair’s actions seemed to be a call for everyone else to do the same. The other men around the table soon followed the youngest guy’s lead.

That was wrong. Kane felt it in every cell in his body. The guy wasn’t someone that other men naturally followed. Every other man in the room gave off a greater instinct toward dominance than little Mr. White-Hair.