Strange Brew (17 page)

Cyrus stared at me for a moment, then tugged me into a loose hug. I closed my eyes and went, arms still wrapped around myself. His mouth brushed my ear. “I’ve had worse from a hunt,” he said. And then, even more softly, “You scared the shit out of me.” And then we were hugging so tight that his leather jacket creaked.

“Where are you staying?” he asked after a moment.

I blinked. Because, yeah, going home wasn’t an option. Even if the house had been habitable, I couldn’t go back there with a dark witch on my tail.

“I hadn’t really gotten that far yet.”

“Then it’s settled. You’re coming with me.”

Cyrus’s bike, a black-and-silver Harley-Davidson, was propped against one side of the building. It was where I usually kept mine, too, since no one had gotten around to marking out parking places yet. Cyrus threw a leg over, I climbed on back, and we took off, ignoring the scowls of the guards at the front gate. I laid my cheek against his back and enjoyed the feeling of freedom, the cool night air unbelievable heady after a day spent inside suffocating hallways and concrete-gray offices.

“You want pizza?” he yelled back a few minutes later.

“Only if I get to pick the toppings.”

“Deal.”

We made a pit stop at a late-night diner that still had a crowd, then headed to the motel that Cyrus currently called home. His room was clean, if not particularly large, and there was a noisy but functioning air conditioner. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in a black T-shirt and jeans, and carefully checked his guns before putting them within arm’s reach on the nightstand. He finally allowed himself to relax, kicking off his boots and stretching out on the bedspread.

I borrowed a shirt and took a much-needed shower. I’d restocked my potions supplies and ammunition at HQ, but the only clothes in my locker had been a rangy old pair of socks. Luckily, a T-shirt is a T-shirt, and Cyrus’s looked fine on me. Plus the long tail almost covered the bloodstains on my jeans.

We didn’t have a table, so we’d put the pizza in the middle of the bed after laying down some towels to catch the grease. I hadn’t eaten all day, and suddenly I was starving. The pie was soggy in the middle and half cold and tasted wonderful. I did damage to my half, then rolled onto my back and stared at the watermarked ceiling tiles. Classy.

I let my body start to relax, and it was a mistake. I’d been running on adrenaline and the instinct drilled into me during training that let me push through pain and exhaustion and fear by walling off my emotions until it was safe to deal with them. That detachment had started to crack when Hargrove told me the recruits had been targeted because they were mine. That, essentially, I’d killed Adam twice, because if someone else had been his trainer, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. And now it felt like the two halves of my rib cage were being slowly squeezed together by some invisible vise.

The gentleness of hands on my face was no comfort; it rattled me, made my body burn and my stomach clench. Cyrus leaned down and kissed me, so slowly and thoroughly that I felt like I was sinking into the mattress. His teeth were smooth, the edges catching sharp against the thin skin behind my ear, his hands big and rough, sliding down my sides. It threatened to break something in me, just the warmth of him. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my bottom lip hard to keep the insane, embarrassing sounds I could feel building behind my teeth where they belonged.

“Stop blaming yourself,” he said softly.

“There’s nothing wrong with blaming myself when it’s my fault,” I snapped, rolling away from him. I didn’t want to feel better; I didn’t deserve to feel better. Not yet.

He lay back, hands behind his head. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I almost said no, but bit it back. I’d desperately wanted company—his company—but it would have been better to find a bolt-hole somewhere else. I’d never been sure if it was a Were thing or a macho thing or just something he did to drive me crazy, but Cyrus had a protective streak a mile wide. And like most Weres, he seriously underestimated magic.

I’d tried to explain that, yeah, Weres were faster, stronger, and had senses far more acute than any humans—even magical ones. But none of that made a damn bit of difference when facing a well-trained magic user. Cyrus’s hardheadedness on that subject was going to get him killed someday. I’d just prefer it wasn’t this one.

But Weres could smell a lie, so I had to give him something. I settled on a version of the truth, leaving out the part about the Assassins and the vengeful witch. I didn’t want him deciding to go after Colafranchesi himself.

“You’re saying that someone in the Corps wants you dead?” he demanded when I finished.

“I’m not universally popular, but I don’t think it’s gotten that far yet.”

“But who else would know about the spell?”

Someone who had made a lifelong study of illusions, I didn’t say. “I’m sure the investigators are working on that.”

Cyrus didn’t look satisfied. “If this test is so important, how come I’ve never heard of it?”

“It isn’t a popular topic of conversation,” I said dryly. “No one is allowed to give the recruits any hints, and most people who’ve passed are happy to forget the experience.”

Cyrus cocked an eyebrow at me. “How did you do?”

“I didn’t,” I said, trying to keep an edge out of my voice. “My Were blood made me difficult to influence. If Dad hadn’t been with the Corps, that probably would have ended my career right there. But he called in some favors.” I guess no one had really thought that Guillame de Croisset’s daughter was likely to be a dark mage plant. Or if they did, they weren’t about to say it to his face.

For the first time, I wondered if it might have been better if they had.

Everyone always assumed that Dad was pulling strings for me, that I would never have found a mentor or made it through training or gotten my first promotion on my own. In fact, he’d done it only the one time, and only because he considered it partly his fault that I was facing that particular hurdle. Dad had taught me to be tough, self-reliant, and competent. Only the Corps had never given me the chance.

I’d tried overcompensating for a while, taking the hardest assignments, working the longest hours, but nothing erased the stain of my mother’s blood. Somewhere along the line, I’d decided that undercompensating was a lot easier. It didn’t get me any more promotions, but nothing was likely to do that. Nor did it make me any more popular among my peers, who had transitioned smoothly from resenting me for showing them up to resenting me for slacking off. But at least it left me with more free time.

“They just let you skip it?” Cyrus asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“Not exactly. My trainer sent me on a three-week hike through a Louisiana swamp instead.” My only companions had been a bad map to the finish line, an occasional alligator, and a horde of mosquitoes the size of my thumb. But the trainees I talked to afterwards thought I’d gotten the better deal.

“I still don’t get why anyone would target you,” Cyrus said, circling back around to the main point. “Why not order a hit on the head of the Circle? Or at least the head of the local branch?”

An unpleasant rolling sensation bloomed in my gut. It might have been the pizza, but I didn’t think so. Because I’d just had a flash of Adam, sprawled helplessly against the wall; only this time, he was wearing Cyrus’s face.

“Why not me?” I countered, swilling the last of the now-lukewarm beer.

“Out of all the possibilities? Don’t you think it’s a little—?”

“I’ve been in the news lately,” I reminded him.

After Hargrove’s predecessor turned dark and tried to take out the Were Council, I’d been forced to shoot him. Unfortunately, Gil and I were known to have had problems—to the point that he’d been agitating for my dismissal before he ended up dead by my hand. I’d been cleared of wrongdoing by the Circle’s investigation, but that hadn’t stopped the media speculation. For the first time, I was glad of it.

“I’m still going to have the clan post a guard,” Cyrus said stubbornly. “It may not be necessary, but I’ll feel—”

“A guard on who?”

His eyes narrowed. We were so close, I could see the tiny lines that framed them, graven by years of laughter and squinting against the sun. Only he wasn’t laughing now. “On you.”

I just stared at him. I hadn’t even anticipated that, and I should have. I’d ostensibly joined Arnou, Cyrus’s clan, a few months ago, after playing a part in saving the life of the leader’s daughter. Not that a half-Were who had steadfastly refused the change could ever really be a part of any clan. But after my mother’s family tried to force me to change, I’d needed protection and Sebastian had provided it. It was the Were way to return a favor in kind, and by adopting me into Arnou, he’d ensured that no other clan could touch me.

But having them stick up for me now would be a disaster. If the Assassins even suspected that Arnou was helping me, they’d become the next target. Way to repay them for taking me in.

“I don’t need protection, Cyrus,” I told him forcefully. “And I don’t think the clan would appreciate you dragging them into this.”

He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

A surge of frustration zinged along my nerves, making my muscles bunch and jump even lying completely still. “Exactly what I said! I don’t expect trouble, but if anything happens, I’ll deal with it. Alone.”

“You don’t seem to understand what belonging to a clan means,” he said slowly. “You don’t go it alone—ever.”

“You know damn well I’m no more part of Arnou than I was of Lobizon,” I said angrily. And suddenly, I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to wait until morning, wanted to beat the living shit out of something
now
.

I started to get up, but Cyrus rolled on top of me, pinning me in place. And for the first time, he looked angry. “Oh, forgive me. Because I was under the impression that Sebastian threw three representatives of Lobizon out of court just last week, for daring to threaten the life of our newest clan member!”

I stared up at him, my heart feeling like someone was squeezing it in a fist. “He shouldn’t have done that. I’m not—”

“Not what?”

“Not worth it!” I threw him off and started for the door, only to find that he’d gotten there first.

He grabbed my arm and I hesitated, not sure if I planned to push him away or hit him, and he drew me in before I could decide. I could smell the vaguely spicy scent of him, feel the warmth of his body, and in a flash, something sparked between us. We were kissing, almost biting, as we shoved against each other. A series of sensations slammed into me: a warm hand at the back of my neck, a broad chest pushing me against the door, a hot mouth on mine, a rough tongue stroking in.

We stumbled toward the bed, fighting for dominance, until we hit the side of the mattress. We stood there, vibrating, bodies hard against each other, for a long moment. Then Cyrus seemed to come to himself, to remember who he was with—the little half human who might break if you looked at her wrong—and his touch softened. His hand ghosted over my face, followed my hairline, and drifted down my temple to trace the line of my jaw. Then strong hands were pushing up my shirt, sliding tenderly up my rib cage, thumbing a nipple, making me shiver.

But not with desire.

He was being too damn
gentle
, and I didn’t deserve that, didn’t want it, not
now
. I shoved him down onto the bed, sending the pizza box flying, and crawled between his thighs. He stared up at me, startled and hungry, and something in my chest tightened. I wanted to—god, I didn’t even know.

I yanked his T-shirt up until it caught on his arms and face, covering everything above the rough-bearded skin of his Adam’s apple. Grasping the material firmly, I twisted it a couple of times, preventing him from easily freeing his raised arms. “That’s my favorite shirt,” he complained, but his voice was rough and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.

I didn’t answer, and the makeshift blindfold stayed in place. He started to say something else, but I kissed him again, this time through the thin cotton, and he groaned and opened his mouth. “Leave it,” I murmured.

He stayed tense for a moment longer before letting his body relax, trusting me. It was a bit of a balancing act to hold on to the shirt with one hand and unbutton his jeans with the other, but I managed it. They were heavy, so in case he wrecked the bike he didn’t get too much asphalt embedded in his flesh, and difficult to budge so I didn’t bother pulling them off. Just pushed them down and took him in.

He inhaled sharply, and the muscles of his thighs flexed hard beneath me. I shut my eyes, concentrating on the feel of his pulse beating against my tongue. He’d hardened before I reached the tip and started letting out soft desperate-sounding noises from behind the makeshift gag. They were sweet and damn near addictive, but not nearly frantic enough. They did nothing to ease the furious thing inside me.

He was holding back, like always. The guy could tear a house down with his bare hands, but he never showed me any sign of it. He was always so cautious when we were together, so conscious of the difference between us, so afraid he might hurt me that he never left a single bruise.

It felt like judgment, just another way I was inadequate. Not Were enough for him, not human enough for the Corps. Angry tears sprang to my eyes, and I wiped them away, livid. I wanted to teach him to lose control, to want something so badly, he forgot to be careful, to want
me
. But that wasn’t going to happen.

I scrambled up on numb, shaky legs, Adam’s face wavering in front of me. Yet another way I’d failed, and suddenly I could barely breathe. I felt almost hysterical, like I was going to shatter into pieces if something didn’t break soon.

“Lia…” Cyrus had felt the bed move when I rose, but I pulled up the bottom of the T-shirt and pressed my mouth to his, smothering any questions he might ask. For a moment, the world contracted to his body under my hands, the rough-slick feel of his tongue in my mouth. I finished him off with my hand, my face pressed into the skin just below his jaw, until he came with a noise that sounded like pain.