Authors: AE Jones
“So…why doesn’t he?”
No one answered me. And as I peered from face to face, I knew. He didn’t want to change in front of me. And I saw red. The fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins from watching one of my best friends almost die hardened into hurt and anger, and it was ugly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Misha! I just saved your freakin’ life, and I’m still not worthy to see your demon form? Fine! I’ll wait out in the hallway.”
I slammed through the doors, peeling off my gloves and chucking them in the biohazard bin. I rushed to the sink, and turned on the water, but as I reached for the soap, my hand trembled so hard I had to grip the sink to steady myself. After a minute, I was able to wash my hands, and was drying them when Jean Luc came up behind me.
“Kyle.”
I spun around. “Is he okay? Please tell me the wound is healing.”
“Yes, it is healing.”
I released the breath I’d been holding. “Thank God.”
“Kyle, I feel I should explain something to you.”
I held up my hands. “I know. I was a bitch in there. I’ll apologize to him later. I know I shouldn’t expect him to treat me like another supernatural. I guess, since we’ve worked together for years, it hurt when he shut me out.”
“You misunderstand Misha’s reluctance to show you his other side. It is not your worthiness which is in question. He is afraid you will think less of him when you see his demon self.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
“He does not want your friendship to change. He is afraid you would not be able to relate to him in the same way afterward.”
My heart clenched. He was worried about what I would think of him? “What a lunkhead. I don’t care what he looks like, demon or not. He’ll always be my friend.”
Jean Luc smiled. “That is what I have told him, but I think it will come best from you.”
I hesitated. “He wants me to see him?”
“Yes, are you ready for it?”
I walked slowly toward the room as Jean Luc pushed open the door. Misha’s now jet-black eyes settled on mine. He had grown. His skin was mottled, now mainly red, with burnt-orange splotches over his chest and face. Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the bed. His eyes were filled with uncertainty, and I smiled as I gazed at him, awed at how important this moment was to both of us. I laid a hand on his arm, surprised to discover his skin was soft.
I shook my head at him. “You stubborn Russian. If you think a little red skin and black eyes would ever change my feelings for you, then you’re an idiot. I think your demon half is sexy as hell. No wonder you have no trouble finding wives.”
He grinned at me and laughed, his beautiful belly laugh bouncing off the walls.
* * *
I had propped my head against the back of the couch in Doc’s office when the door opened and Dalton rushed in.
“Doc just told me what happened. Sorry I wasn’t here to help.”
I shrugged. “None of us realized how bad it was until it was almost too late.”
He sat down next to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Liar, liar.
“I just needed a place to chill for a couple of minutes. How did it go with the cops?”
“Well, considering the fact I couldn’t give them any of the relevant data, it was pretty much a nonevent. They are chalking it up to a drunk or drug addict driving through the alley on a tear.”
“Well, we need to figure out why they were after us.”
“I don’t think they were after us.”
“How can you say that?”
“The bullet you pulled out of Misha was made specifically to kill demons. I think they were after supernaturals, and we just got in the way. Do you think Doyle set us up?”
I sat for a moment, considering it. “No, I think he was a pawn in this whole thing. I don’t think he would have bothered with a warning if he’d set us up.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the list Doyle had handed us in the alley. “We need to check out these names. Misha will be down for a few days, but I’m pretty sure Jean Luc can help with the search.” I unfolded the paper and it rattled in my shaky fingers.
Damn it.
Dalton reached for my hands and held them in his strong grip. “Misha is going to be fine. Doc says you’re a natural.”
I shook my head and watched his thumbs rub across the back of my hands. I was not going to cry. Dalton let go of one of my hands and placed his fingers under my chin, tipping up my face so he could look me in the eye. He went blurry, then he smiled and hugged me to his chest while I bawled. I could be such a wuss sometimes. Plus alarm bells were going off in my head. I liked being in Dalton’s arms way too much. After a minute, I sighed and pulled back.
Dalton’s concerned look took my breath away.
“Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.” The electricity between us was like late summer lightning, so I needed to ground us in reality. “Don’t think this means you’re getting lucky. We only called a truce earlier. No peace treaty has been signed yet.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” His words sounded sincere, but his eyes danced mischievously.
I didn’t trust him for a second.
Chapter 16
I blew out a shaky breath. I had been vegetating long enough in Doc’s office. Dalton had already gone down the hall to double-check some details with Doc. Running my hands through my hair, I stretched and stood slowly. I was definitely not getting enough sleep, but it would have to wait until after we figured out who shot Misha. And why.
On my way down the hall, I stopped to check on him. When I opened the door, the room was empty. My stomach sank. Controlling myself, I walked quickly to the main morgue area. Doc and Dalton stood near a lab table reading a report.
“Where’s Misha?”
Doc smiled. “He’s fine. I moved him to a room with an actual bed. He wasn’t comfortable on the metal table.”
“He’s going to be okay?”
“He should be fine in a couple of days. He just needs to take it easy.”
My stomach unclenched. “Where’s Jean Luc?”
Dalton replied this time. “He went back to the office to run the list of names Doyle gave us.”
“What’s going on in here?”
“Doc was just going over the lab results on the bullet.”
“What have you figured out?”
Doc set the report down. “The bullet itself was silver. It was designed to break apart like hollow-point bullets. Inside was a compound of pure iron and salt.”
“Why that particular mixture?”
“I think whoever designed it thinks it’s a deadly cocktail for all supes. Silver for the shifters and vamps, iron and salt for the demons.”
I shook my head. “Misha eats salt all the time.”
“Salt has been believed to be a weapon against demons for centuries,” Doc said. “However, demons who live on earth are not susceptible to it. But pure iron would definitely hurt us.”
“What about those in the demon realm?”
“Iron would affect them like the demons on earth. Salt would also hurt them. I just don’t know if it would be strong enough to kill them.”
“So they weren’t gunning for us,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter.” Doc scowled. “The bullet still could have killed either of you.”
“I think the truck would have taken us out before the bullets. If it hadn’t been for Misha’s telekinesis, Dalton would be dead.”
Doc took a step toward me. “What did you say?”
“Hey, I was surprised, too, to discover he could move things. He’s never mentioned the power to me before, but I’m not going to complain.”
Doc stared at me pointedly. “I think both you and Dalton shouldn’t discuss this with anyone else until you can talk to Misha further.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“There’s obviously a reason why Misha hasn’t told you about this power before now. It’s not my place to explain the ramifications.”
“Fine, Cryptic-Girl, I’ll ask him myself. Can I go check on him?”
“Yes. He’s down the hall, third door on the right. And no badgering!”
My eyes widened in mock innocence. “I would never badger. Cut me some slack.”
I glanced over at Dalton, who had the nerve to roll his eyes.
Another party heard from.
I marched down the hall and opened the door slowly, slipping into the room. Misha was back in human form. As I stepped closer to the bed, his steady breathing calmed me down. He was sound asleep. The questions Doc had triggered would have to wait.
I stood for a couple of minutes watching him sleep and then tiptoed out. As I headed back to the morgue, loud, unfamiliar voices echoed down the hallway. I jogged the rest of the way back to find Doc and Dalton standing toe to toe with three very large men.
The tallest of the three seemed to be doing all the talking, or rather commanding.
“Where is he?”
Doc answered him. “He’s resting in a room down the hall.”
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
They turned toward me in unison, which would have been amusing if their faces hadn’t all been so belligerent.
“I am here to see Misha,” Mr. Master and Commander announced.
“And you are?”
His ice-blue eyes looked me over, as if gauging the necessity of explaining anything. “I am Boris Chesnokov, the Shamat clan leader, and I will be taken to Misha.
Now.
”
I perused him slowly.
Well, well, well.
I finally got to meet Grand Poobah in the flesh. He was around the same height as Misha, but with brown hair and a rugged face. He was wearing a killer suit which I’m sure cost more than my entire wardrobe. I could actually feel the power radiating from him. He clearly was used to getting his way. However, his arrogance annoyed the crap out of me.
“I don’t care if you’re the Tsar of Russia, you aren’t getting into his room unless Doc says it’s okay.”
Doc nodded. “Fine, but only one of you at a time. He’s still recovering.”
We headed down the hallway en masse. When we reached Misha’s room, I stood in front of the door for a second, blocking the way. “He was sleeping when I checked on him earlier, so take it easy when you go in.”
Boris stalked into the room, shutting the door behind him. The two barbarians accompanying him stood on either side of the door, casing the hallway. Their expressions showed no emotion, reminding me of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
After a couple of minutes, Boris came out and closed the door behind him. He seemed much calmer. “Please explain what happened. I’m still unclear about the events.”
Since he said “please” I decided I would enlighten him. “Misha took a bullet, saving Dalton and me from being mowed down by a truck.”
“But it’s not a life-threatening injury for us. Why is he still in bed?”
“The bullet contained pure iron,” Doc volunteered, “which started to poison Misha’s system.”
“But you got it all out, yes?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Doc answered.
Boris clenched his jaw. “Who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Dalton interjected.
I butted in. “Misha came to you and asked about the drawings of demons we discovered. Have you been able to identify them?”
Boris’s expression slammed shut. “I will be speaking to Nicholas today. Our clan takes care of its own.”
“Are we going to start beating our fists against our chests and grunting next?”
His eyes narrowed on me. “I do not care for your tone.”
“I’ll drop the tone if you drop the superiority complex. We’re all trying to accomplish the same thing here.”
“And what would that be?”
“To figure out why an angel felt it was necessary to chop off a vamp’s head in front of human witnesses. Something bad is coming, and we need to be prepared. This is not just about your clan. It’s about all of us.”
He grimaced. “And yet Misha was the one injured. Who will be there to protect him going forward?”
I stared deep into his eyes and did not like what I saw. “What are you really upset about? The fact Misha took a bullet, or that he took a bullet protecting humans?”
“Kyle,” Doc hissed.
Boris’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re Kyle? Misha has told me much about you.”
“He has told me very little about you. I don’t understand why your clan is so secretive.”
“We do not want humans knowing about our world.”
“Well, I am not like most humans.”
Boris had the nerve to smirk at me. “No, you are not.”
Misha’s door opened, and he stepped hesitantly into the hall. He was pale and gritting his teeth. I had only seen him pissed once or twice before, and it was never pretty.
The two guards jerked to attention.
Misha glared at Boris. “Enough.”
Boris responded in Russian. Misha shook his head.
“Do not insult them by speaking in Russian, Father.”
My mouth fell open. “Father?”
Boris started swearing in Russian. Over the years, Misha had taught me all the juicy Russian curses, and Boris was grumbling a few choice ones.