Motor City Mage (14 page)

“You could sing,” he said finally. “I promise not to join in. But your voice is nice. Just no whistling. Please.”

“But will you still tell me what you’ve been calling me?” She snuggled closer into his shoulder. “It’s driving me crazy not knowing—though I’ll admit, it sounds sexy when you say it. I’d never thought of Chinese as a romantic language, but when it’s you—yeah, it’s a turn on.”

“
Chán-láng.
It’s not proper Mandarin—I used English grammatical structure, more like my mom’s family uses for names than in a formal sentence. Basically,
chán
means graceful, or beautiful. So the whole thing is ‘graceful-slash-beautiful wolf.’” Hell, he hadn’t meant to tell her, not yet at least. The rolling of the wagon must have lulled his senses.

“That’s nice.” She leaned up to kiss his chin. “I can live with that.”

“So why ‘Obi-Wan’?” Did he really want to know?

“Just because of the cloak, and because you work so hard to be in control all the time. Nothing major. You’re simply fun to tease.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed.

They rattled through another town, where Lana stayed with the cart and Des went with Gurt to get more provisions. A few minutes later, they were back on their way, with Lana softly singing. Meanwhile, he picked the bits of her instrument out of the backpack and began fitting it together like a magical jigsaw puzzle. She blinked back a tear when she saw what he was doing and launched into another tune, an old English sea chantey, one Des had heard from his British grandmother. It was faintly bawdy, about a drunken sailor.

“Where’d a rocker like you learn that?” She’d even had him chiming in under his breath on the chorus between spells.

“Ric, when he used to sit in with us in California,” she said. “Back before he met Meagan, he had a thing about not performing love songs, but he knew a hell of a lot of other stuff. He was always fun to jam with.”

“You ever wonder why it took him eight hundred years to find the right woman?” Des asked. He’d been pondering that lately. How did someone that old finally decide,
hey, it’s time to settle down?
He finished mending the body of the lute, or whatever it was called and moved on to the neck.

Lana shrugged. “Because Meagan hadn’t been born yet? And don’t forget, your brother-in-law is even older. Why did it take him over a thousand? Was it because he hadn’t met Elise?”

“So you think there’s one right person for each of us—kind of a fated soul mate or something?” He tried to tell himself this was dangerous ground and he really shouldn’t go there, but he genuinely wanted to know her opinion.

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head, speaking slowly. “It’s a viable theory, though, when you look at our friends. I think maybe there are limited types of people who will work for any one of us. When the right timing coincides with meeting one of those compatible people, maybe that’s when it happens. Of course a lot of people screw it up or the divorce rate wouldn’t be what it is.”

“You’ve got a point. Even among the League, we see a lot. Like cops, I suppose. A lot of spouses can’t handle the risk, the oddball hours, the injuries.” Which was why Des had no intention of settling down anytime soon, though at almost forty, he didn’t have much time left in the field anyway. Pretty soon his reflexes would start to slow down, and he’d be stuck at a desk somewhere. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

“At least the League allows divorce. Among wolves, if you make the wrong choice, you’re stuck. Mating is entirely ‘’til death do us part.’”

“Even in cases of abuse or desertion?” He’d wondered about that after meeting some of the Novaks’ more dysfunctional relatives.

She nodded. “Though in those situations, it’s not uncommon for the injured party’s pack to make sure that death happens sooner rather than later. Pack behavior can be pretty barbaric. Now that Greg’s the regional alpha, I know he’s working to change some of the harsher practices.”

“Good luck to him on that. Bucking tradition is a huge pain in the ass. I’ve been trying to talk my superiors into easing relations with shifters and Fae, but it’s an uphill battle.”

“At least you’re trying. That counts for a lot.” She watched as he finished repairing the body of the instrument, using magic to fill the holes from missing shards. “Why would Brewer betray the League, do you think? I wonder if Sofia and Nightshade were in on that.”

“I’m not sure we’ll ever know about Sofia and Nightshade, though I think so. Brewer’s probably been in it since the beginning.” He tried to keep the pain out of his voice but failed. Here he’d kept himself so apart from his friends because of League prejudice, and his own boss, a man he trusted, had been working with a demon drug dealer. The betrayal cut deep, deeper than he wanted to talk about, even with Lana. His voice was thicker than he would have liked when he handed over the instrument and said, “Play something. Please.”

She kissed him hard. “Thank you.” Then she squeezed his hand and started to sing again, picking out the tune of Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London.” It made him smile, and she didn’t even wince too sharply when he started to sing along. Just to pay him back, for making her hear his caterwauling, he was sure, her next song was Heart’s “Magic Man.”

* * *

Lana had dozed off against Des’s shoulder a few hours later, and woke when she felt the wagon slow down. She opened her eyes to see Des smiling down at her, and her heart lurched in her chest. He had the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen.

“City gates,” he said. “Gurt’s going around, so we’re on our own from here.”

“Geez, I can’t believe I fell asleep.” She looked up and noted that the sun was starting to fall toward the horizon. There was maybe an hour, hour and a half, left until sunset. “You want to stay here for the night or just keep walking?”

“I’m thinking we should at least grab a hot meal,” Des said. “Maybe even stay at a real hotel. By my reckoning, the portal is about two hours’ walk farther west. We don’t know what we’ll find when we get there. We might not want to scale a cliff or whatever in the dark.”

“We could keep going for that hour—camp as close to the portal as we can get, so we’re there first thing in the morning.” She was leery of walking into a town with walls and guards, where they didn’t speak the language.

“Come on.” He gave her a coaxing smile. “I really think we should get one good meal today if we can. Then if you want, we can walk to the next shelters.”

“All right. But if they throw us in jail for jaywalking or something stupid, it’s all your fault.” She hopped down from the wagon and waved at Gurt as he drove away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he teased. “Me being the big strong male, after all.”

Lana snickered. “Yeah right. Well, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it. I’m hungry, and I have to pee.”

“That’s my delicate little lady,” Des said as they lined up outside the gate. “Now tell me how you really feel.”

“Asshole.” But she took his hand when he offered it.

“Yeah, I know.”

The guard held out his hand for money, and since they’d been watching the others in front of them, Des had a good idea of how much was expected. At Lana’s suggestion, he added a bit extra, which the guard pocketed in a swift movement before jerking his head to indicate they should pass.

“Well, now that we’re here, where do we go?” she asked, looking around at the walled fort. It was like something out of Frontierland, with a little bit of a Renaissance fair thrown in. She wondered absently if Des had ever been to Disneyland. Or a Renaissance festival for that matter. Surely he’d been a little kid once, right?

“There seems to be a marketplace up ahead,” Des said. “Odds are, a restaurant of any kind will be near there.”

They moved that way along with most of the others from the gate.

“I smell food,” Lana noted about a block later. Sure enough, food vendors surrounded the open-air market. Featuring everything from fruit to jewelry. All her feminine shopping instincts kicked in at the sight of the intricately designed gold and silver bracelets.

“Food first, you little shopaholic,” Des said, steering her toward an obvious tavern, with an open door and a front room full of rough plank tables.

“Agreed.” She was starving, and now that she’d smelled food, even shiny things could wait.

She let him take her arm and lead her into the tavern.

Inside was a little different than she’d expected. This was a bar, and the clientele was almost all male. In one corner by the hearth, there were a few women, mostly dressed in really low-cut gowns and looking over the males with a downright professional interest. Great. Hookers. Only one family was in the place, and by unspoken agreement, Lana and Des found a place next to them.

“I’ll go up to the bar and get food,” Des said after they’d each made a trip to the restroom. “If you’ll wait here and watch the packs.”

Lana nodded. She managed a bar and knew when it was wise to lay low. This was one of those times, based on the way the male customers were ogling her. If it hadn’t been so warm here by the fire, she’d have left her cloak on. Instead, she just returned the stares boldly until they looked away. Apparently tan skin and brown hair were acceptable, even if they weren’t the norm. She made a point of ignoring the men, watching the antics of the small children at the nearby table instead, as their harried mother tried to keep them in line without any help from her male counterpart.
Asshole.

Des returned with a couple plates of food and mugs of something vaguely beerlike.

“I have no idea what it is, but it smelled okay,” Des said.

“It sure does.” Lana inhaled the spicy aroma. “Kind of like curry. Yum.” She dug in with the two-pronged fork that had been provided.

Des took a bite then nodded. “Yeah, not bad at all.” He took a swallow of the drink and smiled. “Mead, or something similar. Also not bad.”

They didn’t bother to talk while they polished off their food. “You want seconds?” he asked when they were done.

Lana could care less if she didn’t look dainty. “I wouldn’t object. Are you having more?”

Des nodded and went up to the bar. It had gotten even more crowded and rowdy while they were eating, and the family had quietly slipped away. Lana was glad her back was against a wall.

Her luck didn’t hold. Eventually two big louts came over and loomed above her, yelling something she didn’t understand. Des, in the middle of the crowd, probably didn’t see her. She wasn’t worried—she could handle a couple of jerks.

“Get lost,” she growled, narrowing her eyes and jerking her head toward the door.

The two men laughed and one, a behemoth with orange skin and blue hair to his shoulders, grabbed Lana’s right arm and held it up, bellowing something at the top of his lungs.

Every voice in the place shut down, and all eyes turned to stare.

Lana put all her lupine strength into yanking her arm away, but it didn’t work. Had her lupine abilities faded beyond just shifting? Or did the bastard have one hell of a grip?

“What the hell?” Des had seen her, and he set down his tray with a thunk on a random table and strode across the room. Without even pausing, he delivered a right cross to the blue-haired guy’s chin.

The big guy didn’t budge. He repeated whatever it was he’d said before.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Des grabbed the big guy by the collar but instead of shouting, his voice went low and menacing.

“It means, stranger, that Taslo here has just claimed the female as his. Since she wears no man’s bracelet, she is free for claiming.” A tall, thin man with pale hair, ivory skin and pointed ears moved out of the crowd.
Elf.
“Unless you can prove your own claim on her, she now belongs to him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Des said, turning to the Fae. “Obviously, we’re not from around here.”

The elf shrugged. “I don’t make the laws. I just come in for the honey beer. You’re in Makra, and the law here is that any woman who isn’t married can be claimed by any unattached male who wants her.”

“No fucking way,” Lana said, still trying to wrench her arm away from tall, blue and ugly. “Tell this jerk to let me go.”

“So you do belong to the Earthling?” the elf asked in a loud voice. “You have been claimed by him, obey only him?”

She was too pissed to think before she spoke. “Hell no. I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”

The elf winced. “You shouldn’t have said that, wildcat. I’m not the only male in this pub who speaks English.”

“I’m not a cat, I’m a wolf, moron.”

“So shift. That might put him off.” Pointy-ears tried to be helpful.

“I can’t on this sucky-ass world.”

The elf shrugged. “Sorry then.”

The big guy still hadn’t let go.

“If the female is truly unclaimed, then Taslo’s claim is valid. Call a priest,” said another blue-haired man, who’d been behind the bar.

Des winced. “Did I mention the bartender spoke our language?” he whispered. More loudly, he said, “The woman is mine. I have already claimed her, but in our world we don’t use bracelets to mark our females.”

“Female, is that the case? I ask again, do you belong to this man?” The bartender glared at her, meaty fists planted on his hips.

Lana sucked in a deep breath and lied. “Yes. He is my man and I am his woman.” Like she’d ever agree to be owned—by anyone.
Not in this lifetime, bucko.

“And the ceremony has been performed? You are wed?” This time the bartender translated for the guy who still hadn’t let go of Lana’s wrist. She was going to have bruises until she could shift, damn it.

“Not yet,” Des said. “We preferred to wait and hold the ceremony at home.” Lana was impressed by his ability to lie without any hesitation.

There was more talk in the language and then the elf laughed. “It’s your lucky day, mortal. Since they’ve already sent for the priest, they say either you bond with the girl here and now, or Taslo gets her.”

“Fine with me.” Des shrugged as if he really didn’t give a damn. “You okay with that, babe?”

“Not even close,” she muttered. Aloud she said, “Fine, darling.”