My Dangerous Pleasure (24 page)

“So we just hang Paisley out to dry. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” Carson said. “I promise you, killing Rasmus is a risk we’re willing to take
if
Paisley is directly threatened at the time.”

“In other words,” Nikodemus said, “there’s no being proactive about our issues with Rasmus.”

“Fuck politics.” Pain lanced through Iskander’s chest because he was stressing his oath. Again.

Nikodemus wrapped one hand around his fist and bowed his head to his hands. Iskander’s pain eased up. The warlord drew in a long breath, then let it out before he looked up. At Paisley. Not him. “Like I told Iskander here, you don’t freelance. In my territory, you don’t do your thing to anyone without my say-so, and you don’t do it unless one of mine is there to back you up. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You saw what Paisley can do,” Iskander said. “And you’re not going to use her whenever you can?”

Nikodemus stretched an arm along the top of the sofa. “I will take full advantage of her unique abilities when I’ve had a chance to minimize the backlash. If I use her now, the magekind will see it as a declaration of war. They might already. That said, if Kessler goes after you again, Paisley, and Iskander or someone else is there to make sure you don’t get caught up in the blowback, you have my permission to defend yourself. That includes doing that thing you do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Defense. Not offense. Not until I’m ready to manage the consequences.” He stood. “Iskander. I need a word with you in private.”

“Outside?”

“Sure.”

They went out the back and stood in the open area between the house and barn. He expected Nikodemus to rip him a new one, but that wasn’t where he started.

“You did good with the witch,” Nikodemus said. “It’s good you didn’t kill her. I appreciate that.”

He nodded. The sun was barely above the top of the barn, and the air was crisp and clean. They stayed quiet for a while, letting things settle between them.

“I take it I’m not going to lose you to Fen.”

“Hell, no.”

“That’s good to know, because, between you and me, you’re strong enough to survive breaking your oath.”

Iskander gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.

“What about Paisley?” Nikodemus said.

“What about her?”

“Paisley Nichols is a decent woman,” Nikodemus said. “It’s easy to tell that about her. I like her. More important, Carson likes her.”

“You have no say about who I get involved with.” They stood there in the quiet some more. Nothing but birds and, farther off, a cow mooing.

“Are you involved?”

He nodded again.

“Are you thinking about binding her over?” He meant a permanent bond with her.

“Not yet.”

“What she can do,” Nikodemus said, “that’s important to us.”

“I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“But I still can’t tell you it’s okay to take out Kessler.”

Iskander gave a vicious smile. “I’ll kill him before I let anything happen to her.”

Nikodemus let out a breath. “If it comes to that, I’ll do the damage control.”

Meaning if Iskander ended up killing Kessler, Nikodemus would try to sever his fealty oath to ease the consequences of breaking a direct order from his warlord. “Thanks.”

Nikodemus gave him a quick grin. “Like you said, fuck politics.”

“I’m fine with that.”

C
HAPTER 21

A few days later, 1:00
P.M.
,
Los Altos Hills, California

P
aisley walked up the hill behind Iskander, on their way back to the truck after delivering a very large wedding cake. The pickup was halfway up the hill because there wasn’t any parking near the house. Workmen blocked the driveway, unloading folding tables, chairs, and crates of dishes and flatware for the wedding of a cousin of a friend of a friend of hers. The couple had paid obscenely good money for the made-to-order cake. Good enough money for a personal delivery to the private home where the reception was to be held. With Iskander’s help, the delivery was done, the cake safely in the house, assembled, frosted, and decorated, and now they were heading home.

They kept walking. Twenty or so years ago, this street had probably been rural. Now, any open fields there might once have been were filled with large houses on large lots. Mature firs lined the street on both sides so that even on a hot afternoon, there was a cooling shade. There wasn’t any sidewalk, just a swath of pine-needle-covered soil between the trees, the ditch, and the road.

Things were a little awkward between her and Iskander, and she wasn’t sure why other than plain bad timing. There hadn’t been time to talk after they got home from the farmhouse, because she had to go directly to work, and when he picked her up later, she’d fallen asleep in the truck. She hadn’t woken up until her alarm went off for the morning shift. In her own room. Alone. After her shift, she’d had the wedding cake to start on and Iskander was off doing something for Nikodemus and then too much time had passed.

Halfway to the pickup, the back of her head got cold, and she slowed down. Iskander kept walking. She was still adjusting to the nuances of her oath to the warlord. Now that everything was in the open, Iskander’s otherness seemed even more intense. She was still coming to terms with a world where there really were demons and mages, and they were balanced at the brink of war.

The word from Nikodemus was that the mages were now officially aware of what she could do and had been informed that she worked for Nikodemus. As she understood it, that made her off-limits for retaliation. The warlord had given the magekind thirty days to either give up the magic they’d acquired through the murder of one of the kin or leave his territory. Starting on day thirty-one, magekind in his territory had no cause for complaint if his new girl took back what they’d stolen. This announcement had not been met with universal approval by the magekind. Iskander had been busy for Nikodemus. She didn’t think that was a coincidence.

Her head stayed cold. Out of habit, she scanned for Rasmus, even though Nikodemus had warned her there would be magekind besides Rasmus looking to remove the threat she represented. About twenty yards away, she saw a familiar car parked on the pine-needle-covered ground on the opposite side of the street from Iskander’s truck. She stopped walking.

The Mercedes was pointed downhill, the wrong way for that side of the street. While she stared, the rear passenger door opened and Rasmus got out. Two more men got out on the other side. She reacted to them as soon as they got out. Iskander stopped walking and looked at her. He smiled. “Company,” he said.

“What do we do?”

“Nothing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yet.”

They started walking again, closer together now. About twenty feet from the pickup, she stopped walking again, because she was getting more chills.

“What?” he said.

She tipped her chin down the hill. Two men—magehelds, she knew now, were at the bottom of the incline, walking at a good pace. Two more men got out of Rasmus’s car and stared at Iskander like he had a target painted on his forehead.

“Here.” Iskander took his keys from his pocket and tossed them at her. “Get in the truck.” He was smiling like he was about to see his favorite band. Live. For free. “If something happens to me, you get the hell out. Don’t go home. Call for help and drive directly to Harsh’s place. You know where that is, right?”

She shook her head, and he gave her an address in the heart of Pacific Heights.

By then the two men were running up the hill. In their suits. In the heat. Moving faster than any normal human. Heart banging away in her chest, she did as Iskander asked. She didn’t make it.

Rasmus moved to intercept her. Screams reverberated in her head, deafening her, searing the inside of her head until she could barely think, and her stomach turned. He walked toward her, smiling as if they were old friends. This time, she felt him drawing on his magic. The sensation was a pressure between her ears. His lips moved, but if he was speaking out loud, the screams in her head kept her from hearing the words. More than anything, she wanted to see Rasmus brought to his knees.

She stood her ground. The closer he came, the louder the screaming in her head got. Rasmus, not expecting her to move toward him, collided with her. Off balance, she reached for the nexus that was the source of the screams. He caught her by the shoulder, and his fingers seared through her shirt. It was like sticking her finger in a light socket.

He threw his arms around her, preventing her from making the contact that would let her take back the magic that screamed into her head. He dragged her toward his car.

Paisley kicked and bucked, half mad from the screaming in her head and the painful burning wherever he touched her. Somehow she managed to trip them up, and they both crashed to the street. His arms popped free of her and she rolled away. When she realized he was momentarily dazed, she sprinted for the truck.

Rasmus lurched to his feet. He was fast. Hellishly fast. At the truck, there wasn’t time to mess with the keys. She pounded on the driver’s side door, and with a
thunk
, the window fell down. She threw herself inside, her skin burning where he’d touched her. Her shoulder slammed into the gearshift. By the time she had herself upright, Rasmus was almost to the pickup. His mouth twisted as he ran, a hand pointing at her. The air around him shimmered. Farther down the road, Iskander was straightening from two bodies. She saw him look in her direction. Rasmus hadn’t come unprepared. Six more magehelds raced toward them from the top of the hill.

She shoved the key into the ignition, turned it, and put the truck in gear, all the while sitting on the edge of the seat in order to reach the pedals, because Iskander was quite a bit taller than she was. Which meant she had an unimpeded view of Rasmus and Iskander.

Iskander ran for the truck. The six magehelds flashed past her, converging on him. They were big. Too big for him to handle alone. His name tore from her throat. The truck shuddered, and she yanked hard on the steering wheel and let the truck roll into the street. Two of the magehelds caught up with him. Or maybe he caught up to the fastest of the six.

She hit the gas and aimed the truck for Rasmus. He stood motionless. Their eyes connected, hers and Rasmus’s. The bastard didn’t believe she’d actually run him over, because he didn’t get out of the way until it was almost too late. She braced herself for the impact. The side of the truck hit him and spun him away. She kept going.

Four magehelds and Iskander, and she wasn’t going to get there in time. At what looked like the last second, Iskander whirled, stepped to the side, and slammed one of the four in the forehead with the heel of his palm. He got the second one with a strike to the back of the head. They both went down and didn’t move. He shouted her name and sprinted toward her.

The remaining two caught up with him. She saw the blur of his hands and an arc of red mist and the first one went down. Then the other one. Iskander veered off for Rasmus, who was only now standing up. Without a doubt, Iskander intended to kill the mage and a part of her wished he would. But the thirty days weren’t up, Rasmus’s magehelds were dead, and he was so unsteady right now, she didn’t think either of them was danger anymore. She knew Nikodemus was serious about the consequences for her and Iskander if Rasmus died like this.

Paisley turned the truck toward Iskander and jammed on the brakes. The truck shuddered to a stop. She leaned out the window and shouted as loud as she could. “Iskander, no!”

He turned and she locked eyes with him.

“Get in.” She threw the truck into park and practically kicked the door open before she slid over. In five strides, Iskander was there. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He slid in, took a look in the rearview mirror, and put the truck back into gear. She twisted to look.

Rasmus stood in the middle of the street with his mouth open in an angry snarl, blood pouring from a gash on the side of his head. Even from here, Paisley could tell his eyes were jittering.