Edged Blade (34 page)

Shanelle hadn’t answered and I let some of my anger bleed into my voice. “Names.” Then I frowned. “And you know what? I want to know who in the
fuck
you’re working for and how
you
got involved in this.”

The low, muffled purr of an engine filled the silence that stretched out while Shanelle and I engaged in a staring contest. I ignored it until it continued to grow closer and closer—

“Kit. You have somebody…dude, that’s Amund,” Doyle muttered.

I felt him now, that familiar presence that whispered
vampire
. And…no. I thought I’d felt something else, but with the sucker-punch of power that came from an undead more than a thousand years old, I don’t think it would be
possible
.

“Another car,” Chang said quietly.

Shanelle sat quietly in the chair now, her face blank, void of all emotion.

“What’s going on?” I asked her softly as I heard yet a third, then fourth car pull into my parking lot.

When she didn’t answer, I strode to the door. “Back up. I need to activate my wards—”

“You’re not in danger…Kit.” It was the first time she’d said my name and I shot her a look over my shoulder to see she hadn’t so much as changed position. “But if you want your questions answered, you should speak to them.”

A series of car doors opening, then shutting filled the silence.

I rested my hand on the locks. They were the keys to the wards Justin had designed for me and I put a whole hell of a lot of faith in them. Blowing out a breath, I looked at Damon. He stood with his feet spread wide, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

Doyle was pacing, long, restless strides.

Chang had his head cocked, a smile on his lips that spoke of some vague entertainment.

Slowly, I let my hand fall from the locks. As I sat down, I laid my Glock on the table and cracked my neck.

There was a polite knock. People tended to knock on my door rather than just come in, something I’d never quite understood. Damon nodded to Doyle and the younger shifter opened the door, quietly stepping to the side so that the first thing Amund saw was me—holding a gun leveled on the doorway.

“Really, Ms. Colbana. That’s not necessary.” A smile ghosted around his lips as he stepped inside.

“So…he’s your boss?” Clenching my jaw, I struggled not to snarl as I shifted my gaze back to the vampire. “That mess at the party—were you behind it?”

“Of course not.” He flicked a look around. “Such a spare place. Oh, and I’m not her boss. I just…worked to make certain things went more smoothly once it was clear we needed eyes on the ground.”

As he came near, Shanelle rose from the chair.

He took it without speaking and she took up position at his back. Bodyguard style. Not that he needed one.

“Certain…members of the Assembly have been aware of Blackstone for some time,” he said, without preamble. “We didn’t connect the disappearances to the hospital until a witch out of Blue Sky had a vision.” His mouth twisted in frown. “It was…brutal.”

“Yeah, people being grabbed by their own, kidnapped, tortured, that’s pretty brutal,” I muttered.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The vision. The witch…it killed her. Or I should say the
visions
. After the first one, she kept returning, looking for more intel.”

The modern word sounded oddly out of place, in his strangely formal voice. He paused, clearly thinking on something that disturbed him. “She stumbled into the mind of somebody being tortured and the shock of it…” He looked away. “It’s believed the shock killed her. She slid into a coma and died three hours later. But she was the one to link these disappearances to the hospital. Since then, we’ve used the tools at our disposal to find those who’ve been helping.”

He smiled then. “Shanelle was one tool. Justin Greaves…yourself, you were another.”

Shanelle stiffened.

So did I.

“Justin didn’t get his information from the Assembly,” I said, rising from behind my desk.

“No.” Amund made a pretense of studying his nails. “I believe he got that information from a man you both know—Nova.” He slanted a cunning smile at me. “Nova is very receptive to tactile triggers. It simply took the right…trigger.”

“You manipulative son of a bitch.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Live as long as I have, watch what I have watched. Know that the people who trust you to keep them alive are being slaughtered—then complain to me about the methods I use to protect my House—and not just
my
House, but all those who’d suffer under the hands of those behind this…
hospital
.”

His voice grew colder and harder and the shadows around the room deepened, responding to his rage.

“Assemblyman Amund,” Damon said, his voice a low pulse.

Amund continued to stare at me for a long, pregnant moment. I felt each beat of my heart and was keenly aware of the pulse of my blood as it pumped through my veins. His lids drooped lower and then he closed his eyes.

The moment shattered and Damon moved, not being at all subtle as he placed his body between me and the vampire.

Amund’s lids lifted and he focused on Damon with a smile. “Don’t start showing me your claws, Alpha Lee. I’m not threatening her.” He gave me a polite smile. “You’ve questions. Ask.”

I didn’t ask how he knew. It seemed obvious enough that I
would
have questions. “I want to know how deep this goes. I want to know who is suspected to be involved. I want to know how many people have disappeared, where they disappeared from and when. I want names. I want dates.”

Amund’s eyes widened as I continued to tell him what I wanted. I didn’t include what seemed obvious to me—the heads of those involved on a silver platter.

When I finally wound down, Amund was eying me the way he might study a particularly confusing puzzle. “Indeed,” he murmured.

I shrugged. “You asked me what I wanted. I told you. Whether you give me the information or not, I don’t care, because I’ll find it.” And I’d start collecting heads on my own.

“Hmmm.” He tapped a finger to his lips.

“Who all knows about this?” I asked. “Is there any suggestion anybody on the Assembly is involved? Is there—”

“Enough.” He lifted a hand as he rose and moved to the door.

What the
hell
? Was he really leaving without answering a damn question? Not even
one
?

But all he did was open the door and wait.

A few moments later a figure appeared in front of him, a man, clad in a coat that seemed rather extreme for the brisk November air. He wore a hat pulled down low on his face, paired with large, dark glasses, as if to block the sun, but he wasn’t a vampire.

He was just a man.

“You wished to meet Ms. Maguire’s boss,” Amund said as he shut the door behind the man in front of him.

The man lifted his head and looked around.

“You sent Maguire here.” I studied him as he studied my office. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. Of course, with the hat, the giant glasses, I could only see half of his face.

“In a fashion.” He smiled and it was the perfect smile, warm and open and honest—the kind that said
trust me.

I hated that kind of smile.

His voice was just the same, warm and open and honest—the kind that invited you to pull up a seat and listen to anything and everything this man had to say, even if he was just telling you the story of
The Little Engine that Could
.

I
definitely
didn’t trust that kind of voice.

When he glanced at Shanelle, she bowed her head in deference.

“Shanelle was sent here with my approval,” the man said, reaching up to remove his hat, a lovely grey fedora. I watched as he stroked it with his hands. Perfect hands, even. Long-fingered, blunt nails—neatly cut, but not manicured.

Everything about him seemed just perfect,

“We needed answers, Ms. Colbana. You see…Blackstone isn’t just looking to grab a few stray non-humans from the street and experiment on them for kicks. Their purpose goes deeper, but until recently, they’d convinced nearly everybody—Banner, their backers, even much of their staff that they were simply there to help those who
wished
for some other alternative.”

“Alternative to
what
?” I tried not to spit the words out as I stared at the top of his bowed head. “
Living
? A vampire is a vampire—a wolf is a wolf. That can’t be undone.”

“No.” He reached for his sunglasses now and looked up.

I sucked in a breath. For one split second, I saw it—a flash of silver, the sort of color that no mortal eyes could ever duplicate and then his gaze was human. Eyes a lovely shade of amber, but just…human.

I’d seen it, though.

“You’re not human,” I said quietly.

“No.” He smiled, a politician’s perfect, self-deprecating smile. “I’m not. And that’s a closely-guarded secret. I’m sure you can understand why. Just as I’m sure you can understand my…desire…to resolve this matter.”

He watched me closely, as if waiting for something.

I nodded, unable to do anything else.

“Very good.” White teeth flashed in a brilliant smile and he smoothed a hand down the elegant, raw silk of his red necktie. “Very few know the truth and we must keep it that way, which is why I’m here, and why Shanelle was answerable only to her contact within the Assembly—and me. I hope all of you will keep this to yourself.” Then he looked around and blew out a breath. “Ms. Colbana, you could do with some more chairs in your office.

“Now,” he said. “We should talk, because while I understand we caught a few of the key players down here, this is far from done.”

“No,” I said faintly. “We’re not done.”

He nodded, and I gaped as the President of the United States moved across my office, paused in front of my battered old couch and then, with a satisfied smile, sat down.

J.C. Daniels is the alter-ego of author Shiloh Walker. She has been writing since she was a kid. She fell in love with vampires with the book
Bunnicula
and has worked her way up to the more…ah…serious works of fiction. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance.

Once upon a time, she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest. She writes romantic suspense and contemporary romance, and urban fantasy under her penname,
J.C. Daniels
. You can find her at
Twitter
or
Facebook
and read more about her work at her
website
. Sign up for her
newsletter
and have a chance to win a monthly giveaway.

Also, look for J.C.’s next book, FINAL PROTOCOL, a science-fiction romance, coming in spring 2015.

Curious about her works as Shiloh? Read on for look at her Grimm’s Circle series, urban fantasy romance, fairy tales, guardian angels…what more could you want?

Greta didn’t get her happy ending her first time around. And now that she’s a Grimm—a special kind of guardian angel and official ass-kicker in the paranormal world—romance is hard to find. Besides, there’s only ever been one man who made her heart race, and the fact that he did scared her right out of his arms. Now Rip is back. And just in time too, because Greta needs his help.

On a mission he knows is going to test all of his strengths and skills, the last person Rip expected to see is the one woman who broke his heart. Working together seems to be their only hope. But when faced with a danger neither of them anticipated, the question is, how will they face the danger to their hearts—assuming they survive, of course.

What’s more believable? That Gretel was an unhappy, orphaned girl, or that Hansel and Gretel skipped merrily through the woods, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs as they walked in hopes that it would lead them back home?

Come on. Even back then children weren’t idiots. Throwing bread on the ground usually results in something trying to eat the bread.

Hans might have been stupid enough to try a trick like that, but I certainly wasn’t. Besides, if my parents had been deliberately trying to get rid of me, there’s no way I would have kept trying to find my way back.

The Brothers Grimm never asked me, though. It was the popular version that got recorded for the ages, not the real one.

The real one involved things even uglier than a woman sending her children off to starve in the woods. I guess the real one had a happy enough ending, though, now that I think about it. Hans died, my stepmother left me alone, and I didn’t have to live my life in fear.

Yes, Hans died. That’s probably what led to the story ending up in a Grimm fairy tale.

It wasn’t long after his death that my stepmother went a teensy bit crazy. Okay. A lot crazy. People would hear her rambling like the madwoman she was. Back then, people didn’t really get insanity, if you know what I mean. They thought she was possessed, or that she was a witch, communing with the devil and demons and that was what led to her ruin.

Maybe that’s where the idea of a witch came from. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with Mary.

Mary had been…different.

She saved me. When she took me in, bought my “services” from my stepmother for a few pieces of silver, she saved my life.

But it came with a price. Nothing is free in this world. Not now. Not then.

Not ever, I’d guess.

So you want to know the price? Well, think of Buffy. Yes, as in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Think of her, more or less. I say more or less because I’m both more and less. Less because I don’t come with the super strength. I’m a little stronger than the typical person, but I can’t send a man flying through the air when I punch him.

That’s okay, because I can knock a man to the ground and that’s perfectly sufficient. I also don’t come with visions or prophecies. Much to my disgust, there’s probably no Angel or Spike in my future, either. I’m not petite. I’m not blonde. I’m not beautiful.