"Come on, Roxanne," Roland said, "back away."
She just stood there. Her power breathed around me like a warm cloud. It was continuous and nearly suffocating. I'd never been around any shapeshifter that had this kind of raw power. Or never around one this powerful who didn't even try to pass for human. Roxanne didn't vibrate with power. She was power. And I was about two seconds away from snuffing it out.
"You would really kill me," she said.
"In a heartbeat," I said. I was getting tired of crouching in the water. Made it hard to be tough. Of course, being na**d didn't help, either.
"Why didn't you kill me just now?"
"You're the lupa for Verne's pack. Killing you would rain all sorts of crap down. But I will do it, Roxanne. Now, back out of the room, close the door, and let me get dressed. If you still want to talk, fine, but don't ever, ever pull shit like this again."
"Without that little gun you wouldn't be so confident."
"Yeah, it's a real confidence booster. Now, get the f**k out of the room, or I will shoot you."
Marianne was suddenly in the doorway. "Roxanne, let's go have some tea and let Anita get dressed." I don't know what Marianne did, but even I felt calmer. It was like she projected calm and peace into the room.
Roxanne let Roland and Marianne drag her back through the door. Roxanne pointed a finger at me. "You insulted my Ulfric, and you will pay for that, with or without the gun."
"Fine," I said.
The door closed behind them. The lock had shattered in a pile of splinters. Cherry's voice came through the door. "I'll stay outside the door until you're out. I can give you a warning if any more bad guys come."
Bad guys. Was Roxanne a bad guy or just psycho? I was betting on the latter.
40
I got dressed in record time. Black jean shorts, red short-sleeved knit top, white jogging socks, black Nikes. Normally, I'd have left off the shoulder holster inside a house, but I threaded it through the belt and slipped it on. The black holster looked very stark against the red shirt. I put the Firestar down the front of the shorts in the Uncle Mike's Sidekick holster that it usually rode in. I left off the spine sheath. The leather was beginning to smell like sweat. I was going to have to let it dry out before I could wear it again.
I smeared hair goop on the hair and let it go. It'd dry on its own. Call it a hunch, but I didn't think Roxanne was the patient type. If I took the time for makeup or blow-drying my hair, she might come looking for me. I don't normally fuss, anyway. In truth, the only reason I'd planned on it was the fact that Richard was coming with Dr. Carrie Onslow, and I was feeling insecure. Me, insecure. How sad.
Richard had spent a great deal of the day with Dr. Carrie Onslow. I was jealous and hated it.
Of course, first I needed to go confront a pissed-off werewolf. I could figure out what the hell I was going to do with Richard after I talked to Roxanne. One thing I was pretty sure of, if I killed her, it would be war between the two packs. I did not want to bring that on our people, not if it could be avoided. Anita, the politician -- now, thatwas sad.
I opened the door. Cherry looked up at me from her seat on the floor. There was something on her face, a hesitation, that made me say, "What?"
She pushed to her feet, using the wall. "You just look ... aggressive."
"You mean the guns?"
"The guns, the red and black. It's all very stark and out there."
"You think I should be wearing pink and something frilly to cover the guns?"
Cherry smiled. "I think that Roxanne is almost psychotically dominant, and if you go down there dressed like that, she'll take it as a sign that she's got to be just as aggressive."
"You don't even know her," I said.
She said, very simply, "Do you think I'm wrong?"
Put that way ... "I don't have anything pink and frilly in my suitcase."
"How about something not black, not red?"
I frowned at her. "Will purple do?"
"It would be better," she said.
I went back in and changed into a top that was identical cotton knit, scoop necked, but royal purple. I had to admit that the purple was softer. I kept the shoulder holster on but transferred the Firestar to the small of my back. Theoretically, I could draw it from there, but it was not my favorite position. The only shirt I could find to match the purple and cover the shoulder holster was thin and black and nylon, which half defeated the point of wearing the cotton shirt to begin with, but I had to admit that it looked better. It was still black and not cheery, but it wasn't so aggressive. You couldn't see the guns. I could have walked into any mall in the country and not gotten a second glance. Of course, if I moved fast, the shirt would blow back and flash, but hey, I wasn't planning to go jogging.
I opened the door a second time and said, "Better?"
Cherry nodded, smiling. "Much better. Thank you for listening to me. I know it's not one of your best things."
"I am not going to drag Richard's pack into a war because I couldn't tone it down a little."
The smile widened into something gentle and almost heart-warming. "You are a good lupa, Anita, a good Nimir-ra. For a human, you're positively excellent."
"Yeah, but the human part is still true."
She touched my shoulder. "But we don't hold it against you."
I looked at her to see if she was kidding me, but I just couldn't tell. "I think Roxanne will hold it against me."
Cherry nodded. "Probably. They're all waiting in the kitchen."
The kitchen was tiled in black and white with some cracks starting in the high-traffic areas, but the floor was mopped within an inch of its existence. The tile gleamed softly in the indirect light that touched the windows. Like the bedroom Nathaniel was staying in, it would get morning light but not afternoon. Roxanne sat with her back to the door. The edges of the white tablecloth trailed in her lap. There was a stiffness to the way she held herself that said she knew I was there, but she didn't turn around.
Marianne sat across from her with a china teacup and saucer in front of her. She looked at me like she was trying to tell me something with her eyes, but I didn't know what that something was.
Roland stood in the corner next to a hutch that held the china that matched the cup. He had his arms crossed and looked very bodyguardish.
The other man I'd glimpsed stood in the opposite corner like a second bookend. His arms were crossed, and he looked very bodyguardish.
That was the only thing that was similar. Okay, one other: They both had great tans. But I suspected, like Richard, that the new guy wasn't just tanned. His skin was a rich brown, his brown eyes almost perfectly almond shaped. They were almost too small for the rest of that face. It was all angles, high cheekbones, broad forehead, hooked nose. Every feature he had was aggressively male and ethnic. His hair was long and black and moved like silky water as he looked at me. The hair was a solid blackness like my own, that black that has blue highlights in the sun.
He was also at least six foot two, maybe an inch taller, with shoulders to match. He leaned against the wall, exuding a sort of easy physical energy like someone who knew his potential and didn't sweat proving it.
"That's Ben. He's your replacement Skoll until Jamil is healed."
I wanted to turn down the offer of putting my life in a stranger's hands, but was almost sure it would be considered an insult. I nodded. "Hi."
He nodded back. "Hello."
Roxanne turned in the chair, sliding her legs so she was sitting sideways in the chair. "Verne meant our wolf to be an apology for allowing your people to be injured on our lands." She looked full at me and those brown eyes were not friendly. "I think it is you who owes us an apology."
"Apology for what?" I asked.
She stood, and that energy spilled through the room like water, swirling around the ankles, rising to the knees. Her power spilled outward, upward, as if she would fill the room with the breathing warmth of her presence.
She was so powerful, it made my throat tight just standing this close to her. "Shit," I whispered.
"You marked Verne as if he were the least of us and not the greatest."
"You mean the neck thing," I said.
She slammed the chair back into the floor. It fell with a loud crash.
I didn't go for a gun, but it was an effort.
Roxanne stood there breathing far too fast and far too shallow. Strong emotion makes the energy spill worse, and her anger made the power bite and dance over my skin in a tight, electric dance.