I was afraid I knew what she meant, and hoped I didn't.
Belle Morte brushed past us, with a flare of power lost like a breeze against our skin. She was walking towards Asher. Because she had made him herself, and he was older than Jean-Claude, Asher owed nothing to Jean-Claude except the vows any vampire makes to his Master of the City, and love, perhaps love. I wasn't sure love was enough to save him from Belle Morte. I believed in love, but I believed in evil, too. Neither love nor evil conquers all, but evil cheats more.
47
The wolves chose that moment to come in through the far curtain. Their entrance stopped everything briefly because they doubled our bodyguards. I didn't need to see Belle's--or Musette's--face to know she didn't like it. It showed in the sudden stiffening of her shoulders, the slight clenching of her fists. I realized suddenly that I was seeing Musette begin to rise up through Belle like a fly caught in melting ice.
It was when I saw Jason in an outfit that was mostly dark blue straps, which covered about as much of his body as Nathaniel's outfit covered of his, that I realized that there had been no wolves present until now, except Stephen who had ridden with Micah from my house. I'd known that Richard was delayed, but I hadn't noticed that none of the wolves had been here. Usually, there were always some wolves here for Jean-Claude. Jason walked in smiling in his black over-the-knee boots, but there was something in his eyes, some small warning that I couldn't decipher. I'd expected to see him wearing makeup like Micah and Nathaniel, but he wasn't. None of the male wolves were.
Richard came into sight, easy to spot above the sea of black leather that was his pack. I knew that he had butchered his hair, but I hadn't really grasped how much until I saw him. I'm sure the hairstylist had done his or her best, but there was only so much they could do. They'd had to buzz his hair back to less than an inch of medium brown. It seemed darker this short, missing the gold and red highlights. He also looked remarkably like his older brother Aaron, and his father. The resemblance had always been strong, but now it was like they were clones.
He was wearing a black tux with a shirt of deep, rich blue and a matching bow tie. With the new haircut, and the more conservative clothes, he looked--out of place.
His eyes met mine, and the shock of how handsome he was still sent a thrill through me from head to toes. Without the hair to distract, you couldn't pretend that the cheekbones weren't knife-edge perfect, the dimple in his chin didn't soften the strong masculinity of his face. His shoulders were broad, his waist not slender, but small. Nothing about Richard was slender. He was built more like a football player than a dancer.
Jamil and Shang-Da, his Hati and Skoll, the Ulfric's personal bodyguards, flanked him. Jamil was wearing black leather straps for a shirt to complement almost ordinary leather pants and short boots. The bright red beads, worked into his cornrow braids, looked like drops of crimson blood against the darkness of his skin and the black of the leather. He met my eyes, and there was again that sense of warning that I'd gotten from Jason. Something was wrong, something beyond what was already happening, but what?
Shang-Da looked uncomfortable out of his usual suit, but black leather suited his tall frame the same way any kind of armor would have. Shang-Da was the tallest Chinese person I'd ever met. He was physically imposing by any standards. He was also a warrior, and protecting his Ulfric was all he did. He pretty much hated me, because so much of the pain I caused Richard was something he couldn't protect him against. Bodyguards can't do shit about emotional stress. He avoided my gaze.
Jason strutted towards me, making sure his body swayed seductively. He was by profession a stripper so he was pretty good at the seductive sway. His body language said sex, his eyes held a shadow of something else, and when he got to me, he slid an arm across my shoulders, pressing his body up against mine, but what he whispered in my ear wasn't sweet nothings, it was a warning.
"Richard has found his backbone, but he's decided to use it against Jean-Claude first." He smiled as he said it, his face full of the seductive promise that his walk had held. He ran his hands across the back of my neck, playing his fingertips in the hollow of my collarbone.
I whispered against the shell of his ear. "What does that mean?"
He turned my head towards his, so that my face was hidden from Richard and the pack. It looked like flirting. "Richard's going to try and take all his wolves away from Jean-Claude."
I was glad my face was facing only Jason, because I couldn't hide the shock. I fought to control my face, and Jason laughed at nothing that I'd said. He put a hand on either side of my face, giving me time to regain control of myself.
I whispered against his skin, "You too?"
He was still smiling, but he managed to let me see his eyes, his unhappy eyes. "Even me," he said, barely moving his lips and still smiling.
Shang-Da was suddenly beside us. He tried to grab Jason's arm, and Jason moved just out of reach. If you had been watching, you might not have realized what had happened at all.
A low growl trickled out of Shang-Da's human mouth, a sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
Jason growled back, and he was standing close enough that the growl whispered over my skin. It made me shudder, a shudder visible from a distance.
Richard said, "Shang-Da." One word, just his name, but the big man didn't try and grab Jason again. He lowered his head and spoke in a voice gone mostly to growl, "A man cannot serve two masters."
He was trying to be discreet, so he'd lowered his head over me, not Jason. I don't think he was worried that I'd take a chunk out of his face. I looked up into that face that was almost kissably close, and asked, "Your orders are to remind Jason who his pack leader is?"
His gaze slid from Jason, to me, and the look was equally unfriendly. "My Ulfric's orders are none of your business." He whispered it, because he was trying not to clue the bad guys into the division in the ranks. I realized in that moment that no matter how much Shang-Da hated me, he didn't entirely approve of what Richard was doing, not with enemies in town.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Jean-Claude had gone to Richard, and they were speaking, low and earnest. Jean-Claude tried to get close enough to whisper as we were doing, but Richard moved back. He didn't want to be that close.
I glanced farther away to see Musette still standing close to Asher. But they were not alone; the wereleopards were ranged around him, not protecting him exactly, but making sure you had to touch them before you touched Asher. Micah met my gaze, gave the tiniest nod. It said, clearly, I'll take care of it, 'til you're free. Micah didn't get distracted. Merle hovered over everything like an angry black leather mountain staring down at that petite figure in white. Musette stood there, looking very much herself, just herself.
Shang-Da was looking at Musette, too. It was almost as if he could smell where the danger lay. We turned back to meet each other's gaze at the same time. We were physically close enough to kiss, it should have been intimate, but it wasn't, it was almost frightening. Because we both understood each other, and that had never happened before.
I didn't argue that I was Bolverk for their clan, thus the Ulfric's orders weremy business. Shang-Da disapproved that I was anything to them. I tried for logic. I leaned in close and whispered, "Whatever Richard is doing, tonight is not the night for it. We're in trouble here."
Something flicked through his eyes, and he dropped my gaze, but leaned in a fraction closer, so that his short black hair brushed the top of my curls. "I have spoken with him. He hears no one tonight." His eyes came up to meet mine, and there was something there I could read now. Pain. "Sylvie has already argued for this to wait until our enemies leave."
"I don't see her," I whispered, again leaning in closer, not thinking about it.
"She is not with us." He breathed it against my cheek.
I must have reacted, because he added, "She is not dead."
I moved back just enough to see his eyes, "He fought Sylvie."
"She fought him."
I widened eyes. "He won."
Shang-Da nodded.
"Is she hurt?"
He nodded again.
"Badly?"
"Bad enough," he said, and for the very first time I saw something that wasn't approval in his face. Tomorrow he would go back to hating me, but tonight was a dangerous night, and Shang-Da was too much the warrior not to see that, even if Richard couldn't.