Dark Queen

Even with skinwalker healing, which was faster than normal even if I didn’t shift, I was still sore from my beating. Having someone else carry my gear was helpful, though I’d never tell Derek that. We followed Derek and I felt Beast prowl through my brain and out through my nerves, edgy, uneasy, spitting in frustration. Want to kill vampires. Want to eat vampires. Want to drink vampire blood.

As I took the stairway to the front porch entry, the construction types behind me offloaded supplies while people who were headed back to shore for the rest of the night climbed aboard. The roar changed and the helo took off again. I could feel the wood stairs strain beneath the weight of the men and women following me.

Between the open risers, I spotted summer ocean gear lashed to the pilings beneath the house, lit by security lights. Behind chain-link fencing attached to the pilings were brand-new lounges, kayaks, paddles, paddleboards, a midsized johnboat with a new-looking motor. All the stuff needed for a long weekend in the sun. In the center beneath the house was an open space where the workers had piled supplies, slung hammocks, and set up a table for meals.

To the side of the summer stuff were boxes and crates piled on wood pallets. Near the unopened boxes was a pile of flattened cardboard and shaped foam packing material, plastic straps, and the glint of staples. At the back was wallboard, enough two-by-fours and two-by-sixes to build another mansion, strips of unpainted molding, stacks of five-gallon buckets, and various other construction materials. We climbed the steps.

The porch on the first floor was screened and appeared to wrap around the entire house. It had its own roof system, plank floors, and hammocks, tables, and lounge chairs were scattered around.

Inside, the smells of salt water, sawdust, glue, beer, cigarette smoke, and paint were heavy on the air, though the windows were all open and the salty gulf wind blew through. I stepped to the side of the entrance and propped Alex against the wall. Eli looked around and his nose crinkled just a bit. The workers crowded in behind us.

I raised my hands to my mouth and shouted, “People! Heads up! Gather in the entry!” I wished I had a megaphone. The acoustics were horrible.

The bodybuilder woman stepped in front of me and cupped her hands around her mouth. In the better light I could see she wore no makeup, but heavy sunscreen had caked in the folds of her ears. She was sweaty and tanned and had highlighted brown hair. “Yo! Yellowrock is here. Getchur asses to first floor!” Her words echoed off the walls and ceiling and my eyebrows went up high. She had lungs and a gift for projection.

She stuck out a hand. “I’m Bambi. They call me Mike, for Microphone. And because I hate the dead deer/pole dancer image of Bambi.”

“I can see why.”

“The guys all been wanting to meet you. Some of them think you need a good beer. Others think they have a chance to get you in the sack.” She ran a loose strand of hair behind her ear and her brown eyes took me in from toes to bun. “I told them you date the former primo. Showed them a pic of him on my cell. In a tux. Dude is hot.”

“Oh,” I said, not quite sure how to handle her spiel.

“They backed off. But if you happen to have the bad taste to dump the man, swing him my way. I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Uhhh.”

Without waiting for my answer she moved to the side and squatted down.

“Babe,” Eli said. “Close your mouth.”

“My boyfriend just got hit on.”

“She’s forthright,” he said, with that micro smile that meant he was teasing me. “That makes her interesting.”

“Then you date her.”

Eli looked at Bambi/Mike, speculation in his eyes. He hadn’t been with anyone since he and Syl had stopped calling. He’d be happier if he and a willing female partnered up for a night. Or more. “Hmmm,” he said.

I glanced back at Bambi and then at Eli and gave her a thumb up, concealed at my side. Bambi checked Eli out and I could practically feel the sexual tension in the air when their eyes met. I had a feeling my second would be spending the night with a girl named Mike.

On the heels of that thought the front room and entry filled with workers from the upper stories and the rest from outside. Voices and work boots against wood floors filled the room, along with the stink of testosterone and Italian food. No one seemed inclined to be quiet. So I stepped out into the middle of the room and stood, feet braced shoulder width apart, and hands at my sides. Eli and Alex stepped behind and beside me, one to either side. It was like having a support team. Not that I needed a team, but it would speed things along faster than having to prove to the men that I was worth listening to. If I had to break bones to get their attention, that might slow up the work on the house.

Bambi/Mike shouted, “Shut up!” And then she added some colorful language about how their mothers were all sluts and whores and their daddies dated werewolves. There was general laughter, but they all quieted and turned to me. I leaned down an inch or two and whispered in Alex’s ear. “Full background on her.”

“Soon as Bodat and I get the hardware in place to get online. We don’t even know if this cobbled-together system will work or not, yet.”

I wondered if Bambi wanted a job with the MOC, or even with Clan Yellowrock. Which was a very weird thought.

“I’m Jane Yellowrock.” I looked from man to man to woman. “We have a little over thirty-six hours to get this place ready for vamps and their humans. Vamps start arriving just after dusk night after next. That means all construction, plumbing, and electrical finished, electronics and security installed, painting, touch-ups, and punch list completed, all in thirty hours. That’ll give the next crew six hours to clean and stage it.”

“Lady, you got no idea what goes into a job like this.” The speaker stepped forward, and it was the young, good-looking man from the landing site. He had charisma and charm to balance his looks, and from the heads nodding around us, it was clear he was some kind of leader, official or otherwise. “You’re not familiar with the ins and outs of a construction site.” He gestured with a hand as if to show me that the house was a construction site. “Most women have no idea.” He gave me his best, most charming smile, one with condescension in it. He wanted me to know my place.

I felt Eli tense at my side, a meager increase in the tightness of his muscles. I studied the pretty boy, with his model-perfect teeth, his careful scruff, his clean, matching layers and plaid overshirt, and his citrusy cologne.

Citrusy . . . An electric shock shot through me.

Pretty Boy went on. “It’s physically and mentally demanding. Making impossible deadlines sounds great on TV shows, but reality is a different matter.” Condescension deep enough to drown in.

“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” I said. “You a foreman?”

“Yeah. Marco.” He pointed to his chest. “Madderson Construction. We’re in charge of the project.”

“Who’s your number two person?”

Pretty Boy pointed to a short, lean, graying, clean-shaven man with deep sunbaked wrinkles. Veins crawled over his lower arms beneath the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves. This guy’s clothes were dusty, wrinkled, and sweat stained, though I had a feeling they had been clean when he started his workday. I walked close to Pretty Boy and breathed in his scent. Lemons . . .

“Alex,” I said softly, “what is Marco’s last name?”

“Agrios.”

A name I had heard recently, somewhere. It came to me. Agrios had run with the Zips, the local gang who had helped in the attack at the jewelry shop. A name that Andromeda was going to ask around about, ask her brother who ran with the Razors. And maybe she had. And maybe she had died because of that. The shock in my system intensified, fueled by anger.

“He smells like lemons,” I said.

“His background check was stellar,” Alex said. “Except . . .” The word held a tone of disgust and self-loathing. “Except that Agrios means Citrus. Titus was thumbing his nose at us. My Spanish is pretty sucky so I didn’t catch it.” Des Citrons had an inside man. And we hadn’t caught him. I wanted to hit something. I was pretty sure my Beast had risen inside me and that my eyes were glowing. A lot of thoughts raced through Marco’s eyes, his body tensed and his scent vacillated. Uncertainty, worry, and a flash of joy. We hadn’t said the words Des Citrons. We hadn’t said anything about the emperor. His scent stabilized, the smell of a man who was about to bluff.