Hidden Dragons (9 page)

“She said I’d know. Cass, I think she was talking about you.”

“Me?”

Even if she weren’t half fae and therefore bad at lying, Rick would have judged her astonishment as genuine.

“Yes,” he said, studying her expression. “When I put the knuckles on, you were the person who came to mind.”

“But I’m not in danger! Why would I be? I’m no one important.”

“Are you sure? Nothing strange has happened to you lately?”

She crossed her arms. “I promise, you showing up here today is the strangest—” He saw the idea flicker through her face.

“What?” he said. “What just occurred to you?”

She grimaced. “A picture in my gran’s portrait hall was giving me the willies. I camouflaged it and threw it out. And—”

“And?”

She tested his concentration by biting her lower lip. Thanks to her faerie nature, her mouth was naturally soft and red. “A photo of my dad fell off the wall last night. When I picked it up this morning, his image was burned out. I assume he did it. He doesn’t like being photographed. So that doesn’t really count as strange, just annoying.”

Annoyance wasn’t the sole emotion her father’s action had inspired. Rick saw that from the way she dropped her eyes. “Where’s your father now?”

“At his shop, I expect. He’s a toymaker. Rick, he isn’t important either. For a pureblood, his power is strictly low level.”

He saw she believed this, but given everything that had happened, he wondered. Not being able to lie comfortably made most faeries experts at misleading.

“I think we should speak to him,” he said.

She blinked, rapid and surprised. “He’s very private.”

“This could be important.”

Cass gnawed her thumbnail. Was she afraid her father would refuse? He thought of his parents, who were always there for him—for anything or nothing. They loved him and Tony without limits, and he and Tony absolutely returned the sentiment. Adam and Nate, their honorary sons, received nearly the same treatment. Pack simply was that way.

Rick couldn’t stop himself. He reached out to clasp her arm lightly. “Call him,” he said. “Maybe he knows something you don’t suspect.”

She trembled when he touched her, a tiny vibration running through the surprisingly firm muscle beneath her sweat jacket’s sleeve. Suddenly he realized she’d called him Rick, not Detective Lupone. She wet her lips, and his brain and body went haywire. Forgetting sense, he leaned to her. His hold on her arm was gentle, but she didn’t pull away. God, he wanted to kiss her. Her breathing quickened, her soft red lips not completely closed. Her energy, the energy all living beings were surrounded by, began to sparkle the tiniest bit.

A pulse like a tapping finger drummed his cockhead.

“Oh,” she said, jerking back from him. “I’m so sorry. I must have dusted you accidentally. I’m a little nervous this afternoon.”

Her left eye twitched, so maybe this wasn’t the exact truth.

Rick straightened up slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unavoidably husky. “You’re very pretty. I always thought so.”

Pretty was understating it. Whatever she thought of the term, it didn’t calm her nerves. “Why don’t I call my father?” she said, gesturing vaguely behind her.

Rick cooled his heels while she exited the room, presumably to make her call without him listening in. In an effort to avoid obsessing over their almost-kiss, which had left his blood simmering, he studied his surroundings.

The sunlit room was the size of a hotel lobby, overwhelming but beautiful. He observed lots of cream and gold, most of the color reserved to the large area rugs. Antique though the furniture was, it looked as if people actually sat in it. He knew Patricia Maycee had thrown a lot of parties: charity dos and musical evenings. Would Cass throw parties now that this place was hers? He tried to picture her sitting here alone. To him, that seemed lonely, but maybe these swank environs were what she thought of as normal.

A movement in the arched entryway caught his eye. A skinny gray cat was peeking in from the hall. She let out a startled
mew
as she spotted him, then dashed away with her collar bell jingling. Rick grinned. He had nothing against cats. They, however, didn’t always like werewolves. And maybe they were right to be wary. Rick’s inner wolf was experiencing a definite longing to give chase.

The thought of pursuing Cass’s kitty around the giant penthouse amused him. He had to wipe a smile from his face when she returned to the living room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “My dad wasn’t answering his phone.”

Rick wasn’t sure why, but her news made him uneasy. “Why don’t I drive you over to see him?”

“Oh no,” she said hastily. “He’s probably caught up in a job. I’ll try him again tonight. If I can’t reach him, perhaps we could meet at his shop tomorrow?”

He heard a plea in her voice. Could she really not rely on her father to welcome her phone calls?

Rick knew it would be rude to press, and that he had no official reason to. Her agreeing to provide an introduction to her father was beyond what he could demand.

He rose from the window and straightened his jacket. “Okay,” he said. “I’d appreciate that. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow.”

She nodded, one hand holding her already zipped top together at her throat. “I’ll just . . . show you out.”

He accompanied her to the round foyer. The need to say something pressed at him. Maybe an apology for the almost-kiss? Or a confession that he was sorry she’d stopped him? No doubt Nate would advise him to ask her out for drinks. He opened his mouth, then remembered he shouldn’t date someone from a current case. Not that Cass was a suspect. At least, he couldn’t imagine what he’d suspect her of.

Before he could decide, they were at the threshold and she was opening the door. “You can call early if you like,” she said. “The cat won’t let me sleep past daybreak.”

Her words gave him an excuse to look at her. Christ, she was beautiful. Her damp hair was drying in little curls, the exquisite oval of her face like an illustration for a tale of chivalry. Princes would line up by the hundreds to win her hand, no matter what dread deeds they were asked to perform.

Too bad Rick was a peasant.

“Okay,” he said stupidly.

“Goodbye,” she said and shut the door behind him.

His chest hurt, like he couldn’t get enough air now that they were apart.

Don’t be a sap
, he snarled impatiently in his mind.
You aren’t fricking twelve years old, and she isn’t your princess.

He stabbed the button for the elevator, then shoved his right hand into the pocket of his sport jacket. The electrum knuckles lay inside. Restless, he curled the tips of his fingers through the holds.

Heat like a match flame swallowed his entire hand. He cried out, too surprised not to. The heat dissipated as quickly as it had flared, but something had him around the wrist, something as snug as iron.

He yanked his hand out of his pocket.

What he saw dropped his jaw in shock. The knuckle-dusters were gone. An electrum cuff shaped like a Roman gladiator’s circled his wrist halfway to his elbow. The same strange runes that engraved the rings on the knuckle-dusters marched in straight lines up it. Rick tugged at the thing, trying to get it off, but it might as well have been welded on.

“Shit,” he hissed, taking a second to be grateful his hand hadn’t actually seared to a crisp.

Whatever weird thing had happened, it seemed to be over. The metal was warm from his body, but not burning. The elevator’s bell announced its arrival. Rick decided he’d go to the precinct psychic. Hopefully she could tell him how to undo the change he’d accidentally triggered.

Satisfied with his plan, he began to step into the waiting elevator. His feet had different ideas. Seemingly superglued to the marble floor, they wouldn’t budge an inch, though he struggled hard enough for sweat to break out on his body.

“Damn it,” he said, truly frustrated now. He looked over his shoulder to Cass’s door. He’d have to call her out here to help him.

And then something else strange happened. As he turned, his left leg freed itself. A second later, his right did too.

Rick could add two and two, even if he didn’t like what they summed up to. The faerie’s gift wasn’t letting him walk away. Apparently, it had decided he shouldn’t leave Cass’s side.

He experimented, trying to move toward the elevator. The moment he attempted it, his feet stuck in place again. If he turned toward Cass’s place, they were free.

I don’t believe this
, he thought.

Not looking forward to explaining his return, Rick strode back to Cass’s to ring the bell.

~

Cass had walked away from the door as soon as she locked it, mainly to prevent herself from leaning on it weak-kneed. Hearing the bell again took her by surprise.

Had Rick forgotten something? Or maybe it was like those movies where the hero turns back at the last moment to claim his kiss.

Get a grip
, she scolded her runaway imagination. She opened the door.

Rick was behind it, looking sheepish. With his jacket sleeve pushed to his elbow, he held up his right arm. “Something happened to the knuckles when I touched them.”

Cass choked on a startled laugh.

He glowered at her, as adorable as an angry five-year-old. “It isn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, starting to break up. “That looks like one of the bracelets Wonder Woman deflected bullets with.”

“Haha. It won’t let me walk away from you.”

He demonstrated like a crazy mime. She covered her mouth to muffle laughter.

“Maybe you should come in,” she said between snickers.

He came grumpily. “I have to call my boss. Let him know I probably won’t be in next shift.”

She let him do this in privacy.

“It appears you can walk around my house,” she observed when he returned.

He grunted in acknowledgment, then shook himself. “Sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“Some people would assume it was.”

He looked at her, considering what she suggested. “No,” he decided. “You wouldn’t gain anything by it, and you’re no prankster.”

She hid her pleasure that he knew this. He was a cop. He had to be a good judge of character. “I don’t think I can reverse what happened. The spell in those electrum knuckles was more sophisticated than anything I know how to do.”

“What about your father? Could he get it off?”

“Maybe,” she said unsurely.

“You realize this means you must be the person I’m supposed to protect, at least according to these things.”

Cass’s inappropriate giddiness faded. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t totally mind that he thought he should protect her. The idea that she might really be in danger was less appealing. Plus, wanting to be protected wasn’t exactly the hallmark of a modern woman. Shouldn’t she prefer to protect herself?

Her expression must have been interesting. Rick broke into a laugh. “You are thinking hard.” He touched her shoulder. The contact was light, but it grabbed her whole attention, pleasing her more than she wanted to let on. Luckily, he didn’t seem aware. “Show me your kitchen. When I’m stressed, I take after my parents. I need to cook something.”

~

Rick prepared a simple pasta dish with meatballs, an activity Cass watched as if it were the most amazing magic trick ever. The sparkling black and white kitchen was big enough for an army of caterers, apparently the only people who cooked in it. The cat—introduced by Cass as Poly—mustered the courage to accept one meatball from his fingers before streaking out again.

Rick felt like he had to coax Cass too. She was shyer than he expected, clearly unused to being around strangers. He remembered the group of girls she used to hang with—the half-and-halfers, they’d called themselves.

When asked, she told him what they were up to. The topic relaxed her, the affection she felt for them obvious.

“You really remember us?” she asked, digging into her plate with an appetite that gratified him.

“Why wouldn’t I? You were the prettiest girls in school. And you always seemed like you were having fun.”

They sat opposite each other at the black limestone island, perched on sturdy modern stools. Cass suddenly found chasing ziti with her fork highly interesting. “I didn’t think you knew who I was.”

His heart gave a funny skip. She sounded like a teenager when she said it: sweetly insecure. He wanted to bundle her up and hug her, not because of some stupid spell, but because
he
wanted to.

“Cass,” he said, low and gentle. “Everyone knew you.”

She nodded, her face still lowered, her fork jabbing at ziti. “I
was
the only half faerie at North Heights.”

“That would never be the only reason to notice you.”

She looked up. Oh those dreaming blue eyes of hers were killer, big and round and as innocent as a lamb. His ribs contracted around his lungs. He was getting hard again, with no hope of stopping it. He shifted on his stool, more than a bit enchanted by the color rushing into her cheeks. Had he gotten it wrong all those years ago? Was she attracted to him, despite him being a rough werewolf?

His idiotic circadian clock chose that moment to goad him into a huge yawn.

“Shit,” he said when he managed to shut his jaw. “My schedule is upside down. I’ve been working graveyard shift with my squad.”

Cass laughed, relieved by the change in tone. “I promise not to assume I’m boring you. Why don’t I clean up here? Pick any guest room you like to sack out in.”

The idea of Snow White cleaning anything seemed wrong.

“Shoo,” she said before he could protest.

He didn’t mind being given permission to explore. His wolf and cop halves were both snoopy. Though he was tired, he walked through the entire place, from the pool terrace to the snooty portrait hall to the wing with the eight bedrooms. The opposite corridor seemed more lived in. He found her grandmother’s personal rooms shrouded in dust covers.

Because this felt like somewhere he shouldn’t go, he retreated and kept walking. Some impulse told him to ignore the next few doors. The last in the hallway drew him. A delicious smell wafted from it, like field of wildflowers warming in the sun. His wolf would have been happy to roll in it. As he turned the knob, his electrum shackle hummed.