Misha’s light Russian accent held no hint of anger. Yet his vampire mojo surged enough to lighten Taran’s eye color from blue to crystal. Edith and Maria cowered back, bowing as they retreated into the house. Edith’s voice shook. “My deepest apology, Master.”
My tigress itched to protrude my claws, alert in the presence of a dangerous predator. I calmed her by reminding her how Misha had guarded Emme, and how his family had shielded us from harm under his command. I wasn’t naive. And I sure as hell wasn’t stupid. With an estate full of vampires at his disposal and the amount of power coursing through his veins, Misha could kill us. But he wouldn’t. I’d caught glimpses of his pain, witnessed his heartbreak—a side I’m sure he’d preferred hidden. Yet it was that same side that won me over and allowed me to trust him not to harm us.
Shayna grinned when Misha kissed her and casually returned her small box of toothpicks into the pocket of her slacks. She’d sensed Misha assert himself and whipped out her favorite weapons. My lack of aggression eased her tension. Perhaps Koda’s animosity hadn’t turned her against the vampires. Yet.
Shayna punched him in the arm. “How’s it going, dude?”
“Rather well, my dear.” He reached into the inside of his suit as the breeze swept his long hair behind his shoulders. “I saw these and I thought of you.” Misha retrieved two long Asian hairpins and held them out for my perky sister to see.
The gleam to Shayna’s smile returned. “Cool.” She lifted them from his palm and stimulated her ability to thicken and manipulate metal. A trickle of light sparked from her belly-button ring as she transferred the element into the delicate pieces of hair jewelry, turning them into small, deadly daggers. She stepped back from Misha and tossed them a few times in the air, getting a feel for their weight. “A girl can’t have enough weapons these days, you know?”
Misha’s smile faded as Shayna returned the hair jewelry to their original shape and tucked them into the base of her ponytail. “No, it is best to be safe.” He regarded me then. “Which is why I am not pleased to hear you are to assist the . . . weres in their latest quest.”
It probably took Misha every effort not to say “mongrels” or “mutts” or some other inappropriate word to describe our wolves. I crossed my arms. “And how did you hear about that?”
Misha flashed me his famously wicked smile. “I have my ways, kitten. Shall we?”
I shook my head. Misha’s wealth went a long way. It wouldn’t have surprised me if his family greased the palms of weres in exchange for what could be interpreted as harmless information.
Misha stepped aside, revealing the elegant table setting. White linen covered the large round table while black silk napkins folded into ravens lay over the delicate china etched in silver. The staff appeared to pull out chairs for my sisters. Misha held out my chair himself. He leaned forward and paused, his lips close to my ear. “I see that mindless beast has finally come to his wits and shown you some affection.”
My cheeks heated. “Misha, I’m not going to discuss Aric with you.” Gee, this conversation sounded familiar. “And don’t call him names.”
Taran laughed. “You’d better get your groove on, Misha. Otherwise that wolf is going to steal my sister from under your thumb.”
“Nonsense.” Misha’s wickedness returned with a vengeance. “Celia may enjoy what I can do with my thumb.”
Just when I thought my face couldn’t get any hotter. “Stop it. Both of you.”
Taran danced her brows at me. “Aw, come on, Ceel. After years of dateless nights, you deserve a little attention.”
I would have slapped Taran upside the head if I didn’t think my blow would kill her. “There’s nothing between Misha and me.”
“That is only because you won’t allow it.” Misha leaned back in his seat, those gray predator eyes of his sharpening as they zeroed in on my neck. “However, we do have some time before the main course. Ladies, would you mind starting without us?”
My jaw tightened. “Yes, they would. And cut it out.”
Misha laughed. He flicked his napkin in the air. His and ours took off like the blackbirds they’d been shaped to resemble. Emme jumped as they circled above us and landed in our laps, unraveling and resuming their cloth forms.
“Damn,” Taran muttered. “I wish I could pull that shit off.” She didn’t just mean the flock-of-birds act. Taran often griped about the strength of her power being mostly limited to fire, lightning, and light. She possessed a rare gift—hell, we all did—but she wanted to do more. Witches couldn’t command fire to the extent or ease that she could, but their magic opened up possibilities Taran only dreamed of possessing. While my sister wasn’t power hungry—far from it—it almost seemed she craved something more spectacular.