Gunmetal Magic(138)
His Majesty drank his tea. “Not looking forward to settling the dispute?”
“I’d rather eat dirt. It’s between Mark, Solomon’s longtime assistant, and the veterans led by the Four Horsemen, and they despise each other. They aren’t interested in reaching a consensus. They just want to throw mud at each other over a conference table.”
An evil light sparked in his eyes. “You could always go for Plan B.”
“Pound everyone to a bloody pulp until they shut up and cooperate?”
“Exactly.”
It would make me feel better. “I could always do it your way instead.”
Curran raised his blond eyebrows.
“Roar until everyone pees themselves.”
A shadow of self-satisfaction flickered on his face and vanished, replaced by innocence. “That’s bullshit. I’m perfectly reasonable and I almost never roar. I don’t even remember what it feels like to knock some heads together.”
The Beast Lord of Atlanta, a gentle and enlightened monarch. “How progressive of you, Your Majesty.”
He cracked another grin.
The male necromancer in the booth next to us reached under the table and produced a rectangular rosewood box. Ten to one, there was some sort of jewelry inside.
I nodded at Curran. “Your turn. How did your day go?”
“It was busy and full of stupid shit I didn’t want to deal with.”
The blond woman opened the box. Her eyes lit up.
“The rats are having some sort of internal dispute over some apartments they bought. Took all day to untangle it.” Curran shrugged.
The woman plucked a golden necklace from the box. Shaped like an inch-and-a-half-wide segmented collar of pale gold, it gleamed in the feylantern light.
I poured us more tea. “But you prevailed.”
“Of course.” Curran drank from his cup. “You know, we could stay over in the city tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because that way we wouldn’t have to drive for an hour back to the Keep before we could fool around.”
Heh.
A scream jerked me to my feet. In the booth, the blond necromancer clawed at the necklace, gasping for breath. The man stared at her, his face a terrified mask. The woman raked her throat, gouging flesh. With a dried pop, her neck snapped, and she crashed to the floor. The man dived down, pulling at the necklace. “Amanda! Oh my God!”
Past him two pairs of red vampire eyes stared at us through the window.
Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber glowed, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant had just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran’s arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and sprouted fur. Enormous claws slid from Curran’s new fingers.
The vampires rose off their haunches.
Curran stood up next to me in his warrior form, nearly eight feet of steel-hard muscle.
I gripped Slayer’s hilt, feeling the familiar comforting texture. Bloodsuckers reacted to sudden movement, bright lights, loud noises, anything that telegraphed prey. Whatever I did had to be fast and flashy. The blood alone wouldn’t do it, not when every table was filled with raw meat.
The front window exploded in a cascade of gleaming shards, and the vampires sailed through, like they had wings. The left bloodsucker landed on the table, the remnant of the chain hanging from its neck. The right skidded on the slick parquet floor and bumped into another table, scattering the chairs.
I screamed and dashed to the left, pulling Slayer as I sprinted. Curran snarled and leaped, covering half the distance to the right bloodsucker in a single powerful jump.
My vamp glared at me. I looked into its eyes.
Hunger.
Like staring into an ancient abyss. Behind the eyes, its mind seethed, free of its master’s control. I wanted to reach out and crush it, like a bug between my fingernails. But doing that would give me away. I might as well give the People a sample of my blood with a pretty bow on it.
“Here!” I flicked my wrist, making the reflection of feylanterns dance along Slayer’s surface. Look. Shiny.
The bloodsucker’s gaze locked on the blade. The vamp ducked down, like a dog before the strike, front limbs wide, yellow claws digging into the table. The wood groaned. The chain slipped along the table’s edge, clinking.
No way to make a neck cut. The chain loop would block the blade.
A high-pitched female scream slashed my eardrums. The vamp hissed, jerking in the direction of the sound.
I jumped on the chair next to the table and thrust sideways and up. Slayer’s blade slid between the vamp’s ribs. The tip met a tight resistance and then sliced through it. Hit the heart. Banzai!