he would rather go hungry than change his mind. A dumb way to live, if you ask me, but that's their
nature. Me, I don't ignore opportunities.»
«Yeah.» Andrea's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Raphael gave her a hurt look. «I am what I am.»
«You're a man first. You sit here in a human shape, wearing human clothes, making human
noises. Pretty obvious which part of you is in control. But when someone points out your excesses,
you wave your hands around and start crying, 'Oh no, it's the beast! I can't help it!' « Andrea
caught herself and clamped her mouth shut.
I did my best to change the subject. «I think you give our relationship too much credit. I irritate
the hell out of Curran and he found a way to pester me. It's nothing.»
«You may be right,» Raphael said.
«His Majesty needs a can-I girl anyway. And I'm not it.»
«A can-I girl?» Andrea frowned.
I leaned back. « ' Can I fetch you your food, Your Majesty? Can I tell you how strong and
mighty you are, Your Majesty? Can I pick out your fleas, Your Majesty? Can I kiss your ass, Your
Majesty? Can I . . .»
It dawned on me that Raphael was sitting very still. Frozen, like a statue, his gaze fixed on the
point above my head.
«He's standing behind me, isn't he?»
Andrea nodded slowly.
«Technically it should be 'may I,'» Curran said, his voice deeper than I remembered. «Since
you're asking permission.»
He stepped into my view, reached for a chair at a table next to us, and found it bolted to the
floor. He gripped the chair and plucked it from the concrete with one hand, leaving four screws
sticking out of the floor. He put the chair next to me, back first, and saddled it like a horse, crossing
his arms on the top of the back to show off carved biceps.
Why me?
«To answer your question, yes, you may kiss my ass. Normally I prefer to maintain my personal
space, but you're a Friend of the Pack and your services have proven useful once or twice. I strive
to accommodate the wishes of persons friendly to my people. My only question is, would your
kissing my ass be obeisance, grooming, or foreplay?»
Raphael went a shade paler and bowed his head. «By your leave, m'lord.»
Curran nodded.
Raphael grabbed Andrea by the hand.
Andrea blinked. «But . . .»
«We have to go now.» Raphael's smile had a bit of an edge to it. He fled and dragged Andrea
with him, leaving me and Curran alone. Traitors.
CHAPTER 5
«YOU DIDN' T ANSWER MY QUESTION,» CURRAN said. «What will it be?»
«No,» I said.
Curran grinned and my heart made a little jump. I didn't expect that.
«That's it? That's your witty comeback?»
«Yep.» Eloquence 'R' Us. When in trouble, keep it monosyllabic-safer that way.
Curran rested his chin on his crossed arms. Really, he wasn't anything special. Today he wore
faded jeans and a grayish-blue polo shirt of all things. It's hard to look lethal in a polo shirt, but he
managed. Perhaps because it did nothing to hide the definition on his chest or the hard lines of his
shoulders. In fact, if he flexed, he'd probably rip it. I knew that under that shirt his body was hard
like a suit of armor.
Perhaps it wasn't his body, but the air about him. When he wanted to, Curran literally emanated
menace. I had seen him roar in fury and display an icy, determined anger, sharp like a dagger, and I
wasn't sure which was more terrifying. The gold fire in his eyes triggered some sort of primordial
fear in me, a feeling born ages ago by the light of the young fire, before reason, before logic, when
human existence was ruled by the fear of things with claws and teeth and of being eaten. That fear
shackled me. I couldn't rationalize it away. I had to fight it with pure will and so far I had held my
own, but I had no guarantee I would resist it the next time he decided to treat me to his alpha stare.
Curran looked me over slowly. I did the same, matching him smirk for smirk. Blond hair cut too
short to grab. Nose that looked like it had been broken and never healed right, an odd thing for any
shapeshifter, and especially for one of Curran's caliber. Gray eyes . . . I looked into those eyes and
saw tiny gold sparks dancing in their depths. And my heart made another little jump.
I'm in so much trouble.
«I like the hair,» he said.
In the spirit of an off-duty Friday, I wore my hair down. I mostly braided it or curled it into a bun
to keep it out of the way, but today it just sort of hung there, a long dark brown wall shifting in the
breeze on both sides of my face.
I flexed my wrist, popping a long silver needle into my palm from the leather wrist guard,
grabbed my hair, twisted it into a bun, stuck the needle into it to hold it in place, and showed him