Saiman set his wine down and braided the long fingers of his hands into a single fist. «However,
your friend broke into my apartment and attempted to steal my property. I do feel compelled to
point out that while I respect your capacity for violence, I'm confident you won't kill me without a
reason. I don't intend to give you one, and therefore, I hold the upper hand in our negotiations.»
That was true. If this mess got out, Derek would have to deal with Curran. The Beast Lord was
an arrogant, powerful sonovabitch who ruled the Pack with a steel hand and three-inch claws.
Curran and I mixed about as well as glycerin and nitric acid: put us together, shake a bit, and hit the
deck as we exploded. However, despite his many faults, and I would have to borrow Saiman's
fingers and toes in addition to my own to count them all, Curran didn't play favorites . Derek would
be punished, and his punishment would be severe.
I sipped my water. «Noted. Out of curiosity, what did he try to steal?»
Saiman produced two small rectangles of paper out of thin air with the buttery grace of a skilled
magician. The magic was down, so it had to be sleight of hand. I filed that fact away for future
reference: never play cards with Saiman.
«He wanted these.» Saiman offered me the papers. I looked at them without touching. They were
blood-red.
Heavy gold lettering spelled out MIDNIGHT GAMES across the parchment surface.
«What are the Midnight Games?»
«An invitation-only preternatural tournament.»
Oh boy. «I take it the tournament is illegal.»
«Extremely. In addition, I believe the Beast Lord expressly forbade attendance and participation
in the tournament to Pack members.»
First, Derek broke into Saiman's apartment. Second, he did it with the intent to steal. Third, he
tried to steal tickets to an illegal gladiatorial tournament in direct violation of Pack Law. Curran
would skin Derek alive and that might not be just a figure of speech. Was there any possible way
this mess could get worse?
«Okay. How can we fix this?»
«I'm prepared to let him go and forget he was ever here,» Saiman said. «Provided you
accompany me to the Games tomorrow night.»
Never ask that question.
«No,» Derek said.
I studied the glittering crystal glass in my hand, playing for time. A large crest had been
painstakingly cut into the glass, a flame encircled by a serpent. The light of the electric lamp set the
cut design aglow, and the crystal scales of the serpent sparkled with fiery colors.
«Lovely, isn't?»
«It is.»
«Riedel. Hand-cut. A very limited series, only two made.»
«Why do you want my company?»
«My reasons are twofold: first, I require your professional opinion. I find myself in need of a
fighter expert.»
I arched my eyebrows.
«I would like you to evaluate one of the teams at the Games.» Saiman permitted himself a small
smile.
Okay. I could do that. «And second?»
Saiman studied the glass in his hand for a long moment and smashed it against the table. It
shattered with a pure chime, showering the carpet with a spray of glittering crystal shards. In the
cage Derek snarled.
I killed the desire to roll my eyes at all the drama and nodded at the stub of crystal. «If you're
planning to cut me with that, you're out of luck. A bottle works much better for this kind of thing.»
Delight sparkled in Saiman's eyes. «No, actually, I was planning on making a philosophical
point. The glass you now hold in your fingers is the only glass of its kind in existence. It's the
ultimate luxury-there is nothing else like it.»
The flesh around his wrist swelled, flowing like molten wax. My stomach lurched and tried to
crawl sideways. Here we go again. He stored magic like a battery, but I really thought with the
technology as strong as it was right now, he wouldn't be able to metamorphose. Live and learn.
Saiman's shoulders widened. His neck, chest, and thighs thickened, straining his sweatshirt.
Crisp muscle showed on his forearms. The bones under the skin of his face shivered and I nearly
vomited my water.
A new face looked at me: handsome, strong, sensuous, with a square jaw, defined cheekbones,
and hooded green eyes under reddish eyebrows. Thick blond hair spilled from his head to fall in a
glossy wave onto his newly massive shoulders.
«For most people, I'm the ultimate luxury,» he said.
The man collapsed, thinning, flowing, twisting, but the eyes never changed. I stared into those
eyes, using them as an anchor. Even when their corners sank, their irises darkened, and a velvet
fringe of dark eyelashes sheathed them, I could still tell it was Saiman.