“A misunderstanding,” Ayatas said.
“No misunderstanding.” In his best, most ticked-off British accent, Bruiser said, “One week ago, Special Agent Ayatas FireWind called me for an introduction to Leo. I refused. Now he’s in your home, claiming to be your long-lost baby brother, and he bloody well has not only an introduction but a casual little tea? That is, if I heard correctly the conversation that just ended.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Yeah. He says he’s my brother.”
Bruiser shot me a look. “FireWind didn’t mention that he might be related to you.” He looked back at Ayatas. “However, yellow eyes and golden-copper skin are not a common combination. There is a familial resemblance.” Bruiser eased back a step, relaxing from attack mode into something more like high alert. My honeybunch waswearing black tonight: black suit, black silk shirt, no tie, his hair slicked back with something that held it in place and also made it look darker. He looked scrumptious, especially with all his feathers ruffled in a “protect the little woman” attitude, instincts left over from his upbringing in England back a century or so ago. It was a cute instinct but unnecessary.
Eli was in black too, but black jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket. He fully sheathed his blade but left his battle face on.
That left my supposed brother, who had pulled a weapon once today, and currently one hand was positioned to go for his service weapon. All very odd for a cop, with their proscribed grounds for anything involving a weapon. His expression was tight and cold, body bladed to the others, knees slightly bent in defensive position against multiple possible attackers. This man had seen combat, no doubt about it. Maybe not this century, but recently enough for the reflexes to still be honed. I said, “If you draw a weapon in my house again, you better be using it to save my people. Otherwise I’ll be shoving it up your ass and emptying the chamber.”
“She saidass,” the pasty-skinned kid said to Alex. “I thought Jane didn’t cuss.”
“Assisn’t cussing, Bodat. Sit down,” Alex said, yanking his friend from behind the couch where he had been half-hiding.
A few seconds too many passed before Ayatas dropped his hand and relaxed.
“Any reason why you didn’t tell George Dumas that you’re my brother?” I asked Ayatas.
“I had planned that private, intimate moment with you,” he said, sounding grumpy. It was a tone I had heard from my mouth often enough that it rang with familiarity. “None of my plans or actions have gone well since I got to New Orleans.”
“You got into my home without getting killed first. Told me a lovely story about your past and mine with just enough details to not get you shot. Yet. And you got a meeting with Leo out of the deal. What’s gone wrong?”
There must have been something sensible in my tone because both Eli and Bruiser slid gazes to me and to each other. Ayatas’s expression shifted into wary-neutral. Progress.
“You’re wily aselaqua,” I said, “but without the rattles to tell me you’re about to strike. I find nothing to like about you.” I saw the skin beside Eli’s eye relax, not something anyone else would have noticed. He was relieved that I hadn’t been blinded, by hope and desire for a past, to the man’s serious flaws. Ayatas, on the other hand, gave away nothing I could interpret. His black brows drew down slightly. That was it. Coulda meant anything.
I continued, “Except for your height, hair, and nose, we have nothing in common.” And his fingers. His jaw. His attitude. All familiar. Not saying that. “Too much planning here, things that look like coincidence but aren’t.” I decided to jab and see how he took it. “I’m not sure if you have any honor at all.” Ayatas’s back stiffened just the tiniest bit and some small sadistic part of me found pleasure in the insult I had delivered and his reaction.
“A woman who sleeps with the Master of the City has honor?”
I laughed. He could hit below the belt too. Maybe it was a family trait. “I thought you had done your research. As a favor to Soul, I’ll introduce you to Leo. You’re on your own after that.”
I glanced at the long doors on the side wall. It was dusk. But my primo’s shelving unit was still shut. On purpose. Punishment for making him try to roll Ayatas. I deserved it. I was scum.
In for a penny, in for a pounding.
To Bruiser and Eli, I said, “Cuff him and throw him in the back of the SUV.”
CHAPTER 3
My Life Was a Soap Opera with Fangs and Fur
Ayatas didn’t resist, and when he was deposited on the parking area of the drive at vamp central, with his cell, his badge, and his weapon, he managed to still look like a fashion plate. He was wearing a suit, black, but with shimmering midnight blue tints when the light hit the fabric just right. His shirt matched the blue tints and his tie was a glistening black that perfectly matched his long black hair. Leo would get one whiff of him and want the man in his bed.
As Eli removed the agent’s cuffs, Bruiser leaned to me and murmured, “You are wearing the blade I gave you, love. You look beautiful and deadly.”
This man knew just what to say. I leaned my temple against his, watching my partner but stealing a quiet moment. With the shoes, I was right at Bruiser’s height, and his skin was heated, a peaceful warmth. His Onorio scent filled my nostrils and I blew out the breath, more calm than I had been since my brother tried to kill me. No. Not my brother. Not proven yet. FireWind. Since FireWind tried to kill me. But the thought let me know just howmuch I wanted it to be true. Him. His stories. A past I might learn of, and might remember someday. Questions he might answer about who and what I was.
“You look amazing too,” I said. “Can we just skip all this and go to your place?”
Bruiser chuckled and encircled my waist, pulling me closer. He had to feel the other weapons against his body, but he said nothing about them. We had come a long way since the time he kissed me on a limo floor and found a weapon strapped to my thigh. “Be safe, my love,” he said. “Be wise.”
“Ditto to you.” I stood straight as he kissed me on the temple and I stepped out of his embrace to climb the steps after Eli and our prisoner guest. As Enforcer, I had a defined place among my people, but no way was I letting Ayatas FireWind behind me. We went through the front door, between the metal detectors, and directly into the bullet-resistant glass cage. The others started to remove weapons as part of the security measures, but I leaned into the mic on the wall and said, “Operation Wise Guy, by orders of the Enforcer.”
Wrassler appeared at the front of the inner doors as they whooshed open, blowing in the scent of vamps and sex and something tasty like roast venison. Derek Lee stepped out from the area near the elevator. Both men wore charcoal suits and dove gray shirts with slightly darker dove-ish ties. The grays were Clan Pellissier colors, the livery of the clan for hundreds of years. It was disconcerting to see them in the clothing, though the special-order, thin, cut-resistant Kevlar-Dyneema-based body armor vests they wore beneath their clothes made me happy. I glanced around to see all the security types in similar suits and shirts, armored vests peeking out beneath. Derek stopped several feet back and waited, hands at his sides, less than inches from his weapons.
“Enforcer,” Wrassler said.
