“Yes, My Queen,” Bruiser said. It was the same tone he had once used to Leo, when Leo was giving orders and his primo was replying.
I turned in my seat, caught his amused and placid smile, and scowled at him. Knowing I sounded bitchy, but unable to stop it, I demanded, “What!”
Bruiser laughed. “It’s okay, Jane. As queen, when you make an official request, especially one that has to be handled through diplomatic channels, it requires specific verbiage to acknowledge the order.”
“It wasn’t an order. It—” I stopped. Actually, it was an order, and it would require diplomacy and access to the queen’s accounts, which was part of the reason why the Robere brothers were back in town and not with Grégoire in Europe—to handle the queen’s diplomatic affairs. My Consort and the Roberes were the best of the best when it came to politics and diplomacy. And yeah. I had given an order. “Holy crap.” If I used stronger words, I’d use one now.
“Precisely,” Bruiser said. He kissed me on my furry cheek. “I’ll also see to it that the church and the homeless shelters all have sufficient funds for Thanksgiving feasts for the homeless and indigent. You are a good queen. You aremyqueen. You are also my love. And I hope sex is still on the table for later.”
I leaned against him and let my body relax, breathing in his scent. “I love you,” I murmured. “I love that about you. That you can keep the two parts of me separate. Queen and Jane.”
And Beast,she reminded me.
“Always and forever,” Bruiser said, his lips against my hairline.
“But maybe not sex on a table.”
Bruiser chuckled again, this time with a tone that let me know he was envisioning us on a table.
“We have a perfectly comfortable bed. And we might break a table, which could hurt.”
“My love, you are eminently practical.”
Mate,Beast thought, longing in her tone.
All three of us remained silent the rest of the way home and when I crawled into bed, it was with the pseudo-night provided by the steel shutters that had been mounted on the house sealed closed. They told the world that “the Dark Queen is in residence. Go away.”
I fell into deep dreams, my half-form body spooned against Bruiser’s.
***
I woke alone, in human form, my crown on the mattress near my hand. The scent of bacon was wafting under the door and I was starving, having shifted in my sleep and without calories to replace those used up in the transition from one form to another. I started drooling, before I remembered that a late breakfast was being prepared by someone other than Eli. That killed my appetite and sent an ice-water shock through me.
Reaching out to him, I felt his heart beating, slow with sleep. The relief was so intense my muscles went limp.
I left the bed, fingers rubbing my aching head, picking plastic bits from the crushed headset out of my hair. I put the crown away, beside the heartbox on the shelf of magical doohickeys, and showered. Very late fall in NOLA usually meant highs in the seventies, sometimes in the sixties, but today was chilly, the heat wasn’t on, and once I got over being worried about Eli, I was hungry enough that my bones felt the chill.
I studied my human self in the mirror as I dressed, pulling on thick stretchy yoga pants and a sweatshirt over a tight tee and wool socks. No weapons. Not to start my day. I braided my hair again, this time clean and tight, as it had come unbraided when I shifted.
I wasn’t as skinny as I used to be. I had taken on forty-five pounds of mass from the street, and left a big hole behind that had to be patched by the city. I was muscular and shapely, which was a nice body change, and was presentable enough that my security team, whoever they might be today, wouldn’t see me naked. I also, according to the mirror, still looked like an eighteen-year-old human. Not that appearances mattered to vamps, who maintained the superficial age at which they were turned. Heck. I fit right in.
I made my way to the kitchen, expecting to see Alex at the stove, and stopped short.
My new personal lady-in-waiting, security, and bodyguard, Quint, was standing at the stove, removing a piece of bacon from the griddle. The stone-cold killer was back from two days off, was dressed in thick-knit yoga clothes that looked a lot like mine, and was armed to the teeth. She was also dancing in place, earbuds in both ears, and singing along softly to a musical, some song fromThe Lion King. Before I could announce myself, a nine-mil was centered on my chest. The bacon, held in tongs, dripped onto the hot iron skillet. I stopped short and she didn’t kill me. The weapon slid back into her offhand rig.
“Jane’s up,” Alex said, his tone laconic.
“You were supposed to tell me when she got up,” Quint said, nearly a snarl.
“You were supposed to be working on modifying your reaction time to add in a split second longer for judgment. Look, evaluate as you are reaching for your weapon,” he said, “then don’t. Not when it’s one of us.”
“I know how to do my job,” she said, and this time her words were low and deadly.
“You drew on your asset,” Alex said, ignoring her tone. And maybe goading her a little.
“Asset?” I asked, taking her attention from my brother to me. “I’m not athing. I’m a person.”
“You are Quint’s asset. And she just drew on you in your own home. Bad Quint,” Alex said, his voice not teasing.
