The Jane Yellowrock World Companion
Page 5

I wasn’t fond of doors without peepholes, which was surely quite telling about my age. I also found it difficult to remember security cameras were everywhere, even over the door to Katie’s Ladies. I resisted the urge to look up and wink at the camera, as Katie herself was unlikely to be watching the security display screens and I had no desire to flirt with Tom, her muscle.
The door opened and . . . everything changed. A woman—an Amazon—stood there, needle-thin, muscled, balanced, and ready, dressed in jeans and leather, black braids to her bum, a gun held low at her side, and a glowing cross in her other hand. I was inhaling when the door opened and I caught her scent. All I could think was predator. Without thought, training and muscle memory pulling me forward into the moves, I drew a knife and attacked.
She sidestepped fast—faster than human—and stuck out a foot. I tripped over it. Felt myself falling forward, prey to the oldest trick in the book. I cursed under my breath as she landed on me, riding me down. We hit and I could hear her heart pounding. She growled. We bounced, me on bottom, her knee landing against my spine just as Leo’s weight fell onto us.
We had practiced this move hundreds of times and I knew his hands would already be at her throat, but her braids tangled around them. Leo sucked in a breath, his fangs extending with a soft snap. They brushed the side of her neck, his killing bite coming down.
But she rammed back her head and connected, her skull hitting something softer. I heard his oof of expelled breath, followed by a faint sound of movement as of cloth on cloth. And I smelled the scent of burning flesh, remembering only then the cross in her hand. Silver. Glowing.
Leo howled and his weight fell away. The woman rolled, pulling me with her in a move that was both balletic and vicious, until we lay on the floor, her gun at my neck, my body on top of, and protecting, her. The reek of my sweat and hers and vamp pheromones bathed the air. She smelled of blood and exhaust and sex and—
“I’ll shoot your blood-servant if you move again,” she said to Leo, her voice low and cold. My master paused and went quiet, that undead shift from combat to utter stillness that had once been so startling and was now so telling. He believed her, and after centuries of human and nonhuman responses, he would know if she was speaking the truth. “If you listen, I’ll let him live,” she bargained.
Leo’s stillness went deeper. Without giving myself away, I tried to gather myself, but her clawed hand dug into my windpipe. The woman shoved the muzzle hard under my ear, and I realized that if she had wanted us dead, we’d already be dead.
I should have beaten her, no matter the surprise, and I swore hard, under my breath. I’d gotten lazy sparring with humans and other blood-servants. I needed to fight for real, and fight Mithrans, not slower beings.
“If you resist,” she said to me, “I’ll rip out your throat, then behead your master. Pick and choose.” A shocked silence filled the foyer. Slowly, I went limp. “Wise move,” she said.
“Leonard Pellissier, I’m Katie’s out-of-town talent,” she said, in an indefinable Southern accent, “I’m the tracker and hired gun the council contracted to take out the rogue. I don’t want to kill either of you, but I will if I have to. The blood you smell was not spilled by me. I am not your enemy. Back. Off.”
Leo backed, making a deliberate boot-scuff so I would know. She tightened her grip on my throat and I was having trouble getting a breath. “You gonna play nice?” she asked me.
I tried to swallow under the pressure of her hand, and when I spoke, the sound came out in a whistle from the pressure on my windpipe. “Yes.” She sniffed at my ear, which was quite suddenly, unexpectedly erotic. Her scent filled my nose, smelling of sex and need and desire. I felt her breasts against my body and I hardened. She released her hold. Damn woman. Laughter, a reaction neither of lust nor of combat, rolled up in my chest, and I forced it back. The woman I now knew was Jane Yellowrock had terrible timing.
I rolled to my feet and she followed me upright, her movements as sleek and as fast as a primo, keeping me between Leo and her own body, another clue that she wasn’t after my master. I glanced at Leo and he tilted his head a fraction, telling me to stand down. There was humor in his eyes, letting me know he had detected my scent-change and my interest in our attacker. I reached around and shut the outer door. When I moved to face her, I positioned myself in front of and slightly to the side of Leo. Oddly, weirdly, she switched the safety on the gun.
We were sodding lucky it hadn’t gone off while we rolled around on the floor. It was stupid to wrestle while holding a gun, even while facing down a vampire and his security. Not that I could see a better way. If she hadn’t done what she had, I’d have killed her and asked questions later. That was my job.
“You don’t smell human,” Leo said, his voice dropping in to the smooth, honeyed, seductive tones he used when he spotted something or someone he wanted.
Irrationally, foolishly, I wanted to tell him to back off. The woman was mine. Which was stupid in every way I might care to think. I squelched the moment of possessiveness that had taken me.
“What are you?” Leo asked. And only then did I realize that I had no idea what the woman was, only that she wasn’t human. No. Not human at all.
“Stop that,” she said. “It doesn’t work on me.”
“She growled, boss,” I said. “When she took me down.”
“I heard her. What are you?”
“None of your business,” she said.
“Whose blood do I smell?” Leo asked.
“Katie—” The woman stopped, as if not knowing what to say. The silence stretched, and Leo’s humor improved—something I could feel through the blood-servant bond.
“I was forced to reprimand a member of my staff.” Katie stood in the hallway, wearing a dressing gown that shimmered like silk. She was clearly naked beneath it, the thin fabric blood free and molding to her thighs. I’d seen Katie in that robe. I’d helped her out of it numerous times before a feeding and what she called blood-pleasure. “May I ask that your blood-servant assist with the transfusion?” Katie asked. “It is not my intent to lose him.”
Leo glanced at me and I looked reluctantly from him to the stranger before I nodded to Katie that I was willing. But I stabbed the rogue-vampire hunter with a look, making it clear that I didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone with my boss, promising to kill her slowly if she injured Leo. I rolled my head on my shoulders, and heard two cracks as my spine realigned itself, and I went down the hallway, my booted feet silent on the wood and carpets. Predator silent.
Dance Master
by Faith Hunter
This short story is dedicated to the Beast Claws. You know why!
Faith’s note: This short is from Bruiser’s point of view, and takes place after Mercy Blade, and before Raven Cursed, when Leo has been restored to sanity by the presence and blood of his Mercy Blade, Gee DiMercy, and when Jane and Rick are separated by his were-taint. Rick has disappeared, to live in the Appalachian Mountains with Kemnebi. Jane is alone in New Orleans.
He heard the Harley’s distinctive roar as it cruised down the street, slowed, and parked almost beneath him. He could feel her eyes on him from the street, but he didn’t look down or allow himself to react. He snapped his fingers and placed his fork on the plate; the waiter took it immediately and freshened his coffee. The young man also poured a cup of Irish Breakfast tea, freshly brewed, into the cup across from him. George listened for her booted feet on the stairs as the man placed a perfectly turned Western omelet on her plate and withdrew. The breakfast service at DeJavu was always good, but he knew it was always better because of who he was.
George watched as she crossed the room to the balcony, moving from shadows into morning’s light, long and lean and feline, dangerous. He could feel the tug of his master’s mind and knew that Leo was watching as well, wanting her. Claiming her. Silently, George resisted. He had given up many women to the Master of the City, but he had discovered that he couldn’t give up this one.
You will leave her for me, Leo whispered into his mind. The woman is mine.
“The woman belongs to no one.” George bowed his head as Leo lashed out at him. But he didn’t give up. “She is free, my master. And you will not be able to take her.”
You defy me, Leo thought at him, surprised.
George closed his eyes, knowing that pain might come, but unable to hide anything from Leo. “Yes. She is not human, my master. She will fight you.”
You have not defied me for many years. I will think on this. Leo left his mind, freeing George to smile at her.
“Jane.” His voice was a caress, and he knew she heard the tenderness in the word; her color went higher and she glanced away, only a brief moment, to compose herself. He wanted Jane Yellowrock, even more than Leo did, because he wanted her with her own free will intact, unchanged and unchained. He wanted her to want him, to need him as badly.
Of course there was the small matter of the former-undercover policeman, the black wereleopard, recently turned, and Jane’s attachment to him. George knew the man, had studied his dossier quite well. Unless Rick LaFleur had changed drastically since he acquired the were-taint, he would not stand between them for long. His history suggested that he was incapable of maintaining a romantic relationship with only one woman for any length of time. And it was even more unlikely that he would survive his next full moon, though George wouldn’t wish such pain and madness on anyone, even a faithless, charismatic rival. He would wait, bide his time. One thing that he had learned over the decades as the primo to the master of the city was infinite patience.
Jane sat in the chair and looked at the steaming breakfast, a small smile on her lips. Her head gave a faint shake as if surprised at the food waiting for her, but she didn’t comment. She sipped her tea, added two teaspoons of sugar and a dollop of fresh cream, and sipped again, making him wait. Little games she played as naturally as she breathed. “Hiya, Bruiser,” she said as she picked up her fork and tasted the eggs. Chewing, she stared back at him, her face impassive, her amber eyes steely, as cold as the steel and silver in her braids and hidden on her body. “So. I’m here.” She ate another bite and drank down half of her tea. The waiter refilled her cup. He’d been well tipped in the past and knew to stay close, but out of earshot. “Your suckhead boss needs my help again?”