Max had beady little eyes sunk beneath hairy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows. His nose dripped toward his chin like a blob of melted wax. His mouth lacked much in the way of lips, and his skin was the color of mushrooms. His shoulders were wide, his neck barely there, and his suit could have come from the 1920s. The black fedora covering his bald head went with the suit. The neon pink socks, not so much.
He straightened his suit jacket, muttering under his breath about idiots and assholes.
“Love the socks,” Lily said.
He regarded his feet with satisfaction. “Gan gave ’em to me. Stupid female has the worst taste in the thirteen realms, but she sure can fuck. Say, you want to—”
“No,” Lily said firmly.
“Guess not, you being Chosen.” His gaze went to Cynna, still sitting in the room’s only chair. Instead of asking if she wanted to fuck—his usual greeting, if he was feeling friendly—he looked from her to Cullen, lying motionless in the bed. He walked up to the bed.
“Crazy bastard,” he muttered. “Got you good, didn’t they? Good thing Rule had the sense to call me. You say the assassin changes his appearance?”
It took Lily a second to realize he was asking her, not Cullen. “It may be that he fuzzes people’s minds.” Briefly she described what the various witnesses had seen. “If it was a real illusion, he’d look the same to everyone, wouldn’t he?”
Max turned to her. “Not dumb all the time, are you? Not exactly right, but not entirely dumb. Yeah, a true illusion would look the same to everyone. This guy’s doing something a lot simpler. Sounds like he told everyone to see someone they expected to see, and everyone’s brains filled in whatever appearance fit the bill.”
“Why didn’t he just tell everyone not to see him at all?”
“Because he’s not a goddamned idiot. In a crowd like that, he needed to be seen so people wouldn’t bump into him.” The eyebrows clenched in what might have been a thoughtful frown. “That’s some powerful mind-magic the bastard’s got. Big range. Real damned big.”
Worry bumped at Lily. “Can that kind of mind-magic work on you?”
Max snorted. “Not hardly. That’s close to compulsion, see—telling me to see something other than what’s there. I don’t like being told what to do.”
“Neither does my father,” Rule said dryly, “but the mind-magic seems to have worked on him.”
“Poor bastard lacks my genetic advantages.” He turned to Cynna with the oddest expression on his face. After a moment Lily recognized it. He was smiling.
Not at Cynna, Lily realized. At her belly.
Max marched up to Cynna and put both hands flat on her stomach.
“Hey,” Cynna said. “You’re supposed to ask before you touch.”
“Didn’t give you a baby present yet,” Max announced. “I’ll do that now.” He stared hard at her belly. After a moment his eyebrows flew up. “Son of a bitch.”
“He’s my son,” Cynna said, “so that means you’re calling me a bitch.”
“Don’t be so touchy. Also shut up. I need to pay attention.” He began muttering again, but not in English. Or any other language Lily had ever heard. It sounded kind of like someone with the hiccups speaking a mix of Russian and German, and it went on for several moments.
“There.” Max sounded deeply satisfied as he pulled his hands away from Cynna’s belly. His forehead was sweaty. “Gave him a birthing name.”
“You don’t get to name my baby!”
Max rolled his eyes. “I said birthing name, not call name. You’ve already given him one of those.”
“No, we haven’t. We’re still deciding. What’s a birthing name?”
“Well, he thinks he’s got a name already, so take it up with him if you don’t agree.”
Cynna’s eyes were wide. “You can talk to him?’
“Of course not. He’s not even born yet. The birthing name will help with that. Bend down.”
“What? Why?”
Another eye roll. “How’s the birthing name going to help if you don’t know it? Bend down so I can give it to you.”
Looking mystified and slightly cross, Cynna did. Max moved to her side and whispered something in her ear, and her expression changed. “Oh . . .”
Faintly a voice came from the bed. “You gave my son a birth name.”
Cullen was awake. He’d turned his head on the pillow and was watching Max.
Max scowled. “I should’ve asked. Was going to, but you went and got yourself damn near dead.”
“Thank you, my friend. K’recti afhar kaken.” Cullen’s hand moved slightly, reaching.
Max took it. Did he flush? Hard to say with that pasty skin. He said something back in the hiccupy not-quite-Russian tongue, adding in English, “Thought I’d better. Poor little tyke will be as puny as a human at first.”
Cullen smiled faintly. His gaze shifted to Cynna. “The birthing name . . . If the little rider gets in trouble—sick or badly hurt—you use it. Lets him draw on Max’s strength. Wears off after . . .” His gaze shifted back to Max, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
Max shrugged. “Don’t know, with a lupus babe. A year, anyway. Maybe more.”
“Wow.” Cynna heaved herself up, grabbed Max’s face with her two hands, bent, and kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you, Max.”
He definitely blushed this time. “You are most welcome. Say, you want to—”
“No.” Cynna grinned. “But thanks, anyway.”
Cullen’s gaze switched back to Cynna. He smiled—just before his eyes rolled back in his head.
Jason bent over him. “He’s okay. Back in sleep. I don’t know how he managed to wake from it in the first place.”
“The ward, I guess.” Cynna rubbed her stomach idly. “He and I put one up around the little rider last week.”
Max’s eyebrows climbed. “I didn’t think that was possible, not in living flesh.”
“Hey, I use my flesh for magic all the time. Seems to have worked. You triggered it when you did your naming thing, and the ward woke him.”
“Hmph. Well,” Max said, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket, “who’s up for a few hands of poker?”
“We’re leaving and Cynna’s going to lie down as soon as Jason gets her bed ready,” Rule said. He looked at Jason. “Don’t play for money. Max cheats.”
FOURTEEN
AT 2:38, Rule pulled to a stop in the parking garage beneath the ten-story high-rise he called home.
Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he thought of this as the place he stayed. Lily decided to ask him about that some time when she wasn’t half asleep but still wired, her brain buzzing on caffeine and nerves.
A few months ago, the lease on Lily’s tiny apartment had come due. She’d allowed it to lapse. That was only sensible; she didn’t have room for Rule at her place, and he had plenty of space at his—two bedrooms, two baths, a small office, and an open living area with a killer view. Besides, his place was about twenty times nicer. It was like HGTV exploded there and left it ready for a photo shoot. And if the mate bond dictated that they cohabit, well, that was okay. She wanted to.
However sensible the decision, the results had been bumpy, but she figured that was normal. One of the bumps was the cat that came with her. Dirty Harry did not like being confined to an apartment. He’d been a stray when she found him—or when he found her—and was used to being outside. He also didn’t much like Rule. What cat would feel warm and cuddly with someone who smelled wolfish?
The second bump, of course, was money. Rule had oodles of it. She didn’t.
Some of that was his own money. Rule managed his clan’s investments and paid himself a percentage of the profits. He’d roughly tripled Nokolai’s wealth since assuming those duties and had managed to hang on to the wealth in the current downturn, so there had been plenty of profit to draw from. But Lily couldn’t discount the clan’s wealth because the line between personal property and the clan’s property wasn’t hard and fast in Rule’s mind.