Blood Challenge

THIRTY-SEVEN

IT was almost as if they’d rehearsed it, Lily thought, amused in spite of herself. Maybe because they had.

Rule and Benedict got out on the same side at the same second. Each walked around the Lincoln—Benedict circling the front, Rule the rear—at exactly the same pace. Benedict reached the front seat passenger door precisely when Rule reached the rear door. The two men opened them in unison.

Benedict helped Arjenie out. Rule helped Lily.

She’d resisted this bit of staging. “You are a Chosen, a woman, and injured,” Isen had said last night when they were going over their roles in today’s drama. “We want them to be very aware of that.”

Because they were lupi and therefore nuts about protecting women, he meant. Maybe they’d feel guilty for dragging her out of her sickbed. Maybe they’d listen when Lily told them their great enemy was moving against them. She understood what Isen wanted and why, but it went against the grain. She was a cop. Cops didn’t wait around for someone else to open the door.

Isen had smiled. “What would Madame Yu advise?”

“Unfair,” she’d said. “Grandmother loves to have people wait on her. She’d say …” That Lily was fighting the wrong battle. That her authority in this situation didn’t come from her badge, and her autonomy didn’t depend on opening a car door. That the president of the United States permitted others to open doors for him, and perhaps he knew more than Lily about the visual display of power and authority.

Grandmother could be exquisitely sarcastic even when she was all in Lily’s head.

In the end, Lily had agreed. Rule had taken damnably quick advantage of her agreement to expand on the theme. Somehow she’d agreed to let him carry her up the steepest part of the track.

She only wished that part was only staging. Very likely she’d need it.

She and Rule stepped up onto a wide strip of scruffy grass next to the road. Arjenie and Benedict moved to stand beside them. There was just enough room for the four of them to form a receiving line of sorts. Cullen remained in the car; this part of the show belonged to the two Chosens and their mates.

Doors opened in the four vehicles strung linearly along the curb behind theirs. Fit, attractive men got out.

It was hot. The reserve was far enough from the ocean to get little of its cooling benefit. The sun was high, well into the sweaty part of the day—not the optimal time for a run at Los Penaquitos. That, of course, was why they’d chosen this time. Fewer runners, dog walkers, and such would be around. But the warmth felt good on Lily’s bare legs.

It was funny, really. Lupi were big on formality, but they were also practical. They needed to blend in, so everyone was in shorts and tees and running shoes. Not that a woman with one arm in a sling looked ready for a good run, but she was blending as hard as she could.

The two closest men were those from the Impala. One—six foot, two-ten, buzzed hair—looked like a rent-a-thug. He remained by the car, his eyes as quick and observant as a cop’s. The other strode around the hood of the Impala quickly. He was tall with grizzled dark hair down to his shoulders and the sly, merry smile of a toddler snitching a cookie. He wore the raggediest pair of cutoffs imaginable— the threads looked ready to give up the struggle to remain intact—with a bright Hawaiian shirt, left open. His chest was narrow, but nicely muscled. There was a faded button pinned to the collar of his shirt: make love, not war.

He looked over forty, which meant he was at least sixty and probably more. His voice was resonant as an actor’s. “This is your Chosen! Rule, you will introduce me at once so I can kiss her and make her forget all about you for a few beautiful moments.”

“Lily, the eternal adolescent in front of you is Myron Baker, Lu Nuncio of Kyffin,” Rule said. “Myron, I recommend you check with Lily first about any kissing.”

“My dear?” he said, eyebrows raised as he extended one hand.

Lily never objected to shaking hands. She encouraged it. So far all lupi felt pretty much the same to her Gift, save for the ever-exceptional Cullen—rather like fur and pine needles. Some were pinier, some furrier, and Rhos were distinctly warmer. But you never knew, did you? “Good to meet you, Myron.” She took his hand. Fur-and-pine, nothing more.

Instead of shaking it, Myron bowed with European grace, brushing his lips over the back of her hand. “Such a pleasure, Lily. And such a lovely name! Lilies are the most beautiful flowers in the garden.” He released her hand a second before she grew uncomfortable enough to tug it away and turned toward Benedict and Arjenie. “Benedict. Indomitable as always. But who is the lovely lady with you? Such hair!”

“Good question,” one of the men coming up behind him growled.

There were three of them, with their bodyguards fanned out several feet to their rear. Lily recognized two from photos Rule had shown her. The shortest and youngest one would be Javier Mendoza of Ybirra. He bore watching, and not because of his startling good looks—kind of like a Mexican Brad Pitt—but because of the intensity he radiated. Short fuse?

The man on his right was as average-looking as any lupus could be: five-ten, one-sixty, brown and brown, pale skin, apparent age maybe thirty. Lucas Demeny of Szøs looked like he would want to sell you insurance. The only striking thing about him was the beautiful way he moved.

According to Rule, Lucas was one of the top two-legged fighters in the clans. Also according to Rule, he was as different as it was possible to be from his brother Rikard—who had died last year in a fight with a couple dozen armed gangbangers who held Lily’s sister hostage.

The gangbangers hadn’t been a problem for the lupi. It was the ancient staff wielded by their leader that had done it for Rikard.

The man who’d spoken, though—who was he? Older than the rest, yes, she was pretty sure of that, though with lupi it was easy to get the age wrong. He was sandy all over—tan shorts, tan tank, and weathered skin a shade darker than his sand-colored hair. His eyes were a brilliant blue, unfaded by age. He was built like a battering ram, square and solid, with a beak of a nose, a pugnacious jaw, and thin lips currently twisted in a scowl.

“Well?” Sandyman demanded as he came to a stop. “Who is that woman? Why is she here? Why is Benedict standing at your side instead of falling back decently?”

Rule didn’t answer. Benedict did. “Edgar,” he rumbled, “I will not require your apology, but do not speak of Arjenie as if she weren’t standing in front of you.”

“What?” Edgar Whitman—the Wythe Rho, not the Lu Nuncio—stared at Benedict incredulously. Guards were supposed to be seen and not heard.

Benedict’s expression didn’t change. “I have the honor to present to all of you my Chosen, Arjenie Fox.”

“Hi,” Arjenie said brightly. “It’s good to meet you. We, uh … Benedict and I … the mate bond is very new, which I’m told means we can’t be apart by much distance at all, so I had to come, too. I do apologize for the intrusion.”

“Benedict!” Myron cried happily. He strode forward and slapped Benedict on the back. “This is marvelous! Fantastic!” He beamed at Arjenie. “Arjenie Fox, and with that hair! Amazing! You will allow me to welcome you properly.”

Arjenie beamed back. “I liked the way you greeted Lily.” She held out her hand.

As Myron bowed over it, Javier said in a low, angry voice, “You don’t expect us to believe that—”

“Javier,” Rule said softly, “pause and think before you say more.”

Amazingly, he did—though his expression retained more of volcano than thoughtful consideration.

Rule had told Lily that none would seriously doubt Benedict when he introduced Arjenie as his Chosen. They might be shocked—two Chosens for one man?—but it was unthinkable for any lupus to lie about that. Looked like Javier had gotten the memo, but needed to be reminded about the thinking part.

Edgar was still staring, gape-mouthed. Lucas spoke in a voice as calm as the others were not. “I’m delighted to meet you, Arjenie. A new Chosen is a blessing to us all.” He glanced at the simmering volcano beside him and added with a faintly chiding note, “Is that not true, Javier?”

Javier defeated Lily’s expectations by giving his head a little shake, which served to smooth his face into a smile. He’d been gorgeous before. The smile kicked him up nearly into Cullen territory. “Of course.” He offered Arjenie that smile. “Ybirra welcomes you, Ms. Fox.” He then turned it on Lily. “I’m afraid this unexpected gift from the Lady caused me to lose what poor manners I possess.” He glanced at Rule, one eyebrow cocked.

Rule performed introductions. Javier wanted Lily to know that Ybirra stood ready to avenge her injury. Lucas murmured conventional wishes for her speedy return to health. Lily thanked him and said she was sorry for the loss of his brother last year.

He smiled briefly. “My loss has been eased by time, and Rikard would have been delighted to go out in such a way. He lived large. It must have suited him to die large, also.”

The last one Rule introduced—and that must have been intentional—was Sandyman: “Edgar Whitman, Wythe’s Rho. Which brings us to an important question.”

Edgar waved that aside to tell Lily brusquely that Wythe did not tolerate violence to a Chosen, and he hoped she would recover quickly. He added curtly to Arjenie that Wythe rejoiced in the Lady’s gift. Arjenie looked incredulous, but nodded politely. Myron immediately reclaimed her attention.

“Two Chosens,” Edgar muttered, shaking his head. “Nokolai claims two Chosens.”

Rule was using his polite voice, the one so ostentatiously courteous it reminded Lily of Grandmother accepting tribute on her birthday. “We are amazed by the honor the Lady has done us. I am amazed by something else as well, Edgar. I hope Brian is well.”

“He will heal.” Edgar made a brushing gesture. “It’s a clan matter.”

Lily’s eyebrows rose. She was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to ask questions. She was also pretty sure a Chosen could get away with it. “Does that mean he was Challenged?”

Edgar flushed. Anger or embarrassment? Rule glanced at the car, nodded at Benedict, and gave a little jerk of his head.

Cullen climbed out of the Lincoln. Lucas greeted him with a single nod; the rest ignored him. Arjenie whispered quite audibly to Myron, “If you’ll excuse me? That means we have to go stand somewhere else now.”

Myron chuckled. “I believe you’re right. Silly custom, isn’t it?”

Benedict took Arjenie’s hand and led her to the spot he’d decided she should occupy between Lily and Cullen. Then he strode toward the other guards.

No one answered Lily’s question. She was about to repeat it when Lucas said mildly, “It would be very odd for a Lu Nuncio to fight a Challenge just before an heirs’ circle.”

Edgar’s color stayed high. “I do not discuss Wythe matters.”

“None of us would pry into an internal clan matter,” Javier said. “Unless someone means to call Edgar liar, we should drop the subject and proceed to the circle’s location.”

“But how odd it is,” Myron said, cocking his head to one side, “that Edgar didn’t inform us of this change ahead of time. Phone not working properly, Edgar?”

Javier frowned. “What does it matter? Rule has established most convincingly that a Rho may attend an heirs’ circle if his heir is unable to. He can’t very well turn around and protest Edgar’s presence now.”

“Nokolai is not the only clan here,” Lucas said in his mild way. “I, too, am puzzled at Edgar’s omission. Almost it seems he sought to take advantage of us with this … surprise.”

Edgar looked like he was going to explode. Instead he ducked his head a single time—not far, but baring the nape was an important cue for lupi. “I apologize. I apologize to all of you. I should have notified you I’d be replacing Brian, but I did not want any questions, you see? I am embarrassed.” He spread his hands widely. “Brian handled things poorly. You are right,” he said directly to Lucas. “No Challenge match should have been fought just before an heirs’ circle. If Brian placed me in the wrong with his actions, well, I compounded the wrong.”

“Is Brian well?” Rule asked again, but this time there was some warmth in his voice.

“He will heal,” Edgar said as he had before. “Enough about my scapegrace brother. We aren’t here to discuss him. Shall we proceed to the meeting place?”

“The man I sent to inform Etorri of our arrival hasn’t returned yet,” Rule said. “He should be here soon, though, and I prefer to hear from him before we go to the mesa.” He sent a long glance around the lot of them. “You will recall what I said about an enemy who may be aware of our meeting.”

“Certainly.” Javier had himself all smoothed out now. “You wanted the guards to be permitted weapons.” He shrugged. “It’s against tradition, and for little benefit. The mesa is the high ground. Even if your mysterious enemy is or can employ a sharpshooter, there will be nowhere for him to hide.”

“This mysterious enemy has a name. I shared it with you: Robert Friar. Among other things, I believe he was behind the attack on my Chosen. Because of one man’s sacrifice, the shooter failed. Friar dislikes failure. I believe he will try again.”

Every eye went to Lily.

Rule added quietly, “And while the mesa is the high ground, we have to get there.”

“We will keep Lily and Arjenie in our center,” Edgar said gruffly, “surrounded by bodies able to heal damage much better than theirs. If there really is any danger, both Chosens will be protected.”

Javier nodded. “Excellent idea, Edgar. Probably unnecessary, but none of us want to risk a Chosen. While we wait for the return of the Leidolf guard, we should make sure that all of us have honored the conditions of this meeting.”

Rule went still. “What do you mean?”

“I suggest our guards be searched.”

Rule’s eyes turned hard as glass. His upper lip lifted in a snarl. “I have had enough of poorly disguised insults. Call me liar or be quiet.”

Javier spread his hands. “I do not ask that you be searched, Rule. Lu Nuncios—and, of course, Edgar—will give our words that we are unarmed. That is for form only. None of us would go armed into a circle, I’m sure. But any of our guards might have grown worried, given your constant murmurings of danger, and decided to arm himself without our knowledge. Let us make sure, I say, that is all.”

For a moment Lily thought Rule would refuse. Or maybe punch Javier in the nose. Why this was a nearly intolerable insult when he’d taken other demands in stride, she didn’t know. Maybe the man smelled bad. “Very well,” he said at last, his voice cold enough to freeze the sweat on any sensible person. “Nokolai agrees, if the rest do.” He continued with arctic dryness, “I give my word I have no weapons on my person other than those bequeathed by the Lady.”

Cullen broke his long, uncharacteristic silence. “Excellent notion,” he said in a bright and silky voice. “I have a suggestion. We should all strip. Then no one need wonder what we might be hiding. I’ll go first.” Quick as a flash, he’d pulled his tank top off. It landed in the dirt. He toed off one of the disreputable Nikes he wore, then the other—no socks—and smiled sweetly as his hands went to the snap on his shorts. “Myron? Lucas? Javier? Who’s going to—”

“Call off your madman,” Edgar growled, “before he gets us all arrested.”

“Cullen.” Rule’s voice continued dry—but dry and amused now. “Perhaps that’s far enough.”

“Are you sure? I might have a grenade up my ass, after all. No way for anyone to know unless—”

“Enough.” Javier rolled his eyes. “As you stand in for the Rhej in the circle, we will accept your word, also.”

Cullen’s smile remained, but grew edges. You could cut yourself on a smile like that. “But not the guards’ words.”

“What does it matter?” Edgar demanded. “Wythe has nothing to hide. Robert!” He turned to face the guards spread out behind them. “Allow Benedict to search you.”

A lean blond man well over six feet with a hooked nose turned to face Benedict and held his arms straight out. Benedict didn’t move, didn’t so much as glance at him.

“If we’re going to do this,” Rule said, “best do it quickly. Wythe and Nokolai guards will search each other. Kyffin and Ybirra will do the same. When Scott returns, he and Lucas’s guard may ensure their mutual compliance. Agreed?”

“Foolishness,” Lucas said, “but very well. “

“Oh, all right,” Myron said. “Though Lucas is right—it’s a foolish sacrifice of dignity, which Billy possesses in much greater quantity than I, so I suppose he can spare a morsel of it. Billy! Please allow—ah, I think your name is Gil? Allow Gil to pat you down, then do the same for him.”

The man with the buzzed hair—who looked like he should be called Crusher or Bull, not Billy—moved toward the dark-skinned man on his left. Rule gave Benedict a nod.

George had waited with his arms outstretched. Benedict went to him. He was quick, efficient, and as thorough as one can be without the body cavity search Cullen had mockingly suggested. Within moments Benedict straightened. “Unless his phone transforms into a laser gun, he’s clean.”

“Permit him to assure himself that the same is true for you.”

Benedict looked bored. He tugged his T-shirt off over his head and held it out. “You’ll want to check that.”

The man took it, shook it, shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder.

Benedict hadn’t left him many places to look. His shorts were knee-length khaki. Unlike most of the others, he wore a belt with them. His phone was clipped to it. George patted Benedict’s hips and butt, paying attention to the pockets, and ran a couple fingers inside the waist of his shorts, then knelt on one knee. Apparently he meant to check Benedict’s socks and shoes, but Lily didn’t see what he actually did. George’s body blocked her from seeing his hands.

She saw Benedict’s face change, a subtle disturbance rippling through his features. Then Benedict roared.

And things went to hell really fast.