Serpent's Kiss

THIRTEEN

I don’t have to stay in love with you, Carling thought as she smiled at Rune. Falling in love is just a passing realization. Merely the by-product of some brain-cooking heat shared with a world-class, five-star sexy male. Passion is a choice, and staying in love is a decision. I can walk away from you like I have had to walk away from virtually everything and everyone else, because only one thing holds true over time.

Nothing ever lasts and everything always changes. . . .

As if he could hear her thoughts, Rune’s handsome, wild face hardened. Then suddenly he blurred as he moved so fast, and he tackled her to the floor, and hell’s siren bells, she did not know how she had ever thought he had handled her with such delicate care, because he tore her caftan off of her body with such savagery she cried out, a sharp wordless sound that was cut off as he slammed his mouth down onto hers.

And she found herself shocked all over again at her own naiveté. She had thought that what had happened before in the lobby was apocalyptic, but it didn’t hold a candle to what erupted inside of her now.

Rune drove his tongue into her mouth, as he yanked at the fastening of his jeans. Naked at last and pinned with his body weight, she widened her legs and arched up to him. She raked fingernails down his broad back, scoring him as he rubbed the broad head of his erection at her slick entrance. The rich, burning liqueur scent of his blood filled the air. It smelled so intoxicating her mouth tingled, almost as if her fangs would descend.

She wanted to bite him. She wanted to bite. She growled, confused at the predatory impulses that had been dormant for so long, and he growled back as he grabbed hold of her hips and surged inside.

His penis was huge and his abrupt invasion of her body was so outrageous, she screamed into his mouth. Her feral response shuddered through him. When he would have pulled back to look at her, to check to see if she was all right, she sank her fists into his hair and held him to her, kissing him with such ferocity he lost track of everything except for the overwhelming need to drive into her.

He had to hand it to her, with a bow and flourish. It really was never anything mundane with her.

He withdrew, the slide liquid smooth and torturously tight, and he slammed into her again, into that lush velvet sheath, and he couldn’t get far enough inside so he ground against her pelvis, pushing harder. She bucked underneath him as another climax skyrocketed through her.

He felt her inner muscles start to spasm as she groaned into his mouth, and it was so fucking perfect and somehow so much more than what he had imagined, he was already climaxing as well, climaxing too soon even as he pulled out to slam back in again. He snarled in frustration against her lips, a raw guttural sound as animalistic as everything else they had done to each other, as he spilled into the clenched, welcoming bowl of her body.

Then silence sprinkled around them like the drift of winter snowfall, as they gripped each other with shaking limbs and tried to come back from the alien place they had just taken each other. Rune pulled his mouth away to press his cheek against hers, his eyes closed. Carling stared at the ceiling blindly. There was no making sense of what had just happened. It was as far outside of sensible as a person could go.

Say something. Her mouth worked.

“That was classy,” Carling said.

He reared his head back, his expression arrested.

Rune said, “Just wait until you see what I can do with the fancy stuff, like a bed.”

Their eyes met. She quirked an eyebrow at him. His sexy mouth twitched. Then they both exploded. He hugged her tight and rolled around the floor with her, laughing.

Listen to us, she thought. We sound drunk. We sound like crazy people. She clung to his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips, and her emotions careened on a ride that was some kind of mash-up between a spook house and a roller coaster.

Underneath Rune’s amusement, he studied himself with sharp attention. The hook was still in his gut, still yanking him forward to a strange, undefined place. He was not sated. His body screamed that he was dying of starvation, that he had not had nearly enough, that he needed to take her again and again, until she had given everything she had to him, until he had spilled everything he had into her, until he had given her everything he was. Even though he was still hard, he fought a vicious battle for control and forced himself to pull out. He hissed as his cock came free of her body.

For a moment he balanced on the knife edge between a passionate affair and mating. He clenched his arms around her and shook with the conflicting forces inside of him. He felt like he had slammed into some kind of crisis and he was being torn apart inside. Then somehow he managed to yank himself back from that final place.

I cannot mate with you, Rune thought as he kissed her temple and cradled her delicious, addicting body against his. I like you so terribly much, so much more than I ever thought I would, and I am even growing to love you, but I cannot throw my life away on something that cannot last, that has nowhere to go.

She sighed and leaned her face against him, and he steeled his still racing heart.

I cannot, darling, because you would never need me as much as I would need you. Your desire is beyond lovely, but it isn’t enough. I need to be needed. And I cannot become a supplicant to that kind of inequity and hope to survive.

Several minutes later, Rune let go of her to tuck himself back in his jeans and stand. Unself-conscious in her nudity, Carling curled like a cat on the floor and watched him. He prowled into a bedroom and returned with a complimentary hotel robe, which he handed to her. She sat, dragged it on and belted it.

Rune watched her with a moody expression but kept prowling restlessly around the room. She studied him thoughtfully. It was an interesting reaction to . . . well, to what she thought of as mind-blowing sex.

If she recalled right, and it had in fact been quite a long while, most men yawned, rolled over and went to sleep. Or they ran away. But what had just happened—both here on the floor and before, in the lobby—was beyond anything she had ever known. Since Rune was neither running away nor sleeping, she wasn’t actually sure she had done things right. She knew at the most mundane of times she got a bit too fierce for most people, and nothing of what had just happened between her and Rune could be called mundane.

And then something had happened to him, something profound and disturbing. His laughter had died away, and a strange conflict had raged through him. He was a man of intense emotion anyway, and both the intensity and the emotion were increasing, along with the flare-ups of aggression. Sometimes he looked at her and felt torn, and for the first time in a long time she regretted that age had turned her into a succubus, because no woman wanted to know her lover felt such things when he looked at her.

Maybe she should ask him what was wrong. Maybe she should tell him to go away.

Maybe the wisest thing she could do was wait, to see if he would tell her what he was feeling in his own time.

She rubbed her forehead and turned away to hide any sign of what she was thinking. Insecurity was vulnerability, even more so than desire, and the moon was no longer complicit in hiding her secrets. Unkind daylight exposed everything it touched, and the shy mist outside was burning away in the sun’s immolating light.

She looked around to take stock of her immediate life. “So much to do,” she muttered. “So little time.”

Didn’t that have a wicked ring of truth to it.

Outside the living room was a filigreed wrought-iron terrace, the city’s skyline clearly visible against a bright blue sky. The suite was elegantly decorated in muted gold and cream, offset with a blue couch. While the furniture was modern, the claw-foot design to the legs and the brocade cloth gave it a hint of old-world charm. A vase of fresh-cut flowers adorned a nearby dining table.

While pretty, the suite did not have the most durable of design themes. The angle of her mouth twisted as she remembered how she, her entourage and Tiago had trashed the Regent Hotel in Chicago. Perhaps the Fairmont would fare better.

She picked up the shreds of her caftan. There wasn’t even enough intact material to tie together in a temporary covering like the last one. She sighed, tossed it aside, and went to the couch where Rune had tossed their bags.

Rune stopped pacing. Sensing his scrutiny that was as intense as a physical touch, she kept her face averted. She hadn’t thought to stuff any clothes into her leather bag along with the journals, sketches and other items. She should have at least grabbed a change of clothes when she was at home, and now she had no personal servant to think of such matters. At least she’d had the forethought to tell them to send over some of her things. She pulled out Rune’s duffle.

“I have nothing to wear until Rufio sends my clothes over,” she said. “Literally nothing. We have things to do. We have phone calls to make, a medusa to consult, and I have a Djinn to summon, and God only knows what else we’ll have to do after that or where we’ll have to go.”

She jerked open his duffle bag and started to rummage through the contents. She pulled out a Ziploc bag filled with several green packets. She peered through the plastic. Wrigley’s chewing gum, spearmint flavored. She tossed the bag of gum onto the couch, reached into the duffle and dug out a book. Stephen King’s Christine. She threw that on the couch as well. What did he have in this bag that made it weigh so much?

Suddenly the wide expanse of his bare chest was in front of her. She tried not to notice or care, but with one thing and another, she hadn’t had enough time to give that bare chest the kind of close, leisurely attention she really wanted to. She kept her head lowered as her gaze wandered over the broad expanse of his muscled pectorals. His suntanned skin was a warn inviting brown, his darker flat nipples surrounded with the crisp hair that sprinkled the rest of his chest and arrowed down that long, ripped torso to disappear into the top of his zipped but still unfastened jeans. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She knew how warm his body was, and she was beginning to crave it like she craved the vivid warmth of a fire.

Rune rubbed her shoulders. He said soothingly, “Don’t worry, your horrible caftans will be here soon.”

“I am not worried, I am grumpy,” she announced. “Quit calling my caftans horrible.”

“I call them as I see them, baby,” he said. “Just as you did with the hairy man with spectacles.”

“If I never saw that T-shirt again, it would be too soon,” she told him.

“I see you understand exactly how I feel about those caftans.”

She glared at him. Was that amusement in his face? She dug into the duffle and pulled out a Glock. Ah, there began to be some explanation for the duffle bag’s weight. He must have half a dozen guns tossed in there, along with a couple of grenades, an assortment of cannonballs, and maybe a rocket launcher or two. She tossed the Glock onto the couch. She knew he had to have clothes stuffed somewhere in that duffle. She had to get to them sooner or later. She pulled out a pair of knives, rolled her eyes and tossed them after the Glock. “There’s got to be something in here I can put on, at least temporarily.”

“You can have anything you find in that bag that you take a fancy to,” he told her. “Including the hairy bespectacled T-shirt. But I only brought a few changes of clothing with me, and those are pretty much shot.”

“Figures,” she said in disgust. She dropped the duffle bag.

Rune said, “I was going to call the concierge and order some new things for myself. Why don’t you take a nice hot shower while I order some clothes for you that you might actually enjoy for a change?”

She raised her eyebrows. Standing under a hot cascade of water and washing her tangled, sandy hair sounded like bliss, but she had the suspicion he was managing her for reasons of his own. He had some kind of agenda. Her mouth pursed. “Do you want me out of the room?”

He said immediately, “Only so that I can order the kind of clothes for you that I would like without it turning into an argument.”

She regarded him warily. “You won’t order anything hairy or bespectacled?”

He burst out laughing, cupped her cheeks and kissed her, savoring the feel of her lips moving in response to his. At first she had kissed him awkwardly, as if she was unfamiliar with using her mouth in a gesture of affection, but she was a quick study and now she leaned into him and kissed him back with such sultry sensuous promise, he nearly dragged her back down to the floor to take her again. He only just barely managed to pull back.

He said huskily, “I promise. Nothing hairy or bespectacled.”

She had to admit, she was beginning to be intrigued by what he might buy for her. It would no doubt be horrible, like those clunky steel-toed boots he wore.

Surrender to the experience and change, hmm? She bit back a smile. Well, why the hell not? What difference did it make if she tried on new clothes? The thought of buying her clothes seemed to bring him a great deal of pleasure, and she found she enjoyed bringing him pleasure. Besides, who would care, if she died two weeks from now?

“All right,” she said. “You may order me something, if you like. If I don’t care for it, I can always wear my own clothes.”

“Of course,” he said. “What size do you wear?” He ran his hands down her sides to explore her narrow waist. “I’m guessing a size eight. Your shoe size?”

Then she did smile. “Six and a half, narrow. I don’t need to hear how you got so accurate at guessing women’s sizes. I can guess.”

“None of them meant a thing to me, darling,” he told her, his husky voice turning even deeper.

Hunger pulsed again, along with the urge to bite him. She managed to articulate, “I’m going to take that shower.”

“Have fun,” he told her. That dazed look on her face was so goddamn sexy. If they weren’t facing such serious issues, he would have offered to join her. He had gobbled her down and now he wanted to savor. The thought of standing under the spray of hot water with her and soaping those luscious curves he had barely had a chance to enjoy, let alone taste, made his groin tighten until he was in actual pain. But she was right, they had so much to do and so little time in which to do it. He gritted his teeth, took a step back and let her go.

Then because he was being so damn good, he gave himself a good-boy cookie and watched her beautifully rounded ass sway gently as she walked away from him. She looked like heaven and moved like sin. She stopped to swipe up one of the knives she had dropped on the couch, and his eyebrows shot up. He wondered what that was about. What an incomprehensible, crazy-hot wicked witch. She was like reading a murder mystery novel, all cliff-hangers and smoking guns, only she was so much more fun.

The suite had two bedrooms. She disappeared into the nearest one, and he forced himself to get relevant.

His first phone call should go toward the issue that would take the longest to accomplish. He used switchboard services to connect to the Illinois Cook County morgue then went through a long series of voice prompts until he reached the Medical Examiner’s Office of Paranormal Affairs. He had been prepared to leave a voicemail message, so he was pleasantly surprised when Seremela picked up and said, “Dr. Telemar speaking. Make it brief, or I’ll get bored and hang up on you.”

“Seremela,” Rune said. “How are you doing?”

The medusa’s voice warmed with surprised pleasure. “Rune! How nice to hear from you. I’m doing fine, thank you. Things have calmed down considerably around here. My office hasn’t seen a single dead body since the last time we talked. How are you? How was your trip to Adriyel?”

He smiled. That was her polite way of saying things had calmed down ever since Tiago and Niniane had left Chicago. “I’m doing well, thanks. Adriyel was eventful, but at least the coronation took place, and the last I heard, Niniane and Tiago were fine. Listen, I’m afraid I’ve got to cut right to the chase. I’m involved in an issue in San Francisco that’s turned urgent, and I was hoping you would be available for a consult.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Seremela said. “And you already know my workload here is less than hectic. What’s the issue?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone,” he said. “The consult would have to be in person. But you would be compensated handsomely for your time, and of course for all your travel expenses.” He would see to that personally. He waited a short time for her to process the request. Then he said, “I need you here quickly, Seremela. This is life or death.”

The sound of his own words punched him in the face. Fuck, it really was life or death. Carling’s life, Carling’s death. He broke into a cold sweat.

Don’t panic, son. Get things done.

The pleasure in Seremela’s voice turned somber. “Of course,” she said, so immediately he could have kissed her. “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. I’ll book the first flight I can get.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll charter something for you instead. It’ll get you here more quickly.”

“Guess I’d better hang up so I can go home and pack a bag,” Seremela said. “I’ll head straight for . . . O’Hare?”

“That’ll do. Give me a cell phone number so I can get in touch with you in transit if I have to.” She rattled off a series of digits, and he jotted them down. “Seremela. I’m going to owe you a big one. Thank you.”

“Forget about it, you’re welcome. Now get me that flight.”

She hung up, and Rune dialed Tucker, the Wyr-badger in Chicago who was on retainer to handle such local needs on short notice. A taciturn, rather unfriendly individual, Tucker worked well in isolation outside of the Wyr demesne. Rune didn’t bother to explain that he was acting outside of the Wyr demesne’s interests. He wasn’t sure Tucker would get the distinction, or care anyway.

The Wyr-badger listened as Rune explained what he needed. Then Tucker said, “What you’re really saying is you want me to get snakes on a plane.”

Rune coughed out a laugh. Tucker was so often surly, his odd, rare humor usually came as a surprise. “You are not at all PC, my friend.”

“That’s why I live all by myself.”

“I need this as fast as possible.”

“I’m on it.” Tucker hung up.

Rune moved on to other things. He called the concierge desk to request a personal shopper. He got connected with pleasing alacrity to a woman named Gia. He was in the process of explaining to her exactly what he wanted her to acquire when the call-waiting on the phone beeped. He switched the line over.

Tucker said, “Flight is chartered. A plane will be waiting for Dr. Telemar when she reaches the airport. The good doctor will be with you by evening.”

“Awesome.” The clench in his gut eased a bit.

“Just so you know, the company we use is wicked booked right now. I had to get them to bump a couple of other contracts to get a plane. This is going to cost you.”

“Cost is irrelevant,” Rune said. He switched back to the shopper, finished his order and hung up.

What did Carling want with that knife?

He ran his hands through his hair, and a knock sounded on the door. He strode over to answer it. A slender young woman with a sleek blonde pageboy, wearing a hotel uniform, stood smiling in the hall. When she caught sight of him, her smile died and her eyes went very wide. She looked poleaxed. She said, “Oh. My. God.”

“Sorry about that,” Rune said. “I should have put on a shirt.”

“Not on my account,” breathed the young woman. Her gaze fell as if under the weight of gravity and remained riveted on the trim waistline of his jeans.

“What can I do for you?” Rune said, impatient.

“Whatever you want,” she told him in a strangled whisper. Then her gaze flew up to his, as her cheeks turned a bright scarlet. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry. Don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? I could lose my job.”

“I won’t.” He smiled at her, in spite of himself. “What I meant to ask is, why are you here?”

“The assistant manager, Mr. Rowling, sent me up to warn you and Councillor Severan that several members of the press have arrived. He’s downstairs dealing with them now. He wanted you to know that if you would like some privacy when you need to leave the hotel, just call down and he’ll arrange for you and the Councillor to have access to one of the service entrances.”

“Thank him for us.” He emphasized the “us” and watched her face fall. “We’ll call ahead if we need to.” Although he had no intention of needing to. It was one of the reasons why he had booked a suite with a balcony. He immediately had his own private entrance. Given the limited space, takeoffs and landings called for some finesse, but it was well within his ability.

“Yes, sir.”

He closed the door and turned around to face the interior of the suite. Two bedrooms, two baths. He didn’t need to wait for Carling to finish before he took his shower.

But he was still curious about why she took that knife.

He raised his voice and called, “How are you doing in there?”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Carling called.

She had found the bedroom she had picked as elegantly decorated as the living room. There was another vase of fresh-cut flowers, the bed was made with French linens and another pair of French doors opened onto the wrought-iron balcony. The marble bathroom was large and as luxurious as the rest of the suite.

Carling stared at her reflection in the bathroom. She was halfway through cutting off her hair. She had luxuriated in the hot shower, soaping herself all over with the complimentary soaps and shampoo. Then she had toweled off, and considered the long wet tangled mess that hung down her back, and her without a brush. So she had reached for the knife.

She could only achieve a ragged cut without hair scissors, so she considered the teenage boy with the choppy hair style and tried to mimic that effect. She left just enough length so it could be restyled with more finesse at a later time. She finished quickly then fluffed the damp silky locks and considered the effect.

A stranger in the mirror looked back at her. The short ragged hair emphasized the stranger’s high cheekbones, full lips and narrow jaw, and turned her long dark eyes huge. After wearing the heavy waist-long length for so long, her head and neck felt so weightless it was dizzying.

It would do for now. She suffered yet another pang when she looked at the large pile of hair on the marble floor, but the sense of freedom was a much stronger lure. She smiled, shrugged on the hotel bathrobe and walked into the living room.

Rune stared at her, stunned. “Oh bloody hell, you didn’t,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look magnificent, but all that gorgeous hair.”

“It’s a season of change,” she said. And none of that hair was going to mean a blasted thing to her if she was dead, so she might as well enjoy the feeling of freedom while she could. “Who was at the door?”

“A hotel employee. The paparazzi have started to flock.”

“Of course they have.” She regarded him. “You haven’t showered yet.”

“I’ve been busy.” Rune grabbed a leather kit out of the duffle bag and gave Carling a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bloody fucking gorgeous, but fucking hell. I’m going to miss that hair. I’ll be five minutes. Wait to call the Djinn until I’m done, okay?”

Warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the physical, Carling touched his jaw in a brief caress. “All right.”

When he had left, she picked up her shredded caftan and looked around the living room for a wastebasket. She found one tucked discreetly under a table. When she pulled it out to stuff the caftan in it, she found a wadded-up piece of cloth already in the bin. Curiously, she pulled the cloth out and shook it open.

It was Rune’s T-shirt with the picture of the hairy man. What was his name again? Jerry Garcia. Rune had thrown his favorite shirt away when she wasn’t looking. He had to have done it just now, when she had been in the bathroom.

How about that.

She let the caftan fall into the wastebasket and pressed her hand to her mouth. She closed her eyes and put her face in the shirt. It was saturated with his masculine scent. She took several deep breaths. The worn cotton material was soft against her cheeks. Then she gently folded the shirt and tucked it into the bottom of her leather bag.

Rune was as good as his word. When he rejoined her, she had opened the balcony doors and was looking over San Francisco’s distinctive skyline.

He had forsaken the bloodstained jeans in favor of slipping on the other pair, dirty though they were, although he had elected to remain shirtless and shoeless for the moment. The sprinkle of hair on his chest was several shades darker than his tanned skin and still damp. His wet hair lay sleek against his strong, well-formed skull, and just a whiff of his clean, masculine scent was enough to make the backs of her knees tremble.

She struggled between pride and desire. But really, how much would she miss her pride in a few weeks when she was dead?

Even with that thought, it was still remarkably hard to do what she wanted. She jerked forward and hit an unreasoning wall of fear. She had to shove her way through it to reach Rune’s side. His arms were already going around her as she put her head on his shoulder and leaned against his chest.

That was what she wanted. Just that one thing, his arms around her while she rested her head on his chest, and reaching for it had been one of the hardest things she had ever done.

Rune put his cheek against the top of her head. The rough haircut had done startling things, like lend a hint of piquant charm to her face. The odd flash of fear in her eyes as she came toward him tore up his gut, somewhere deep inside where that fucking hook was embedded.

I’m so scared, she had said to him, back on the island. He could not imagine what it must be like to face the possibility of one’s death. The thought of facing Carling’s death . . . He couldn’t process the thought. His mind whited out.

“Rune,” she murmured.

He realized he had clamped around her with bone-bruising force, and he made himself ease up. He cleared his throat and said roughly, “Sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer her directly, mostly because he didn’t know if he was all right. “You need to call the Djinn. We need to get him looking for the knife.”

“Yes, of course we do.” She straightened and ran a hand through her short hair, making it spike all over.

She looked so rumpled and it was so unexpectedly adorable, Rune breathed between gritted teeth and pivoted sharply away. His hands shook. He felt like an addict looking to mainline his next fix. He was so busy fighting emotions that bucked like an untrained stallion that he missed the next thing that Carling whispered, although he felt her Power shoot out like an elegant, laser-focused spear.

A moment shivered. It held the trembling tension of a droplet of sweat about to fall from the Titan Atlas as he strained to hold up the world.

Then Rune sensed a maelstrom of energy streaming toward them from some undefined, faraway place. It tore through the open balcony doors and filled the suite with such a chaotic roar of Power, for a moment the walls of the massive hundred-and-ten-year-old hotel felt as thin, fragile and transparent as newspaper. Then the walls settled into place around them, and the Power coalesced into a defined point.

This was a very old, Powerful Djinn. This one was a prince among his people. Rune’s lips peeled back from his teeth in an instinctive snarl. He took a wider stance and braced himself against the cyclone’s presence.

The figure of a man formed in the room. Long raven-black hair whipped around an elegant, spare, pale inhuman face. Narrowed crystalline diamond eyes showed through the strands. The rest of his body solidified. He was easily as tall as Rune, with a lean graceful frame that matched his face. The male wore a simple black tunic and trousers, and a fierce regal pride. He gained form and substance.

The Djinn ignored Rune as if Rune didn’t exist. All of his attention focused on Carling.

Rune loathed the slippery-assed son of a bitch on sight.

Because, see, the thing about the Djinn, the really irritating thing about the Djinn, is that they could dematerialize at will at any time, so you could almost never get a good solid physical blow landed on one. And even if you did manage to get in a good crack, they were spirits of air that assumed the form of physical bodies like wearing a suit of disposable clothes, so you could almost never really hurt them. To battle the Djinn, you had to engage them in a Power struggle.

Rune knew very well how to fight Djinn, but it just didn’t have the same visceral satisfaction as planting a fist right in the kisser, the way he wanted to plant his knuckles in that handsome, too-perfect, regal, aloof face.

Carling turned to stare at Rune. Her expression was incredulous. She said, “Are you growling again?”

Rune glared at her. Her adorable goddamn hair was standing up all over the place, and she was wrapped in that god-damn hotel bathrobe like she might have just gotten out of bed after having sex. Somehow the modern setting—the hotel, the skyline, the fluffy robe—made her makeup-free face look naked. He snarled, “Why didn’t you wait to call him until we had gotten some goddamn clothes?”

Her mouth dropped open. “But you said—”

Seeing Carling flummoxed was a rare sight. It made her look even more adorable. He might have enjoyed the sight, if he hadn’t been possessed by a trumpeting, untrained stallion. He put his hands on his hips and roared, “forGet what I saId.”

The Djinn crossed his arms and raised a sleek black brow, looking so supercilious Rune started across the room toward him.

Suddenly Carling was there in front of him, impeding his path. She slapped her hands against his chest. He kept plowing forward, pushing against her strength, and her bare feet slid across the carpet. She said between her teeth, “I do not know why we are indulging in a fit of psychosis right now, but so help me, I will throw your crackbrained ass out the window if you don’t stop right there.”

The Djinn stared at them both. He smiled. He said, “I have seen this behavior in Wyr before.”

Glaring at him over Carling’s head, Rune spat words like they were bullets. “I want to know why you gave away three favors. And what Carling did for you.”

“Do you?” said the Djinn in a languorous drawl as he opened his diamond eyes wide. “Or you’ll do what?”