And she was, with no doubt, in heat.
I pivoted toward Rick, and pain flashed through me, as if I’d been socked in the gut. He was staring at the woman. The girl. I looked back at her. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. Her skin was dark, black as night, her hair lustrous and long, in a coil to the middle of her back. She wore a skirt in wildly patterned cloth, with a handkerchief hem, in reds and blues and purples. Her top was short sleeved, cropped to display her flat belly, the neckline round and gathered with a tie, which was open to reveal the curved tops of her breasts. The rounded mounds caught the lights, drawing the eye. Somehow I knew she was naked underneath the dress. That she would like nothing better than to toss the dress away and walk bare in the air currents and intense interest of the males.
The hot smell of her heat wrapped around me and tightened, and I was reminded of the snake thoughts from earlier. I couldn’t breathe. She was beautiful. Full lips, black skin, wide dark eyes, cheeks like perfect fruit, skin glistening with youth and health. I couldn’t breathe.
Rick stepped toward her. His face went slack and his eyes widened, like a sleepwalker or one who had been hypnotized. He took another step. Paka’s eyes found him and she smiled, her lips parting in a look that was pure sex, to reveal perfect teeth. She moved toward him, stretching out a hand. Magics tingled on the air, hot and sultry and sexual. Werecat magics.
Beast slammed into me. Mine! My mate!
“Not anymore,” I whispered back, feeling the shock of loss tingling through me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the words, spoken by Asad, “Paka. A rare unmated female discovered by the Party of African Weres. Paka agreed come to America, to provide succor to the only American black wereleopard, to assist the unmated male through the transition of his first change.”
“The kindness is appreciated,” Leo said. “Our leopard has experienced much pain since he was turned.”
A roar started in my head, the roar of angry wind. Of stormy waves. Our leopard? Closer, a low growl sounded. At my side, fingers gripped my arm, and I realized I was being physically held back. And that the growl was mine. I wanted to slash and draw blood. I felt the tips of my fingers burn as Beast’s claws once again forced through. My forearms ached as pelt broke the skin. I smelled my own blood as I clenched my clawed hands.
Mine. My mate.
Asad spoke again, and I heard his words through the roar. “The Party of African Weres believes that Paka’s heat will offer the American a mystic path through the transition, from his human form in which he is trapped, to his animal form. She is here to assist. And”—I could almost feel his smile of pride—“to be a prospective mate.”
I whirled and left the room.
• • •
Nearly half an hour later, I came to myself, my back to the house, my dancing shoes planted in the soil, in the middle of Leo’s back garden. It smelled of fresh flowers: the stock and alyssum of the ballroom, and spring roses and early jasmine. Herbs. Fertilizers. And the reek of loss and grief.
I didn’t smell blood except the stench of my own, so I hadn’t killed anyone. I had just . . . lost it. Rick had a prospective mate, a black wereleopard, like him.
I made fists at the thought. My hands were human again, but my fingertips ached when I released the fists. I took a breath and blew it out. And I thought of a string of curse words I might use, but none of them were bad enough. And no dang way was I gonna cry.
It was as if the universe had it out for us. Or God. But no way was I gonna blame God, no matter how much I wanted to. This fell under the category of “life happens and it ain’t always fair.” Something a housemother at the children’s home where I was raised might have said.
I huffed out another breath and forced my shoulders to relax. I had a job to do. A job that would let me use the pent-up energy, the anger that still crawled under my skin. A job that would let me focus on something other than my own unhappiness and the once-again-ex-boyfriend, becharmed by a lovely catwoman who was sex on a stick. My ear wire was hanging on my neck, and I slipped it back around my ear, positioned the mouthpiece in place, and tapped it. I got Angel Tit.
“Sorry I went all girly on you, Angel. Update.” And I was pleased that I sounded like myself and not as if I had been screaming at the moon.
His voice crisp, Angel said, “Leo and the werelions are chatting. Wrassler is still coordinating a room-by-room search for whatever knocked out our man. Shoffru and his nutso date are dancing. He has a lizard on his shoulder. A minute ago, the lizard reached up and bit his earlobe near the earring and held on, swaying like it was dancing with them. Tell me that isn’t weird. The lady cop is dancing with a vamp, and keeping an eye on Shoffru. I think she likes lizards.
“The blood bar has a line and Gee DiMercy sent some more humans in to speed things up. And Leo sent word by Wrassler, and I quote, ‘With the exception of the pirate, my petitioners will not swear to me tonight.’ That mean anything to you, Legs?”
The name Legs came through like an endearment, and though I knew Angel meant nothing of the sort by it, it made me blink against tears. “Yeah. Got it. It means the young vamps won’t swear to him tonight. The show is canceled. More?” And by more I meant Rick, but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name.
Angel didn’t hesitate or sound pitying, and for that I was grateful. “The PsyLED cop and the leopard and the little green kitten left in a black cab, out the front door. Wrassler saw to it.” Relief made my knees weak, but he wasn’t done. “He also sent out word that you were checking a problem out back with the bomb-sniffing dog.”
I felt my shoulders relax, steadied myself, and said, “Thank you.” It might be stupid to care what anyone thought about my abrupt vanishing act, but I did.
“Copy, Legs,” Angel Tit said gently. “You say. Copy.”
“Copy. And thank you.”
“Ooh-rah.”
I went back through the porte cochere as if I owned the place, pulling on Beast to lend me her cat’s grace and hunting calm. I had made a dramatic exit, I was certain, but if I entered seeming calm and centered, most of those who saw me leave would assume it was a security situation that called me away so fast, not a broken heart. It was stupid to appear weak in front of vamps. Weakness was a possibly deadly emotion, and I had a reputation to defend—the rep of a nonvamp who could beat Leo on the sparing room floor. Head up, I flowed down the hallway, looking neither right nor left, and stepped into the elevator. Appearing cool and collected would dispel or deflect many potential problems.
Just as the doors closed, a black form stepped in, the doors barely grazing him on either side. I caught his scent even as I drew a weapon and I looked up into warm brown eyes. I shoved the blade back into the special pocket sheath. The door sealed and the elevator moved. “Wondered where you were,” I said. “New tux?”
Bruiser smoothed a hand down the satiny black of his lapel. “Yes. I think we should dance.”
I don’t know why that simple statement brought my pain to the surface again. I looked down at the small floor space, as much to keep him from seeing the fresh misery in my eyes as to inspect the floor. “Not much room. Besides, I’m working.”
“So am I. And the location of our dance will be near the pirate and the traitor.” When I didn’t refuse or disagree, he went on. “When Shoffru goes to pledge to Leo, we will keep the defector company.”
I thought about that while I spoke of more important things. “Was Adrianna around New Orleans when Shoffru ran with Lafitte?”
An approving glint lit Bruiser’s eyes. “Oh yes. Adrianna ran with a fast crowd even then.”