Yes, she realized as massive legs carried him/her/them along the cold pavement. Definitely this one was male. Though most of the demons she'd ridden in her misspent youth had been hermaphrodites, she'd hitched on an incubus once, so she knew: male felt different. It wasn't just the lack of breasts, or the sensation of an extra organ at the crotch—the younger demons came equipped with both kinds of genitals. And strength damn sure wasn't a sex-based characteristic, not with a demon.
But male felt different.
He stopped. He was looking at one house, a house she knew, even painted as it was in the lilac and beige of demon vision.
Washington. They were in Washington, D.C., and he/she/they were looking at Rule's house.
RULE hadn't taken his eyes off Brady. The man had obviously expected Victor's announcement, which gave weight to the "slide Brady in quickly" theory. But what did he hope to achieve by holding Rule here at gunpoint?
"Brady." Lily raised her voice. "Unless you're planning to shoot all three of us, you'd better put that up. I'm a cop. I don't take it well when someone draws on me."
"Draws what?" Brady's eyebrows flew up in a parody of innocent confusion. "I didn't draw anything. Did I?" He looked around, grinning.
Most of those nearest were melting back, leaving a small open space between them—except for a knot of about ten clustered around Brady.
"Been collecting a pack, Brady?" Cullen made sure that sounded like the insult it was.
Rule took the smooth, deadly slide into combat mode, where wolf and man melded. His thoughts were crisp, his goals clear: keep the others alive, kill Brady. "He has backup," he observed dispassionately, "and the others, even the ones who hate him, won't act. Not during the naming."
"I can take his toy away from him," Benedict said. "Little boys shouldn't be allowed to play with guns."
"Best if none of you move at all," Brady said. "Don't wave to a friend or scratch your nose. I might mistake it for a threat."
Rule switched to subvocal, pitching so low only Benedict and maybe Cullen could hear: Give me a second to get in front of Lily. If he gets a shot off—
Lily seemed to be reading his mind. She edged back—and with his peripheral vision he saw her reach inside her jacket.
"Uh, uh, uh!" Brady sighted down on Rule's forehead. "Unless you want to see how well your sweetie heals brain tissue."
Benedict considered that, gave a tiny shake of his head. He'd get you before I could stop him. We need him distracted for a second. Seabourne—
"Leidolf." Victor's voice rose over the clamor, addressing his clan. "If you wish to hear, be silent."
Cullen's voice, barely audible even to Rule: I can't throw fire without a gesture.
Victor cried out, "I name Alex Thibodaux as Lu Nuncio."
A many-throated roar rose from the crowd. Rule noted it without looking away from Brady—who, damn it, wasn't distracted. So this, too, he'd expected—but it made no sense. Thibodaux didn't carry the blood, couldn't hold the mantle, so unless Victor had lost his mind—
"Leidolf!" Victor shouted. "Silence! Alex is to be your new Lu Nuncio—not your heir."
What the hell—?
"I break with tradition, yes," Victor was saying. "But there is precedent. The heir does not have to be Lu Nuncio. I consulted our Rhej and my councilors. Etorri has no Lu Nuncio—"
"We are not Etorri!" someone shouted. Others began chanting, "Leidolf! Leidolf!" Still others shouted names: Reese. Thomas. Max. Phillip.
No one called out Brady's name. Why was he so damned smug?
Victor had to shout to be heard. "Twice Leidolf has separated the positions—when the blood had grown thin and there was no suitable heir strong enough to act as Lu Nuncio. It was temporary! Temporary," he repeated., his voice dropping as they quieted. "The blood has grown thin, Leidolf. And I am dying."
This time, he got silence. "You need a Lu Nuncio you trust. I give you Alex. If I still live after six months, I will call you here to invest the heir as Lu Nuncio. If not… you will need a Rho and a Lu Nuncio."
They listened now, intent and unmoving. Rule knew what they were thinking as clearly as if he'd been suddenly gifted with telepathy: that Victor meant to name Brady heir and hoped to make him more palatable by denying him the Lu Nuncio's authority.
If so, Victor's strategy had already failed. This was not the silence of assent, but that of a thousand hunters uncertain of their prey.
"We have several who may be able to carry the mantle," Victor went on. "I know—it grieves me, but I know—some of you do not want to see it go to my son. My only living son." His voice caught briefly. "So I bring to you another tradition. Though we have not followed it for many years, it is an ancient and honorable path. Rather than naming my heir, I will loose the mantle and let it choose."
That brought a buzzing of whispers and subvocalization. Leidolf was shocked, but this way, while very old indeed, was understandable to them. Though who would have thought Victor could surrender control to such a degree?
All at once Rule knew. His mind didn't leap from fact to fact, connecting them; he simply knew what Victor meant to do. Calmly he said to Benedict, Get Lily out of here. Now.
"Forget it," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."
His head swung toward her. "You heard me?"
"Of course I…" Her eyes widened. "Uh—you weren't talking out loud, were you?"
"Let those of the blood," Victor called, "all those of the blood, for two and three generations back, come forward!"
"That would be us," Brady said, grinning like a cat about to torment the mouse in its paws. "Cousin."
@ Ll LEI had not been born patient, but she'd had sufficient lessons in patience that she understood waiting. Best to ignore it. Having done what was necessary, she now paid attention to the present, and the things that mattered.
Such as winning. Toby looked very much like his father when he frowned that way. "You did well," she assured him. "You do not enjoy losing, but you played well. You may take the mah-jongg set upstairs now, to my room."
He grimaced, but obediently he began to gather the tiles, though he slid her the kind of look she used to see on her own son's face… and still did, at times. "At my house we have a rule that the winner puts the game up."
She didn't allow her mouth to smile, but knew her eyes were. She compensated by lifting both brows. "You are not in your house now, I believe."
He grinned but didn't argue. A good boy, she thought as he sprinted for the stairs. Spirited enough to push a little, to test, as the young should. Strong enough within himself that he didn't have to push.
"I almost had you," Steven Timms said. He leaned forward, careful of his cast, which was supported by a sling. "If I'd drawn—"
"Very little is won on 'if.' You held on to the red dragon too long."
Timms scowled. Like most men, he disliked being corrected. Li Qin said something soothing, so he turned to her and began telling her things she already knew about the game they'd just played. Not stupid things—simply unnecessary. Li Lei stopped listening.
Steven Timms had come to play mah-jongg every day after the beautiful Cullen left. True, she had told him to return; mah-jongg was better with four. But that was her reason. He thought he was protecting them, and he wanted his new friend to return and appreciate this.
On the surface, it was an odd bond. She had wondered if
Timms were a man lover who had conceived a passion for the beautiful Cullen but soon decided he was simply lonely. He was one of those who are very bright, but people blind.
Not in an evil way. True, he liked to shoot things—he was very boring on the subject—but he was not what Lily called a stone killer. He simply did not understand how to behave. He couldn't fathom the rules, how to be close to others instead of pushing them away.