Cyrus interrupted me by taking a deep breath right beside my ear. “I’ve met half-Weres before and they smell human. Just human. They don’t smell familiar, like family, like home. Why do you?”
Before I could answer, his mouth came down on mine, warm with brandy and rich, sweet smoke, his hands sliding down to my hips, and for a moment, it was as perfect as if we’d never been apart. As if he’d spent the last six months mapping out my body every night. I’d never wanted anyone else like this, not even close.
It had been the original Bad Idea. I’d known it when I met him, known it when I kept going back, again and again, for glimpses into the Were world, for help with cases I couldn’t crack, for that intoxicating sense of belonging I got every time we were together. Known it when I seduced him for the first time.
I’d agonized over it for weeks, never having been with a Were, knowing damn well I shouldn’t be with this one, not even sure how to go about it as Were seduction techniques weren’t something I wanted to ask Mom about. In the end, the answer was simple: Just kiss him and strip him and let him take me to bed. Sleep beside him afterward, my face tight against his neck, the wild, unmistakable scent of clan engulfing me. Kiss his temple in the morning before getting up and steal his last doughnut on the way out the door.
It would have been a great recipe, except that I was a war mage and he was someone who took the law as a not-very-serious suggestion. Eventually, after my life imploded, I’d done the right thing and walked away. Because Cyrus on the side of law and order wasn’t happening, and I didn’t want to have to put my boyfriend away someday. Because it was already so hard to leave that it scared me. Because Cyrus had taught me that it was possible to never stop being friends and yet to end up enemies. And that walking away is sometimes the only way to stay sane.
“Anyone else would have been paired up almost immediately,” he murmured. “Why risk your life for the Corps? They don’t care if you live or die.”
“And you do?”
“Strangely enough, yes. Which is why you’re staying here.”
“I’m a war mage, Cyrus. I don’t need protection!”
“You do from Lobizón. If they kill you in some back alley, with no witnesses, they can deny it to the Corps. In the current situation, they’d probably get away with it. Not to mention that you’re a young woman who smells like clan: exactly the type going missing lately.”
“And you’re a Were. Just like those bodyguards that were killed!”
“Yes, except the only person I’m going to have to look out for is me.”
“You need me. If Were resources were enough to deal with this, they never would have called us in!”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’m not staying here,” I said flatly. And, fortunately, there was no way he could make me.
“You are if you want my help.” Except that one.
I’d seen his mouth set in that hard, tight line before, and decided not to waste more time arguing. “When will you be back?”
“That depends on how forthcoming my sources are.” Cyrus put a hand around the back of my head and rubbed his thumb along the side of my neck. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. And keep your head down.”
I waited until his footsteps had vanished. Then I waited some more, because there was a good chance that he was hanging around the parking lot to see if I’d follow. I switched channels to a Christmas special coming from somewhere with actual snow.
After sitting through two musical numbers, including a dog that barked “Jingle Bells” and an appropriately timed antacid commercial, I decided it had been long enough. A full moon illuminated the parking lot, but there weren’t any wolves prowling around. Of course, there wouldn’t have been even if Cyrus had still been there. The old stories are a myth, based on the writings of one screwy medieval monk: Weres can change at will. It’s one of the things that makes them so deadly.
I caught a cab back to Fremont, where my Christmas present to myself was safe in valet parking. Fortunately, old habits die hard and I’d tagged Cyrus at the motel. The little spell caused me to turn my beat-up Honda motorcycle, brand-new in 1983, in the direction of its faint tug from the East.
Tracking spells are useful but they only do so much. They usually get me to the right general area, but don’t tell me exactly where a person is. But I didn’t have a long search that time, because that road only led one place.
“Strictly Pleasure, where we’re strictest about ensuring your pleasure. What fantasy can we help you fulfill tonight?”
The woman who answered the door of the plain brick structure was young, Asian, and extremely pretty. Or, at least, I assumed she was. The silk-clad body had elegant curves and the dark hair was long and sleek. But the face was covered in enough makeup to make a geisha jealous.
“I’d like a Were. Female,” I said tersely.
“Of course.” She waved me into a vestibule with an adjacent small office. “Would you like a dom or a sub this evening?” I just looked at her. “That would be a sub, then. Do you have a preference as to species?”
“Wolf.”
“I’m sorry. We’re a little short on those lately. Will a wererat work for you? They’re very sturdy—can take almost as much pain as a wolf, and it’s been my experience that they heal even faster.”
That was a lie, but I didn’t call her on it. “I don’t know. Has she been here awhile?” I needed someone who might know what was going on.
The woman looked torn. She wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear, that the sex worker with whom I was contemplating spending my Christmas Eve was fresh and relatively untouched, or experienced and skilled. “She’s been here a few months,” she finally admitted. “But with their healing abilities, honestly, you can’t tell. She has almost no marks at all.”
Anything that would leave a permanent mark on a Were would have been lethal to a human. I made a note to file a report on Strictly Pleasure’s idea of safe working conditions. “I’ll take her.”
After the processing of my credit card and the reading of a few rules, which were repeated so fast that they were almost unintelligible, I was led down a corridor to “Jezebel’s” room. She turned out to be a short, muscular brunette with a dark tan and a world-weary demeanor that didn’t match her maybe twenty years. She didn’t look submissive, but I guess these things are relative, and I had asked for a Were. The room was a surprise, too, with a cluttered, college dorm feel, complete with rock-star posters on the wall, clothes dribbling out of an overstuffed wardrobe, and a Hello Kitty wall clock.
“You were expecting maybe a dungeon?” she asked, seeing my expression.
“Something like that.”
“They’re downstairs. Rent by the hour.”
“I’m just here to talk.”
“Dirty?” She sounded hopeful.
“Only if it includes information.”
The hopeful look was replaced by a frown. “What kind of information?”
“About Weres. Wolves, in particular.”
The frown became a scowl. “Why? What have they got that I don’t?”
That was the big question. “There aren’t any here, then?”
“Our last two wolf girls left a month ago.”
“Left for where?”
She shrugged. “One day, I got up and new people were moving into their rooms.”
“Is that normal?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”
“Is there any reason you shouldn’t tell me?”
“Is there any reason I should?” I took the hint and got out my wallet. Fifty bucks did the trick, mainly because she didn’t know much. “It was weird. Mostly, if someone gets lucky and a big shot wants to set her up on her own, everybody hears about it. One of the guys got a sweet deal a couple weeks ago, and he went on and on, like the rest of us were complete losers—”
“But these girls didn’t?”
“Nope. One day they’re here, next day they’re gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”