Chapter 19
nineteen
If I have to choke down secondhand smoke in one more seedy bar, I’m going to tell him to take this shaman job and shove it.
Sophie shook water out of her hair—or tried to, at least. A day beginning in shock as she stared at a burned-out apartment building had devolved into a a patchwork of stale beer-smell, sticky floors, filthy bathrooms.. . oh, to hell with it all.
But she couldn’t very well protest. Her home was gone, including all her personal paperwork, and she was depending on Zach for everything.
She didn’t much like it, either. They’d explained at the shelter just how an abusive relationship started—how a man could isolate you from your friends and family, so you lost all sense of proportion and ended up thinking whatever he wanted to do to you was natural, normal, even right.
How do I know he didn’t bring those… those vampire things, too? Sophie picked her way after Zach’s broad back, most of her attention taken up with worrying until he stopped short and a low thrumming sound alerted her to the fact that the outside world was, indeed, going on without her.
Sophie looked up.
This bar seemed the same as every other puke-palace she’d suffered so far. Long, low, and dim even in the middle of the day, the only thing separating it from the others was the number of shapes inside. Who knew so many people drank during the day?
The only bright lights were over three pool tables to the rear, refracting through the rain spotting her glasses. The world was full of smudges and those weird ghost-smears, her hair was going to dry in a frizz-cloud, and good luck getting conditioner—unless Julia had some.
Why did he do that? He’d leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, then smelled her, an intimate little movement paired with an inhalation so deep she was surprised his ribs didn’t crack.
“Carcajou.” A low smoky male voice. “Well met.”
“Ursu.” The thrum under Zach’s tone wasn’t quite a growl. “Well met.”
The man clasping Zach’s forearm was simply huge.
He had wide muscled shoulders under a wine-colored rugby shirt, dark stubble on a strong-jawed face, and coal-dark eyes.
Feathers were tied into his hair, fluttering on a draft from the door Sophie was holding open; he loomed, slump-shouldered, over both of them.
The smell of this place hit the back of her throat like a shot of flaming whiskey.
The overwhelming impression was animal—healthy, glossy hides under a pale ghost of ancient cigarette smoke.
The confusion was immediate, her newly sensitive nose picking out at least a hundred different odors at once, connecting them to strange, vivid mental images of fur and teeth, muscular sleek sides, broad paws bearing claws.
The rush of pictures was so intense she actually rocked back on her heels.
“That’s a new shaman. Congratulations.” The huge man was looking straight at her, unblinking. “Welcome, sister. The spirits speak well of you.”
What am I supposed to say to that? “Hello,” she managed, faintly. He was just so big. And he looked dangerous—not in the sleek, supple way Zach did.
Someone so muscular could cause a great deal of damage without meaning to, just by walking past. She was suddenly very, very glad Zach was between her and the man.
They let go of each other’s forearms, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she glimpsed other people, all with that air of zinging vitality and danger.
A few women, mostly playing pool, who smelled like cats—slightly oily, dry, an impression of supple grace.
Some of the men smelled like the one who had greeted Zach, the others like different kinds of fur and wildness.
One tipped a shotglass of something far back, slammed it down, and gave her an odd salute.
He had little bones tied in his hair, clicking and clacking as he moved.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore. Sophie swallowed a lunatic laugh, edging closer to Zach. He was the only one who smelled familiar, and the musk he carried wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
“What a relief.” For the very first time, the perpetual worried edge fled Zach’s expression. The change was very nearly shocking. “I’ve got a bit of a problem—I’m hoping we might be able to find something out.”
“You mean about the price on your shaman’s head?” The big guy grinned, rolling those massive shoulders precisely once. “I’m Cullen, by the way.”
“Zach.” They grinned at each other, toothy white grins that oddly didn’t seem very friendly. Looked like nobody here needed braces. “I hadn’t heard there was a price.”
“Nobody in the Tribes would take it. But… well, why don’t you come in and sit down?
” Cullen’s gaze wandered away from Zach, and Sophie let go of the door.
The heavy swinging slab eased shut, latching with a small click.
Her eyes finished adapting to the dark, details rising from shadow.
She wanted to clean her damn glasses, but they might be back out in the rain soon anyway.
“Wait a second.” Her throat didn’t want to work properly. “A price on—”
“Just relax, Sophie.” Zach now sounded, of all things, almost bored. “You’re on Tribe turf. This is pretty much the safest place for you in the whole city.”
“You got that right.” The big guy’s grin widened and turned more genuine, lips sinking to cover most of his teeth. A rush of noise like crickets on a summer night filled her skull for a moment, and her vision did a funny double-trick.
A smear of fur over him resolved into a hump-shouldered bear, standing on its hind legs with nose lifted inquisitively, looking at her sidelong. And grinning at her, its tongue lolling fat, wet, and pink.
She backed up, moving so fast she barely felt it when her shoulders hit the door, and suddenly Zach blocked out most of the strange vision, his hands cupping her shoulders.
“Easy there,” he said softly, but over his shoulder the bear had turned back into a man, but still stared at her, chin lifted, broad nostrils flaring. “Sophie. Sophie.”
She tore her gaze away from the stranger with a wrenching effort, found herself staring at Zach instead. His eyes were dark and deep, gaze fixed on her face. That odd, heavy musk filled her nose, and her heart gave a high hard leap.
“I need you to be calm,” he murmured. “Otherwise we’re going to have a situation here.”
“She all right?” the bear-man asked, and a heavy sense of tension rode the smoke-ghosted air.
“Just peachy.” Zach kept staring into her eyes, almost as if willing her to do something. “Come on, Soph. Help me out here.”
You don’t get to nickname me yet. It’s Sophie, goddamn you. Her lungs also refused to work properly, and another panic attack threatened, her muscles on the verge of locking down.
“I thought you said this was safe,” she managed, a breathy whisper.
“It is safe.” He didn’t roll his eyes, but it was awful close, and for a moment he looked amazingly like Julia. The sibling resemblance was at once uncanny and comforting. “You’re with me.”
Oh, well, that’s all right, then. She swallowed another thin hysterical laugh.
She’d seen him change on a rooftop and take on three vampires, for God’s sake. A man who looked like a bear—who was a bear—was no sweat. Zero perspiration, as Lucy used to say.
Sophie hitched in a breath, found her lungs could get with the program. I can deal with this. I’ve got to deal with this. “Oh.” She searched for something to say. “Yeah. I’d forgotten that bit.”
“Is she all right?” the bear-man asked again.
Zach’s expression didn’t change. But she could feel him, again, willing her to buck up.
To help him out. She didn’t know quite what would happen if she said she wasn’t okay, but it probably wasn’t anything nice.
“I’m fine.” The words marched out confident, if a bit breathless.
“It just… a price on my head?” That’s news.
Zach’s nose wrinkled, a repressed wince. “I’ll explain.”
She nodded blankly, found herself staring at his mouth.
He’d kissed her—never mind that it was just a chaste press of closed lips.
If she could handle that, and handle the way he kept moving in on her now, his body inching into her personal space, she could certainly deal with a man turning into a bear, right?
“I will,” he repeated. Calm, even, unwavering. “I’m getting to the bottom of it. Just hang loose, okay?”
He was pleading with her, Sophie realized, and her head felt too light suddenly, stuffed full of that strange cricket-noise. “Okay,” her mouth said, without her prompting. “But we’re going to have to talk about this.”
“In a little bit. I promise.” His chin dipped, that soft curve of hair falling over his eyes, and she suddenly longed to push it away. Wondered what it would feel like.
She nodded. Her shoulders peeled away from the door; when she was steady he let go, finger by finger.
“You sure she’s okay?” The bear-man stood alert, tense, every hair quivering. She could smell the readiness on him, and a queer coldness that managed to be soothing. Like a snowy night, peace coating every edge with a soft white blanket.
“I’m all right,” she repeated—a touch more loudly, for his benefit. Zach’s mouth firmed, and she dropped her gaze since it didn’t seem polite to keep staring. A flush rose to her cheeks; a fresh swell of low whispers rolling through the room.
“Christ, she’s raw.” The bear-man shook his shaggy, feather-decked head. “Come in and have a drink, Carcajou—and keep her calm. I’ve got a whole barful of Tribe here, they won’t take kindly to a shaman losing her cool.”
I lost that a few days ago when Lucy bled to death. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back, either. Jesus. “I’m okay,” she repeated, numbly. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“They can smell otherwise, honey.” Zach half-turned, glanced across the bar. Everyone had gone still, even the women at the pool tables. “Just like I can. How much is she worth, Cullen?”