Chapter Thirty-Six
Doughnut holes?”
Cyrus flashed me a glance from over his shoulder.
He was facing the other kitchen counter, where the deep fryer sat, still dressed in the tee and butt-hugging jeans from before, but accessorized with the Big Bad Wolf apron one of the boys had gotten him as a joke, only to discover that he immediately loved it. “Kids like doughnuts.”
“And the...” I looked at the cooling rack where four golden loaves sat. “Pound cake?”
“It’s your favorite.”
“And the ice cream?” Because the electric ice cream maker was churning away as well.
“Can’t have cake and no ice cream.”
I hobbled over and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “I’m really lucky,” I whispered.
“Are you?” The back was stiff.
“Not many women get a gorgeous guy who can also cook.”
The stiffness did not change. “Well, it’s good that I’m useful for something.”
I let go. ‘Cause it’s hard to fight while snuggling, and we were obviously going to fight. “Okay, what?”
Cyrus carefully—too carefully—took up the golden brown sugar bombs with a slotted spatula and put them on a paper-towel-lined plate, before sifting more sugar, of the powdered kind, over the top.
His actions were spare, perfectly controlled, and well-thought-out, which was bad.
It meant he was having to exert effort not to throw the entire thing across the room and go hairy at the same time.
It meant he wasn’t upset; he was UPSET, and shit.
“Caleb have anything interesting to say?” he asked, his voice conversational.
“Yeah.”
That got me another glance, at least. I wondered if he’d expected me to deny it.
He switched off the fryer and turned to face me, with flour dusting the apron and the tee that was straining to contain all those sunbronzed muscles.
There was more flour on his nose and exasperation in his eyes, and that, plus tousled dark hair from running his hands through it, made me want to jump him, right then and there.
I refrained, as I was in no shape and he was in no mood.
“He said the last of Jenkin’s supply was destroyed in the attack,” I said. “So the only person who might have more is the Reaper, assuming we can get to him before the dark does.”
“We?”
“They want me on this.”
“Of course. And what did you tell him?” he asked, his jaw tight.
“The obvious.”
“Which is?”
I spread my hands, then had to clutch the counter with one to keep my balance.
“That I am out of this for the moment, and have no idea when that moment might end. That I’m not up to fighting a kitten right now, much less the prehistoric rage machines that are on the same trail that the Corps is.
And that I have my students to think about. ”
“And what else?” Cyrus crossed his arms because he knew me.
“I said I would follow up a lead—talking only—and see if I could get anything for the Corps to run down. But that was it.”
“What lead?” The dark eyes narrowed.
“Grocery store guy left something behind.” I held up the little evidence bag. “Caleb called them ghost beads, said they came off a protection charm. Thought I’d ask Sienna about them.”
“And say you find something. How, exactly, do you expect the Corps to ‘run anything down’ if there are Relics involved? We saw a perfect demonstration three nights ago of just how effective even senior mages are against us.”
“Against us?” I asked, my own eyes narrowing.
“Our kind.”
I frowned and sat at the kitchen table because my legs were feeling unsteady. “Our kind are Weres, not Relics, Cyrus.”
“We used to be Weres,” he corrected. “And still are. Just an earlier version. A fiercer one.”
I stared at him and wished I had coffee. There was some in the pot; I guessed he’d made it to go with the doughnuts, and he saw me looking. Before I could ask, I had a cup made the way I like it, and two still-hot sugar bombs placed in front of me on a napkin.
Feed the pack, I thought, watching the powdered sugar melt into the hot surface, but I didn’t eat anything.
“You sound pleased,” I said instead.
“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked. “You would be dead otherwise. That thing grabbed you and dragged you into the darkness of those stairs before I could react. Before any of us could. If you hadn’t been able to fight it, it would have killed you.
Or one of those other bastardized Relics, made from the skins of our people, would have done the job instead. As it is—”
“As it is,” I said flatly. “The Corps is reconsidering Jenkin’s plan, seeing us as the private army he was trying to create. They’re doing the same thing as Sebastian—”
“No, there’s an important difference.”
“Like what?”
Cyrus poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat opposite me. His hands held the thick-sided mug so carefully that it worried me. As if he was afraid that a sudden surge of emotion might break it. But what emotion?
Something was roiling right below the surface, but I no longer thought it was about me or even Caleb. I didn’t know what it was, but it scared me. “Cyrus?”
“Sebastian wants a strike force,” he said evenly. “A permanent one, to be at his beck and call. And while I’m sure Hargroves would take that as well, right now, he only wants help hunting down this Reaper.”
“You overheard that part.”
“Voices carry.”
Yeah, when an Alpha Were is straining his hearing to make damned sure they do. I just didn’t know why. “The point is, he expects us to fight these things,” I began.
“And is that so bad?”
“What?” I stared at him, caught completely off guard. “A minute ago, you were pissed that Caleb even dropped by! That he mentioned this to me. And you’ve spent the last four days throwing him out on his leather-covered backside—”
“And will happily do so again if need be. You’re in no shape to reenter the fight, and he has no business coming around here, trying to pull you back in. You’ve done enough, and more than! And you’re right; your students need you. But the rest of us—”
“What rest of us?”
He just looked at me.
“Cyrus! They’re children!”
“They’re not, though. There’s not one younger than the so-called war mages the Corps is training these days. Hell, some of your students are younger.”
“My students aren’t fighting Relics!”
“Because they can’t. But our boys...” He trailed off, and his jaw clenched again.
“What about them?” I demanded. “What the hell did he say on that phone call?”
Dark brown eyes met mine. “Sebastian laid down the law. Said we’re trying to have it both ways.
We’ve been treated like a senior clan so far, because we’re thought of as an offshoot of Arnou, as you said, not as an independent entity.
We’ve been allowed in high-level meetings, been privy to information most clans don’t have, been protected from other, predatory groups—“
“Protected?”
“He’s had Arnou guards watching the house.”
“Without telling us?”
“If we’re an offshoot of his clan, does he need to?”
“Damn it, Cyrus!”
“That’s his view, not mine. But we have taken his help with our new members, as well as a myriad of other things. But if we don’t want to be part of Arnou—”
“To fight for him, you mean.”
“Yes, then we’re on our own. Everything gets withdrawn, and we can sink or swim like any other clan.”
“And he expects us to sink.”
“No, he expects us to fold. To knuckle under and do what he wants, and add to his power base. He’s worried, Lia,” he added, seeing whatever was on my face right now, which probably wasn’t good. “He’s not thinking straight—”
“He is, though,” I said tightly. “He’s thinking like a king.”
Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Because yeah. “So we have to decide what to do. We can strike out on our own, and make our own rules—like you’ve been doing with your students. I heard you offered them full status.”
Damn. It was just all coming out today, wasn’t it? “I was going to tell you, as soon as we got a chance to talk.”
“I’m not upset,” he said calmly, enough so to make me blink. “You’re Lupa. You have that right, only in the future—”
“We need to work on our communication,” I said.
“Yes. But more importantly, we need to decide what we want to do about the big question—are we our own clan or are we not? And don’t answer before you think it through,” he added, because I’d been about to. “Really think it through.”
“Like you’ve been doing?” I guessed, hence the bakery that the kitchen was starting to resemble.
He nodded.
“Okay, so lay it out for me,” I said, sitting back.
He did the same, as if we were just relaxing in here, having a cup of Joe, and chatting. Not deciding the entire future of Fireborn. But we were, and it scared the shit out of me.
It must have him, too, because his face got that gaunt look it did when he was stressed. The kind that emphasized his bone structure and made him look even more handsome. But also pared down, leaner, and more angular, as if his human self was merging with the wolf, even without a Change.
“Lia, our people are still vargulfs in the eyes of pretty much everyone. You saw how they were treated at the ceremony, and I can assure you that it matches what they experience everywhere. People still cross the street to avoid them; still won’t touch or talk to them; still act like they have leprosy.
And while they can’t throw them out of their shops and businesses anymore, no one will wait on them. And that’s with Arnou’s sponsorship.”
“You think it will be worse without.”
“I know it will be worse. So do you. How many times have we seen smaller clans disappear, swallowed up by larger ones? How many times have we heard oily speeches to justify it in council—well, I have,” he added, because until recently, I was not a participant at such lofty gatherings.
“Without strong leadership, we preyed on each other. And that’s Were to Were. What about Were to vargulf?”
“You think we’ll be fighting either way,” I said, feeling it resonate through me.