Conal started and turned his head. Darkbane rained violet sparks along his shoulders. “Ahh. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he fought down his defensive anger. Once the sword’s fireworks had dimmed and Arthur dropped his hand from his own, Conal returned his attention to his sister. “‘Wyn, I just want you and Aislyn safe. Surrounding you with Magekind is the best way to do the job.”
“And I just want to tell the public the truth. Or at least, as much of it as we know.” Branwyn huffed out a weary breath. “But you do realize this will make DCN a big fat target for the conspiracy theorists? Half the people in this country are not going to believe anything we broadcast anyway, so it’s not going to solve the problem.”
“No,” Arthur said, “but it’s a start.”
Chapter Three
At last the twins and their Familiars gated off to the Mageverse with Arthur, Gwen and Adam. Which left Conal to take up the slack for the next week or so. Hopefully, nothing too catastrophic would come up while he tried to do his sisters’ jobs as well as his own: run DCN, the Foundation, and Donovan International. The fun never ends.
Helena retreated to the guest room he’d given her to shower and change into clothes Liam had fetched from the palace. Conal followed suit in his own room -- he hadn’t craved a shower so desperately in years. He stood under the spray a long time, letting the hot water pelt him as he fought memories. Watching the werewolf bite into him as if he was an apple. Knowing without a doubt they were going to kill him.
Until Helena. The thundering booms. His torturer’s head exploding, splattering his face in blood and brain and bone fragments. Helena landing amid the larger male werewolves, utterly fearless, as elegantly terrifying as a tigress as she fought.
Watching her transform into a beautiful woman had been oddly shocking. She looked so lush in human form, so utterly feminine in her gestures, in the tilt of her head. The curve of that full mouth. The fact she could turn into seven feet of death and fangs amazed him. He’d be dead now if it weren’t for her.
The need to do something for her drove him to dress in jeans and a Henley and tackle dinner. New York might be the takeout capital of the free world, but sometimes cooking calmed Conal down when nothing else could. After what he’d endured today, he needed the peaceful routine of preparing a meal.
He’d equipped his kitchen to accommodate his culinary hobby, and the equipment in it had been known to make Michelin-star chefs greener than their own broccoli. Besides enough rust-colored marble prep space to land a 737, there was a Thermador gas stove and all the stainless steel appliances that went with it.
“That is a ridiculous quantity of meat,” Essus said, watching Conal apply a dry rub to the thickest steak he’d found in the freezer. “There’s no way that girl is going to eat half a cow.”
“She turns into seven feet of werewolf. Do you have any idea how many calories she must burn?”
“Good point. And that’s aside from fighting Siobhan’s pack of mad curs. What are you going to serve to drink with it? I was thinking the 1841 Vueve Clicquot Bono gave you…”
“Es, that’s a $34,000 bottle of champagne.”
“You’re breathing, Conal.” The eagle’s voice dropped. “And this afternoon, I was afraid you were going to stop.”
Meeting his friend’s golden eyes, Conal felt his throat tighten. Essus, too, had come entirely too close to dying. “Yeah. The Vueve would be perfect.” He headed into the pantry where he kept the bottles he saved for a special occasion.
* * *
He served the meal in the smaller of the apartment’s two dining areas. The bronze crystal topped table sat on a framework of narrow brass strips that matched those of white leather bowl-shaped chairs. A low centerpiece of honey star blooms breathed a delicate sweetness into the air, calibrated for a sensitive werewolf nose. Crystal goblets held the Clicquot, as the heavy silver scraped discreetly against gold-rimmed white plates.
Conal hadn’t put this much thought into meal presentation in years, and that included pitches for corporate acquisition or schmoozing Donovan Foundation donors. This was a hell of a lot more important to him. And he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Essus sat on one of his padded perches opposite Conal’s chair, adding a splash of vibrant color to the restrained elegance. Periodically, he’d bend to his plate to snap up a bite of the steak Conal had cut in convenient strips.
Helena, meanwhile, tucked into her food so hungrily, Conal was glad he’d given her the larger of the three steaks. Her long fingers moved with grace and precision as she cut into the meat, and he watched with absorbed interest whenever she took a bite. Her eyes drifted closed in appreciation, and he shifted restlessly in his chair. Like him, she wore jeans, though she’d paired it with a black T-shirt with an image of a wolf silhouetted against a full moon. “Embrace the Wild Life” curved around the image, written in a swirling gold font.
Love to, Conal thought. Which was when he realized he was getting an erection. Oh, great. Let’s sexually harass the werewolf bodyguard. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Conal scooted his chair a little closer to the table and tried to think about third-quarter profits. Numbers usually did a fairly good job distracting him at such times, but she had the most delicious scent… Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and to his shock, arousal turned them gold. I’m not the only one turned on. Intriguing thought.
She looked down as her fork stabbed into the piece of meat, lifting it to lips that glistened under dark red lipstick. Her eyes looked huge and dark in her lovely, angular face, and her rich brown skin had a sheen like satin. As a human, she was a lean, athletic woman around five-ten. As a wolf, she’d towered over him, her fur the same inky black as her human hair, though without as much curl. A thick black mane made her look almost leonine. She’d worn nothing except for the holster around her hips. All that fur grew a little longer over her groin and breasts, and it looked so soft, he’d wanted to touch it. It was always hard to tell, given bras, but in human form, her breasts looked like generous handfuls, tempting and soft. He wondered what color her nipples were.
Conal belatedly realized he was staring again, and snapped his gaze away. Heat flooded his cheeks, and he knew he was going scarlet. He had a lot of advantages as a billionaire white guy, but his reaction to acute embarrassment wasn’t one of them. And you’re leering at a woman who turns into a werewolf… Which triggered an instant horrifying flashback of teeth sinking into his chest like burning knives. Well, that takes care of the hard-on.
Either way, I don’t hit on people who work for me, Conal reminded himself savagely, taking a ferocious bite of his steak. He spent the next couple of minutes grimly attacking the meal until the silence grew a little too taut.
Helena looked up at him, a faint line between fine dark brows, as if noticing something off about his reaction. Conal groped through his desire-addled brain for acceptable conversation. “So… Why did you join the FBI?” Helena studied Conal for a moment before she answered, brown eyes intent. Was that lust? Or is she thinking about taking a bite? babbled some idiot mental voice. Shut up, he told the voice.
Chewing a bite of steak thoughtfully, Helena considered the question. “Watched too much X-Files when I was a kid.” Her teeth flashed, very white. “Now I am The X-Files.”