7
Because Geza wouldn’t takethe threat seriously, Surah had nochoice.
She went and told Malin…again. But she would be more careful with her words thistime.
To be fair, Malin was the eldest, their patriarch. Technically, he should have ruled if not for the manifestation of Ciodaru’s defective gene. So his anger, his counsel, still held weight. Maybe he could get Geza to see some sense. Besides, she’d run to him too many times growing up to just eliminate the habit in adulthood. Sometimes before a fight, sometimesafter.
Malin’s tastes were far less egalitarian than Surah's. She took the airtran to his neighborhood, where he lived in a three-story restored graystone mansion in the heart of the city, surrounded by other residences of equally wealthy individuals. The streets were the kind lined with centuries-old trees and silent except for the occasional bark of a dog being walked by a liveried servant. Tall, wrought iron gates swung open to allow Surah access as she approached, walking down a red brick, winding path to the front of the ‘house.’
Malin waited for her outside, expression a mixture of pain and curiosity. Surah frowned, falling into doctor mode. “When was the last time you took atablet?”
Malin grimaced, turning away. “Don’t plague me withthat.”
Surah inhaled, controlling the urge to insist Malin come into the office. The tablets should be working to minimize pain–if her stubborn patient bothered to take them. “They won’t work if you don’t takethem.”
They entered the house, Malin’s shoes–he abhorred sneakers–clicking on the polished tiles. Genuine candles gleamed in a theater-sized chandelier set high in the ceiling, proof Malin had at least one gargoyle on his payroll. But then, many of the family retainers had chosen to serve their originalPrince.
“They make me sleep,” Malinsaid.
“Is that so bad? You keep a human schedule anyway. Humans sleep atnight.”
Malin glanced at her, inscrutable and reached out, brushing her cheek with a finger. “I’m not human, sweet. Neither are you–notreally.”
Malin’s personal quarters, including a den the servants were barred from entering, were located on the third floor. They entered, Malin walking straight to the balcony doors to set them open. A need of his, Surah knew, to always feel the night breeze against his skin. And if Surah closed her eyes, sometimes she could feel the rush of wind through her nonexistent wings. She mentally distanced herself from the yearning this evening, already dealing with more emotion than she was comfortablehandling.
Wandering over to the corner bar, Surah perused the offerings available and was pleased to see a slightly salty Californian red she was fond of among bottles of sweet whites. She poured herself a generous glass, looking up to see Malin watching her, slanted eyes cool. But he saidnothing.
Surah held up the glass in a one-sided toast. Downed the contents and poured another, this time to savor. The first glass was medicinal, this second for pleasure. “After the day I’ve had, even you wouldn’t blameme.”
He paused before replying. “I noticed you are favoring yourknee.”
“Lavinia sent warriors to have me killed. Well, maybe she wasjust—”
Malin’s glass shattered. Membranous black wings dotted with flecks of silver like a night time sky burst from Malin’s back. He doubled over, body twisting as his anger spurred him into a change made painful by hisdisease.
“Malin! Calm down!” She rushed towards, him, grabbing the remnants of the wineglass from Malin’s hand, not thinking, then backed uprapidly.
Surah could only watch as the Prince’s gargoyle form straightened slowly, with the care of an old man. Taller by several inches, his shoulders carved from mountains, pearl gray skin gleamed in the soft lamp light. Dark waves brushed below his shoulders, untamed, framing a face as beautiful as it was savage, frightening with gleaming white fangs peeking from under his sensual mouth. She watched carefully as he flexed claws, rustled his wings to check theirstrength.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, anger in her quietstatement.
“You’re bleeding,” Malin replied, low voice guttural from theshift.
Surah cursed and shook her hand, dropping the glass like trash, droplets of red wine and blood perfuming the air. Malin was there, drawing a square, white napkin from a drawer and taking Surah's injured hand in his own. He wrapped the cloth around the hand, pressing it between his two, slightly larger, definitely more callused palms. Inhaling, she struggled to control the expression on her face. Tried to tug away, closing her eyes, but Malin held herfast.
“Be still,” hecommanded.
The royal line was weakening, no doubt. The entire race was weakening. Many magics they’d once mastered were long lost to them, and the remaining few greatly diminished until all that was really left was the ability to shift, and fly. Only centuries of obsession with species purity allowed even that. Many saw Ciodaru’s weakness as an indictment on the entire species. Regardless, though Malin was not the sorcerer he might have been were he born a thousand years ago, he could still, in bursts of unrestrained anger, manifest a kind of telekinesis that could momentarily discomfit an enemy. Or afriend.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, tugging. Malin’s eyes clashed with her own, a mental tug of war Surah had a feeling she would lose. Because if she were honest with herself, she craved Malin’s touch. Was glad for an opportunity to even hold his hand without having to explain herself. But it was toomuch.
“Malin, let mego.”
“What is wrong with you? You’reinjured.”
“Are you nuts? If we were on a training field, you’d have yelled at me for stopping over ascratch.”
Malin dropped Surah's hand and took a step back. “My apologies. I didn’t know my touch was so abhorrent toyou.”
