I turned around and walked out of the clearing.
“Alice?” Nick called after me.
“I need a minute,” I called back, waving my hand over my shoulder absently. “Don't worry, I know about the bandersnatch burrow.”
I wandered just a few feet away and found a convenient tree to lay my forehead against. The rough bark felt real, more real than this place had a right to be, and I placed my palms against it for good measure. Then a pair of strong hands folded over my shoulders. I was so startled that I swung about and flat-palmed a punch into my attacker's solar plexus.
Except he wasn't attacking me. The King of Spades had been trying to comfort me and had not been expecting me to attack him. Nonetheless, he responded with impressive speed; deflecting my punch with his wrist, and using my momentum to pull me off balance.
I teetered, he caught me, and I wound up in his embrace, staring up into his stunning eyes. I was so close that I could see striations of indigo and amethyst in them. Jaxon stared back at me, his eyes going liquid and his arms tightening. His smell hit me then: cedar and musk. I breathed in deep.
“Duke Theodore taught you well,” he whispered, his stare falling to my lips. “But I'm your ally, Alice. I swear to you; you're safe with me.”
“I know,” my voice had dropped to a low purr. “You just startled me.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” He smiled. “I only wanted to offer you some comfort.”
“I'm good.” I pushed out of his arms, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, and his eyes betrayed his disappointment for just a second. “It's been a rough day. I simply needed a few seconds to process.”
“I understand,” he said crisply. “Are you ready to return now? We have much to discuss.”
“Sure.”
I took King Jaxon's arm and let him escort me back to the Mad Tea Party
And here's a final look into the first book in the Spellsinger Series:
The Last Lullaby
Chapter One
I hunched my shoulders in an attempt to lift my coat collar a little higher around my ears. The weather in Seattle was dismal in December. Hell, in my opinion it was dismal during most times of the year. I longed for the kinder climate of my home, where even the rain was warm. But I couldn't go back to Hawaii yet, I still hadn't met with my client, and the payday for this job promised to be worth a little discomfort.
I finally made it to the top of the ridiculously long driveway, my eyes scanning the area surreptitiously from within the cashmere confines of my coat. I'd had the taxi drop me off a little ways down the street so I could do a bit of surveillance on my approach. Even in the gray, grim weather, there were at least eight guards spaced around the front of the house. One of them moved to intercept me, and I acted as if I hadn't seen him.
“Hold on, Miss. This is private property.” The overly muscled man in combat pants held a gloved palm out to me in the traditional “stop” gesture. I saw the gun on his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. That was mistake number one. I was in the driveway already, which made me a threat.
Bad guard, no biscuit.
“I'm expected.” I could have announced myself right then, but I wanted to test Adam MacLaine's security team.
That was my client, MacLaine–or he would be soon. If this guy was an accurate representation of MacLaine's security, it was a wonder the man wasn't dead already.
“Do we have a guest arriving today?” Mr. Combat Pants asked a little microphone clipped to his shirt.
He had to open his leather jacket to access the mic, giving me a flash of the knife he had secured to an inner pocket. Damn this guy was dumb. He even turned away from me to talk into his comm. Like he couldn't conceive of a woman being a threat. I could have killed him three times already. I suppose I should have berated him for his bad habits, but I hated doing other people's jobs. And it was definitely someone else's job to whip this guy into shape. The mere thought exhausted me. I do not suffer fools.
“Name?”
“What?” I asked, completely distracted by his ineptitude.
And the spaghetti stain on his shirt. It was nearly invisible from a distance, but now that I was up close and personal, I could clearly see the crusty red mark on the black fabric. So, a fool and a slob. Definitely not the type of man I'd have chosen to protect me.
“What's your name, Miss?” the slob asked.
“Tanager,” I said, whispering to see if he would make the mistake of coming in closer to hear me.
“What was that?” He sure did. He leaned in close enough for me to stab him in the throat.
Of course I would never deign to dirty my hands in such a manner. My mother raised me better than that. I killed like a lady.
“The name is Tanager,” I said more clearly. “And I'm cold.”
Whoever was on the other side of the microphone heard me, and must have barked something into the muscle-head's ear. He flinched, then straightened.
“Sorry, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered and gestured to the looming house. “My team wasn't notified. Go on in. Someone will meet you at the door.”
“Thank you, Mr. . . ?” I drew it out into a question.
“Uh, you can call me Jake, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered.
“Thank you, Jake.” I walked off, striding quickly to the beckoning warmth of the open
