Mad, Bad & Dangerous

the call.

A short time later, she changed her shape to match her new clothes, plumping up her breasts to fall out of the slutty corset, making her feet smaller to fit into the battered heeled boots, filling out her hips to make the flounced skirts sway. She erased all her scars, changed her face enough to look like a different person and added a beauty mark for good luck.

One of her purchases had been a hand mirror, and she peered into it. Dammit, but she could never change the color of her eyes, and her hair was damn stubborn about staying curly. Well, maybe that was to her advantage.

Rolling her clothes into a bundle, she stowed them under a trough and tucked her last purchase, the packet of gray powder recommended by Tyra, into her skirt pocket.

“Showtime,” she muttered to herself, and went back to the inn.

***

Bored within minutes, Bael wandered out to the stable yard to harass the kelfs a bit, then remembered Kett didn’t like it and headed to the inn’s tavern to sulk instead.

Maybe it wasn’t a kelf who killed my mother. Kett seemed so surprised by the idea, and Bael had to admit he’d never heard of another Nasc being seriously hurt by a kelf. But had his father-his brilliant, infallible father-really been wrong? Or had he been lying? And why?

Now Albhar seemed adamant it had really been this shapeshifter he was after. His former mentor had been rattling on about the poor creature for years, the one that got away, but he’d never accused it of murder before.

Idly, Bael wondered what he really wanted the creature for.

In his pocket, something vibrated. It was not an unpleasant sensation but it startled the hell out of him until he remembered the scryer Nuala had given him. He pulled it out and saw Albhar’s face.

The two of them stared at each other. His former tutor looked older, more grizzled than Bael remembered. His eyebrows appeared to have been singed in one of his endless, futile magical experiments. The man barely had the power to light a candle, but still he tried.

“Bael?” asked the old man eventually. “What the devil-how did you get one of these things?”

“It was a present,” Bael said defensively. Albhar always made him feel defensive, like a little boy still getting into trouble.

“From who?”

My mate’s stepmother. “Just a friend,” he said. “Did you want something?”

“No, I was just…well, I suppose I must have been thinking of you.” Bael began to smile at this admission, then abruptly scowled when Albhar continued, “Wondering when you were going to stop gallivanting around and show some damn responsibility for once. One of your houses burned down last year, boy, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I was just-look, I’m busy,” Bael snapped. “Don’t you have a shapeshifter to catch?”

“Oh, we do,” Albhar said. His faded eyes sparkled a bit. “Boy, when we find it, you’ll need to come home. You’ll need to see it.”

“Why?” Bael asked. “Because it killed my mother? My father always said a kelf did that.”

“Yes, well. You never liked kelfs anyway,” Albhar said vaguely. “Your father never did either.”

“No, I don’t suppose he did.” Bael ducked under a low door to the tavern’s dark interior, frowning. Nasc and kelfs, eternal enemies.

“But it was the shapeshifter, boy. I’m sure of that. If you find it you’ll bring it to us, won’t you?”

“How am I even supposed to know what I’m looking for?” Bael began, but Albhar cut him off.

“It’ll be the perfect revenge. Sacrificing it for your father’s ritual.”

“Sacrificing it? The ritual will kill it?”

“Oh yes.” Bael didn’t like the gleam in Albhar’s eyes. “Very much so. Everything will be better once we’ve caught it, boy.”

Unease tugged at Bael. “Don’t call me boy,” he said, and shoved the scryer back in his pocket. Albhar’s voice faded as the connection was lost.

“You look sad.”

He glanced up into the face of a young serving maid. She was wearing a corset laced obscenely tight, pushing her breasts up and out and right into his face. With a jug of beer in one hand and a damp cloth in the other, she smiled sympathetically at him as he took a seat.

“Want to talk about it?”

Bael shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, come on. A problem shared is a problem halved.” She started to wipe the table.

“I don’t think you’d understand.”

She cocked her head. “Why not? I’m a good listener, try me.”

Bael shoved a hand through his hair. “I’d rather wait until my mate gets back.”

“Your mate? Where’d he go?”

“He?” Bael stared at her a moment, then realized her mistake. “No, I don’t mean mate as in friend, I mean as in girlfriend. Wife.”

“You’re married?” She glanced at his hand, and he remembered the human custom of wearing rings to denote marriage.

“Yeah-well, it’s complicated,” he said, and she slid into the seat next to him.

“My name’s Marisa,” she said. “Tell me.”

Bael tried to put her off, but she kept topping up his beer and eventually he gave in. A little lightheaded from the unknown quantity of alcohol she’d been plying him with, he told her about being Nasc, and what having a mate really meant. It was incredibly unlikely she’d know anyone even remotely connected to Albhar or tell him Bael was Nasc. Albhar wasn’t stupid, he’d put two and two together.

Not that Bael didn’t trust Albhar, but sometimes things slipped out, and if those shady bastards with the Federacion knew there was a Nasc Mage about, his days would be numbered.

“So you really can’t have sex with anyone else?” Marisa asked, her eyes widening. Funny, she had silver eyes, like Kett’s. He’d thought they were unique to Kett and her father.

“Do you know Kett Almet?” he asked.

Marisa shrugged. “Don’t think so. Sounds foreign. Off-Realm?”

“Peneggan,” Bael agreed. “You have the same eyes as her.”

“Lots of people have gray eyes,” Marisa said.

“No, they’re silver.”

“No, they’re gray,” she said, her smile slipping a little. Then it returned. “Why, do you like silver eyes?”

“I do,” Bael said, thinking of the way Kett’s flashed and sparked.

Marisa placed her hand on his arm and a flash of heat zapped through Bael.

He nearly jumped off his chair.

“Hey, calm down,” she said, laughing. “I only touched your arm.” Leaning in close, she whispered, “Imagine what might happen if I touched you elsewhere.”

Bael reeled back. “No,” he said. “Nothing’s going to happen. I have a mate. I can’t have sex with anyone else.”

“Can’t?” Marisa pouted. “Or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he snapped.

Her fingers caressed his arm, sending sparks through him again. “I’ve never believed in ‘can’t’,” she purred, and before Bael could entirely realize what she was doing, she’d snaked one hand under the table and cupped his crotch, which responded enthusiastically.

“Mmm,” she said, fluttering her lashes at him. “Feels to me an awful lot like you can.”

Bael leapt to his feet so fast his chair fell over. People stared.

“Get off me,” he muttered, and fled the room. The walls rocked and swayed-how much had he had to drink?- and the stairs danced, uneven and badly laid. He stumbled along the wonky floor to his room and staggered