Blood Song

was it. Which was so not like him that I was actual y taken aback. I tried to hide my surprise, but it

must’ve shown, because he answered me, his voice gruff with embarrassment.

“I had to pawn some of my stuff to pay for the ticket out.”

Wel , shit. I real y didn’t know what to say in response to that, so I kept my mouth shut. It just seemed

safer.

“Wel ? I showed you mine—” He made a gesture that was more a demand than an invitation. Which

was fair, I suppose. But I was almost embarrassed to show him. Steeling myself, I held open the jacket

and watched his eyes widen as he took inventory of my armament. “Damn, girl! And it doesn’t even

show.”

“Special tailoring and spel s on the jacket,” I admitted. “And I had the sleeves made wide enough that I

could draw my knives.” I did just that, pul ing one with a smooth, easy draw. I held it out to him hilt first.

Anybody else, I wouldn’t have shown the knives. They were a gift from Vicki and are valuable as hel .

The spel work on them is such that they rank as major magical artifacts. People have kil ed to get their

hands on that sort of thing. For me, though, they were a major part of my kit, because a single scratch

from the blade wil kil pretty much any of the monsters. I never wanted to get close enough to have to

use them, but I damned wel wanted to have them … just in case.

Bob let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hands over the polished wood handle. I was guessing he

was testing the spel work as wel but couldn’t be sure. “Damn, girl, you get the best toys.”

“Gift from Vicki,” I admitted.

He shook his head and passed the knife back with what was almost reverence. “Keep those out of

sight if you can. Don’t want to invite trouble.”

I just nodded my assent and thought about the possibility of trouble. Something about this job was

bugging me. (Other than the obvious demon thing.) It wasn’t obvious, just a pebble in your shoe kind of

thing. Bob had said he didn’t like the guy who’d interviewed him. I couldn’t say I disagreed. The guy I’d

talked to had been vague about details of the job to the point of being coy. I don’t like coy. He’d

answered my questions in ways that real y didn’t tel me much of anything. I’d come damned close to

rejecting the job.

And then there was the fact that I suspected I might have been chosen just because I was a woman,

to force Rezza into toeing his father’s progressive line.

Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when a woman is specifical y needed—you get a female client,

she needs someone who can check out the ladies’ room without problems, go into dressing rooms. But

that wasn’t what this was supposed to be.

“I feel better knowing you’re here.” Bob admitted quietly.

“Back atcha, big guy.”

The elevator bel rang. We stepped inside the elegantly appointed cabin. Pressing the button for the

top floor, I turned to face the front as the doors whooshed smoothly closed. When they reopened I

stepped into an expansive living space. One entire wal was a bank of windows, open to show a

panoramic view of the city lights sparkling below.

Stupid. Unless those windows were bul etproof, I could see three perfect spots for a sniper’s roost,

and that was without real y trying. I thought about the demon again. What if he was in the room with us

already? I needed to figure out a way to check each person. I couldn’t do it openly for fear of a violent

reaction with possible hostages. But leaking a little holy water onto my palm and then shaking hands

with everyone would just make it look like I had sweaty palms.

“You’re early.” The retainer repeated his earlier complaint. In photographs in my research file, he was

always just a pace behind the king, always with the same dour expression. I turned to face him, keeping

my expression neutral. He stepped away from a group of men standing by the bar. His voice was

disapproving. I’d thought that the photos just made him look cranky, but they’d only captured the real

him. I immediately felt sorry for whoever his significant other might be.

Standing at about five nine, he was a little bit shorter than me. I could tel he didn’t like it. He was

apparently used to looking down that beakish nose and glaring with those beady black eyes until the

person opposing him backed down. If that’s what he wanted, he’d picked the wrong girl. I wouldn’t start

trouble. Certainly not with a client. But I wouldn’t grovel or toady, either. Wouldn’t be much use as a

bodyguard if I did. I gave him the pleasant, not-quite-blank expression I reserve for difficult clients. He

didn’t seem to like that, either. Sometimes, you just can’t win. I held out my water-soaked hand. He

looked at it like it was a distasteful bug.

Crap. Now what?

I lowered my hand after a few awkward moments. There would be other opportunities before we left.

“I came in a little ahead of time to check the perimeter, meet up with the other guards, find out who’s

going to be in charge, and iron out the details.” I sounded polite, professional, without even a hint of

irritation or sarcasm. My gran would be so proud.

“I wil be in charge.”

The man who glided away from the bar spoke with a hint of an accent and more than a hint of

condescension. I recognized him from his pictures. The prince was six two and slender, he moved with

a sleek grace that should have been effeminate but wasn’t. He was wearing gray dress slacks with a

cream-colored silk shirt that had enough buttons left open to expose a lightly muscled but hairless

chest. His light brown curls were artful y mussed; his dark eyes narrowed with appraisal as he looked

me over from head to foot. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.

“Ultimately, of course”—I gave a respectful nod—“but general y with a multiperson team, there’s a

coordinator the other guards report to. I was wondering who that was going to be.”

He stopped, barely two inches away from me. I think he expected me to react. He was obviously

used to women reacting sexual y and men backing down. I didn’t do either. I simply stood my ground,

pleasant and impassive, waiting for him to respond. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say.

But maybe I was wrong. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot—

“I wil be in charge,” he repeated.

Apparently he was that much of an idiot. Oh joy. I cringed inwardly but kept my mouth shut, counting to

ten so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I could walk away from the job, but the money was damned

good and the connections were better. Any smal business grows by word-of-mouth referrals. Tick him

off and I could be going hungry for a long time. But it was tempting. Because his stupidity could get me

kil ed. On the other hand, Bob was here. He’d have my back—and I’d have his. Risking my life is part of

what I get paid for. And, again, I was going to be getting an almost obscene amount of money for this.

I glanced across the room to where the rest of the security team was standing. I mean, I couldn’t

actual y be the only person worried about this, the only one to notice the prince’s glassy,