Part 21 (1/2)

Zeid's brow popped up again. This time in surprise. ”They are mere tools to achieve larger ends.”

”Being?”

”That is where I require your help.”

Ah, now they were getting down to bra.s.s tacks. ”My help to do what?”

Zeid paused before looking Jeb directly in the eye, always a dangerous move from a fae. Many of them were masters at mind control and manipulation and used direct eye contact as windows to your mind. When he spoke again his voice sounded deeper, more m.u.f.fled, as though speaking through a dreamscape. ”Your children may need to be sacrificed to expose the traitor.”

Like h.e.l.l they would!

Jeb held his tongue though and stifled his thoughts. As a s.h.i.+fter he was as susceptible as the next being to fae persuasion, but as a shaman he could s.h.i.+eld himself somewhat. Since he was a Native American shaman, this fae from the old countries, including what was now the Middle East, did not necessarily know the full extent of Jeb's abilities. By the time Zeid learned, it would be too late. Jeb would have already acted.

”You hear my words,” Zeid continued, growing taller and broader, his shape becoming more fae and less human looking as he exerted his powers.

Jeb nodded, making sure the movement was slow and precise.

”Your son will be used to manipulate the Council into rash actions.”

Another nod. This one as stiff as before but not because Jeb was faking it. Fear welded the muscles of his neck until they felt rock hard.

”Your daughter may be able to save him. But she is the only one who can.”

Relief started flowing through Jeb. But the fae was not yet finished.

”But only one of them may live.”

CHAPTER 43.

I was outside and in Bran's car, which materialized from nowhere, not by magic but by valets, before I found my tongue. ”Why are you staying with me?”

Not what I meant to ask, but I blurted the words out before common sense reared its head. Only an idiot gnawed at the hand helping it. And right now Bran's hand was the only one a.s.sisting me.

His lips quirked up in a half smile as he steered his vehicle through the crazy Parisian traffic as he did everything else, with a.s.surance and smooth control.

No wonder the two of us could never find common ground. Our worlds were so different, and our personalities were at opposing ends of a spectrum. I was rash, he was rational. He acted with forethought, I ran off emotion. He used magic with deliberation and experience. I used magic as bombs to lob as a last ditch effort and hope I could clean up the mess afterwards.

”You're thinking too much,” he murmured beside me, as if he could read my tumbled thoughts.

”I have a lot to think about.” I folded my hands in my lap to control the craziness racing through me. Ling Mai. The Council. My dad. Oh, so don't go there. That betrayal cut the deepest in a day of betrayals.

Instead focus on the mundane, putting one foot in front of another. ”Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly looking around, watching Paris flash past.

”To feed you.”

I glanced at him, surprised my jaw wasn't unhinged it'd dropped so far. ”My world is imploding and you want to eat?”

He kept his eyes forward. ”When was the last time you had food?”

Who cared? I know I didn't as I realized the last meal I remembered was the croissants and fruit this morning. Also supplied by Bran if I recalled. What was he now, my caretaker? That would be the day.

As if summoned by my thoughts, or some spell Bran was casting, my stomach started rumbling.

”I thought so,” he said, all smugness.

Fine. I'd eat, but that didn't mean I'd be happy about it. But leave it to Bran to find the perfect place to fit my mood. A small hole-in-the-wall with three tables outside. We snagged one of them, out of the day-to-day bustle of people going about their lives, unaware of the danger in their midst. Danger such as me.

”Stop frowning,” Bran admonished after he ran a spate of French past the older woman taking our orders. I had no idea what we were going to get but I'm sure Bran knew what he was doing. In this at least.

I leaned across the table, my arms wrapped around my waist, not because I was cool as day eased into evening, but because I didn't trust my hands not to beat on his broad chest. ”What would you be doing if your world had just imploded?” I snarled, keeping my voice low.

He gave me one of those lord-to-peon looks he no doubt learned in the cradle and said, ”I'd be focused on how to fix the problem.”

”Which one?” I threw one hand before me. ”I'm no closer to helping Van. I don't even know if he's still alive. My . . .” I lowered my voice though it did nothing for the intensity of my tone. ”My team has thrown me to the wolves.”

”Technically it's to the Weres.”

Maybe I should beat him.

”Easy for you to joke.” I snapped back in my chair, too aware how fragile my hold on my emotions had become. ”It's not your world that's come cras.h.i.+ng down.”

Like a switch flicked off his shoulders tightened, the banked emotion in his eyes searing through me. ”You don't think I know exactly how you feel.”

By the Great Spirits, he was right. How stupid could I be? His cousin and nearest family, his only family for that matter, barely buried, his business in upheaval as he lost his CEO with her death, the publicity in the world's press that splashed his pain like so much spilled wine across the media. If anyone knew what I was going through he knew. But dwelling on that made him too approachable, too human, and I needed all the distance I could get from him emotionally. But fair was fair.

”You're right. You do know.” I scrubbed my hands across my face. ”I screwed this up, too.”

”Yes.”

Fortunately the waitress interrupted before I had to grovel more, though I deserved it. Short-sighted and callous.

He didn't throw my lack of awareness in my face, nor rub my nose in my apology, brief as it was. Instead he grabbed a slice of bread, cheese and some type of sliced thin meat and shoved it toward me. ”Eat first. Then we talk.”

Twenty minutes later I had to admit he was right. About the needing to eat part. Not that I was going to blurt that out. I'd probably send him into shock with too many admissions in one day.

Besides I think this was the first meal we'd ever shared together that was peaceful. Last meal we sat down to ended up with his freezing the whole room in place and us going our separate ways. Not that good a memory.

”You're looking pensive, now.” He crumbled his napkin and tossed it on the table. ”But you're no longer so pale.”

All I could think was that I can't be pale. I'm Native American.

”What are you thinking about?”

”How a person can never go back for a do-over.”