INVISIBLE POWER BOOK TWO: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) Page 5

  Bran continued to stand, hands flattened against his desk, his knuckles white, the pulse point along his temple beating hard. “Is that what you came to discuss, Alex?”

  Damn. Just the way he said my name made my skin heat and my pulse kick into high gear. Which explained why my voice was a little tighter than I intended as I snapped, “Of course not. I expected no less of you.”

  He smiled, a real smile that crinkled the edges of those dark blue eyes and made him less arrogant warlock and more approachable lover.

  He so didn’t play fair.

  “So you have thought of me with other women already, Alex? You betray yourself.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” I wanted to jump to my feet to dispel some of the tension rocketing through me but that would put a lie to my next words. “I have more important things to focus on than you and your conquests.”

  He eased into his seat, his smile now mocking me. Warlocks learned arrogance in the cradle and Bran was no exception. Damn his hide, and his patience as he steepled his fingers before him, tapping his forefinger against his lips, waiting for me to speak first.

  As if I’d give him the satisfaction. On the other hand I could only stare at his fingers tapping against that sexy lower lip of his, again and again, and not turn into a needy puddle begging to taste him.

  Good thing Noziaks never surrendered.

  Instead I cleared my throat, leaned back in my chair as if I had all day and glanced at the windows before finding enough spine to meet Bran’s too-penetrating gaze. Only then did I demand, “How did you know Vaverek was ambushing us this morning? And why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

  “The option was always a possibility. It’s what I might have done myself. So I came to see for myself and informed you as soon as I was aware of the preternaturals surrounding you.”

  Believe him? Or not? Oh, the part about him being underhanded and devious was a given. It was the I-was-there-to-help-you part I had a hard time swallowing. Threatening to kill me last time we crossed paths tended to make me a bit more wary than usual.

  “And now?” I pushed.

  “Now?”

  “Now I want to know everything you know about Vaverek.” I didn’t mean to growl but it sure sounded that way as I gave up my pretense of calmness and jumped to my feet. I hated this strain between the two of us. Not that ours had ever been an easy relationship but now it felt like ice rain pelting me.

  “There’s something more at play here with Vaverek, but I don’t have all the details yet.”

  “Such as?”

  He paused, then continued, “Have you heard about the family in the 8th arrondissement?”

  “What family?” If he was trying to confuse me he was doing a great job.

  “Mother, father, two boys and an infant daughter appeared to have been attacked by a wild dog.” He looked at me as if waiting for something.

  “And this means what? That Paris needs more dog catchers?”

  “Don’t be flippant.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “They all died.”

  I unfurled my hands that I hadn’t realized I’d clenched. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

  “Think, Alex,” he almost growled the words. “What’s the likelihood of a whole family being savaged by a dog?”

  I paused, chewing over what he said. “Are you talking about a Were?”

  “Or shifter. . .”

  That had my back snapping straight. “Are you saying my brother Van?”

  “No.” Before I could inhale a breath, he pushed ahead. “My contacts indicate a shifter was used to attack the family, but he then killed himself, his human body being found a few blocks away. Only those who knew him connected his suicide back to the killing of the family.”

  “What does this have to do with Van?”

  “It has to do with Vaverek. It looks like he’s testing his drugs on preternaturals.”

  I swore I could hear the toll of death knells. If Van was held by Vaverek, how soon would it be before he was forced to do something that he could never recover from?

  I faced Bran head on, not caring if he heard the pleading in my voice. “I’m

  running out of time to save my brother. Why won’t you help?”

  “I am helping.” His words slapped like a wet towel against my bare skin. “But I won’t run head on into another ambush as you’re suggesting.”

  “I made no such suggestion.”

  He stood, barely holding in the pressure I could see building behind his rigid stance. “Vaverek is dangerous, but he’s nothing compared to the individuals behind him.”

  “I know that.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He lowered his voice until it stroked my awareness like heat lightening before a summer storm. “You’re acting like one of your American gunslingers, rushing in unprepared, and only by sheer luck do you come out without dying.”

  I walked up to the edge of his fancy huge desk, this time planting my hands on it, to give me support and to keep me from crawling across it to shake some sense into him. “Have you forgotten my brother’s life is at stake? I don’t have the luxury of sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, and—“ I waved my hands at the door where Miss Bonjour had just exited, “doing casting calls. Van is going to die if I don’t help him.”

  Bran leaned forward and I swore I could see steam rolling out of him. “Is that what you were doing this morning? When you used me? Tapped into my abilities?”

  So that was it. That’s what all this emotion hid. He was angry because I’d pulled power from him. To save the lives of my teammates. To save my life. And his too because he was there. Mister I’m-in-charge didn’t like not being the one in control.

  I straightened, brushing my palms against my jeans, corralling my own emotions so they wouldn’t betray me. Up until this moment, in spite of his threat to kill me, in spite of our differences, and in spite of everything I knew about him, knew about his kind, I had hoped a tiny kernel of hope that he would help me. That he, who valued family so much, would know why I was willing to risk everything to save Van.

  “What? No pithy comeback?” he said, his jaw so tight I was surprised it didn’t fracture. “No justification as to why you put all of us at risk to pull that stunt?”

  Stunt?

  “That wasn’t any stunt, Mister High-and-Mighty,” I snarled, stepping away to give myself breathing room. “What I did I’d do again to save lives.”

  “And if it had backfired? What then? You’d have left all of us vulnerable to attack with no abilities, no powers. You blindsided all of us, Alex. Can’t you see that?”

  “Yes.” The single word shot from me. As if I was so clueless. So uncaring. “But if I hadn’t acted you, and my teammates, would have been killed. So it was a risk I was willing to take.”

  He shook his head, his eyes darkening in color, his shoulders tensing. “Your risk. Your decision. I don’t know how you can call yourself a team member when you don’t have any idea what the word means.”

  Where was this coming from? I was a teammate. I was part of the IR Agency. And who the hell cared anyway?

  Not him obviously. He was just nursing a bruised ego.

  I didn’t have time for this crap. Or for him. I’d have to hunt for Van on my own without his contacts and assistance. I had to believe my team and I could find and nail Vaverek.

  But just as I was turning to storm out, his desk phone rang.

  For a second our gazes clashed. His unreadable. Mine no doubt looking as I felt—betrayed.

  As he reached for the phone I started walking across the expanse of his office, until his words stopped me. “She’s right here.”

  He thrust the handset toward me as if daring me to ignore it, and him.

  But who would call me here? No one knew where I was.

  I swallowed, a nervous betrayal of emotions and something I hoped he couldn’t see.

  Walking back to take that phone from him was as hard as facing down a raging rogue We
re who was trying to kill my brother.

  And look where that had got me—a life sentence in prison.

  “Hello?” I had to speak over the fist-sized lump in my throat. “Alex Noziak here. Who’s this?”

  “Ling Mai.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Bran jammed his hands in his pants pockets to keep from reaching for Alex. He had no idea who the hell was on the other end of the phone. He knew it was a woman but he didn’t know who or why they’d tracked Alex down here.

  All he knew was her skin had paled and the fiery emotions behind her eyes winked out and he wanted to grab her, pull her close, and protect her from whoever was on the other end of that line.

  No doubt he’d get his head bitten off for the gesture.

  Alex was the prickliest, most infuriating, most pig-headed woman he’d ever met and she continued to have him tied into knots even as he debated whether eliminating her might be the best approach to protecting her and everyone around her.

  Did she have any idea what she’d done this morning? Fairytales and ancient manuscripts spoke of the ability to steal and amplify others’ abilities, but he’d thought it was the stuff of legends.

  Now he knew better. He knew and feared. For her and because of her.

  Sacre bleu, the woman was going to be the death of him. But that’s not what had him awakening in the middle of the night in cold sweats, nor what was driving him to shout at her like a fishmonger’s wife. He feared she would be the death of herself. And that would be a loss he’d never recover from.

  “No.”

  “But I–“

  “If you’ll let me explain.”

  Each of her chopped words sounded softer and less acerbic and he doubted it was because he was in the room. From her body language he might have been another chair, an inanimate object that could be ignored. Witches could be like that—use you and then discard you. He knew that going into a relationship with her and yet it still blindsided him when she had manipulated him to get what she needed. Her and her team. The ‘greater’ good.

  He caught his hands curling and released them, out of sight of her. Not that she would notice. Alex Noziak was the most focused person he’d ever met, outside of himself. He had been a fool to get involved with her once. He was a bigger fool to still care now.

  “Yes, I’ll be there.” She spoke the words with the somber cadence of death bells ringing and replaced the phone in its cradle without looking at him.

  “Who was it?” he demanded, aware how close he was to losing his control.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  This wasn’t the spitfire, in-his-face Alex of a moment ago. The one who crashed his meeting like a heat-seeking missile and latched on to Guinevere Worthington as the target. An action that gave him the most hope in weeks that he wasn’t the only one hurting since their breakup.

  No, this Alex was pulled in, which wasn’t her way at all. Hurt or preparing herself for battle? Knowing Alex, it was probably the latter.

  As she reached for the closed door he stepped toward her. “Then tell me what they wanted? What they said.”

  She glanced at him then, the light behind her eyes only a pale flicker. “Not your business.” Her voice so low he rocked forward on the balls of his shoes to hear her.

  “Your brother?”

  It had to be. He knew that gutted feeling too well, with his cousin Dominique’s death still raw within him, even understanding at last that so much of their relationship was built on lies and manipulations.

  But Alex only shook her head.

  “Then what?” At this point he didn’t care if she heard his concern. She was shredding him.

  She continued to open the door as if he’d said nothing, pausing only long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. My problem, not yours. I’ll be out of your hair from now on.”

  What did she mean by that?

  He couldn’t ask, though, as she closed the door behind her. Not a slam, but a near-silent click.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. And as usual, Alex was at the heart of it.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wedging himself through the disgruntled and vocal crowds packing Orly Ouest arrival terminal was only one of the reasons Jeb Noziak detested flying. As an arriving passenger, and one with platinum status based on his connections with the Council of Seven, he’d not had to stagnate in the long lines waiting to pass security or to move almost anywhere within the terminal. A square-shouldered older male shifter had met him upon disembarking, grabbing Jeb’s carry-on luggage and acting as a battering ram, which helped Jeb move through the terminal as fast as possible to the town car waiting outside. Yet Jeb still felt the need to shower, and they hadn’t even braved the morning Paris traffic.

  The roar of arriving and departing jets, Frenchmen who had a love of leaning on their car horns, and the jerk of the motorway traffic had him leaning against the seatback cushion and closing his eyes, travel fatigue but mostly concern draining his energy.

  Astral traveling on the spirit plane took a lot less wear on his body and usually sufficed when communicating with Philippe. So what was different this time? And why had his friend sounded so worried over the phone?

  Though maybe Jeb was reading his own concerns and fears into Philippe’s voice. Somewhere beyond the tinted vehicle windows Van was being held hostage in this city. That was the last information Jeb had received, two, or was it three days ago now? With that realization Jeb jerked forward, his earlier exhaustion giving way to anger, an anger that had no release.

  Van had known what he was getting into working with the hush-hush NATO organization on behalf of an equally hush-hush US agency. His son was smart, resourceful, and strong. But damnit, that didn’t mean that Jeb still didn’t worry. Worry and feel next to useless. While he was here he would find the time to nose around, use the resources given him as a shaman to ferret out some news. Any news had to be better than this useless waiting.

  Now he must be circumspect. But once his son was found. . . after that . . . those who did this to Van would pay.

  As the town car glided up to Philippe’s pied-à-terre, located in an old stone building close to the Trocadero and with a bird’s eye view of the Eiffel Tower, Jeb wondered, not for the first time, why Philippe didn’t resign his position on the Council and retire to his much larger, and much older estate in Provence.

  Jeb loved the 16th century country chateau, not for its age or elegance, but for the fact it was surrounded by land, something he valued over a pretentious address. The private but tiny garden located in the town apartment was the difference between having a cat box and having sixty acres.

  He sighed as he exited the car, stretching his legs in the process. He, more than most, understood that once a Council member always a Council member, unless sidelined by serious health issues. Since all the members possessed preternatural abilities, including longevity and superb health, the last member who’d voluntarily resigned had been sometime in the 1500’s and then the reason was madness, a side effect of age in some vampires and druids.

  But Philippe was still in the prime of his life, being a little less than three hundred years old.

  No, Jeb’s friend would never give up his seat on the Council, no matter how much bickering and infighting he had to referee.

  A butler who looked part fae with perhaps an element of selkie, opened the main door and waved Jeb and his shifter driver now valet inside to the hushed foyer. Not large but filled with exquisite antique furniture several generations older than the eighteenth century building.

  “Would Monsieur wish to freshen up in his room before meeting with the Master?”

  The man’s accent sounded middle eastern, which surprised Jeb as Philippe was a Francophile through and through.

  “Where is your Master? Is he on the premises?” he asked, aware the shifter waited in the doorway leading to the single guest bedroom. Philippe valued his privacy as much as he valued his antiques. It was only in the last ye
ar or two that he had allowed one of the side rooms to be converted into a room for the butler. Otherwise the smallness of the apartment gave Philippe the excuse he often needed to not host more-out-of-town Council guests or casual dinner meetings. The fact Jeb was always welcome had actually been a sore point with some of the other Council members who felt slighted. Their problem, and Philippe’s, not Jeb’s.

  The butler nodded toward the living room and the French doors open beyond it. “Monsieur waits for you in the garden.”

  His friend must truly be distressed to be at his home during the day instead of the suite of rooms used by the Council as their primary offices. Their main headquarters were a best-kept secret in the foothills of Rockport, Missouri, but most major cities held at least one place to assemble in case the group, or even members of the group, needed to gather. A minimum of three Council members were required to be present to handle small issues, so if the issue was regional, the member who lived on the continent where the transgression occurred would host any other two members available to sit in on the session. All seven needed to be in attendance on issues that impacted preternaturals worldwide, and for the yearly summit which was held in Rockport.

  Jeb nodded at the shifter. “Drop off my bag in my room.” He thought he saw something pass across the man’s expression but it could have been a trick of the light. Turning to the butler he added, “I’ll be joining Monsieur Philippe outside.”

  The butler nodded and moved forward to show Jeb the way, though he could have found his own way, the garden being one of the few places in Paris he enjoyed. He could have even predicted the linden tree Philippe would have been standing under, but not that the Frenchmen would be with another, and with a pose of tension and discord marring his patrician features.

  It was the other, a younger male, who arrested Jeb’s attention. The man could not have looked more different than Philippe, with an open expression, laugh lines bracketing his eyes, a smile resting lightly on his face, and a build that was shorter and stockier than the Frenchman’s. An athlete’s stockiness, with wide shoulders and muscles that looked as if he used them. A Gene Kelly build versus a Fred Astaire look.