Courts and Cabals 2 by G.S. D'Moore (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📗

“I see you, little Fae,” the S’s were elongated as a forked tongue slipped out of the woman’s mouth. “And I can smell you,” her lips pulled back to reveal teeth built to rend flesh from bone. As if to emphasize that point, she chomped them down with a quick clack that echoed through both realms. “Come back and I’ll taste you.”

Despite knowing the woman couldn’t touch her between, and therefore couldn’t make good on her threats, Aveena still got the hell out of there. She knew when she was outmatched, and although it was a blow to her ego, it was clear following the pixie’s trail was a dead end. On to Plan B.

“How the fuck did we miss a dragon living down the street from the academy?” she grumbled as she turned stepping into running. At that rate, it would take her under an hour to get to Vegas.

***

Vernon rounded the corner, his combat boots making a slight squishing noise on the plush carpet. To his nose, he still smelled like the spilled fuel from the car wreck at the T-intersection. He smelled like Becky’s blood from where he’d helped rescue her from near death. He smelled like the charred bodies of roasted changelings, and could still feel the aroma of death from the imp who’d had his heart ripped from his body like that poor son of a bitch in Temple of Doom.

His jaw was set, and his eyes stared straight ahead. Anyone who happened to be in the office after eight skittered out of his way like cockroaches caught in the sunlight. He was on the warpath, and anyone with a brain knew it.

The Director’s door loomed at the end of the hallway. Her receptionist saw him coming, and her face paled. She started to get out of her chair to intercept him, but thought better of it when his eyes shifted to her. She saw the rage boiling just beneath the surface. She was only human after all, and he could tear through her before she even knew what happened.

Vernon reached the door and gripped the handle hard enough the metal warped . . . but he didn’t yank it open and march in. Every fiber of his being ordered him to do just that, and stick his foot so far up the Director’s wrinkly ass that she’d never sit down right again. Still, he paused. He clenched and unclenched his free hand until finally he took a step back. He’d been down this road before, and it didn’t end well.

He turned to face the frightened woman. “Please ask if she’ll see me. It’s urgent,” he ordered through gritted teeth, and emphasized the point by showing some fang.

He was so pissed he was having trouble controlling his shift. At the moment, his teeth were caught somewhere between human and wolf. They were too big for his mouth, and he could taste blood as he cut his own tongue and cheeks, but they were the least of his problems.

“Um . . . yes . . . certainly . . .” the receptionist fled for the safety of the Director’s office. Her reptilian brain seizing on the flight instinct when faced with a predator.

Vernon was a predator. They tended to forget it in the civilized halls of the United Nation’s New York HQ, but he reminded them of that tonight. More importantly, you don’t fuck with a predator on the hunt.

He fought down the surge of anger that threatened to burst through his restraint. He knew if he let the beast loose, he’d kill someone; but he couldn’t hold it on its leash forever. When he got the call from Commander Feng to stand down, he’d told the Echelon leader to go fuck himself. Becky had nearly been killed; his Becky. He wasn’t about to let a bunch of snot-nosed little pissants get away with nearly killing his Becky. His possessiveness of the mountain lion shifter didn’t bother him anymore. She was his. The wolf inside him demanded it.

Obviously, the echelon commander didn’t take it well. Vernon wasn’t as fast as the chopper, but he was stopped by some NYS troopers at a wall of fire. They told him they had orders not to let them pass. He responded by handcuffing them together with their own cuffs and locking them in the back of their patrol car. He’d have to answer to New York State for that, but no one wanted to deal with him until he’d calmed down.

Feng and his people landed their modified Blackhawk right on the interstate to confront him. Feng did the whole “you shall not pass” routine, and the Commander would make a decent Asian Gandalf. Vernon had been so close to fighting him after the scuffle with Charlotte. His blood was up, and his fuckbuddy was on a stretcher in the chopper, but he knew he couldn’t take the dragonspawn. He’d looked up what the Commander was capable of before confronting him, and that probably saved his life.

Instead of fisticuffs, the Commander expertly redirected Vernon’s anger. He was only now seeing the deflection, and it pissed him off even more he’d been manipulated so easily, but that’s what led them all back to HQ. The chopper had even activated its attached jet engines. He had no idea how the physics of that worked, but it got them to NYC in under twenty minutes.

He'd come straight to the Director’s office while a medical team grabbed Becky and loaded her on a stretcher for the UN’s healing mages to work on. Intellectually, he knew she was going to be fine, but seeing her lying there, shivering in pain, and totally defenseless was too much for him. He was ashamed he had to leave her side, but it was that or start ripping throats out. A doctor without a trachea wasn’t much good to