in awe. She has her father’s temper.”
Of course the members of the Company were more than just bodyguards. They were supernatural operatives, and the King of Marcari encouraged their participation where and when the international community needed them.
Faran was one of the Four Horsemen, the Company’s crack unit named after the riders of the Apocalypse: Death, Plague, Famine and War. Sam was called War and the doctor, Mark Winspear, Plague. Faran was Famine and the only one not a vampire. Jack Anderson—Death—had been killed in action. He’d been like the father Faran had never had.
Even one man down, the Horsemen were the best. They took the call after the CIA, the FBI, MI5 and all the rest of the big boys failed to get results. Then they slipped in and did what needed doing. They were ghosts, action heroes and James Bond all wrapped into one fabulous package—at least on a good day.
This had not been one of Faran’s better days. “I would have stayed, but silver bullets aren’t exactly my friends. Once I got the bleeding under control, I came back here.”
“I would think so.”
Faran slumped as far down in the armchair as he could without pulling his stitches. “Still, I hated to miss the punch line.”
The whole time he’d been in the reception room, Faran had felt his strength fading, his vision going dark. He’d been bleeding out, but every instinct had refused to let him show weakness. Not in front of the enemy.
Not in front of Lexie.
“You drove like that?” Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“I turned human first. Easier to reach the gas pedal.”
The vampire gave him a look. “I’m surprised you managed without passing out.”
Faran grunted. “Not a big deal.”
“Right. You could have asked for help.”
“Whatever.” Being the token werewolf in the group wasn’t easy. As tough as he was, keeping up with vampires demanded his best game. There’d been a few bad moments in the locker room when he’d struggled into his shirt. There were so many tiny movements that went unnoticed until a person had a hole ripped through his gut. And the walk to the parking garage a few streets away from the palace had been no treat, either. But he’d rather shave off his fur than admit it.
“Did anyone see you?”
“Chloe,” he answered automatically, but then he hesitated. “She was with Lexie.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Any problems there?”
“No.” Not in the way Sam meant. Lexie would never betray the fact that he was a werewolf. She’d been true to her word about keeping his nature and the Company a secret. By Company law, she should have had her memories wiped, but he hadn’t been able to ask that of her. Lexie clung fiercely to her independence, and obviously that included control over her memory. That bargain—her silence for his trust—was the one unbroken promise between them.
Faran leaned his head against the chair back, closing his eyes. “Lexie and I talked for a few minutes and then I left.”
Her voice—always low, always a little throaty—had resonated through him, stirring up the memory of so many midnight conversations. A hopeless, empty feeling yawned inside him, reminding him that she’d recoiled from the very core of what he was. Faran pressed his hand against the wound in his side, as if that would keep his soul, as well as blood, from leaking away.
He opened his eyes. Sam was watching him. Faran was used to the undead, but there was something about that motionless, storm-gray gaze that put him on the alert, predator to predator. “You’re giving me the vampire stink-eye.”
“I remember the mess you were in when you two broke it off before. Right now, we need your head in the game.”
Faran didn’t argue. “Not an issue. We’re barely on speaking terms.”
“She faced down men with guns for you. That took a lot of courage.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it.” He’d learned his lesson the first time. “Our love life was filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Sam didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. “Shall we move on to the hounds and bullets part of the entertainment?”
“Why not?”
“We need to talk about what happened tonight.”
“I’ve heard that one before, but the girl was half-naked and holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.”
“Don’t joke. Not now.” Sam’s worried expression sobered Faran.
Faran tried to sit straight and regretted it. “What’s up? Give me the quick and dirty version first.”
“The Vidonese insist on using their own security for the wedding. In fact, they’re insisting that the entire capital be patrolled by their own guard.”
“So where do we fit in that picture?”
“We don’t. No nonhumans allowed.”
Faran’s anxiety burst into full bloom. “That doesn’t sound like Prince Kyle. He likes us.”
“It’s not Kyle, it’s his father.” Sam pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Now that the prince and princess are uniting the two kingdoms, there has to be a compromise about the Company and the Knights of Vidon.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Company is banned from the palace. From the city itself.” Sam was expressionless, which usually meant he was about to explode.
“Since when?” Faran growled. “How come this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“No one knew. The kings signed the agreement earlier tonight, but their negotiations have been kept under wraps. No one could afford a leak, especially with all the international media around for the wedding. Both sides agree that the supernatural should remain a secret from the general population.”
“And this agreement is why the knights suddenly started shooting at us?”
“The Vidonese expected our resistance. Their orders were to clear us out, at gunpoint if necessary.”
And of course—knowing nothing about any agreement—the Company had fought back. Anger hunched Faran’s shoulders. “Did anyone plan on informing us we weren’t welcome anymore?”
“The king wanted to speak to us, and to Princess Amelie, himself. The Vidonese representatives agreed that would be best.”
“That’s not what happened. Amelie and Kyle looked as surprised as anyone else.”
“His Majesty was going to tell us tomorrow. But the order to treat the Company as hostile went out tonight. Vidon is claiming an administrative error.”
Faran
