Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X #1)(11)
Author: Richelle Mead

She strode forward and put herself in front of the EA man, who looked understandably startled to see her. “Stay back,” she warned him.

The Panamanians looked equally surprised, but then that soon changed to mockery. One of them said something that made the others laugh, though that ended abruptly when she shot forward and punched him in the face. He flew backward into the opposite brick wall, hitting with a thump and sliding dazed to the ground. A sharp kick made sure he stayed down, and then she turned on one of his stunned friends. None of them had any real training. They got by on intimidation and brute force, which wasn’t enough to overpower her. Mae’s greatest challenge came from the fifth and largest guy she fought, simply because of his size. He outweighed her, but her implant-enhanced speed and strength still prevailed. As soon as she managed to get him on the ground, it was easy enough to cling to him and bear down on his windpipe until he passed out.

When she stood up, she saw the last of the gangsters had bypassed her as she fought and had gone after the initial victim. The EA man was on the ground, holding up a warding hand at his attacker. In a flash, Mae was at their sides. She caught hold of the Panamanian kid—because really, that was all he was—and swung his head at the wall, knocking him out in one blow. Barely a minute, and the whole fight was over. Endorphins churned through her, making her high and giddy. That dark otherness that had seized her at the funeral swirled within her as well and then slowly lifted.

She looked down at the Easterner, who was looking back up at her with amazement. “Are you okay?” She held out a hand that he took after a few moments of hesitation.

“I—yes.” He got to his feet without much difficulty and stared around at the scene. “You were…amazing. And slightly terrifying. But mostly amazing.” He spoke English exactly as she did, with no discernible EA accent, but that wasn’t too surprising. Gemman children learned Mandarin in school, Easterners learned English, and diplomats from either country would especially have to excel at the other’s language.

She grinned, feeling high from both the fight and a sudden and unexpected physical attraction. Every man she’d met today paled beside this one.

“We have to stick together, right?” She nodded toward his jacket.

“Together…” He looked down, as though noticing his coat for the first time, and then finally recovered himself. “Yes, of course. Of course.” He turned his attention back to her and smiled, his confidence growing by leaps and bounds. “Do I get to know your name? Or are you going to vanish into the night and just leave me with a sweet memory?”

His smile was nice. Really nice. After growing up almost exclusively around blond hair and pale complexions, Mae had grown to love and crave darker looks. This man had typically plebeian tanned skin and black hair and the kind of features that came from three generations of ethnic mixing. A shadow of facial hair covered his jaw, giving him a sort of roguish appeal. It could have been from neglecting shaving, but there was a meticulousness to the rest of him that made her think it was probably there by design. A flush of new endorphins swept her as she took all of him in…the knowing eyes, the chiseled features. He was already dangerous enough, and that smile just sealed the deal.

She held out her hand. “Mae Koskinen.”

He took it and then hesitated. “I’m…Huan Korokov.” His hand was warm, and he continued holding hers as his dark gaze wrapped around her, in a way that was both intimate and provocative. “Nordic?”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. It was hard enough for Gemmans to distinguish her caste from all the other blond ones, and the EA had no comparable frame of reference. “How’d you know?”

He seemed very pleased with himself. “I know a Valkyrie when I see one.” He finally released her hand but stayed close. “What I don’t know is how a beautiful one came to save me. Are you military? Or just an avid self-defense fan?”

“Both.” She chose not to mention she was a prætorian. It unnerved people, even Gemmans and Easterners, and she didn’t want to undo the mood that had settled around them. Simply admitting to being a castal woman in the military was already odd enough, and she tried to gloss it over with the first moderately plausible story she could think of that would diminish her role. “I’m just here for a little while as research support to our military attaché.”

Too late, she realized acknowledging a connection to Gemman diplomats might not have been a good idea. If he was part of an EA delegation, he could have connections that would undo her lie. She tensed, waiting for him to ask if she knew so-and-so, but he let the matter go and simply said, “They’re training support staff pretty well these days.”

“They wouldn’t send us to the provinces if they didn’t,” she pointed out.

He gave the unconscious men one last curious look and then seemed to accept her story—or at least not feel like questioning it. Before he could say anything else, a streak of lightning cut the sky, followed instantly by deafening thunder and a downpour. Both of them moved toward the doorway and the shelter of the building, not that it did much good. Within seconds, Mae’s hair and dress were soaked. He glanced at the door and grimaced.

“You want to go somewhere else and get a drink? By which I mean, my place,” he added quickly. “No more of these dives. I’m sure you’ve had a lot of fun dodging fumbling provincial advances.”

“Sure,” she said. Maybe going off with a guy she’d just met would have been dangerous for most women, but Mae wasn’t most women. Besides, her gut told her he was safe, or at least safer than anyone else she was likely to run into tonight, and Cornelia had told her to take as long as she needed to deliver the message.

He led Mae back through the crowded club and out to the street. Those lined up to get inside were huddled against the building, trying to protect their party clothes as best they could from the rain. The sprawling apartment she was led to was only a few blocks away and was actually above another of Cristobal’s nightclubs. That club was in full swing too, and they could faintly hear music below them when they entered the apartment. The music faded to a dull beat as her companion shut the door.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s one of the downsides of this place. I can put on something else to cover it—unless you play.” He gestured toward a dusty piano on the far side of the living room and took off his coat, revealing a wine-stained shirt underneath.