On the Edge (The Edge #1)(15)
Author: Ilona Andrews

"Don’t move," commanded a quiet voice.

Jack turned his head. A few yards away the blueblood stood at the edge of the lawn. The giddy relief that had filled Jack vanished. The blueblood was an enemy, too.

The man stepped forward. His fur cloak lay behind him in the grass. Smoothly he pulled a long, slender sword from the sheath at his waist. His eyes looked past Jack, at the two beasts.

"Back toward me very slowly," the blueblood said.

Jack remained put. The blueblood wanted Rose. He couldn’t be trusted.

The beasts advanced.

"I won’t hurt you," the man promised. "You must come closer. Now."

A scent drifted down from him, a light, spicy aroma of cloves.

The blueblood was human. The beasts were not.

Slowly, as if underwater, Jack took a step back.

The beasts stepped forward in unison.

"That’s it," the blueblood said. Jack clenched on to that voice and took another slow step.

The beasts moved closer.

A third step.

He saw the muscles bunch on their legs and knew they were about to charge.

"Run!" the blueblood barked and sprinted to him.

Jack dashed. He flew across the grass like there were wings on his feet. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the dark shapes veering to flank him. They would catch him, they would . . .

A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him forward, past the man into the grass. Jack rolled, coming to a crouch.

The left beast leapt into the air. The blueblood slashed with his sword, and two halves of a dark body fell into the grass, twitching. The blade shone again like a sliver of moonlight, and the second beast’s head bounced off the lawn.

The blueblood raised his hand and sank a short burst of white into the left beast, first one half, then the other. Acrid smoke rose, scratching the back of Jack’s throat. The beast’s legs stopped quivering.

The blueblood put another shot of white into the head of the second beast, turned, and bent down. Jack felt himself scooped off the ground, and he clutched onto the man’s neck. Enemy or friend, he didn’t care. The blueblood was warm and human, and he had a big sword.

"You did well," the blueblood said.

Jack held on tighter. His body shook and shivered, as if he were freezing.

Georgie ran off the porch and halted at the ward line, looking white enough to be dead.

The blueblood carried Jack to the line of wards and nodded at Georgie. "Move the rocks."

Georgie hesitated only for a minute.

FRIDAY, Rose murmured to herself, striding up the road to the house. Tomorrow was Friday, payday. She’d get her three hundred bucks and put some gas into the damn truck. Kitty ears or not, she wouldn’t go without gas again.

All afternoon she had been plagued by anxiety. It started the moment she watched the kids board the bus and kept building and building, until it blossomed into a full-blown dread. The kids were well equipped to handle two hours at home by themselves. They knew how to shoot both the rifle and a crossbow, and they were safe behind the wards. But the worry spurred her on, and a mile from the house, she shouldered her tote and broke into a jog. She turned onto their narrow dirt path and ran past the bushes and into the yard.

Three dark stains dotted the grass, smoking, spreading foul magic into the air. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut: the thick rotten stench of greasy roast burned over a fire and left to rot. Rose gagged and sprinted up the steps to the house. She tore the door open, cleared the living room, and burst into the kitchen.

The boys sat at the table, watching the blueblood noble at the stove. He held a frying pan in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other.

Rose barely noticed as her tote slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor, the gun making a dull clang.

The four of them stared at each other.

The blueblood flipped a pancake with a short toss of the pan.

Chapter 5

"YOU let him in?"

The boys cringed.

"Inside? Into our house?"

Georgie ducked as if she had thrown something at him.

"I’ll deal with you later." Rose fixed the blueblood with her gaze. "You – leave now."

He slid the pancake onto a three-inch-tall stack, dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl, sprinkled sugar onto the pancake, and looked at her brothers.

"The first rule of etiquette a boy learns when he’s about to enter society is that civility is due to all women. No provocation, no matter how unjust and rudely delivered, can validate a man who fails to treat a woman with anything less than utmost courtesy."

The boys hung on his every word. He glanced in her direction.

"I have met some incredibly unpleasant women, and I have never failed in this duty. But I must admit: your sister may prove my undoing."

Rose pulled the magic to her. "Get out."

He shook his head with a critical look on his face.

She clenched her fist. "You have ten seconds to exit my house, or I’ll fry you."

"If you try frying me, I’ll be seriously put out," he said. "Besides, pancakes taste much better fried, given that they are sweet and fluffy and I’m full of gristle. Would you like one?" He held the platter out to her.

The magic vibrated in her, ready to be released.

Jack slid off his chair and stood in front of the blueblood, blocking her.

"Move!"

"He saved me from the beasts," Jack said quietly.

"What beasts?"

"The beasts outside. They attacked me."

"How do you know he didn’t conjure the beasts in the first place?"

"To what purpose?" the blueblood asked.

"To get into the house!"

"And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?"

Rose halted. She wasn’t sure why he would want to do that. If there was something he hoped to gain by entering the house, she couldn’t think of it. "I don’t know," she said. "But I don’t trust you."

He nodded to the boys. "Start on the pancakes. Your sister and I need to have a talk." He moved toward her.

She raised her head. If he thought he could order her around in her own house, he was in for a hell of a surprise. "Fine. We’ll talk outside." Where Jack couldn’t shield him.

The blueblood nodded, sidestepped her with smooth grace, and held the front door open for her.

"Don’t hurt him, Rose!" Georgie said.

Jack looked like a wet kitten: miserable.

Rose marched onto the porch, shut both the door and the screen door firmly behind her, and pointed to the path. "Road’s that way."

He descended the steps. Without the cape, he didn’t seem quite as massive. The light, supple leather of his black jerkin hugged his broad, muscular back, which slimmed to a narrow waist caught by a leather belt, and long runner’s legs in gray pants and tall dark boots. His movements had a sure but light quality about them. He wasted no gesture, economical yet adroit, and as he walked across the grass to the smoking stains, she was reminded of her grandfather. Cletus had moved like that, with the agility of a natural fencer. But where her grandfather had been lean and relied on speed, the blueblood, while probably fast, looked very strong. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t jumped onto her Ford, the old truck would have crumpled around him like an empty soda can.