I tried for a calm, bright, conversational tone. It came out a hell of a lot lower and quieter and huskier than I meant. Because at the moment, the only thing I could really think very much about was how much I wanted to toss her onto a bed and start ripping off clothing. There wasn’t any thought or emotion behind that drive—just the primal, physical need of a body screaming for satisfaction.
I wondered if she was feeling something similar.
Her pale eyes stared steadily at my face, and she looked like she was thinking about something else. It took her a moment to lick her lips and answer. “It’s … some of both. I can use it whenever I wish to. But I can’t always choose when not to use it.”
I swallowed. “Then get off me.” At least I’d gotten the words in the right order. “This is a business trip. I came here to try to find a way to help Thomas. Not to get frisky with an apex sexual predator.”
Lara blinked at me, and her eyes darkened by several shades. Her mouth turned up into a slow, genuine smile. “What did you call me?” she asked.
“You heard me,” I said.
Some of the tension eased out of her. A moment later, she flowed to her feet and withdrew a few steps from me. I had to force myself to leave my hands down, rather than grabbing at her clothes as she drew back. “Well,” she said. “You aren’t wrong.”
I exhaled slowly and clubbed the Winter mantle and its stupid primal drives back into the backseat. I wasn’t sure I was exactly relieved that Lara had withdrawn, but it was probably simpler that she had.
She turned away and said, “The more power one has, the less flexible it is, wizard.” She shook her head. “The White Court is mine. But I cannot lead it to its destruction over actions this reckless. Not even for my idiot brother.” She shook her head. “Unless things change, I will have no choice but to disavow him.”
“Without your support,” I said very quietly, “he has no chance at all.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled. Then she turned to me, her gaze intense, her eyes now a grey so deep that they were nearly blue, and said, “No, Harry. He still has one.”
I swallowed and said, “Oh.”
Me.
15
The Munstermobile wasn’t exactly designed for speed. It didn’t have power steering or power brakes—just power—and it got about two gallons to the mile.
I settled in for the drive back. Riley and the Machinegun Hummer Revue escorted me back to the front gates. I turned out of the estate and onto an unlit country road that would take me back to the highway. We’d reached the witching hour, and the summer night was overcast, pregnant with heat and rain that hadn’t fallen. The windows started steaming over as vampire Graceland receded behind me, and I cranked them down laboriously.
My brother was in trouble and Lara wasn’t going to be any help.
I thought furiously about how to get him out. The White Council wasn’t going to be of any use unless Lara went to them with a formal request—an action that would have to happen openly, and which Etri’s people would be sure to regard as a tacit admission of guilt regarding Thomas. Mab wouldn’t help Thomas. His only use to her was as a replacement Knight should anything happen to me, and she could have been deceiving me about that. She didn’t do things for the sake of kindness. If I was unable to show her the profit to Winter in saving my brother, she would care no more about him than about the floor she walked on.
My only two sources of diplomatic muscle weren’t going to be any help, and I was pretty sure that I couldn’t get into a fully on-alert svartalf stronghold and drag him out all by myself. That would be a suicide mission, just as Thomas’s had been. If I went in and took along friends for support, would it count as a murder-suicide?
God, I felt sick. And tired. Stupid cornerhounds. Stupid allergy meds.
What was I going to do?
My stomach rumbled. I debated hitting an all-night hamburger franchise when I got to the highway. On the one hand, my body definitely needed the fuel. On the other hand, my stomach felt like it would probably object to adding much of anything to it. I was fumbling in my pockets