Page 4 of Shift in the Blood
The other thing about Maxim was that he was utterly, unabashedly, unapologetically ruthless. He did what he needed to do for his business, for his concerns. Nothing else mattered.
“Has he expressed an interest in the Laferriere exhibit?” My question was brusque.
“I don’t know,” Clara replied. “That’s above my pay grade. I also haven’t spoken with him in close to two weeks.”
“Merde,” I cursed under my breath. Maxim Popov was a complication I’d not expected. He wasn’t here, however. I’d scanned the room for any threats, Maxim or otherwise, when I’d entered. As a generous donor to this museum, I’d been able to come in and view the exhibit before the doors opened to the general public.
It angered me more that I hadn’t been apprised of Clara Manning’s ties to Maxim. My staff was not usually this lax in their research.
Which meant that Popov kept her very, very, very hidden. Which meant that he valued her.
If this was his man slinking around the room, there would be a fight.
The man in black continued moving along the edges of the room. I doubted the humans he passed even knew it. They might have felt a breeze that indicated his passing—but that would be it.
Where was he?
My eyes searched and found him, and as I’d suspected, it was a him. Silver glinted in his hand, and then was gone as he moved.
He had a knife.
I positioned myself in front of Clara. I didn’t know if this attack was meant for me, or for Clara, or for someone else I’d yet to identify, but she had just accepted my commission, and I wanted my forger safe.
Crouching slightly, I prepared myself for a fight.
The man made his way to the side of the room where I stood with Clara. If this was a human, he was using some form of magical enhancement.
As the man came closer, I pivoted to my left, putting myself between Clara and the approaching man.
Damn, he was fast.
He came away from the wall, his hand lifted, the silver I’d seen in his hand raised just enough to telegraph the threat.
I placed my hand on Clara’s waist to move her away, but the man moved faster than I expected. The knife came up a bit higher. Then it dropped, slashing horizontally in front of Clara’s face.
She shrieked, stumbling backward, her arms flailing out.
I pushed her away from me with one hand, and with the other, reached for the assassin in black. He twisted and aimed the knife at me, but I was able to bat the knife away as I broke his forearm.
Clara fell onto her backside, her shrieks growing louder, and then I smelled it.
The coppery tang of fresh human blood.
But not just any blood. A blood that smelled like the finest bouquet I’d ever smelled. One that made my mouth water, fangs drop, and… dear sweet Jesu… it couldn’t be.
My heart skipped, jumped, then thudded into life.
The last time my heart had done so had been the night that I died, that my human life came to an end. It had been so long since I’d heard the accompanying beat of my heart, I nearly didn’t recognize it.
I let go of the man’s arm—he was screaming silently, the pain so great that his breath literally disappeared—and grabbed his neck, squeezing quickly so that he fell to the ground, the snap of his neck lost in the growing noise coming from my forger, who also lay on the ground.
Bleeding.
It was her blood.
“Oh, my god!” a woman on the other side of Clara shrieked. “Call an ambulance!”
I looked into the woman’s eyes, allowing my ability to glamour to wash over her. “I’ve got her. I’ll take her to the hospital, and make sure that she’s all right.”
