Page 6 of Brushed By Moonlight

“Say again?” Roux frowned into the phone. “Wilhem-who?”

Six inches away from his broad chest, I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. His eyes caught on me, and he made one long, drawn-out sound. “Ohhhhh.”

He looked me up and down. Slowly. Disapprovingly — and frighteningly approving — at the same time.

“Wilhelmina,” I growled.

“She goes by Mina,” Bene called out, like we were old friends.

“Oh,” Roux said. Again.

Finally, he shrugged and spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you back.” He clicked it off, stuck it into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants — as if the bulging muscles underneath didn’t provide a sufficiently sculpted landscape — and gave me his undivided attention. Finally.

“Uh, hello. I’m Roux.”

“Pronounced like kangaroo, but spelled funny,” Bene interjected.

“He’s implying he can spell,” Henrik observed in a dry aside.

“Of course I can, Mr. T-R-A-N-S-Y-L-V-A-N-I-A.”

“Livonia. I come from the Duchy of Livonia,” Henrik corrected in a long-suffering tone.

Bene shrugged. “Whatever.”

I kept my arms crossed and my lips sealed. Twelve years of teaching middle school had helped me getangry silencedown to a science, and dealing with guys like this wasn’t much different from teaching fifth grade. I was used to handling unruly, immature, self-centered (and surprisingly lovable) little beasts. The trick was immediately establishing that I would not take any crap. I could be nice later…if I were so inclined.

“Uh, no offense,” Roux murmured, motioning around theunsuitableroom.

Much taken, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything.

“So…uh…” He struggled to fill the silence.

I spared him no mercy, letting the awkward silence stretch.

“Gordon said you were expecting us,” he tried.

I made a show of checking my watch.

He frowned, then looked at his own — one of those massive man-watches that could withstand a spacewalk or a dive to the depths of the Mariana Trench. The male version of a handbag, as my sister liked to joke. With that and the Swiss Army Knife he probably kept in one of those cargo pockets, he would feel prepared for any occasion.

“Told you we were early.” Bene motioned to Roux with his mug. “He’s always early.”

“Tigers,” I grumbled, as if we’d traded complaints about Roux for months on end.

Roux’s eyebrows shot up. Obviously, he’d assumed I was human. But I wasn’t — not entirely, that is. I was a relic — orbrushed by moonlight,the old-fashioned term my grandmother liked to use. We could no longer shift or perform magic, butwe did have a few mystical qualities that came and went like the moon on a cloudy night — fleeting and unpredictable. They visited us in random, weirdly splintered bursts, like we’d pulled a card from a deck. Most of the time, we came up with nothing special, just extra-sharp vision or the ability to leap unusually far. But once in a blue moon, we would draw a joker. Something rare and startling, like Great-Grandmother Linda’s ability to detect lies or Great-Great-Granddad Toby’s trick of walking through walls. But ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, we were just plain human.

Bene raised his coffee mug to me in a silent toast and sipped. A moment later, he grimaced and shot the coffee machine a lethal look.

“So, ground rules,” I announced, loud and clear.

Roux’s brow furrowed. Clearly, he felt that was his job.

I turned slightly to face the other three, but they were all spread out.

“Henrik, if you please.” I twitched a hand, directing him.

Roux’s eyebrows shot up, and even the broody dragon shifter turned to look.