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Derek nodded.
Radomil shoved his opponent forward, tripping the Italian. The dark-haired man dropped to the ground with a lupine growl. Any moment now they'd go furry, and then things would be infinitely worse.
An eerie hyena cackle rolled through the hallway, a high-pitched, insane laugh that made you shiver.
Suddenly everyone stopped. Aunt B stood in the hallway.
"So this is what our European brothers and sisters have been reduced to," she said, her voice carrying through the castle. "Brawling in the hallways like spoiled schoolchildren. No wonder you had to send for our help."
Go, Aunt B!
The alpha of Clan Bouda looked at the dark-haired woman. "Hello, Isabella. It's been a long time."
"Hello, Beatrice," the dark-haired woman squeezed through her teeth.
"Is that your son on the floor?"
Isabella snapped a short command. The dark-haired man rolled to his feet and strode over to her. Isabella slapped him. The sound rang through the hallway. The Italians turned and left without another word.
I looked at Jarek Kral. He pointed his finger at me, opened his mouth, clamped it shut, turned, and walked away.
The blond woman said something to Radomil. He pulled away from her and stalked off.
"You must forgive my brother," the blond woman said. "He is a very kind man. He just doesn't understand politics." Her eyebrows came together. She pointed over my shoulder. "Who is that man?"
"He is a medic," Andrea answered.
"A medic? Is something wrong?"
"No," I said. "He is just performing a routine physical exam."
She actually looked concerned. "Is he going to draw blood? Desandra, I can hold your hand if you need me."
"It's fine," Desandra called.
I pulled my official Order voice out of the mental trunk where I'd kept it stashed for months, ever since I quit my tenure with the Knights of Merciful Aid. "I'm sorry, I have to ask you to leave."
"Fine, fine. Just . . . Don't torture her. She's been through enough." The woman turned and hurried down the stairs after Radomil. I glanced over my shoulder. Doolittle was holding a large syringe filled with pinkish liquid. Desandra petted her stomach.
"What is this for?" I asked.
"Amniocentesis," Doolittle said. "It's a routine screen of amniotic fluid. We want to make sure everything is proceeding as it's supposed to."
Aunt B approached us. "Well, that went nicely."
"You told my father no," Desandra said to me.
"Sure."
"He'll kill you for it," Desandra said.
"He may find it much harder than it appears, dear," Aunt B told her. "Dinner is coming up. Kate, you may want to change. You smell like the sea. You two go. Derek and I will watch after Desandra while you're changing."
I turned to Derek. "I will send Eduardo. When Desandra is ready to go, the two of you will follow her. Nobody comes in the room if she doesn't want to see them."
"Got it," Derek said.
"The rooms are just down the hall," Aunt B said. "Here, I'll walk partway with you then head back."
We strode down the hallway.
"I told you so," Aunt B said quietly.
"Told me what?"
"Please, Kate. The fresh young thing on the pier? She even wore white."
"And?"
"Nothing at all, dear. Just reflecting on the color. How virginal and bridal."
Yes. I'd noticed. If they were trying to influence Curran by shoving Lorelei under his nose, they weren't very subtle about it.
"Yours is the first door on the right. Andrea, you and Raphael are across from them. The rest of us are just down the hall," Aunt B said. "The sound really carries through here. You can hear practically everything, so if you call we'll come running."
Got it. Nothing said in the rooms would be private, and our hosts were likely listening really hard. "Good to know."
"I've checked and the dinner is a formal affair. Do wear a dress, Kate."
I killed a growl, and Andrea and I went down the hallway.
"We've worked worse jobs," Andrea said.
"Mm-hm. This whole place doesn't feel right to me."
"I'm with you," she said.
We reached my door. I waited until Andrea opened hers across the hall and went inside, and then I stepped into our room and shut the door behind me.
A sizable room, as far as bedrooms went, with tapestries and rugs on the stone walls. An open door offered access to the bathroom on the left. A large wooden poster canopy bed waited in the center, complete with silk pillows and gauzy purple curtains. It looked like something out of the historical romances Andrea liked to read.
Curran came out of the bathroom.
I nodded at the bed. "Someone robbed an ancient music video."
"I know. It creaks like a sonovabitch, too."
"Great. If we decide to make love, we might as well just get down to it in the hallway. Half of the castle will know about it anyway."
Curran closed the distance between us. His voice was a quiet whisper in my ear. "There are no peepholes that I can see, but someone is listening to us. I heard him breathing through the wall."
So we were trapped in this stone cage, with a pack of unstable shapeshifters, trying to protect a woman in need of urgent psychological help, and spies were listening to our every breath.
I put my arms around Curran and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Have I ever told you how much I like the Keep?"
"No."
"I love it."
He grinned. "Even the stairs?"
"Especially the stairs." The stairs separated our top floor from everybody else, and the walls were soundproof.
He kissed me. His lips sealed my mouth and the world stopped for a long moment. When we came up for air, I didn't care if anybody was listening to us. Little golden sparks danced in Curran's eyes. He didn't care either.
"Do we have time?" he asked.
I looked at the clock. Twenty before ten. "No. We'll be late."
"Tonight, then."
I grinned at him. "It's a date."
Guard Desandra, get the panacea, go home. A simple plan. All we had to do was get through it.
* * *
The dinner took place in a colossal great hall, and I walked into it with my hand on Curran's arm. The Beast Lord wore a black suit and a gray shirt. Curran always stopped me in my tracks, whether he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sweatpants, or nothing at all, but this was new. Custom-cut, the suit flattered him while allowing for freedom of movement, and if he had to change shape, the weak seams ensured that the suit would come apart with minimal effort.
