Page 53 of The Satyr's Guilt
Denim squeezed Galena’s armto portal into the Ministry of Well Being. “I want one of thoseD-chip things so I can hop around Scath and anywhere else I please.What’s the chance? My portal jumper’s bulky and so yesterday.”
“I can always ask. I doubt someone’s goingto embed one into a human’s wrist and wire it to your brain,though.”
A knock-out blonde wastap, tap,tappingon computer keys. The woman must be Zora. Did everyoneon the realm have to be so good looking? Ram had probably alreadyhit on her.Hell. Denim didn’t want the picture in her head.Their legs tangled in the sheets. Them going at it like hornyteens.
The buxom blonde slid out of her chair,revealing a tight sweater and tighter ass-hugging skirt.
“Succubus,” whispered Galena, as if thatsaid it all.
Denim nodded, feeling a bit frumpy.
“He’s been waiting. It’s inappropriate toleave the director hanging.” The bombshell sashayed toward thedoor, opening it, shooing the two females inside.
Denim’s eyes surveyed the office. Alarik wasseated behind a desk. He wore a black robe, along with a darkexpression. Commander Kole lounged on the couch, an ankle crossedover his knee and an arm around a frosty, gorgeous blonde wholooked familiar. Everyone stopped talking when she entered with theAmazon.
Not good.
Galena greeted her commander and strode upto Alarik, offering a hand. He rose, shook, and then indicated thetwo empty seats.
Denim barely had the wherewithal to nod. Amillion frightening thoughts crawled into her brain. Somethinghorrible was happening with her.
They found evidence of a life-threateningdisease in my blood sample. A friend of mine at the agency has beeninjured or killed.
“Relax, Ms. Quinn,” said the director.
“Denim, please.”
“Certainly. We received the results of yourblood test.” Again, he pointed to the seats.
Denim collapsed into one of the chairs. Hermother died of Parkinson’s, but she’d had her blood tested yearsago. She did not have the gene. At least, that’s what she’d beentold. It was obviously all a lie. Someone messed up the test.They’d analyzed the wrong sample. “And?”
Alarik resumed sitting. “I’ll get right tothe point. You have genetic markers indicating you are a BloodCoven descendant.”
She let out the breath she’d been holdingand chuckled. “Thank goodness.”
“What?” Galena stared at Denim as if a loosescrew was rattling around in her skull.
“I mean, the news is not so bad.” She feltas though she’d dodged a huge disease-carrying bullet headed rightfor her brain. To say nothing of a hospital bed with years of agonyin her future.
“Actually, Ms. Quinn … er … Denim, it’s notall good either. I called Kole and his mate into the meeting tohelp explain what you’ll face.”
Calmer now, Denim flipped her gaze to theicy beauty sitting beside Kole. The woman wasn’t too cold. Her handwas sliding up and down the fiery commander’s leg, almostunconsciously.
She spoke. “I’m Skyler Maxwell, a descendantalso. That’s why Director Alarik asked me to accompany my mate.Believe me when I say it’s good news and bad news.”
The white-blonde, decked out in designerclothes and a fashionable chignon, could have stepped out of thepages ofVogue for the Expectant Mother. Denim would neverpeg her as the mate of the scary, heavily muscled, fierce demoncommander. She should be on the arm of a lean Brioni-suitedbusinessman driving a Rolls Royce.
Denim snapped her fingers. “Skyler Maxwell.I know who you are. You’re the Alliance’s chief legal officer.You’re a Blood Coven descendant?”
A regal smile tweaked the corners of thewoman’s lips. “Yes. I am.”
Here was a live descendant sitting in thesame room. Though rumors about Skyler ran rampant through theAlliance, Denim discounted most of the gossip.
Wait a minute.
Alarik just told Denim she was one, too.“Good and bad? Give me the good first, Chief Maxwell.”
Startling eyes like lilac ice met Denim’spuzzled gaze. “Skyler, please.” Her chin tilted up like a queen’s.“Your life is about to change. You’ll possess unimaginedpower.”
