Kate Daniels 01 - Magic Bites

couldn’t do the same thing to him as you did to Derek.”
    “I’m aware of the Pack’s mechanics,” I said.
    “And you are an outsider. The Pack is distrustful of outsiders.”
    “I’m a human outsider. The Pack treated me as if I were a loner. With Curran’s permission.” Very rarely, a shapechanger chose to follow the Code in his own way, refusing the Pack. Such individuals were called loners. They were the ultimate outsiders, treated by the Pack with suspicion and dislike.
    Mahon inclined his head, supporting my assessment of the situation. “Curran never does anything without a reason,” he said. “I was told you’d met him. Perhaps you indirectly challenged him at that meeting.”
    Indirectly? I had challenged him deliberately .
    “Your knowledge of our customs is unusual,” he continued. “For a human outsider. How did you come by this information?” His voice promised no confrontation.
    “My father,” I said.
    “A man of the Code?”
    “In his own way. Not your Code but his own.”
    “You’ve learned well.”
    “No,” I said. “He taught me well. I was difficult.”
    “Children can be sometimes,” he said.
    We stopped before a door.
    “Do you need some ointment for your arm?”
    I looked at the angry red welt marring my skin. “No. Unless you catch it right away, the ointment won’t do any good. But I appreciate the offer.” I shook my head. “Tell me, do you always pacify irate guests of the Pack?”
    He opened the door. “Sometimes. I suppose I have a calming influence on misbehaving children. Please.”
    I stepped through the door and he closed it behind me. The room was small. A single lamp threw a sharp cone of light onto a table in its center. Two chairs stood by the table, the farther one occupied by a man. He had purposefully positioned himself so the light was turned away from him.
    The setup reminded me of the spy movies from my childhood.
    “Finessed you, didn’t he?” the man said. His voice had a scratchy quality to it. “I bet another ten minutes and you ready to apologize.”
    “I don’t think so.” I pulled up a chair to the table. The man leaned back, remaining in the shadows.
    “Don’t beat yourself over it. He do it to everybody. Why I don’t talk to him.”
    “You’re Corwin?”
    “No, I’m Snow White.” He rocked back, balancing on the back legs of his chair.
    “And who’s the man that walked me here?”
    “Mahon,” he said. “The Kodiak of Atlanta.”
    “The Pack Executioner?”
    “The very same.”
    I digested the news.
    “He raise Curran, you know,” the man said.
    “Oh? And he calls him lord like the rest of you?”
    The man shrugged. “That what Curran is.”
    “She has trouble with that concept,” Curran’s voice said from behind me.
    I was learning. This time I didn’t jump. “You may be their lord. You sure as hell aren’t mine.”
    Curran was leaning against the wall.
    “Where are the rest?” I asked. There had to be more people watching, probably the eight that greeted me in the room where I almost talked myself into death. The alpha male of the wolf pack, the head of the rats, the person that spoke for the “scouts,” the smaller shapechangers, and someone who stood for the larger beasts.
    “They are watching,” Curran said, nodding toward the wall.
    For the first time I noticed a one-way mirror.
    I looked at Corwin. “Why don’t you move into the light.”
    “You sure?” he asked.
    “Yeah.”
    He leaned forward, letting the light play on his features. His face was horrible. Large, flint-hard eyes sat deep in his skull, overshadowed by heavy eyebrows. His nose was massive, his jaw too heavy and prominent to be human; he looked like he could bite through a steel wire with little effort. His reddish hair, thick and textured like fur, was combed back into a ponytail. Long side burns hung from his cheekbones almost to his chest, framing tall, pointed ears with small tufts of fur on their ends. The same hair, only shorter and thicker, sheathed his neck and his throat, leaving his chin bare at such a precise line that he must have shaved.
    His hands, resting on the table, were misshapen and out of proportion to his body. Despite short, thick fingers, each hand could enclose my entire head. Clumps of reddish fur grew between his knuckles.
    Corwin grinned. His teeth were huge and pointed.
    Sickle claws shot from the tips of his stubby fingers. He spread his fingers in a catlike kneading motion, scraping the