Braden
He spun around on the chair.
The lobby of the embassy flashed past as he counted his revolutions while the chair slowly came to a stop.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three and a half.
Four.
Four and a quarter.
It was a new personal best for that night. He stared straight at the wall for a solid thirty seconds, focusing his attention on it to help rid him of any lasting dizziness before setting up his next attempt.
“Four and a half, here we come,” he said to himself, the near-whisper still sounding like a gunshot in the empty lobby.
Evening had come and gone, and night was well underway. Cloud Lake had shut down, as a major snowstorm moved into the area. Already several inches’ worth of snow had accumulated outside, and more was expected. Even many of the shifters who would normally be out cavorting had called it a night early, realizing that their normal haunts would be slow or possibly even closed on a night like tonight.
Braden hadn’t had to do a damn thing in over an hour. Hence the chair spinning contest against himself.
He wound up, feet curled around to one side, his hands on the desk. A little backward prep, and he was off!
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four and—
Braden came to an abrupt halt as he slammed his boots down on the tiled floor, instantly stopping the chair’s spin so that he faced the rear of the lobby. He stood, doing so slowly to counteract his mild dizziness, and then turned to face the door.
Three figures stood just inside the double doors, wet and melting snow cascading off of them onto the floor, where it continued to melt into a puddle of water. The two on either side of the middle figure were a step out and a step back, forming a triangle. None of them spoke.
In his head Braden heard all sorts of alarm bells begin to go off. Without moving his eyes from the one in the middle, who he figured had to be the leader, he contemplated his options. Getting more personnel down to the lobby seemed like a smart idea. The phone would be the easiest way, but he suspected that any move toward the desk would result in the situation escalating quickly. Similar the idea of talking really loudly or calling for anyone who might be nearby.
That only left the most undesirable choice. Keep them talking and stall until someone else heard or walked by. Considering how quiet it had been all night, Braden didn’t like his chances with that. But it was all he had.
“May I help you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice polite.
There was a long pause before the leader spoke. “We’d like to see the ambassador, please.”
His voice was raspy and soft, like someone had raked a cheese grater over the insides of his throat a few times. As he spoke he stepped forward, the black coat he wore flicking water droplets everywhere.
Suddenly Braden realized what bugged him so much about them. None of them wore a white shirt. The vast majority of shifters these days wore the standard white T-shirt, black utility pants, and tactical boots. On certain dressier occasions they would break out formal or alternative clothing. But even in the dead of winter, none of them would have been caught wearing a black coat with black shirt underneath. Or blue jeans. Yet he could tell by their stature and the way the one walked that they were shifters.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, keeping his attention on the leader, but not letting the others out of his peripheral vision. “But he’s retired for the night.”
“Then wake him up!” one of the underlings snarled.
The leader turned and lifted a single hand in reassurance, calming his subordinate before facing Braden once more. There was silence once again, but the glare he received from the chastised shifter spoke volumes.
“Apologies,” he said. “But we really must speak to the ambassador. It’s quite urgent you see.”
“No, I don’t see.” Braden stood there like a granite statue, letting his voice echo the same, driving the point home to the trio that he wasn’t moving. Whatever reason they could have to see Andrew, he doubted it was a good one.
The leader sighed. “Please summon him.”
“What is this about?” Braden wanted to cross his arms, but he knew that would put him at a disadvantage if the leader leapt at him.
The little step forward at the beginning of their conversation hadn’t been for show. It had brought the unknown shifter close enough that a leap powered by supernatural muscle strength would carry him right into Braden. He contemplated stepping backward, to see what happened, but decided that taunting his foes wasn’t the right course of action.
Foes. Since when had they become his enemy? There had been no overt hostility besides one unprovoked sentence. Despite that, Braden was quite aware that the entire room was a powder keg that could explode at any moment. He needed to tread lightly, and stay aware.
“It’s a private matter, between us and the ambassador.”
“And who are you?”
“Us? We’re just the ones sent on behalf of others. We’re nobodies, really. We’re just here to follow orders. I’m sure you understand that.”
The verbal dancing was admirable as the leader attempted to answer the question without actually answering the question.
“Well I’m sorry, but only authorized personnel are allowed to see the ambassador. I have my orders too. They say that nobody’s to disturb the ambassador. So, seeing as you’re nobodies, I think that means you.”
You want to play verbal games? Fine, I can play verbal games too, you egotistical prick.
A slight flash of humor was quickly hidden in the eyes of the unknown spokesperson. He’s enjoying this! The revelation rushed through Braden, forcing him to reevaluate his opponent, upgrading the threat level significantly. Whoever they were, they weren’t here to just have a chat with Andrew, that much was now quite clear. They had been sent to deliver a message. The only question was, what sort?
“I think you’ll find that the ambassador is quite interested in coming out here.”
“What should I tell him then? That there are three terribly dressed folks out front messing up the lobby who say that you should come on down for a rip-roaring good time?”
He was getting tired of the constant circle-talk.
The leader smiled. “Or you could just tell him that he’s under arrest.”
Braden couldn’t help it. It was probably quite undiplomatic, and it definitely didn’t help keep the lackey with angry issues any calmer, but just then he didn’t care.
His snort of derision echoed throughout the lobby. “Hah.”
“Pardon?”
“I said ‘hah.’ Generally known as a sarcastic laugh. Anyway, try again.”
“Last time,” the leader said, his voice dull. “Get the ambassador. Now.”
“Nope, no can do.” He started whistling. Had he mentioned diplomacy wasn’t one of his strong suits?
“I’m sure we can settle this amicably,” the leader said, stepping up until he was right in front of Braden.
This had the added comedic effect of forcing the Embassy Guard to look down his nose at the shorter shifter. Even among the massive bear shifters, Braden was a big one. And he knew it.
“Of course we can. You and the other two stooges turn around, walk out the door, and go back to Cadia before I report you for being out of the territory without permission. Which, as I’m sure you know, is a major offense.” He grinned, showing just how happily he would carry out the sentence for that crime, which had a maximum penalty of death.
“You know. I tried being nice. But I can see you lack manners. So, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” The leader lifted a hand and motioned to the other two. “You two, go find the ambassad—”
He never finished his sentence. As it turns out, it’s tough to speak with a mouthful of fist. Braden stepped into the suckerpunch, hitting the other man as hard as he could, driving him back across the lobby. The blow started the shifter’s body spinning and he cracked a shin off one of the marble pillars, damaging the pillar and probably the shifter, judging by the cry of pain that burst from his mouth.
The two associates had already been building up speed as they moved to go around Braden and then deeper into the lobby. But at the sight of their leader going down they shared a glance, and then as one altered their course until they were converging on him.
“Uh-oh,” he said to himself. There was next to no time for him to think out a response, so he went on instinct.
His knees bent slightly, then flexed, and just before either one of them could slam into him he flung himself high into the air. The goal was to catch them by surprise, and perhaps hope that they collided with each other. At worst, they would have to halt their forward momentum and turn back to attack him, giving Braden precious seconds to react.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go that way. The attacker on his left was a half-step closer, and his hand closed around Braden’s ankle. Braden, still on the way up, had his motion abruptly halted. His left leg screamed in agony as it was jolted hard, the joints bursting into flaming pain.
The attacker was also going forward. Which meant he took Braden’s foot with him. Leaving his upper body behind. With a yelp he fell headfirst to the ground. As the marble tiles approached he attempted to duck and roll, but he’d forgotten about the hand on his foot. So instead of rolling, he simply landed on his right shoulder. Something popped, but he didn’t have time to figure out what.
By then the enemy shifter had started to slow, and now he pivoted, flinging the arm that had Braden’s ankle out wide and around in a circle. Braden shouted as he whipped around twice like a lasso.
“Don’t let go!” he hollered.
Of course the other shifter let go. Braden soared through the air, somehow managing not to hit any of the pillars in the lobby. He hit the ground with his back, but it was oddly a much softer landing than expected. As he regained his wits, it became clear that he’d actually ended up atop the leader, who had just begun to regain his feet before Braden came flying into him like a wrecking ball.
“Nice aim,” he taunted, driving his elbow backward until it cracked into the face of the leader. Skin split, bone broke, and blood began to leak everywhere. Braden repeated the motion twice more.
After that he leapt to his feet. One of the lackeys was advancing on him, the other had gone down the hallway toward Andrew’s office. Braden wasn’t entirely sure if he was there or in his room, but if he was, the attacker was in for a rude surprise.
Braden met the remaining shifter in a headlong rush. The two collided hard, fighting more like animals now than humans. He started to overpower his foe, but a blind-side kick to his weakened left leg bent it under him, driving Braden toward the floor. Hammerfists rained down on him from above, but he blocked them with crossed arms, waiting for an opening.
There! It was a brief hesitation, a simple readjustment of position, but it was all Braden needed. He flung himself backward, bringing his legs up and kicking them out as hard as he could. Size sixteen boots hit the attacker square in the chest, launching him up into the air and onto the second level of the balcony.
Where is everyone else? Why is nobody responding to the noise yet?
Braden wasn’t sure, but while he was waiting he ducked a wild swing from the leader, who, despite being unable to see out of one eye, had risen to his feet and closed the distance.
It wasn’t even difficult. Braden darted to the side, and drove a fist into his face. He only had time for the one, but as the leader tried to square him up again Braden feinted for the blind side, then came around and hit him in his good side, catching the leader completely off guard. This time his fist sent the shifter to the ground. He reached down and casually snapped the man’s shin before he could gather himself.
“Stay down,” he growled, turning back just as the shifter he’d kicked launched himself off the balcony, feet pointed right at Braden. “That was dumb.”
He wasn’t sure why the subordinate shifter thought a dropkick was the best move to use in that situation, but he wasn’t going to argue the easy opening. It wouldn’t have worked with a human; their reflexes were too slow. But it was child’s play for the trained bear shifter.
Braden waited, standing square to the incoming body until the last second. Then he ducked under it, his arms coming up around his sides. He rose with his back in a slightly hunched position, his arms above his head.
Once the body of his foe had passed by him Braden clamped his hands tight together, and once he had a grip he drove himself forward.
The shifter’s neck broke easily over his shoulder as his vise-like hands refused to release his head. Hanging limply now, his feet still dangling off the ground while they ‘stood’ back to back, the corpse shook once or twice. Then Braden sighed and dropped his grip. The dead shifter slid down his back into a pile on the floor.
From down the hallway where the third shifter had disappeared there was an angry roar, and something that had once been a body came flying back up it, bouncing off the wall and landing in the lobby. Braden winced as he realized the head was rotated a full 180 degrees.
“They didn’t tell you that the ambassador is a gryphon shifter, did they?” he asked, gripping the hair of the leader and jerking his mangled face up until Braden could look at him in the eye.
Or where the eyes would be if the skin around them wasn’t all swollen shut.
The leader didn’t answer.
Footsteps came storming up the hallway.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Andrew bellowed.
“They were here to arrest you for some reason. They wouldn’t tell me who they are, or who sent them.”
“Oh, I can tell you who sent them,” the angry ambassador snarled. “Cadian Intelligence, that’s who. I recognize that bastard there,” he said, stabbing a finger at the leader. “His name is Drackon, he’s the third or fourth in the chain of command. Slimy little fucker, but not so good in a standup fight.”
“Shit.” It wasn’t much of a response, but it was all Braden had at the moment. “Why would they be here to arrest you?”
Andrew just snorted. Braden shook his head. Duh, he knew the answer to that one. The shifters living on the north side of town. Certain parties within Cadia, ones that the king, the ruler of the territory, couldn’t control just yet. They used Cadian Intelligence to do their dirty deeds. Including, it would seem, arresting and then likely disposing of one Andrew Raskell, Cadian ambassador to Cloud Lake.
He rose. “You can’t let him live,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“We need to kill them all. No survivors. Get rid of the bodies. Repair the lobby ASAP. Then pretend like they never got here. We’ve never seen them.”
“Why?” Andrew regarded him intensely.
“It’ll buy you time to prepare, sir,” he said quietly.
“Prepare for what?”
“Whatever their next move is.”
Andrew thought about it, then nodded once. “Agreed. You deal with the bodies, I’ll start organizing a cleanup and repair crew.”
Braden returned the nod, slammed a fist over his chest in a Cadian-style salute, and without hesitation reached down and snapped the neck of the leader.
He felt mildly uncomfortable at the cold-bloodedness of the murder, but he knew it had to be done.
Now to dispose of the bodies somewhere they won’t be found.