Ivore
“I’m here to see Richard Malkin.”
He detested himself for the way he’d spoken to Violet, for the way they’d left things. It was going to take a lot of groveling and generous acts for him to get back into her good books, he was sure of that. She was mad, and he suspected part of it was because she realized she couldn’t be as cold as she wished toward him. That was nice to know, but his actions were going to make her double down on her supposed disinterest toward him.
The secretary at the sleek wooden desk looked up as he came to a halt, towering over the seated woman.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Malkin isn’t in the office today,” she said primly, a line she’d clearly used many times before.
Ivore didn’t buy it for a second. He’d planned on just ignoring her and walking into Malkin’s office, but there was a hallway to his left and three office doors on his right. His quarry could be in any of them, and he doubted security would wait long before coming after him. In fact, they were probably hidden somewhere nearby.
“Perfect. I was hoping to actually leave a surprise for him. Do you mind if I just go into his office and leave it there?”
The secretary glanced to his left for a brief moment before looking back up at him. Ivore smiled. Perfect, now he knew which way the asshole’s office was.
“Thank you.”
The secretary sputtered as he turned and started marching down the hallway. “Wait! Sir, you can’t go in there.”
Ivore ignored her.
“Security!”
He ignored that too, walking steadily between doors, heading for the last one on the end. There was no label, unlike the others. Just the silhouette of an image that was unmistakably male. Of course that would be his office. Malkin was the “man.”
Ivore reared back and smashed the door in with his foot. Wood splintered and the metal hinges ripped from the frame as the door blew back into the bathroom.
The bathroom. Well fuck. Stupid humans, why couldn’t they label it better?
“What the hell was that?” a voice shouted from the office next to him.
Ivore smiled and reached for the handle. Farther up the hallway by the secretary’s desk two men had emerged from an office and were charging down toward him.
“Too slow,” he muttered, pushing open the door.
The room was huge. A massive U-shaped desk occupied the center, the dark stained maple wood a beautiful contrast to the gray and black metal that filled the rest of the room. Shelves lined the wall behind the desk, filled with all sorts of “look at me I’m important” books.
The left side was all windows, looking out into the little courtyard at the center of the U-shaped office building that his “business” offices were located in. Tracking Malkin down had been surprisingly easy, because apparently he didn’t believe in hiding. That’s how confident he was in his efforts to appear legitimate. All Ivore had needed to do was a quick internet search.
The man seated behind the desk looked exactly as Cowl had described him. Older, with hair whitened with age, unlike his own, and glasses that gave him a calm grandfatherly aura. But the eyes that were attempting to pin him to the wall told a completely different story. They were of a man at ease with all he’d done, completely used to the struggle to survive. This man wouldn’t hesitate to put someone in the ground.
Behind him the security agents arrived in the doorway, but Malkin raised a hand to forestall them.
“Hello, Ivore.”
“Malkin.”
“What brings you here?”
“Business. Honor.”
The elderly man nodded, picking at something under his fingernail. The casual disdain was just another slap in the face after what he’d already done. If this were a different time and place Ivore would have killed the trio and walked out of the office without a care.
But it wasn’t, and he had no idea if that would negatively impact Bob’s family either. Ivore wasn’t about to let an innocent suffer because of his temper.
“I take it you’re referring to that lovely little plaza building I just purchased downtown.”
Ivore rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what I’m referring to, you senile old prick.”
Footsteps thumped on the hardwood floor behind him. Ivore held up a hand. “One more step and you’re both going to have about five seconds to regret your actions before I snap your necks.”
His threat hung in the air for several seconds, before Richard waved his goons back a step. Ivore knew that his threat might have been a little ambitious. Five seconds to take down two likely shifters might be a bit much. Six was more reasonable.
It bothered him that neither he nor his brothers could smell shifter on them. He could detect another dragon’s scent from a mile away, but the shifters working for Malkin were undetectable to his nose.
“Well, I’m sorry, Ivore, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The building is mine now. I own it.” He stopped picking at his nails and looked up at Ivore, his eyes hardening into diamonds as he glared. “This is my town. You’d best accept that. I wouldn’t want to see your girlfriend get hurt.”
Ivore snarled loud enough to vibrate the windows, his dragon’s icy fury coiling just under the surface. “Touch her and I’ll make what happened to your sons look like a picnic.”
The instant the threat was out of his mouth he realized he’d ended any further chance of dialogue that day. Malkin’s eyes gleamed with maniacal fury and he snapped his fingers at his guards.
Ivore was already turning, well aware of the greater threat presented by the guards. Malkin may well be a shifter too, but he was old and unlikely to attack Ivore, an ice dragon in his prime. There was arrogance, and then there was stupidity. Malkin was definitely the former.
His goons, however, leaned much more toward the latter. They came at him one at a time, staggering their approach. If they’d both launched attacks from the sides at the same time, he would have been in trouble. But by doing it this way Ivore could easily dodge one attack, block the next, and then retaliate.
He did just that, swaying backward, crossing his arms to deflect a blow from the second shifter, and then lashing out with his elbow at the closer guard. The wolf shifter staggered backward, but Ivore’s attention was already on his partner. He absorbed the punch into his ribs, accepting it for the chance to lash out with a vicious right.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside. More security. Ivore grinned. Excellent timing; he was just getting warmed up. He ducked low and flicked one hand at the open doorway. Ice flowed across the floor, completely smooth and translucent. It covered the hardwood and tile in a nearly invisible layer that only the most watchful would spot.
The men charging down the hallway were focused completely on Ivore, and they missed the slick coating entirely. Fully five shifters went careening into the washroom at the end of the hall, losing all traction as they tried to round the corner into the office.
Ivore would have howled with laughter, if a booted foot hadn’t caught him in the face, flipping him up and over onto his back.
“You ain’t so tough,” one of the goons spat while trying to stomp on his face.
Ivore rolled out of the way—and right into the toes of the other security shifter. He felt one of his ribs give way, the pain lancing up into his brain, making him see stars.
“Enough!” he shouted, slapping both hands palm-down onto the floor.
Ice raced forth in a wave, spilling both shifters onto their backs. Snarling, he directed the ice to grab their wrists and ankles, pinning them to the ground. He got to his feet just as the late-arriving guards emerged from the washroom, sliding carefully into the office.
Ivore turned to face them, lifting a single finger. “Stop,” he commanded, frost clouding at the end of his hand.
The guards looked past him. Whatever Malkin had said or done, it was enough to get them to back down.
“Good boy,” Ivore said cheerfully. “Keep it up and you’ll get a treat.”
An animal-like growl ripped from the throat of the leader, a burly bearded fellow with multiple tattoos and piercings.
“Stop taunting my security, dragon. They’re only doing their jobs.”
“Whatever. We’re done here, Malkin. Take your building, but that’s it. Stay out of our affairs. We didn’t start this, but if you don’t let it go, we’ll finish it.” He paused, then let his anger fade for a moment. “We didn’t kill your sons, Richard. I’m sorry about that, I really am. But it wasn’t us.”
He carefully didn’t say who it was. Telling the already-deranged senior citizen that it was his fault his kids were dead was probably not the best way to gain peace between them.
Ivore didn’t wait for a reply; he just walked out of the room. Behind him the shifters struggled mightily with the ice, trying to break through as they shouted obscenities at him. Instead of dismissing his creation as he might, he sent tendrils of the coldest ice he could questing toward their crotches.
The shrill screams that followed him down the hallway were the second-best sound he’d heard all day.
Nothing beat hearing Violet laugh.