0765332108 (F) by Susan Krinard Read Free Book Online Page A

problems Mist and her allies ran into with increasing frequency.
    The one thing Koji never did, in spite of his considerable skill with a katana, was actually join in the fighting. He’d said something about his religion and how taking a life was against his principles, but Mist had never forgotten how ferocious he’d been when he’d faced Dainn during the battle in the gym last winter.
    She returned Koji’s smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her—gently, because he knew she wasn’t in any mood for passion. Their sex life had been sporadic over the past couple of months, but Koji didn’t seem particularly upset about it, or bothered by her frequent bouts of preoccupation.
    That was what made him such a good companion and lover. He didn’t demand things Mist couldn’t give. And when she’d finally told him the truth about what was really going on, he’d been remarkably quick to accept the fact that the world as he knew it was a false front for the kind of reality most mortals had never dreamed existed.
    “Hey, you’re hurt,” he said, gently pulling Mist’s slashed sleeve away from the gash across her arm. “Anything I can do?”
    Mist carefully extracted her arm from his grip. “It’ll heal in a few hours,” she said. “You know you don’t need to worry about me.”
    A slight frown crossed Koji’s usually affable face. “You can still suffer pain.”
    She grabbed the half-forgotten bottle and sagged over the table. “I’m tired, Koji.”
    “I know,” he said, taking the chair nearest hers. “I’m not sure if you really want to hear this, but the mayor’s holding a press conference just about”—he glanced at his watch—“now.”
    “The groundbreaking for the new monument,” Mist said bitingly, “thanks to Lukas Landvik’s generous financial support for our fair city’s most recent frivolous embellishment.”
    “And for the mayor and his supporters,” Koji added. At Mist’s nod, he turned on the small, ancient TV sitting on the kitchen counter.
    Ostensibly, the mayor was the focus of the coverage. The cameras were trained on him as he gesticulated and grandstanded about the improvements he had made to the city’s infrastructure; the many employment opportunities offered by various construction projects and the refurbishment of the more public parts of the city; the booming tourist industry; and, of course, the new private hospital, which was being built where it could best cater to the most wealthy and privileged.
    What he failed to mention was how he and the Board of Supervisors were encouraging the “relocation” of numerous small businesses in favor of big-box chains offering minimum-wage jobs and poor benefits, or the fact that scores of projects favored by local politicians and business interests—replete with kickbacks and every kind of corruption—had been given priority over essential improvements and programs that actually enhanced the welfare of the citizens.
    She was pretty sure the smiling politician on her screen was still ignorant of the tremendous price he’d have to pay for all the “positive” changes in the city, the ones that so successfully lined his pockets. He obviously didn’t realize that the man standing just behind his left shoulder—the charismatic “philanthropist” Lukas Landvik—was the very person who would demand that price.
    Again and again, the cameras slid toward Loki in his handmade Italian suit and A. Testoni Norvegese shoes. His midlength red hair was artfully tumbled around his fox-like, handsome face. Green eyes caught the light in a way no ordinary eyes would. Loki smiled, and the reporters, male and female, virtually swooned.
    “I’ve seen enough,” Mist said. She was about to switch the TV off when she glimpsed the man directly behind Loki. Her hand froze on the remote.
    “Don’t torture yourself, Mist,” Koji said, laying his hand on her shoulder. “He made his choice.”
    “Don’t you think I know