Free Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore by Michele Bardsley Page B

accidents, the fights with unknown bullies on the streets. He always bounced back, or just bounced away. His best friend, Laurent, liked to say that Cullen was the luckiest bastard he knew.
    Then Leo just made damned sure Cullen’s life was ruined, shattered beyond repair. And sometimes, some days, that was fucking worse than death.
    Cullen and his guards reached the imposing double doors that led into Consul Calhoun’s office, and a tall, well-built gentleman stepped smoothly in front of them. Like the escorts, he wore a traditional white robe, and a blank expression. Cullen’s gaze dropped to the upper-right corner of the robe, where the gold-stitched dragon was bisected with a fasces. The ancient Roman weapon of bundled sticks with an ax sticking out of the middle was still the symbol of the bodyguards of the Consul.
    “Welcome to the office of Dragon Consul Calhoun,” he said in a polite voice. “Please wait here while I inform the Consul of your arrival.”
    Cullen looked him square in the eye. “Thank you.”
    He inclined his head, his expression as smooth as glass. Then he opened one door and slipped through it. A moment later, both doors swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Leticia Calhoun.
    The woman was tall, gorgeous, and wore confidence like a cashmere coat. Her dark hair was tamed by a single, long braid. Her sky blue eyes snapped with intelligence. Even though she was in her fifties, her face was pale perfection. Then again, magicals aged much more slowly than mundanes (and conversely, emotionally matured much faster) and often lived two centuries or more. Dressed in the black-trimmed red robe that denoted her rank, Leticia Calhoun was a confident, terrifying package.
    The Consul stepped out, smiling as she held out her hands. “Welcome to the House of Dragons.” She spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “So long as you are within our walls, I offer you both our hospitality and our protection.”
    Cullen’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected an out-and-out display of support. Why the hell would the woman do such a thing?
    “Close your mouth, dear; you’ll catch flies.”
    He pressed his lips together. Then he carefully tookthe Consul’s slim, cool hands. She squeezed lightly, then let go. “Let the man through.”
    The guards moved aside, and Cullen scuffled forward.
    “For the love of the Goddess!” scolded the Consul. “Take off the manacles!”
    The door guard looked as though he wanted to protest, but one sharp look from the Dragon witch had him snapping his mouth shut and gesturing at the other lictors.
    Cullen’s chained hands and feet were relieved of the shackles. He rubbed his tingling wrists and shook each foot. “Thank you,” he said to the guard who’d removed them. Then he lifted his gaze to the Consul. “And thank you, Consul.”
    Cullen saw sadness flicker in the woman’s eyes. Then her gaze cleared, and she smiled warmly. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
    They walked through a series of lushly appointed rooms until they reached a charming parlor. A tea service had been set up at a small table framed by two needlepoint-upholstered chairs. It was cozy, especially with the sunlight streaming in through the nearby lace-curtained window. It really was not his kind of scene, though. He’d much prefer a dark, smoke-filled bar with a selection of good beers and cheap women.
    “Please,” said the Consul, gesturing toward one of the chairs before taking her own seat. Cullen sat andwatched the woman pick up the teapot. “Sugar? Cream?”
    “I don’t drink tea.”
    “Ah. Perhaps some coffee? Or lemonade?”
    “No, thank you, Consul.”
    “Very well. And please, call me Leticia.” She added sugar and cream to her cup. Then she sipped her tea and took her tablemate’s measure. “How are you feeling?”
    “Confused,” said Cullen. “Why am I here?”
    Leticia set the cup on its matching saucer, and then she delicately pressed a napkin to her mouth. The pink