Of course, Brigette had actually been in hell. It was doubtful the leech’s threats would have the same impact on her.
She was crossing the yard when Xi moved to walk beside her, his long strides easily keeping pace. Childishly, she refused to glance in his direction, but she didn’t need to. She was absurdly conscious of everything about him. The cool power that swirled around her. The tantalizing scent of cedarwood. The electric tingles that sizzled in the air between them.
And those aggravating flutters in the pit of her stomach.
They’d reached the street when Xi abruptly spoke. “Where did you get your weapon?”
Brigette scowled. She was annoyed. Not because Styx had sent along a babysitter. If she hadn’t wanted the Anasso to interfere with what she was doing, she would never have contacted Levet to warn the male. She knew enough about alphas to realize he’d insist on having his own eyes and ears on the rebels. He’d be a fool to trust her for his information.
No, her annoyance was with herself. And those flutters in the pit of her stomach. As if she were a silly pup and not a grown-ass female who’d nearly destroyed the world.
“There’s no need for chitchat,” she muttered. “I prefer the silence.”
“It’s not chitchat. I have a matching one.”
“A matching what?”
“A matching dagger.”
Startled, Brigette turned her head before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened as he reached behind his back to pull a dagger from a hidden holster.
It looked to be almost an exact duplicate of her own. The same long, silver blade with a power that shimmered in the fading moonlight. The same heavy, black hilt. It even smelled the same. Exotic spice and mysterious power.
“How?” she demanded.
He twirled the dagger, revealing an expertise that matched her own. “It was created for me by a master in Jingzhou over two thousand years ago.”
Brigette pulled her own dagger, finding comfort in the solid weight. The weapon had been a touchstone through the long centuries of darkness. A connection to her family.
“My father told me it’d been in our family since it was given as a reward to one of my ancestors,” she said.
Xi arched a brow. “A priceless reward. Your ancestor must have performed a profound service.”
Brigette abruptly shoved the dagger back in her holster as she was punished with the memory of her father staring at her with open disappointment.
“My father probably told me, but I wasn’t interested in the stories when I was young,” she retorted, vaguely aware that she was giving away far more than she intended.
“What were you interested in?”
“My own happiness.”
Xi shrugged, his expression impossible to read. “Typical youth.”
“Typical?” A strange anger blasted through Brigette. She didn’t fully understand it. Shame, of course. It churned through her like acid. And something that she suspected was regret for lost opportunities. She needed this male to treat her with the same disdain that everyone else offered her. Otherwise, she might begin to believe that her awareness could become something more. The most dangerous thing in the world was hope. “I stole this dagger from my father just hours before I allowed a horde of goblins to destroy my pack. Don’t ever call me typical,” she snapped.
Xi came to an abrupt halt in the center of the street, his expression unreadable. “I stole a rare artifact from a rival clan chief just to show off my powers, and hours later, he massacred my entire clan. You don’t have a lock on carrying around a shitload of guilt. Get over yourself.”
The vampire didn’t drop a mic, but he did step into the portal and disappear from view.
End. Of. Conversation.
Chapter 5
Levet loved seedy bars. The seedier the better. And the Bone-In Bar in Lower Thames was just that sort of place.
It wasn’t the stench of fried onions and unwashed demon bodies that Levet enjoyed. Or the thunderous sound of shouting from a distant corner, where a crowd was watching two trolls arm-wrestle. Or even the food, which resembled something that collected at the bottom of a dumpster.
He loved them because everyone minded their own business.
No one cared that he wasn’t the tallest gargoyle, or that his wings shimmered with color, or that his magic was a little…unpredictable.
Crossing the wooden floor, which was sticky from ale and whatever blood had been spilled earlier in the evening, Levet climbed onto a high stool next to the bar at the side of the cramped, smoky space.
One of Styx’s minions had sent him through a portal to London. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, but it was still early enough for the streets to be crowded with humans. He preferred to wait a few hours before seeking out the former Anasso’s lair. Besides, it had been years since he’d had the opportunity to spend time with his old friend Craddock.
The male was a mixture of demons. Hobgoblin, brownie, and some sort of fey sprinkled in. He was taller than Levet and twice as wide, with a square face and skin that looked like old tree bark. His head was bald, and his eyes were brown until he was angry. Then they turned a deep red. His pointed teeth had been coated in gold, and he liked to flash them whenever possible. He thought they made him look cool. Levet personally thought they made him look like a villain from a James Bond movie.
Still, they’d been friends for several centuries.
Turning to see who had entered the bar, Craddock’s face creased into a smile. The male wiped his hands on his greasy apron before filling a tankard with a foamy ale and setting it on the bar in front of Levet.
“It’s been a while.” Craddock pointed out the obvious.
Levet took a cautious sip. His palate had changed since he’d resided in London. Viper’s very fine collection of expensive tequila and aged whiskey had taught him to appreciate something beyond the swill that Craddock served. Not that Viper realized that Levet had a key to his precious cellars. What a leech didn’t know didn’t hurt him.
Or, at least, that had always been Levet’s philosophy.
“Oui. I have been busy,” Levet admitted.
Craddock pulled out a greasy rag to wipe the counter. “So I have heard.”
“Did you?” Levet sat straighter on the stool, trying to keep his expression humble. Real heroes didn’t gloat. A shame really. He had so much to gloat about. “Have there been bards singing songs of my many adventures?” he asked. “Or great works of art hanging in the museums?”
The bartender shook his head. “No bards, and I never visit museums, so I can’t say if there’s any pictures of you. But there was a merman in here the other night complaining about his new queen and the pesky stunted gargoyle who was hanging around the castle. I figured he had to be talking about you.”