Page 39 of A Kiss of Flame
He glared down at her, his expression determined and defiant.
“Excellent,” Hugh said, clapping his hands together. “You know where to find us when it is done.”
A knock on the door signaled Sil’s return. “Master Deckland is ready,” they said after Hugh beckoned them.
Barith cursed, and Levian gulped. Artie chuckled. “Is he angry?” the pix asked.
Sil tilted their head. “The vampire is… irritable.”
“We’ll deal with Deckland,” Hugh said. “You deal with Merlin.”
Levian’s guts churned at the thought of seeing her father again. Merlin had been cast into The Prison when she’d only been a girl, and she’d visited him only a single time since, and that had been out of desperation to save Gwendolyn the year before.
As they followed Sil through the wing of offices, Barith squeezed her hand, drawing her attention. “No arrows,” he told her.
Levian smiled, but a chill ran down her spine as they rounded the corner. Deckland stood on the other side, his face clean of blood, his shirt fresh, his nose pink and swollen, staring at her.
“Hello, kitten,” Deckland drawled, his voice sinister.
“Hells,” Levian blurted as Barith moved in, shoving her and Sil aside.
“Back off, vamp,” the dragon snarled, his eyes blazing.
Deckland’s cold glare fixed on Barith, but it soon slid back to Levian, his lips curling in a chilling smirk. She shivered. “Did you satisfy your curiosity?” he taunted, each word a dagger of mockery.
“Master Deckland, you are required in the Grey Room,” Sil interjected with irritation, displeased by the vampire’s hallway theatrics.
Deckland's eyes narrowed, lingering on Levian as he strolled around them. The mage swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat. She was embarrassed, and the effects slithered through her. Deckland was a vampire, and he was unnerving, but she’d treated him like nothing more than a pawn.
She’d been about to apologize when Deckland said, “It was diverting. I enjoy a partner that can play rough, even if you were only using me to make the dragon jealous.”
Levian sucked in a breath of shock while Barith’s growl rumbled like low thunder.
Deckland glanced at the dragon with an almost delighted glint. “Take her to bed,” he told Barith, “before your kitten gets herself into real trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
London
five days to find levian’s thieves and not get shot
Barith grunted, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch as he fell into it.
“Coffee or scotch?” Levian asked.
He cracked open a single eye. “Fair enough,” she replied, waving her hand. A bottle of scotch and two mugs appeared in her hand. The mage plopped down next to him, sat everything on the coffee table currently baring the weight of his feet, and poured each of them a drink. She put a mug in his hand before she leaned back into the couch, mirroring him.
For a second, they just sat there in silence. The soft pre-dawn rain rapped against the window panes of the Ember Hall library. The fire he’d lit when they’d returned crackling in the hearth.
It was amusing how familiar this moment felt—the odd stillness of the first moments after an insane stretch of complete chaos. At least this time, no one had been trying to shoot, lock up, or maim them.
Levian let out a deep sigh. Barith grunted in agreement, peering at her through his one open eye. The mage smirked as she looked into the fire, then smiled, then laughed, her laughter soon morphing into something nearly unhinged.
Barith chuckled next to her. “Ye’ve gone and lost yer mind, eh?” he grumbled before taking a swig of his mug. The fine-aged whiskey was smooth and smokey as it slid down his throat.
Levian wiped a few tears of mirth from her eyes. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to get the image of Magistrate Evans bent over that table with those feathers in his ears out of my head,” she chuckled.
Barith took another swig before he replied, “Aye. I could’ve gone without seeing that.”