Chapter 15 #4
“What?” Warwick and Ash both barked out in shock. “A chameleon?”
“I’ve known one before. She could slip away right in front of you, smell like a human or fae.” A bitter, faraway expression fired in Killian’s eyes, telling me there was far more to this story.
“Shit.” Ash leaned more into me with an exhale. “Makes sense, though.”
“Why?” I asked, not having the background they all seemed to have.
“Chameleon’s shifters are very rare. They can change and adapt to any situation with effortlessness and escape just as easily. They can change their smell and blend if need be. They are very smart and devious.”
“If he is one, it’s understandable why he’s been so hard to sense. Why it’s been so easy for him to find us without us being aware. Slip away from us.” Warwick’s irritation coated his statement.
Holy barrel of monkeys. The Lord of Death could hide among us, and we might not know it?
“Can they change their appearance?” I tucked my tangled and dirty hair nervously behind my ear. “I mean, could he look like one of you?”
“No.” Killian shook his head. “Just like the animal, they can’t change forms. He will always look like him, but they can fool the eye, blend in with the background, be the human beggar on the street to a noble fae at a party.
They weave a story that makes you trust whatever they are saying.
They are con artists. The ultimate imposters. Impeccable hunters.”
Which was maybe why he got in with Istvan, pretending to be a human who was particularly skilled at tracking a target.
“What he is, isn’t important. How he knew where to find you tonight is.” Warwick stripped off his coat, his massive biceps bulging tightly against his short-sleeve shirt as he folded his arms, the veins and muscles straining against his tattooed skin.
Not that I noticed.
Yeah, okay, I noticed.
Even at a distance, without our link, or even looking at each other, Warwick was like a punch to the face.
Jarring, brutal, and painful. It made me realize as tempting as Killian and Ash were, when Warwick was in the room, they were watered down to nothing.
He consumed my very being. Gorged on it with a vengeance and plucked at my rib cage like violin strings.
I didn’t have to be an enemy for him to destroy me.
Inhaling, I stared at my boots, Tad’s blood dried on the tip.
“We went back up to High Castle. We were followed by one group, while Kalaraja had another group waiting back here for us.”
There was a beat before Warwick’s boots thumped over the wood floor, his body becoming a threatening device. The man was no less dangerous without the magic I bequeathed him. Before me, he had still been powerful and deadly.
Even as I sat on the high bar, he still loomed over me.
“You went back up to High Castle?” It wasn’t a question. “To get the nectar.”
My head tipped back to peer up at him, my jaw clicking. “Yes.”
Anger billowed off him, his massive chest rising and falling when our eyes met.
He was within touching distance, my hand aching to reach out and trace the curves of his muscles, the heat of his skin, feel his anger burn down my arms and feel him tear through my soul.
The absence of the link, our connection, wasn’t just something missing; it was a physical pain. Torture.
At least on my end.
“You went up there to retrieve the most powerful object in the world.” He stepped closer, his body almost settling between my legs. “Guarded by necromancer-witches, who would fight to the death for it, with just these two?” Warwick’s nose flared, motioning back to Killian and Sloane.
“These two?” Killian shot up. “I am pure fairy. A fucking Lord! I have more power in my pinkie than you have in your entire body.”
“You want to have a go, fairy?” Warwick gritted to Killian, gaze still on me.
“Name the place, Farkas.” Sloane rolled his shoulders. “I will gladly show you how fast I can put a wild dog down.”
“Just try.” Warwick still didn’t look away from me, but I knew every muscle in his body was ready to respond if Killian came at him.
“I don’t see the problem.” I contested. “Would going with you and Ash be any different?”
“Yes.” He growled as his frame inched closer.
Air caught in my lungs, forcing my voice out strong. “Why?”
“Me.”
“Gods, your huge, insufferable ego,” I snapped.
His mouth got within an inch of mine, his timbre scraping the ground. “Not too long ago, you had no problem with my huge insufferable ego.”
My body instantly heated at his insinuation. The memory of how his body felt over mine . . . so deep inside I couldn’t breathe. Shoving him away, I slid off the bar, needing to get away from him.
“Don’t worry. We brought a Druid along with us too.” I stepped away, retreating.
“Tad?” Warwick sputtered, running his hand through his hair.
“Bazdmeg.” He reached for the glass I had set down, grabbing the remains and gulping down the rest before slamming it back on the bar.
He turned, pacing a few feet. “So, you got it then.” He flicked his chin at the box I set down on the corner of the bar. “The nectar.”
“Yes.”
Warwick strolled over to it, his fingers flipping the lid, peering down. He stared blankly at it, his teeth grinding together. I wondered if he hoped the same as I had that it would be brighter, showing it was returning, that possibly our magic would come back.
Or did he fear the opposite?
He had freedom now . . .
A wolf without a leash.