TWENTY-TWO
Zarek ensured his magick was extra controlled so as not to burn Angela, even though her slap still burned across his cheek. Not physically, but the shock of it lingered.
No one struck him.
And yet it had been… earned.
Angela was so angry she wasn’t listening to reason. So, he hooked an arm around her waist, lifted her clean off her feet, and thrown her over his shoulder.
She wasn’t the first mortal he’d carried like this, but most of them were unconscious from Black Cloak attacks as he took them to the healers.
This mortal was different.
“What are you doing? Put me down!” Her fists slammed into his back. She kicked, twisted, and grabbed his jacket.
“Saving you.” He had no choice but to step through the fold of the veyll, where the world split.
The air collapsed into nothing and reformed around them as they appeared in the alley behind her family’s bookshop.
He still couldn’t enter because of the wards, only this time they shifted in her presence, just like they did at her house before she welcomed him inside. Which he’d doubt she’d do that now.
Angela gasped, stunned by the shift, but did not weaken, again hitting at his back. “Let me down.”
“No.” Zarek wasn’t done.
He then stepped through another fold of the veyll.
Hong Kong’s humid night air hit like a wave as neon blended into a kaleidoscope of shimmering lights that reflected off the wet pavement. The noise of the busy city’s nightlife was a shock to the senses.
Ensuring they were cloaked, he let reality settle for two heartbeats.
“Have you lost your mind?” She struck his back again. “Where the hell am I?”
Another few seconds, then they were back into the veyll.
This time, he carried her to the other side of the globe, to the mortal professor’s private library where Pete Macrombie’s simple wards shimmered faintly along the upper beams, but failed to react to either of them.
Raising the question: how come Angela’s wards were so strong when someone like the professor, who had spent his entire life studying the esoteric arts, were so weak in comparison?
“Zarek, if you don’t put me down, I’ll—” Her voice cut off as they shifted through another fold of the veyll, this time to the Bone that was how the Sworn Exarchs could link with each other in this mortal realm.
Rocharde shook his head. “We didn’t, not from the moment you went to find the… female.”
“It’s like you were gone.” Condorr shrugged his beefy shoulders, who had the gift for reading magical signatures. “I couldn’t feel you anywhere.”
Martar asked coolly, “Where did you go? The bookshop?”
“Yes.”
“Distance?”
“Hong Kong. Then the Bone we’re just following orders.”
“She’s going to kill you, you know.” Condorr rubbed his cheek in the same place where Zarek had been slapped, fighting the grin.
“Yeah…” Zarek exhaled heavily.
Martar’s mouth twitched, also fighting a smirk. “You did kidnap her.”
“I removed her from danger.” Zarek scowled.
“And now you need to make peace with—”
“A wildcat. Who is probably tearing my chambers apart.”
Condorr shared a choked laugh, while Rocharde wiped his hand over his mouth, which did nothing to hide his low chuckle, as Martar’s cocky grin grew.
“It would’ve been easier if this had fallen to you, Martar. You know how to handle women.” Zarek raked his gloved fingers through his hair; it was a rare tell. He had faced battlefields, fire and death without hesitation, yet where did he begin with her?
Whatever this Claiming thing was, it felt like the beginning of something irreversible.
But he was a warrior trained to face any battle. So he headed home to Paradox.