11. Henry #3
Her gaze flicks from Carter and Bryce to me. “No,” she says.
I frown. A poison kiss is a very unusual gift, but it must be the work of the Divine of Malice. I stare at her, trying to puzzle out which other Divine would offer it.
“Asher?”
She shakes her head. “Not the Divine of Endings.”
Maybe I’ve been drinking too much, but now I am very confused. Until I remember how she introduced herself when we first met. Stellaria, Asher’s wife, who managed to learn to wield his magic as well as her own.
“Stellaria’s the only other option, then.”
Harlow grins wickedly. “Is it?” She glances at Bryce and Carter again. “Being a bit casual with my secrets.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re practically family.”
“ Your family,” she says.
Bryce shrugs. “Listen, this game you two are playing is cute, but we should probably admit we already know about your favorite pastime. ”
Harlow scowls at me. “And here I thought we were off to such a trustworthy start.”
“Are you going to tell me that your siblings don’t know what my magic is?” I ask.
She sighs. “Point taken. My magic is a gift from Harvain.”
The three of us freeze and stare at her. I would be pissed that Bryce and Carter are doing such a bad job of hiding their surprise, but I’m thrown equally off-kilter with that admission.
“Divine of Fortune,” Bryce says slowly.
I search Harlow’s face for a lie, but she’s just smirking in amusement. “Yes. I find it rather interesting myself, but they say he’s the only Divine with a sense of humor.”
It’s possible she’s lying, but I’m not sure why she’d bother.
It doesn’t really matter who blessed her, but it makes me curious about how she uses it.
Many people believe the Divine dole out blessings based on temperament.
They want their magic to be used, so they select those who have the will and vision to use it.
But just as many people believe Divine magic is random, so perhaps she’s right and Harvain saw her as an agent of chaos.
Carter claps and grins at me. “So rare that you’re stunned silent, Hen. I think she’s a good influence on you.” He pours us all a whiskey and holds his up. “To being humbled by love.”
Harlow clinks his glass. “To being humbled by business .”
Bryce waves his hand. “I’ve got it.” He clinks their glasses. “To being humbled by a beautiful woman.”
“To doing what we must,” I say, tapping my glass to each of theirs.
We all drink.
I immediately pour myself another, glancing around the bar.
The fact that half the men in the room are still looking at Harlow fills me with unwanted possessiveness.
I don’t want their eyes on her, even if she’s to be my wife in ceremony only.
They should show some respect when I’m sitting right here.
The man at the next table is looking her over with unveiled lust. I imagine smashing his glass into the side of his head.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to rid myself of the feeling. I don’t actually want her. I just don’t like other men feeling entitled to look, no matter how she might bait them .
Even Carter seems to be struggling not to steal glances at her cleavage.
I catch his eye and frown, and he gives me a look that says, I’m married, not dead.
She shifts, and the slit in her dress rises higher, revealing the top of her stockings and the ribbon stays.
Immediately, I’m back in the boarding house, kissing her soft thighs, listening to the way she moans as I drag my teeth over the pale skin. I squeeze the edge of the table.
When I meet her eyes again, she arches a brow, like she knows the exact direction of my thoughts.
I scrub a hand over my face.
“Should we fuck right now and get it over with, my feral wolf?” she asks. “I don’t want to be distracting.”
Bryce sputters, choking on his ale.
“At least she’s direct,” Carter says.
“Well, I think I’ve managed pretty well through this interrogation,” she says. “My turn to ask the questions. Why seek out a bride now? You’re not exactly young.”
“I was feeling sentimental. Just really hoping to finally settle down and find my true love,” I say.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. I like you better broody,” she says, crossing her leg so the slit rides higher.
The feel of her curves pressed against me is practically imprinted on my brain, and the more I try to ignore it, the more she seems delighted to wear the most scandalous dress possible to make sure I can’t. My body doesn’t seem to care how dangerous she is.
Carter’s gaze volleys between us, but Bryce’s is on anything but the slit in her dress that’s now showing a long length of pale skin at the top of her stockings.
“I put my cards on the table, Henry. Let there be no secrets between us,” she taunts.
“If my family is to stay in power at Mountain Haven, I’ll need an heir.” It’s not the full story, but it’s also not an outright lie. The best deceptions have a kernel of truth.
She kicks her lips into an exaggerated pout. “And none of your mountain women will do? ”
“Our magic is limited since?—”
Her face lights with recognition. “Since the attack ten years ago.” She frowns, considering. “Surely there must be women with gifts—and even so, there’s no saying for sure that marrying a blessed woman will get you a blessed child. The Divine do as they please.”
“There are few magical women left at Mountain Haven.” Lie. “And anyway, any children will need to visit the well to claim their magical gifts.” Lie.
She hums in amusement. “Do you lie to all the girls, or is that honor reserved for your betrothed?”
I frown. “It’s not a lie.”
“Perhaps not all of it, but some part of it is.”
“How do you know?” I sound so petulant, and she looks delighted.
“Maybe if you’re exceptionally good, I’ll tell you,” she says. “Or perhaps I’ll keep it to myself. Every woman deserves a few secrets.”
This is bad. If Harlow truly knows when I’m lying, my job just got so much harder.
There’s too much at stake and I’m running out of time to get all of the information I need out of her.
The Drained are becoming more powerful and more plentiful by the day.
I know city people think we’re wild and reckless, but Mountain Haven is still standing by sheer force of will and meticulous structure.
Harlow doesn’t understand what’s at stake—how rare my mother’s magic is.
That’s a good sign, because if her parents knew, they would have told her.
The less the Carrenwells know about my family and how we survived the attack ten years ago, the better.
If they knew, they would surely try to find a way to use my mother for their own agenda.
A sharp whistle from behind the bar draws Harlow’s attention. The bartender salutes. Harlow jumps to her feet.
“Well, gentlemen, this has been a lovely chat, but I’m afraid I need to get home.” She makes to walk by me, but I grab her wrist.
I can’t let her go yet. There’s more to unravel with this rebellion, and I want to know everything she knows about it.
“Leaving so soon, lovely?” I taunt.
“I’m afraid it’s a necessity. Unless you want my brother to discover me here plotting with you.”
“Kellan? ”
She nods, yanking her wrist away. “City guard will be here in less than two minutes, so I need to get out the back door now and head home—where he thinks I am.”
“You’ve been drinking quite a lot. At least let me walk you?—”
Harlow is already across the bar, heads turning as she covers up that sinful dress with her cloak, and she’s swallowed into the shadowed hallway at the back of the bar.