ELEVEN
The Bone she recognizes my scent.” He huffed. “That makes us sound like some animal—which makes this dangerous.”
“For whom? You? Or for this Angela?”
Zarek scowled at his glass. The liquor trembled, warming it to where wisps of smoke curled from the surface as though on the verge of ignition.
Martar waved a hand over the drink, as if shooing a fly. Instantly, frost bloomed across the glass, sealing the liquor in a thin layer of ice. Martar had been the ice to Zarek’s fire ever since they were small boys.
“Does she feel what you feel?” Martar asked quietly.
Zarek shrugged. She said she did, but he wasn’t sure. And that uncertainty clawed at him far worse than any enemy ever had.
“Is that why you let Pete speak freely?”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious about him approaching this woman?”
“She’s having nightmares. And mortals who remember too much don’t survive. We know they eventually fracture and lose themselves.” His voice dropped as a smoldering of fiery coals shifted inside his belly. “I won’t let that happen to her.”
There it was. The line he hadn’t meant to cross.
Martar studied him for a long moment. “You’re protecting her.”
“I protect the realms,” Zarek said automatically.
“Then let’s hunt.” Martar pushed off the bar, his grin growing as he brushed down his fancy leather with the polished buckles. He always liked to look good for the ladies. “Before this thing inside your head grows horns, we’ll hunt and get it out of your system.”
“That’s the first decent idea you’ve had in a long time.” Zarek welcomed the distraction. After all, his life was all about the job.
And they vanished, leaving their glasses on the bar at the Bone & Whistle that hummed quietly behind closed doors, and nobody raised an eyebrow at their disappearance.