Chapter 12
My eyes tracked her the same way a predator watched its prey.
The way she shifted on her bare feet, her grasp too firm on the banister, and the cadence of her breaths slowed to be shallower than her norm.
All while she seemed to contemplate whether or not my offer of coffee stemmed from kindness or came laced with an ulterior motive.
I couldn’t blame her for questioning it. Everything I did benefited me, but what she didn’t know was how much of it revolved around her—around us.
The past couple of days had been a new form of torture, watching her lie unconscious in her bed. It had been a necessary evil, one that I’d force upon her again without a second thought—if I had the time.
All of this had been done with her best interests at heart, even if mine was wrapped in barbed chains blackened by hell’s inferno.
She could thank me for my sacrifice later with my cock buried deep in her pretty little throat.
Eve’s demeanor shifted, embracing that holier-than-thou aura that I both loved and wanted to fuck right out of her. Releasing the death hold on the railing, she straightened and cleared the bottom step, moving with intent towards the kitchen.
When she passed me, my fingers twitched at my sides.
The unsated desire simmered in my veins, making me want to grab her and pull her against me.
I’d thread my fingers in her sleep-tousled hair before savoring the taste of her mouth on mine.
All of it would be a reminder of who she still belonged to.
But business came first.
Turning to Valphyr, my voice dropped to a low murmur. “Inform Ignatius that his services will be needed this afternoon and to be here no later than three o’clock. My Little Spade and I will be going out for dinner and a show.”
Val typically embraced an unsettling amount of calm as a reflection of his clan’s diplomatic reputation. However, for those who were close to him, that slight twitch of his right eyebrow hinted at his dissent.
“I respectfully recommend more thorough monitoring—”
I cut him off with a sharp look, one that could cut through any enemy more effectively than a scorching knife through lard rendered from a gluttonous imp.
He dipped his head in concession. “Understood. I will have my full report to you before day’s end.”
After his departure, I made my way to the kitchen where I leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of my dress slacks. I watched as Eve struggled to navigate the kitchen cabinets, one door swung open then shut with a thud before she checked another.
“Far left,” I advised.
She paused, the annoyance radiating off her in waves.
“I can find it myself,” she huffed out. “I don’t need your help.”
Despite her declaration, it didn’t stop her from going to the cupboard I had directed her to.
My lips twitched at the corners when she opened the cabinet only to discover the coffee mugs were one shelf down from the top, well beyond her reach.
Stubbornly, she stood on her tiptoes, attempting to overextend herself only to still be no less than six inches shy of success.
After letting her make several attempts, I finally pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the cabinet. Standing behind her, I leaned over and grabbed one of the oversized black mugs with ease, the front of my body brushing against her back as I did.
Without taking a step back, I offered it to her. The fire in her sapphire eyes when she spun around to face me was worth whatever venomous thoughts she might have had right then.
Eve plucked the mug out of my hands and pushed her way past, stalking over to the coffee machine. She muttered loudly enough for me to catch her complaint. “Who the hell puts mugs up on the third shelf?”
Turning, I leaned back against the counter, folding my arms in front of my chest and not bothering to hide my smirk.
“Those of us who like to remind feisty things like yourself why you might need a little help every now and again.”
Her sidelong glance as she filled her mug was both refusal and admission at once.
Unable to resist riling her up further—cause fuck I missed her damn sass—I blatantly dragged my gaze down the length of her body before adding, “The pajamas look good on you.”
The coffee mug had been halfway to her mouth before she put it back down on the counter, turning to face me with a pretty little scowl. I was sure it was meant to be a deterrent. My dick didn’t get the memo.
“Of course they look good on me,” she snipped. Then she pointed a finger at me. “But do you know what doesn’t look good? The fact I don’t remember putting them on. That some creep with an ego bigger than all of the Concord combined dressed me like a doll while I was completely unaware.”
I almost snorted, almost.
“You didn’t seem nearly as concerned about your modesty when your cunt was riding my face in that alley the other night.
” I waved a dismissive hand. It was neither here nor there.
“Don’t worry, Little Spade, your virtue remains intact.
My housekeeper, Julissa, did the honors.
Perks of employing a witch. Fabric transmutations cost only a quiet chant and a wiggle of the fingers. ”
Eve opened her mouth, but her words vanished off the tip of her tongue. Sealing her lips shut, she eyed me with suspicion bordering on paranoia. There was no doubt she was searching for any hint of deception in my otherwise steely facade. I didn’t let her find any.
Ultimately, she took the route of deflection with a change of topic.
“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. Why don’t you explain why the hell I woke up feeling like I had a hangover that rivaled unholy death with a side of insidious plaguerot?”
A complicated question with an even more complicated answer.
I forced a neutral expression, every word carefully curated and tone measured.
“The body can react to a Knight of Hell’s mark in many ways, some subtle and others more noticeable.” A lie. This had nothing to do with my mark, and everything to do with her.
Eve’s eyes narrowed at the explanation, skepticism at odds with whatever she thought she knew.
Doubling down, I added with an unbothered shrug, “If you don’t believe me, I can have the ancient texts brought up here for you to go through. They’re written in the Old Language.”
I paused before prodding at her arrogance. “You can read Kar’kolvian, right?”
Nobody could fucking read it. I’d heard the last person who’d attempted to learn had failed after deciphering two of the nearly three hundred characters. The unfortunate sap ended up setting his own eyeballs on fire until the globs of blood and tissue caramelized in the sockets.
She stood there, chin raised and unwilling to admit she couldn’t do something. Instead, she turned back to her mug and focused on caffeinating.
With the first sip of her coffee, she made a noise of approval as she swallowed it down. She licked her lips, peering into the cup with awe. “What is this?”
I grinned, knowing my Little Spade would have expensive taste.
“The only coffee worth drinking. Gaping Souls Roasters’ ashstone blend. One bag costs more than most of my employees’ salaries.” Lucky me that Julissa had a few connections outside of her coven that not only made the grind accessible but affordable as well.
Seeing her indulge in another taste brought a sense of ease to my otherwise tense muscles after avoiding a discussion I wasn’t ready to have.
“Drink up. We have a busy day ahead.” I stepped away from the counter, approaching her.
Looking at me over the edge of her mug she raised both brows, curiosity tugging at her features.
“Ignatius will be by this afternoon. After he spoils you rotten”—I reached out, my fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with care—“I’m taking you to dinner, and then we’ll put your precognitive powers to the test.”
I leaned forward after she lowered the coffee, murmuring, “It’ll be your chance to impress me, Eve.”
My thumb swiped across her lower lip, catching a droplet of coffee still clinging there. I brought it to my mouth and let it linger against my lips as I sucked it clean, the faint sweetness of her skin mixing with the bitterness of the brew.
For someone who pretended to hate me, it didn’t prevent the hitch in her breath or stop the pink from spreading over her freckled cheeks at the minor contact.
Leaving Eve to her own whims to wander the penthouse on her own until Ignatius arrived, I retreated to the office next to my bedroom. It wasn’t as large as my primary one located above the casino floor, but it remained functional.
As promised, Val emailed me his findings on the mental exploration he had performed on my Little Spade. His telekinesis extended beyond making physically tangible objects move and allowed him to manipulate the intricate neural impulses that allowed paranormal abilities to function.
The process rendered the subject unconscious, dropping barriers.
If he had been inexperienced or otherwise untrustworthy, the act of manipulating a precognitive’s inner workings could carry great risk.
Eve’s complaint of feeling like shit didn’t surprise me.
Unconsciousness was a blessing when you had a Drakyn half-breed probing with telekinetic fingers and rummaging through someone’s subconscious and genetic makeup.
The decision to enlist Valphyr’s assistance had been a weighted gamble.
I needed to know just how deeply Eve’s abilities ran and what lay beneath it all.
If I was going to rely on her powers to draw funds out of competitors while simultaneously assisting her with her brother’s bail money, I needed to verify that my long-range visions were still on the proper track.
There was too much time for things to shift between what I saw our future holding and where things currently stood.
My fingers drummed against the desk’s polished surface as I mulled over Val’s last sentence.
Armageddon? I’d shared drinks with monstrosities capable of melting souls, witnessed the aftermath of unspeakable horrors inflicted on an innocent royal, and had unleashed half my own wrath onto a den of Superbia’s cockroaches over a disrespectful comment about my favorite sports team.
Armageddon was relative to a Knight of Hell designed to thrive on chaos and destruction.
Val was right about one thing though—I intended to ignore his official recommendation. My life revolved around not just playing the odds, but owning them.
There was no way I’d let my Little Spade devolve into some fucking underling only capable of speaking in tongues and selling cheap fortunes at Maggotpile Square. She’d elevate and rise, never to kneel to those beneath her.
I’d make sure of it.
The sound of the penthouse door opening and shutting had me rising from my seat. Was Eve naive enough to try running from me again?
No sooner had the thought zipped across my mind than I heard a boastful voice filled with far too much enthusiasm.
“The Beauty Squad has arrived! I come bearing gifts of glamour, swagger, and splendor. Behold the beholder, the designated designer, and sassy-but-classy maker of masterpieces.”
Ignatius, of course.
Glancing at the clock, it told me he was early.
“Scowling causes wrinkles, darling,” he called out from downstairs. Definitely directed at me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, grumbling a reminder to myself about why I even put up with his theatrics.
His chatter dulled into casual conversation, presumably already making a fuss over Eve.
Lowering myself into my chair, I relaxed marginally. But Val’s email still nagged at the back of my brain like a scab daring to be picked.
Unpredictable. Entropy. Armageddon.
The words circled my thoughts like an endless merry-go-round with a slew of paranormal possibilities instead of horses.
My hands gripped the armrests, forcing my body to lean back in my seat. Closing my eyes, I opened my mind’s eye, lowered my shields, and searched. It wasn’t a blind pursuit.
I had a target.
If seeing my Little Spade at the furthest reaches of my long-range precognition would loosen the vise on my lungs, so be it. Energy cost be damned—I had to see her.
It didn’t take long for sweat to bead at my temples, my jaw to ache from clenching too tightly, or my lungs to burn from breaths held for too long.
All of it was worth it when the vision flickered. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
This echo of a vision would not fade. It thrived within its chosen chamber.