AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ramiel, at your service. There, you know who I am, now walk your ass front and center, missy, before I have to do this the hard way,” he ended with a growl.
A low growl built in the room until the roar of a dragon filled the space and shook the paintings on the walls. Several bottles and glasses behind the bar rattled and crashed to the floor, sending shards of glass and splatters of alcohol flying. Jezzie’s eyes darted to Nithe and in an instant she was face to face with her lover, she stared into his eyes and caressed his jaw. The male whimpered softly and pulled her into a tight embrace as he glared daggers at Ramiel. What the actual fuck was happening?
The girl spun around in the male’s arms and looked him in the eye. “Seriously? Knowing who you are just makes me trust you less. But since Ballzy said to give you a chance, I suppose I must. Though it doesn’t get you off the hook for everything, and if you even think of doing anything hinky toward me, or my men, I’ll suck out your soul and swallow it down like a fine whiskey,” she said with a catlike smile.
He snorted in response, but Athon shook his head. “She’s not joking, Ram. Don’t piss her off or you won’t be around to know she was being literal.”
His eyes widened slightly of their own accord and his brain spun in circles because nothing made sense.
“Who the fuck is Ballzy?” He was so fucking confused.
“Ah, Balthazar, duh.” She looked at him as if he were stupid, and maybe he was.
“How do you know Ballzy, I mean Balthazar? And why in all of the Almighty’s realms do you call him Ballzy?” He had the feeling he both did and didn’t want to know the answer to the last one.
“How about we get into all of that after Daddy dearest wakes up. If you drop your shield . . . I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Or you can just verify with Leraie. Otherwise I’m assuming you want to have your little vamp friend take a sample and compare it to the unconscious and non-consenting male at your feet?”
“What little vamp friend?” Marcus asked brusquely.
“The one standing by the picture of, oh would you look at that, Madame de Pompadour, how fitting.” Jezzie smiled as if she knew something they didn’t. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t let them hurt you. Us suckers need to stick together. Plus, I already know more than enough about you to know you’re not going to hurt me and mine.”
Every set of eyes, except his and hers swiveled to look at the spot against the wall. The spot he knew hid his bodyguard. He’d protested the need, but the Almighty and Leraie had both insisted, more like ordered, and who was he to win that fight? No one but a servant, that’s who.
“Come on out, Liana,” he said with a sigh. He was going to cop so much shit for this, he just knew it.
A shimmer preceded her unveiling, like a fucking invisibility cloak, of all things. How original. Liana was tall, slender, toned, with curves that were subtle yet alluring in a way that screamed athleticism and softness at the same time. The fact she was utterly deadly was somehow hidden by a gentleness he didn’t trust.
“I can explain—” Ramiel started, but was cut off as Malphas and Fynn pinned Liana to the wall, and Deus overrode his attempt to speak.
“How did you get in here? And for how long?” he practically bellowed.
“Each and every time Ramiel has been here in the last few months. In fact, I was surprised no one noticed, I expected more from the renowned Devil’s 13, to be honest. That it took Jezzie over there to point out my presence is just utterly delightful,” she replied with a smug smile, her voice full of sugar and tangy lime.
Ramiel looked at the ceiling, mentally asking what he’d done to deserve this torture, as voices started to merge and the aggression in the room started to spike once more.
“Cut it out,” came a whispered command that stopped them all. “Let her go. She’s here with my permission and knowledge.”
At Luc’s words, Liana’s feet made contact with the floor, and she shook herself loose from the barely there hold Malphas and Fynn still had on her arms. All eyes pivoted to Luc, who was lifting himself to his feet and swearing under his breath.
“What the fuck, dude,” he directed at Deus. “You just let me go down like that?” He chuckled as he shook his head.
As Luc found his bearings, Ramiel focused on Jezzie instead. She watched Luc with trepidation. The same way a child fearing rejection approaches a parent for a puppy. She huddled back into the heat of her men. He felt calm radiate through the room, as Nithe rubbed her shoulders and Athon nuzzled the top of her head with his cheek. His eyes narrowed. Was it coming from her? Was she manipulating them all?
Luc pushed through the crowd, blocking Ram from the guy’s “daughter”, and took a tentative step toward her. He needed to see how this played out, but Nithe’s next words, delivered straight at him with a steely edge and an acid-filled gaze, caused his brain to cease working. The male’s bitterness and anger hit him in the chest harder than any physical fist could.
“It’s okay, a stór, talk to your father. We’ve got your back. We’ll sort out you and yours, and focus on me and mine later . . .”
The beast within him roared for freedom, beating on the internal flesh of its cage. Nithe knew he couldn’t let the dragon out, not there, not then. Faced with his father, he tried to make sense of the rage which swirled in his head, the pain slashing his heart, and the tiny spark of hope hidden deep within the soul of the child he’d once been. Balthazar’s words trickled into his mind. . .
“Don’t believe a word that piece of shit said about your father . . . Would not act with such dishonor . . . Open mind . . .”
Yeah, right. The male, his ‘father’, looked as if he’d snap the head off a baby turtle for daring to glance his way. He could, from the look of him, imagine the guy sending his unwanted halfling of a son to a known torturer just to hide his dirty little secret. Anything was possible, and he wasn’t about to jump up and throw a party for the guy just because Balthazar had given him a decent review. Though the shock on his face meant he was either surprised to see him, or didn’t know who the hell he was, at all.
Jezzie half turned toward him, her hand slipped free of his and came to rest over his heart.
“Mo shíorghrá?”
“I’m okay, a stór. Now is not the time. Though I could use your help to calm him down, please?” His Jezzie, always thinking of him.
