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“No,” he clipped, the word forcing its way out all on its own.
Levian appraised him suspiciously. “Because she’s under your protection?” she drawled.
Sirus schooled his irritation. “I’ll handle the woman. You make peace with Barith.”
The mage pulled a face. “I’d rather eat a bag of slugs,” she hissed, forgetting all about Gwendolyn. Now that was the truth. She stalked back to her reading table, which was covered in books and scrolls and that charred skull. She and Barith were known to have their spats over the years. Some benign, some earth-shattering. Based on their greeting and her sourness, Sirus suspected their latest row had been somewhere near the latter.
“Make peace,” he said again. It wasn’t a suggestion. “Or find somewhere else to hide.”
She stilled, her back going stock straight. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You know, most people grow kinder in their old age, not more insufferable,” she bit out.
He was a vampire. Kindness was not in his nature. She knew that as well as anyone. Sirus didn’t bother to reply. He did not barb.
Levian sat behind her reading table, glaring daggers at him, her lips pressed into a hard line. “Fine,” she snapped eventually. “I’ll make peace with that tedious lump of scales, but only if you promise to be nice to Gwendolyn. I may not know her or why precisely you’ve dragged her here, but I have endless empathy for any innocent who’s forced to endure that icy stare of yours for more than a second. I’ve known you for centuries, and it still makes my skin prickle.”
It was clear Levian had no faith in his ability to not scare Gwendolyn half to death. Her concern was not unwarranted, but Sirus doubted it was necessary. That doubt intrigued and grated him all at once. He was used to being feared. He was not used to being trusted. He’d never met anyone who had trusted him so implicitly upon first meeting him. Ever. It was unnerving.
You. The single word Gwendolyn had first spoken to him. He wanted to understand how she seemed to know him. Why she acted like she could trust him even though she clearly had no clue as to what or who he was.
She was a contract, he forced himself to remember. Nothing more. Nothing less. He tensed at the fact that he had to remind himself of that at all. When he recognized that he wasn’t reminding but convincing himself, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
“She will manage. You worry about Barith,” he clipped and set off for the kitchen, tracking that faint scent of lilies through the house.
* * *
Barith was a towering, broad bus of muscle topped with a delightfully messy spray of wavy auburn hair, a lock of which fell over his face, slightly covering one of his amber eyes. He mindlessly brushed it back, straining his taut black long-sleeved shirt even further. He reminded Gwen of those viking gods from those superhero movies she used to watch with Nathan.
There was no question Barith was gorgeous. It was an undeniable fact. A fact he was clearly well aware of, as he was also, she’d quickly discovered, a shameless flirt.
Gwen imagined women swooning at his feet under one of those bright smiles of his. Strangely, it had absolutely no effect on her. None whatsoever. Which is why after he pronounced with a devilish glint in his eye that he was much more cuddly than he appeared, she’d drawled with the dryness of the Sahara, “You don’t say?”
His warm smile spread to his eyes. “As cuddly as a litter of newly born pups.”
Gwen barely fought the temptation to roll her eyes into the back of her head, instead opting for the well-practiced expression all women were forced to learn at some point in their lives. The one that said, I’m not interested.
To be fair, his flirting wasn’t making her uncomfortable. He was probably the most respectful obnoxious flirt she’d ever met, but that look of intrigue at her clear disinterest made her squirm, and Gwen decided to focus on her hot chocolate for the time being. Though it didn’t last. It was hard to ignore a hulking man with a swishing, scaled tail, chewing away on nacho chips as if he were just some regular guy. It was…bizarre. Especially given the fact that only minutes before, he’d been explaining to Gwen that out of himself, Sirus, and Levian, he was the youngest by over a hundred years. He’d thrown out the word “immortal” like any other person would say “sky” or “blue.” Her head throbbed. She took another sip of chocolate and savored the calm it spread through her weary body.
“How did you two end up as friends, exactly?” she ventured after a few moments. Barith was all warmth and charm and bravado, while Sirus was the equivalent of a lean slab of cut marble, one that could freeze you where you stood with one frigid glare.
“Me and Sirus? I’m not sure anyone is ever really friends with Sirus,” Barith admitted with a strained smile. “He hired me to help him with a contract too many years ago for me to remember, and the rest is history. He’s the best tracker I’ve ever known, even for a vampire, but he’s not exactly good with people, as you might’ve noticed.”
Gwen had noticed. She wasn’t sure Sirus’s face made an expression other than blank. Or icy, arrogant irritation.
“So, what? You’re the good cop and he’s the bad cop?”
Barith snorted a laugh. “Not quite,” he said before shoving several chips into his mouth.
She still didn’t understand. Not that she was ever going to. She was still not entirely certain she wasn’t dreaming.
“When you say ‘contracts,’ what does that mean?” she pivoted.
“Hired work,” the dragon replied. “Sirus normally negotiates the details. He’ll bring me along to help when my particular skills are needed.” Gwen looked at him warily, and he smirked before continuing, “Back in the day, we used to hunt the occasional wraith, track lost fae princes, deal with clever thieves. Whatever paid well. We even saved a few damsels in distress.” He winked, his smirk twisting into a sly grin.
Her face fell. Was that what she was? A damsel in distress? Gross. Gwen’s stomach churned, and she braced her hands on the cool granite counter.
“That was a long time ago, though,” he added with a wistful sigh. “There’s not as much need for brawn these days. It’s all politics now.” He shoved a few more chips into his mouth, the sound of his loud crunching filling her ringing ears.
“That all sounds—crazy,” she admitted, with more than a hint of skepticism. “Wraiths and fae princes?”
