“Orlaith.” The word is pushed through clenched teeth. “Apologies for the interruption. I know how much you dislike impromptu visitors in yourpersonalspace. I was just escorting Cainon back down the stairs.”
The Southern High Master plucks a piece of flint off Baze’s lapel, like being held at daggerpoint is an everyday occurrence. “Why don’t you let mypromiseddecide if she’d like me in her personal space or not,” he says, patting Baze on the cheek like a condescending ass.
Baze bristles, pressing more weight into Cainon’s chest. “Want me to roll him down the stairs or toss him off the balcony?”
Sweet merciful—
He’s going to earn himself a duel. Or a beheading if he ever ends up in the South.
“Neither,” I bite out, hand sweeping in a wide arc, inviting Cain into my space.
Baze throws me an incredulous stare. “Are you kidding me?”
“Obviously not,” Cainon offers unhelpfully, leading Baze to hiss an inch from his face.
I nearly slam the door on them both.
Baze guts me with a glare, perhaps waiting for me to change my mind and scuttle back into my shell. But I’m not the same girl I was yesterday. In fact, I have no idea who I am anymore.
All I know is I’m pissed, confused, and I have several bones to pick. Unfortunately for Baze, he’s sitting almost at the top of that pile.
“Let him in.”
I hear Baze’s teeth grind, watch the vein in his temple pulse. He finally slides back a step, letting his dagger fall from the notch dug into the High Master’s throat.
Cainon swipes the nick and wipes the smear of blood on his pants. “I should have your head for that, boy.”
“Fucking try it,” Baze drones, reclining against the wall.
A low, predatory laugh rumbles deep in Cainon’s chest. “Careful what you wish for.”
I groan, turning my back on them and making for the window, dodging books and piles of clothing before climbing onto the sill. I look up in time to see the victorious smile fall right off Cainon’s face as he pauses on the threshold of my deluge of mess.
“You—ahh—redecorating?” he asks, foot suspended midair as if he’s trying to find somewhere to step.
Baze plants himself near the door, mapping Cainon’s back like he’s picturing all the gory ways he wants to hack him open. “Just terrible housekeeping skills. But I guess that’syourproblem now, isn’t it?”
I’m going to murder him.
“You can leave,” Cainon states with a dismissive bat of his hand.
Baze lands his shoulder against the doorframe and cleans dirt from his nails with the pointy end of his dagger. “Not with a rake in her room, I won’t.”
The Southern High Master retrieves a bottle off the ground and pops the cork, sniffing the contents and screwing up his face. “You’re toeing a fragile line today, old friend.”
“Emphasis on theI don’t give a fuck.”
“Ba—”
“At least not until you need my help, right?” Cainon jabs.
I massage my temples, wondering if Kai has any air pockets in his loot-den so he can swim me down for a vacation. “Baze, just go. I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself.”
“With all due respect,” he replies, returning his attention back to his nails, “your actions of late contradict every word that just came out of your mouth. And while you still live under this roof, it’smyjob to make sure you’re safe. If he stays, so do I.”
Cainon opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare that ... strangely seems to work. Eyebrow arched, he perches on the edge of my vanity and settles in for the show.
It grates me—having an almost stranger in my space—but I want to hear what he’s got to say. And as for Baze; I don’t want him to leave just yet.
