“Assistant, huh? I wasn’t aware he was hiring.”
“He’s not aware he’s hiring either.” She laughs, finishing up the massage with a light stroke across the tops of my wings before reclaiming her seat across from me. “Truth be told, I don’t have a lot of experience being an assistant torturer—oranyexperience, really, unless you count the whole demon-stabbing thing—but I’m a quick study. Besides, I don’t get squeamish around blood or severed body parts.”
“Is that so?”
“Give me a hacksaw and one of those old-school hedge trimmers, throw in a pair of safety goggles, and put me to work. Fingers, toes, badly-behaved penises…” She makes a snipping motion with her fingers. “Chop-chop-chop, done and done.”
“Wow. You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
She shrugs, likeall in a day’s work!, cracking up when she catches my expression. “What? It’s not likeyou’vegot anything to worry about, Rook. I’m sureyourpenis isverywell-behaved.”
Don’t bet on it, beautiful…
“Hmm.” I grin at her across the table. “You’ve got a twisty little kinky side I never saw coming, Wild West.”
She arches an eyebrow and cocks a knowing smirk, then turns her attention back to the seminary text, highlighter poised for business. “Don’t we all, professor. Don’t we all.”
Chapter Sixteen
WESTLYN
“Ah, these are the nights when I truly wish I’d learned more than seven languages,” Draegan says wistfully. Sitting in a chair before the fireplace in the study, he flips a page of his Architectural Digest magazine and sips his drink, not bothering to look up at me. “Then I could tell you nobloodyway in every one of them. Now for the last time, be gone. I’d like to read in peace.”
“You are literally the worst.” I plop down on the couch across from him. “Ineverylanguage, worldwide. Even the extinct ones. You know that, right?”
Outside the manor’s walls, the wind howls across the lawn of Blackmoor, stirring the fallen leaves into a frenzy. In here, the fire’s roaring bright, the air still sweet from the hot cider and apple pie Auggie made for us earlier. Honestly, the whole catalog-worthy moment would feel downright cozy if not for the brooding gargoyle sitting here, sucking the life out of me.
Goddess. The two of us have been going at it for half an hour already, and despite busting outallthe tricks in my arsenal, I can’t get him to budge an inch.
And I need him to budge. I need him to completelycave. Because despite my decision not to accompany the boys on their little death squad mission tonight, I really, really,reallyneed Draegan to take me to them after all.
Preferably, while the bastard mages still have some life left in them. Draegan told me he spoke to Auggie by phone earlier, confirming they nabbed Jacob Pomeroy and Alonzo Florentine without incident. Apparently, Doctor Belinda Eckhardt wasn’t home, so they decided to save her “interrogation” for another night.
Thanks to a combination of gargoyle speed and strength, Rook’s magic-dampener cuffs, and a couple of vials of some crazy-ass sedative, Auggie said the pair were unconscious, tied up, and tossed into the back of the Escalade before they even realized what hit them.
Draegan told me the gargoyles were in more danger fromhimfor stealing one of his favorite vehicles while he was out earlier than they were from the enemy mages, but I played dumb on that particular detail.
But that phone call was over an hour ago. By now, Jake and Alonzo are likely conscious and begging for death, and who knows how much longer they’ll be able to hold out, especially with Jude’s fondness for blood spillage.
With a surge of renewed determination, I say, “If you don’t drive me, I’ll have no choice but to put on a short skirt and hitchhike to the city.”
Another sigh. Another page flipped. “Sounds like an adventure. Best pack a bag—you never know where you might end up. Or who you might end up therewith. Have you ever encountered a vampire, Miss Avery? They’re particularly fond of young women in this area on account of the isolation. Fewer opportunities around here, of course, so they tend to make the most of the ones that… pop up.”
Damn it.
“I know you’re still pissed about our fight last night,” I say, “but I’m—”
“Our fights are par for the course, love. If I held a grudge every time you mouthed off to me, I’m not sure we’d ever be on speaking terms.”
Ignoring the little swoop my stomach does when the jerk calls me “love,” I say, “Then what’s the issue?”
No response but another page-flip.
“It’s a power trip thing, right?” I press. “Nothing you love more than reminding everyone who’s in charge around here.” Then, in my best deep-voiced British accent, “I’m Draegan Caldwell, and I don’t deviate from the schedule without a written request no less than one week in advance, because I’m the boss and I’ve got major control issues.”
Still, nothing.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling—not that he’s paying attention. “You are sobeyondinfuriating, there’s not even a word for—”
