“Report?” he asks.
“They were Rancorites, all of them. At least thirty. Quill?” I say, turning to my head of guard for confirmation.
“I’d say thirty-five, my lord. We killed twenty, but about fifteen more got away,” Quill says.
Viz winces. “Twenty is…a lot of dead snares, especially from one domain. I think Lord Kaliban might have something to say about this.”
“Yes, and when he does, it will surely be to acknowledge that execution is the standard punishment when a demon lord catches someone trying to steal from their territory,” I say firmly, unbuckling my scabbard. “I’m pretty sure he’s the one who sent those idiots here. None of the other snares have gotten desperate enough to try something like this, and it’s not coincidence the Rancorites are the only ones who haven’t respected my embargo. I’d bet all the remaining water in the Morphos that their lord put them up to this.”
“It occurred to me, my lord. But do you really think he’d disrespect Malice like that?” Quill asks.
“I think he was the angriest about me suspending the soul deals,” I say. “He wants to grow the army as quickly as possible, and this has put a nice big pothole in his way.”
“Should we send a message informing him of their crime anyway?” Viz asks.
“Yes. I sent my own message with one of the thieves, but let’s play nice for now and pretend we don’t know what he’s been up to. We’ll send it tomorrow though. Right now, I want to get back to my bed.”
And the person in it, I don’t add, even though Viz gives me a knowing look.
As I leave the courtyard, I make a mental note to be careful with Kaliban. I thought the help we offered him during Rancor’s coup bought us some good favor with him—but apparently not enough to protect Malice from Kaliban going after whatever he wants.
Leah
I wake with the purple light of the brightening ourani streaming through the window, telling me morning has arrived. I blink and stretch, luxuriating in the soft blankets and the wall of hard, warm muscle wrapped around me.
Goddess, he smells good. I inhale Syrus’s rich, masculine scent as I turn my head to see his sleeping face tucked beside my shoulder. I’ve never seen him asleep before, and there’s something vaguely intoxicating about all that power and strength slumbering peacefully beside me.
I drop my head to the pillow again, my eyes falling on the wedding ring he tossed to the floor last night. After everything that happened yesterday, it’s easy to forget what Hodges told me at the market, but now, as I lie in bed with a man who is manifestlynotmy husband, I wonder if the man who was asking questions about me was Hathwell.
Was it him trying to find me? Or, if it happened before the marriage, was it him trying to uncover my secrets? I can’t help but remember how Hathwell seemed so confused when I first turned up in that drawing room. He thought my father only had one daughter, but he was quick to pay me plenty of attention once it was clear who I was. Maybe after that, hekeptasking questions about my identity, tracing my alias to the market…
Of course, it could be that the man from the market was totally unconnected to Hathwell and was one of the sorcerers. But if it was Hathwell, then it would mean he was priming me to be their sacrifice from the beginning. It would explain the rush on the ceremony, the lack of witnesses from his side of the family—even his finding an excuse not to sleep with me on our wedding night.
Either way, Hodges’s information makes me suspect the sorcerers deliberately targeted me. Thewhy, however…
I don’t want to think about that too hard, not when looking down that road feels scary and unpredictable. And especially not when I’m lying so comfortable and happy in Syrus’s arms.
One of those arms is currently slung over my hip, curling up across my stomach and holding me tight as if he’s afraid I’ll leave.
But I don’t feel confined by it. Quite the opposite. I shuffle back, closer to his body, moving my hips so I’m nestled right next to him.
“If you keep rubbing against me like that, I’ll have to do something about it,” his voice drifts sleepily from behind me.
“Promise?” I ask, the hope in my voice only half put on.
He shifts, and I can feel his morning erection, but he doesn’t immediately pounce on me. Instead, he lifts his head, eyes blinking drowsily as he presses a kiss to my shoulder, then another to my neck. I roll over so we’re face-to-face, and he cradles my jaw, drawing me in for a series of long, languid kisses that make my body melt.
“Where did you go last night?” I ask before those kisses cloud my head entirely. Which wouldn’t be the worst outcome.
“I thought you slept through it,” he says with a little note of accusation in his voice as he tilts my head up and brushes his lips across my cheekbones, kissing my freckles. “There was an attack on the lake.”
“What?” I pull back, suddenly alert. “What happened?”
He frowns. “Nothing to worry about. Just some soul snares trying to take water from the Morphos. I think Kaliban put them up to it. He’s not happy about the soul embargo.”
“You seem very relaxed about all this,” I say, a little breathless as he kisses along my jaw.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a purr and an admonishment.
