Page 38 of Wanted: Rogues and Bards

Good point.

Lirion jumped out the window, launching himself at the next building. He caught the metal downspout and slid to the ground. Fenric didn’t hesitate a second longer. Sure, he could shift into a cat and escape, Gale and Lance were fully aware of his skills, but something was driving him to make sure Lirion got away safely. It was as if he could hear his mother whispering in his ear that fate was pushing them together—not that he believed one bit in fate.

With a low curse, he jumped out the window and shimmied down the spout behind Lirion, his heart in his throat as the metal groaned and squealed under his weight. Somehow, he reached the ground safely.

Lirion caught his hand the second his shoes touched dirt and jerked him down the alley. They ran together down the dark twisting space, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the heroes in the brothel.

It was only when Fenric’s lungs were burning and his legs were about to give out that Lirion pulled him into a door niche, hidden deep with the night’s shadow, and pressed him against the rough brick.

“What…what are you doing?” Fenric panted.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” Lirion said in a harsh whisper. His hot breath danced across Fenric’s parted lips. On his next inhale, he was drawing Lirion’s breath into his starved lungs.

“What?”

“Twice! Twice now you’ve gotten in my way.”

The man wasn’t making any sense, but not much currently did. Part of Fenric was lightheaded with relief; he’d gotten one useful shred of information about his mother’s treasure. He’d also gotten to beat the snot out of her killer. The only thing that would have made the moment better would have been finally shoving his blade into Lance’s black heart, but that day would still come.

“It’s not my fault,” he growled, still fighting some lingering irritation at Lirion for getting in his way. “How was I supposed to know you had business with that asshole?”

Lirion got in his face, his eyes bright with emotion. “I’m sorry he killed your mom, but she’s dead. There’s no bringing her back. But Aria is still alive, and you might have just ruined my chances of ever finding her.” His voice shattered on the woman’s name, and Fenric’s stomach became a pit of ice. Oh, gods. No.

Fenric’s mouth moved, but no words came out. His rage went out like a flame in the wind. He didn’t know what to say.

Before he could form a proper apology, Lirion slammed his mouth down over Fenric’s. The kiss was brutal, taking everything and giving nothing back. It reached down to his very soul, and for a heartbeat, Fenric was afraid Lirion was going to steal it.

Yet, as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Lirion ended the kiss and glared at him. “Get in my way again, and I swear I’ll make you wish Lance had killed you too.”

And then he was gone.

Blink of an eye. Just gone.

Fenric swore.

That was both the best and most frightening kiss of his life.

Lirion had never in his life stalked someone.

But, well, there was a first time for everything.

Of course, in the past, everyone had always come seeking him. It was never the other way around.

Would stalking even be the right word? Most stalkers did so out of obsessive desire, after all, and he didn’t desire this man whatsoever. Skulking might be a better term.

He debated the right word as he sauntered along the road, not paying a certain hero any attention. Lirion had kept his distance from Lance and his companions the last two days, giving the asshole time to recover and for all of them to once again lower their guard.

Today, his target wasn’t Lance Carrington, but Gale Reeve. He hadn’t even known Gale was in town when he’d started questioning Lance. He just knew the two always traveled together. If anything good had come out of Fenric’s interference the other day, it was discovering Gale was in Björnkill.

A smirk toyed with Lirion’s lips as he thought about how Fenric had put the fear of all the vengeful gods into Lance. The cowardly fucker hadn’t even dared show his face in town the last two days, considering how beat up he was. Apparently Björnkill had a shortage of competent healers who could have cleaned up his face. Though, considering how Fenric had left him, it wouldn’t have been an easy or cheap job.

Now Lirion wanted to finish the job with these so-called heroes. His way.

With Lirion’s good looks—it wasn’t ego, just fact—it was nigh impossible to go anywhere without drawing someone’s eye. He went from stall to stall along the marketplace, admiring a necklace here, sampling some fruit there, all the while keeping one eye on his quarry a good distance ahead of him. It didn’t hurt that this was a busy port town. There were ample crowds for him to disappear into. The only thing he’d had to do was wrap a bit of brown cloth over his head like a hood to hide his bright hair from notice.

An aging grandmother with a wealth of wrinkles on her weathered face perched behind her wares waved a trembling hand to catch his attention. “Who you looking at, dearie?”

That singular glance of his had not gone unnoticed, eh? She was shrewd. Lirion gave an easy shrug and an even easier lie. “I’m with a group. Just trying to make sure I don’t get separated from them.”