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“It was a man. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine. How about releasing me now? My arms are going fucking numb.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry about that, considering what you were intending to do to me.” I swung around and left.
“Hey,” he shouted after me. “You said you’d release me before the Directorate got here!”
“No, I said I’d consider it,” I flung over my shoulder. “Which I have. Consider the request denied.”
He swore, long and viciously, but I ignored h
im and walked around to check out my other prisoner. He was also beginning to wake. But I didn’t really have anything to tie him up with, so I did the next best thing—I knocked him out again.
Rhoan appeared ten minutes later, and he wasn’t alone. The man who accompanied him had dark hair and well-defined, handsome features. His eyes were the blue of the ocean, his shoulders broad, and his body lithe. He was also a werewolf. Vamps might not be able to traverse the daylight hours well, but other nasties certainly could, so it was logical for the Directorate to have more than just vamps on their team.
“Ris,” Rhoan said, his gaze sweeping from me to the man at my feet and then back again. Humor glinted in the cool depths of his eyes, but died quickly as his nostrils flared. “You’re hurt.”
I shrugged. “It’s a scratch.”
He eyed me, demeanor disbelieving—undoubtedly because he could smell the blood. “This is Harris. Riley’s threatened me with death if I spend more than an hour away, so Harris will ensure these two are taken back for questioning. And it doesn’t smell like a scratch.”
“Honestly, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
If my reply sounded halfhearted, it was only because I was racking my brains trying to remember where I’d heard Harris’s name before. Then it hit me—Harris was the cop who’d helped Aunt Riley out the time she’d been kidnapped and brainwashed.
The man in question nodded my way, then continued on past us, heading for the other side of the lockers, moving with an economy that spoke of both grace and understated power. As he disappeared around the corner, the shifter’s swearing abruptly ceased.
I glanced at Rhoan. “I asked the other man who his maker was, but he said the information had been burned from his mind. Can you check that out?”
Rhoan nodded. “What did they want?”
“The letter my father left in the locker.”
His gaze narrowed. “Why would your father leave a letter in a locker in the middle of a train station?”
“Because that’s just the way he does things.”
“What does it say?”
I shrugged. “It’s instructions on how to read the Dušan’s book, which is pretty useless given the Aedh have the book, not me.”
He grunted, accepting the half lie. “That could be a good thing. If you don’t have the book, you can’t chase keys. And that means Hunter might just leave you alone.”
Given Hunter was all that stood between me and the high vampire council, I was actually hoping she didn’t. And I had hell’s chance of the Aedh giving up. But I didn’t say that. I simply shrugged.
He eyed me for a moment, obviously suspecting there was a reason behind my silence, but thankfully Harris chose that moment to reappear. He was dragging the second man along behind him by the ethereal webbing.
“A very interesting rope you’ve got here,” he said, his gaze meeting mine. The blue depths were cool and distant—not a man who trusted easily, I thought. “What is it made of?”
“I couldn’t say, because it isn’t my rope.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Whose rope is it? And can you remove it?”
“It’s Azriel’s. And yes, he probably can.”
“Who’s Azriel? The cop at the door?” Harris asked.
“That’s no cop,” Rhoan said. “That is a reaper.”
“He is a reaper,” I corrected gently.
