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And yet, something in the way they stood—in their very closeness—was oddly intimate.
Unfortunately, thanks to all the noise the builders were making, I caught only a couple of chopped-up sentences of his conversation with the sorceress—it means nothing, I will have my revenge regardless.
And while Lucian had made no secret of either aim, I had to wonder why he was now saying those words to a sorceress he claimed to barely know.
Because he is a liar. And have no doubt that he will not only lie, but cheat, steal, and kill to gain what he wants. Azriel could have been talking about the weather, for all the emotion he showed, yet we both knew that was as far from the truth as you could get. What we cannot be truly sure of yet is what, exactly, he wants.
He says revenge, and that’s the one thing I truly do believe he’s being honest about.
Perhaps.
And perhaps he was just incapable of seeing the forest for the trees where Lucian was concerned.
That is an incongruous statement.
But true.
Possibly.
As I drew closer, Lucian swung around and gave me a wide grin of greeting. Any sign of anger had completely disappeared. My gaze flicked briefly from his face to Lauren’s. She looked regal and composed—a woman certain of her place and power rather than one who’d seemed ready to tear eyeballs out just moments ago.
“You’re late,” Lucian said, the amusement in his eyes at odds with the rebuke in his words. “I was beginning to think you’d had second thoughts.”
“Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“Of course.”
He dropped an overly polite kiss on my cheek, and again I had to wonder if the argument I’d witnessed had been about sex. The only time he’d ever been so frugal with his kisses was when she’d been witness to them.
And while I was aware that he had a stable of bed partners, I certainly hadn’t expected one of them to be a dark practitioner. Nor was I entirely sure how I felt about it.
But at least it did explain the heady scent of sex and blood I’d smelled when I’d entered the room at Maxwell’s—it had come from their activities rather than from those on the main dance floor.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“A Coke would be good.”
He tsked. “And I had my best champagne on ice, too.”
“Save it for when we’ve got something to celebrate.”
“Later, then.”
“Perhaps.”
My reply was somewhat absent as movement caught my gaze. Lauren folded gracefully onto a chair and crossed her legs. The bright lights gave her dark hair a purple sheen but shadowed her face, softening her stern, somewhat matronly features. Once again I had that odd sense of familiarity, but I still couldn’t place who she reminded me of. Although she did remind me somewhat of a spider. A big black one, sitting in the middle of her nest and contemplating the world around her as she waited for her prey to fall into her web.
“Take a seat,” Lucian directed. “I’ll grab your drink.”
I claimed the chair nearest to Lucian’s, and Lauren gave me a thin smile. “And still you distrust me.”
“It’s not so much you as your profession.”
She raised one thin eyebrow. “Which is not saying much given my profession is who and what I am.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to take that statement, so I didn’t say anything. Lucian returned and handed me a can of Coke, then sat down between us.
“So,” he said, picking up his glass of wine from the floor. “As I said on the phone, Lauren believes she has come up with a possible answer.”
