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“Me? You?”
He half shrugged. “There are always casualties in a war, and you and I are front-line soldiers. The possibility is always there.”
I knew that. I’d always known that. But somehow, having him say it made it seem that much more inevitable.
“I don’t want to die, Azriel.”
“That is not an outcome that would please me, either.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Really? I mean, it would at least free you from my bothersome tendency to do what I want rather than listen to your good advice.”
Amusement briefly crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Is there not a saying about challenges being the spice of life?”
“Actually, it’s variety that’s the spice of life.”
“And you are nothing if not variable,” he agreed solemnly.
I laughed, then leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss across his lips. “Thank you.”
His hands clenched briefly against mine. I had no doubt he was fighting the urge to reach for me and deepen the kiss, because I was fighting the very same battle. “For what?” he said, voice controlled and very, very even.
“For making me laugh when all I want to do is cry.”
A shadow fell over us both and my stomach twisted in sudden fear. I glanced up hurriedly, but it wasn’t an angry Lucian, as I’d half expected. The man was thin, rat-faced, and not a stranger. He was the shifter my father had used previously to courier packages and notes to me. We’d cornered him in the basement of an abandoned apartment building, but he hadn’t provided a great deal of information, thanks to the fact that my father had erased his memory. As had Azriel, once we’d finished questioning him.
“James Larson,” I said, my gaze dropping to the simple envelope he held in his hand. It was the same sort of paper that my father had used in his previous notes, and my stomach began to twist even harder. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
He stopped and frowned. “How the hell do you know me?”
“You’ve delivered stuff to me before.”
“Huh,” he said. “Can’t remember it.”
Good. It meant Azriel had been successful and my father would not be aware that we’d found his courier.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Surely to god my father wasn’t tracking me that closely.
“Didn’t,” Larson said. “Not exactly. I was told to keep an eye on the building being renovated up the road, because you’d be there sooner or later. Missed you going in, but saw you exit.”
So my father knew about Lucian. Through reading my thoughts? Or had he been aware of Lucian way before I’d even entered the scene? It was an intriguing possibility, and one that raised all sorts of questions, especially when Lucian’s fierce need for revenge was factored in. Maybe it was a bit of a leap, but it was altogether possible that Lucian wasn’t after only the Raziq and the keys. Maybe he’d been using me to get to my father as well.
“How long have you been waiting for me to appear?”
“A few hours.” He shoved the letter at me. “This is yours.”
I took it rather warily, then glanced at Azriel. He rose in one swift movement and touched Larson lightly on the forehead. The shifter stilled and his face went slack. Azriel closed his eyes and I watched the passersby, checking that no one was getting too interested in just what Azriel was doing.
Then he opened his eyes again. “Your father had his Razan deliver the note and, this time, he did not accompany him.”
“You’ve picked the Razan’s image from Larson’s brain?”
“Yes. And the good news is, Larson picked the Razan’s pocket.” He reached inside the rat-shifter’s jacket, slid a wallet from the pocket, and handed it to me.
I flipped it open and pulled out his driver’s license. The Razan pictured was average-looking with blond hair, blue eyes, and a scar running down the left side of his face. Even in the picture, he didn’t look like the sort of man you’d want to double-cross. “According to this, the Razan’s name is Pierre Danton, and he lives in Southbank.”
Which meant he had some money, because that area was expensive, thanks to its close proximity to the city.
“I do not believe the identity will be real,” Azriel commented. “And he has no doubt realized by now that this rat has been through his pockets. He may not be there if we check it.”
