Page 25 of Devil in Her Details

Dagger’s arm shot out and cuffed his brother’s shoulder.

Reaper rocked back in his chair and shot him a sideways look. “Struck a nerve, did I?”

“No.” What nerve could he have possibly struck? The little lynx and he were from two different worlds. Period. That, and they were strangers. At most, they were craftswoman and customer.

“Whatever you say,” Reaper said, coin flashing onto his knuckles. “Let’s not tell the others about this little faux pas, yes?”

Dagger sighed. They never kept secrets from each other, but could this even be considered one? They all knew Reaper had every intention of following every scent he picked up. They’d found nothing. End of story. In any case, there was nothing to report. “Fine.”

“Much obliged. I’d like to avoid all the I told you so stares.”

The server arrived with a pint of ale, eliciting a scowl from his brother. “Is that what we ordered?”

“It’s fine,” Dagger said, taking pity on the youth. “Just leave it.”

“Sorry, sir,” the boy muttered, setting the mug down. “Thank you, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Dagger asked, taking in the lad’s skinny limbs.

“Gill, sir.”

Dagger nodded. “Keep working hard. And eat more meat. Grow up strong.”

Reaper waved the boy away. “Hands off my people, frère.”

“Who wants your people?” Dagger muttered. He had his own damn people. “And besides, are your people not my people?”

“I allow you the illusion.”

Dagger took a deep swallow of ale, letting the bitter taste settle on his tongue while his gaze lingered on the staircase where the lynx had vanished. She still had his dagger. Absurd how his mind circled back to his blade at this moment. It was only a dagger, after all. He owned dozens. But it felt like a piece of him had been left back at her shop. With her. He had never been a man who carried weapons lightly. Every blade he kept had earned its place on his person.

Each had its own story.

Each had drawn its fair share of blood.

He knew their weight the way another man might know the sound of his own name. The one with her he had pulled from his own flesh after a blackguard plunged the dagger to the hilt in his side and nearly killed him.

He had never given one of his blades to anyone.

Not even his brothers.

He rolled the tankard slowly between his palms. Drake’s wife had come the closest, though that had been during a rather unfortunate situation where danger had closed in from all sides. Even then, Dagger had handed her a wooden dagger he’d carried on him at the time. He snorted at the memory of the indignation he’d received from Drake’s wife for that.

“Bloody stop,” Reaper said with disgust. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop.”

Dagger scowled. “I can’t just stop thinking. Grow a damn brain.”

“But if I do that, I won’t be nearly as entertaining.”

He couldn’t listen to this anymore. Dagger rose to his feet, draining his ale. “Where’s their room?”

“Why? You’re not going to join them, are you? That wouldn’t be wise, frère.”

“Of course I’m not bloody joining them.” He’d loiter, at most.

Before Reaper could fuss some more, the door to the inn slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame. Christ. Maxen stepped inside, flanked by Drake and Saint.

Furious eyes landed on Dagger. “What the bloody hell did you do?”