Page 2 of The Monster I Am

Rhys included.

He had to be, if he wanted to survive these shark-infested waters.

He couldn’t allow his bleeding heart to draw their attention.

Nodding, Rhys clapped Jason on the shoulder before heading over to their host. He dipped his head in respect that he certainly did not feel, an easy smile on his own lips.

“Rhys Thorne,” Dominic said with a smile. “I am pleased that you were able to attend.”

There was a fine line between simpering sycophant and respectful supplicant, and Rhys preferred to err on the side of the latter. “I wouldn’t dream of missing one of your gatherings.”

Another scream rang out, and Rhys fought the urge to look, to bear witness. It was background noise, that was all.

Background music, a soundtrack for the damned.

“Allow me to introduce you to Alastair Bancroft. He is briefly in town, and I have been telling him about your expertise with the knife. Alastair also is a knife aficionado, if not, perhaps, quite as artistic with the blade as yourself,” Dominic stated.

Rhys’s gaze went to the newcomer. Another Bancroft witch, which meant he expected courtesy and deference. The Thornes were far from a powerless family, but they lacked the prestige of the older bloodline.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alastair.” Rhys’s smile lingered. “Another knife aficionado?” The other witch’s smirk did not bode well for some poor slave. “I would love to see your work.”

No.

No, he did not want to see another witch take a knife to a hapless slave.

Did he?

“I do hope you’ll give us a demonstration,” Dominic said to Rhys. “I enjoy watching you work.”

Rhys nodded to Dominic. “I’ve brought my blades in hopes of finding a suitable canvas.”

Six of the knives were tucked carefully in a sleeve in his pocket, each deadly sharp but enchanted to only part skin when he was the one wielding them. He’d had to get special permission from Dominic himself to bring them, of course; one did not simply bring weapons into his home, and subtle and slender as they were, they were dangerous.

While anyone watching Rhys work might dismiss them as little more than unconventional paintbrushes, the long ones could bleed someone out with only a flick of the edge against bare skin.

The true danger of a witch might be in the destructive power of their magic, but that did not mean that they were otherwise ill-equipped for self-defense… or offense.

Dominic’s smile widened. “There are a few who I believe would suit. One in particular you might find intriguing, from what I’ve heard. Did you attend the Narramore party last week?”

Rhys arched a brow, curious despite himself at both that smile and the words themselves. “No, I had to miss it,” he said. While he never dared miss one of Dominic’s parties, he made his presence at others as infrequent as he dared. Working for the supernatural Council meant he always had a viable reason to pass on some of them, but the real secrets were doled out in the darkest corners of society.

He could not afford to miss too many.

“I suspect he may not last too long, so it might behoove you to lay an early claim if you want your canvas pristine,” Dominic remarked.

Alastair looked at Dominic with interest. “You didn’t mention anything to me,” he said, the words a mix of curiosity and slight affront.

Rhys decided rather quickly that he didn’t like Alastair, which meant that Rhys would claim this potentially intriguing canvas posthaste, if only to deny the other witch.

Petty, maybe, but it wasn’t often that he could sidestep a Bancroft witch.

Dominic chuckled. “You don’t care whether your subject is enjoying himself.”

Alastair laughed. “True, true.”

“…enjoying himself?” Rhys inquired. How could any slave enjoy themselves at a party like this? “Now you’re teasing me, Dominic.”

Dominic hummed and took a sip of his drink. “Our esteemed entertainment provider appears to have found himself a masochist. I am given to understand that he made quite the impression last week.”