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Cain snickered. “You mean after I do all the work and help save your friends, letting me keep the monster should be my just deserts? No, no. You’re smarter than that, little one.” He clucked his tongue.
Considering I was both an Alpha werewolf and a princess, I wasn’t too thrilled with the way he was talking to me. But this was Cain, and whatever Cain wanted he got. That included being as dismissive of me as he pleased in any given moment. Because he was right, I needed him.
Still, it would be nice if he could at least pretend he respected me.
“Fine,” I sulked. “What do you want?”
“You owe me for two favors, now, thanks to the incident this summer.”
Yeah, I know, dude. “Okay.”
Wilder was watching Cain with hawklike ferocity, but said nothing. I suspected all it would take was one wrong word and he’d jump across the limo to throttle the older man. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Wilder might be stronger and might appear to have the upper hand in a fight, but something told me Cain wouldn’t go down easy.
I wasn’t sure which of them would win in a physical brawl, and that made me extra uneasy about being in such close proximity to the man some called The Collector.
Taking his nickname into account, and knowing what he wanted us to do tonight, I had to seriously wonder what was in this famous collection of his. All I knew was what he’d asked me to get for him years ago when I first needed his help—the skull of someone who died on a very specific date. But what else was in there? If a live demon was on his wish list, I had to assume it was a wildly varied collection to say the least.
The driver evidently knew where we were going because he navigated the streets at an easy crawl without any instruction from Cain.
The big man got down to business. “For failing to deliver on your promise of Timothy Deerling’s life, I would like…” His voice drifted, and he glanced up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers thoughtfully against his lower lip. Wilder growled lightly, unable to keep his annoyance restrained any longer. I guess my bodyguard wasn’t a big fan of people who played stupid games.
Me either.
If this was just the first of two requests, it would be morning before we got around to hearing what the second one was. I understood the appeal of a little drama, but this was silly.
Yet I didn’t scream Spit it out at him, so I guess I wasn’t out of patience yet.
Cain, who ignored Wilder’s growl but had obviously heard it because of the small smirk he offered in return, finally said, “I’ll make that one easy. It’s been awhile. I’m not quite as annoyed by the loss anymore. If you bring me a ceremonial knife crafted by that wily great-grandmother of yours, we’ll consider ourselves even.”
I stared at him, unblinking. It took every ounce of my willpower not to show any kind of reaction to the request.
That was the easy task? Get the fuck out of here.
I swallowed the groan threatening to come out and gave a tight nod instead. “Once our business is done, I’ll get you what you want.”
How, I wasn’t sure. Those knives took Memere years to craft perfectly, and they were only for very specific ritual use. I’d lived with her for four years and in that time she’d only made three. One was a gift to me on my sixteenth birthday—the age of adulthood for witches—and there was no goddamned way I was giving it to Cain, no matter what else the costs were. That knife had been imbued with magic specifically for me and as such was an extension of my spirit. If I were to just hand it over to someone else, they could theoretically wield its magic against me.
I didn’t like making Harry Potter references about real-world magic, but that knife would totally be a Horcrux for me if such a thing existed.
The old lady would hate the idea of making a knife for someone like Cain, but I bet I could talk her into it eventually. It would just take a little time.
Something I didn’t have an overabundance of right this second.
“Good, good.” Cain patted his knees once and glanced out the window, checking our slow progress through the crowded French Quarter.
Dusk had started to creep in, and with the coming night, more and more tourists were out in the streets. In a few blocks we would be outside
the main drag, and things would become easier. It’s funny how much difference a mile could make when it came to the feel of a city. How one space could be cluttered and commercial, yet a few minutes driving might bring you somewhere so empty and desolate you might as well be in a ghost town.
Of course, New Orleans was a literal ghost town sometimes.
“What about this job?” I didn’t want to draw this out any longer.
Wilder, without my realizing it, had shifted closer to me, and I only noticed the change when his thigh bumped against my leg. His proximity and my new awareness of it sent a thrill through me. My whole body glowed with fizzy warmth, and I positively ached to put my hands on him.
Instead I let myself have one touch. I moved my hands to my knees, mirroring him, and grazed his pinky with mine.
Just that one touch made him freeze and a glorious shudder climbed up my arm. His breath hitched so minutely I knew I was the only one to hear it, and that one quiet privacy when we were not alone was its own strange kind of intimacy. Good Lord I wanted to climb all over him.
