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Entering a narrow hall, we passed men drunkenly receiving pleasure they likely wouldn’t remember, rooms with gambling, and chambers where various weapons were sold to those forbidden to carry. Men and women were given life and death in these back spaces.
I reached a closed door at the end of the corridor, slamming my hand on the center. It swung open, banging off the wall.
Several men immediately jumped from their chairs. I quickly scanned them. The two wolven who’d traveled with Jericho, one of them the brown-haired Rolf. Two Descenters: a half-Atlantian, and a blond-haired mortal. My gaze settled on Jericho as Kieran closed the door behind us.
Jericho stood, bare from the waist up. He held a crimson-stained cloth to his side. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and several glasses sat on the table.
Jericho paled as I stalked forward. “Cas—”
I grabbed his arm, pulling it from his side as I mentally repeated what Kieran had told me outside the Three Jackals. Don’t kill him. Don’t murder him. Don’t unalive him. I gave the ragged wound a brief once-over. My lips twisted into a satisfied smile. She had gotten him good, right up under the rib, too. Likely hit an organ. The wound was already healing, though, barely seeping blood at this point.
“You’ll live,” I bit out, lowering the hood of my cloak. The blond mortal swallowed nervously as he got a look at my face. Lev was his name, I believed.
There seemed to be a collective release of breath from those around the candlelit chamber.
“I will.” Jericho tossed the bloodied rag onto the table. His scruffy chin lifted. “Wasn’t expecting her to have a blade on her. A bloodstone dagger with wolven bone, at that.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to attempt to take her,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“I know,” he admitted, at least not attempting to lie. “There were no other guards close by. I saw an opportunity and acted on it.”
My hand curled into a fist, and I forced it open. “I didn’t ask you to look for opportunities.”
Jericho nodded, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth. “I fucked up.”
“You did.” Aware of Kieran moving closer to my right, I reached for the bottle of whiskey. “And…you didn’t. You did what I asked.” I jerked my chin at the chair. “Sit.”
Jericho was listening to me now, sitting his ass right down.
“You opened the spot for me.” I poured a shot’s worth of whiskey into a glass. “And for that, I am grateful.”
The wolven eyed me from behind the lengths of his shaggy hair.
Kieran inched even closer.
“You sure about that?” Jericho asked, resting both of his forearms on the table.
“I am. Now, I will be able to proceed correctly and safely with our plan.” I set the glass in front of him. “Drink. You’ve earned it.”
Relief seeped into his features, easing the tension in the set of his jaw. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the glass.
“One thing.” I smiled, and he halted. “You’re right-handed, correct?”
“Yeah.” Wariness skittered across Jericho’s features. “Why?”
“Just curious,” I told him, nudging the glass closer to him. “Drink.”
I watched him reach for the glass. Kieran realized what I was about a second before I moved. He cursed under his breath, but I was faster. Reaching inside the cloak, I unsheathed one of the short swords. Jericho hadn’t even picked up the glass—he didn’t see it coming. All he felt was the clean, quick slice of my blade as I brought it down on his left wrist, severing his hand. Blood spurted, spraying across the table.
“Holy fuck,” someone gasped.
Jericho jerked back so quickly he knocked over his chair as he stared at where his hand had once been.
“The next time, do as I order, not as you see fit. We need the Maiden unscathed when I take her. Disobey me again, and it will be your head.” I looked around the room, meeting stares. “That goes for everyone.”
There were quick nods of agreement.
Jericho began to scream.
Stepping back, I cleaned the blade of my sword on my cloak as Jericho doubled over, pressing his arm to his chest as his howls became pitiful whimpers. I sheathed the sword, then reached for the cloth Jericho had been using. “You’re going to need this.” I tossed it at him, then turned and left the room.
Kieran followed, stepping out into the hall. I looked over at him. He’d stopped, his arms crossed over his chest. “What?” I questioned. “I didn’t kill him, and I poured him a drink.”
Kieran’s lips twitched.
“I wanted to do much worse,” I reminded him.
He sighed. “I know.”
“I want him gone from the city,” I said. “Send him to New Haven.”
“Will do.” Falling quiet until we reached the outside, Kieran then asked, “How in the hell did she get her hands on a bloodstone dagger crafted with wolven bone?”
