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Minutes later, the elevator doors inside the lobby opened and Atlas strode out, looking morning fresh in a crisp navy suit that fit him like a glove. He smiled at the receptionist inside, said something, then with a wave of his hand, a shimmering soft spot appeared in the shield. Icarus walked through it, the magic prickling across his skin like it did sometimes in her presence.
The porter, a shifter of some sort Icarus could smell, approached. “I have orders to search you.”
Icarus didn’t give her any hassle, just spread his legs and held out his arms. He had no phone on him and no weapons other than those magic had bestowed, which he assumed the porter knew, given her watchful approach. “I won’t bite, promise.”
The porter remained alert as she patted him down then, satisfied with finding nothing, rose and held the physical door open for him. “He’s clean,” she reported to a waiting Atlas.
“Thank you, gorgeous,” Icarus replied, tone sweet as honey, as he stepped over the threshold.
Atlas’s tone wasn’t nearly as saccharine. “You’re late,” he snapped.
Icarus smirked and gave a showy little shimmy. “For a very important date.”
Atlas rolled his eyes. “Follow me.” He nodded at the receptionist, another shifter, then led Icarus to the elevator, murmuring under his breath, “Not a word.”
Easy enough as Icarus was too busy holding his breath, avoiding warlock stench the entire ride to the top floor. He followed a stalking Atlas out of the cab, across the hall, and into a pitifully bland condo. All metal, glass, and black leather, ultramodern with no color, barely lived in with zero personality. The appearance Atlas portrayed ninety-nine percent of the time. The warlock stopped in front of the living room’s giant floor-to-ceiling windows and spun to face him, the vivid forest in his eyes giving away the other one percent. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“My job,” Icarus said as he stepped past him to look out the windows, the view of the ocean and coastline to die for, even at this dark hour. If he had to guess, Vincent occupied the end unit next door, the family and guards the other two units on the floor. He drew the map in his head while continuing to speak to Atlas. “I may be a few days late, but I can deliver the Devil. I’m here to tell Vincent where he is.”
“We know where he is. Monte Corvo.”
“Which we proved your forces can’t infiltrate.”
“We,” Atlas scoffed.
Ignoring the slither of truth, Icarus turned and leaned back against the window casing. “And that was before the entire pack and every fucking corvid in Talahalusi descended on that knobby hill.”
Atlas closed the distance between them and grasped Icarus’s chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck me first.”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Icarus wrenched his chin free. “Last time we did that, it ended with you threatening to strangle my cock and tear my ass apart. I wouldn’t fuck you again if you were the last person on earth.”
“You’re lying.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“About why you’re here.”
He firmed his jaw and lifted his chin. Confidence. “I will deliver the Devil to your boss. I think he’d want to hear that.”
“We have other priorities now.” Atlas brushed past him, crossing the cavernous space to the kitchen, his loafers thunking with each step.
Icarus’s heels were louder, pinging the marble as he followed. He leaned a hip against the marble island. “Wewho?”
Atlas opened the freezer and withdrew a bottle of vodka and two frosty shot glasses. “Weas in everyone but you,” he said as he filled the glasses to the brim.
Icarus laughed. “I have more at stake than all of you.” He held up his glass, and Atlas clicked his against the rim. “Two teams,” he said after a sip. “One goes after the coven, the other after Adam Devlin.”
“And which one would Vincent and I be on?”
“The latter, of course. I assume Vincent wants to be as done with Adam as Adam wants to be with him, and that after the last time, Vincent wouldn’t trust anyone else to do the job.”
“Your assumptions are correct.” The evil bastard himself stepped out from a shadowed hallway. Vincent wasn’t as put together as Atlas, dressed in wrinkled slacks and an undershirt, but the way he carried himself, and the leather shoulder harness packing two revolvers, put off strong I-do-evil vibes. As did the terrifying thirst for power that still swirled in his lovely brown eyes. Such a fucking waste. “Why should I trust you?” Vincent asked as he joined them at the island. “You fought with Devlin at the Canyon Lands and at Monte Corvo.”
“You sent me to him for a reason. To Adam Devlin, knowing I’d be the one who could draw out Gabriel Levin.” Vincent’s eyes widened, a flash of surprise, then one corner of his mouth ticked up, the hint of a victorious smile. Icarus tossed back the rest of his shot. “Do you care if you lost a few soldiers in the process?”
