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Chapter Nine
Lorian’s man escorted me to his study. Sorcha was at work at her family’s marketing firm. Vincent took my gray coat and red scarf as he held the door open. Lorian stood by the fire and immediately cut off whatever he was saying to Kol, who faced the window overlooking the west side of the city. The sun had dropped beneath the horizon, painting the buildings an orange-pink hue. Kol’s hands were clasped at his back, his wings pulled tight. He didn’t turn when I entered the room.
“Moira, come on in.”
Lorian met me halfway and led me to the sofa facing the fireplace. The room was decorated in warm mahogany tones except for a black marble desk near the window. Behind which Kol still stood, his back to the room.
“We’ve come to a decision.” Lorian crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wooden mantel. “We’re moving forward with your plan.”
I grinned, despite the impending danger.
“But only if you agree to all of our stipulations,” he clarified.
I straightened. “Let me hear them.”
“First, you cannot mention the operation to anyone. Especially your sister.”
“Not a problem.”
“This Friday is a big game with a Vaengar team from Cloven. We’ve deduced that most of the Butchers must be from this province.”
“So you’ve heard from your undercover man, Gaius?”
“No. But before he removed his tracker, he was spending most of his time in and around Cloven. He most probably had to get rid of his comm device and tracker when he went deep undercover, standard procedure to cut all connection to the Morgon Guard. We’re positive he’s now immersed in our target group.”
Lorian stepped over to his desk and lifted a syringe with a long, thick needle. I shivered.
“This is the next requirement. You’ll have to agree to have a techno-tracker embedded under your skin.”
“Won’t a tracker be risky? If your undercover guy had to get rid of his, then they’ll discover it on me, too.”
“Relax.” Hard to do as he walked toward me with that giant needle. “It’s small enough that it won’t be found or scented by the most adept Morgon.”
“I’ve never heard of a tracker this small.”
“That’s because it’s not on the human market,” he said, squatting in front of me. “Quite frankly, it’s not on the Morgon market. It was securely developed by technicians at Nightwing Enterprises for Nightwing security and the Morgon Guard.”
“I see.” I swallowed hard. I hated needles.
“If you’ll remove your boot, I’ll insert it between your toes. We’ve found this is the least conspicuous place. Morgon senses can be extremely acute, so the farther from a Morgon’s nose, the better.”
“Okay,” I said shakily. “But why now? We’re not doing the operation till Friday.”
“I need to track your whereabouts for a few days beforehand to ensure it’s working properly.”
Frowning, I removed my boot and sock, aware of Kol behind me, though he said not a word. The plush carpet made of silky soft red fibers tickled my bare foot. Lorian took my heel in hand, glancing up. “It might be easier if you look away.”
I turned toward the wall of windows and caught a silver-fire reflection. No expression at all from the Iceman, though his presence held me captive despite my will. I gripped the edge of the sofa. I felt a cool cotton swab between my first and second toe, then the sharp pinprick of the needle. Unable to withhold a little cry, I flinched and bit my bottom lip as a warm sting pierced the flesh.
“All done.”
Kol remained in stoic silence behind the desk.
Seeing a small spot of blood, I wiped it away with my finger, feeling nothing under the skin. “How do you get it out if you need a needle to put it in?”
“I’m afraid that process is slightly more uncomfortable.”
“Great.”
