Grimmel cleared his throat. “May I introduce, Roxana the Blade, revered warrior and handmaiden to Lucifer, King of Hell.”
There were rumblings from the table, and the bland expressions turned to interest.
“Accompanying our esteemed guest this evening is her paramour, low-ranking hellhound, Lothar.”
Low ranking? It was a lie, of course. Lothar was one of the older hounds and one of War’s most trusted inner circle. Grimmel was purposely trying to piss Loth off, who’d gone rock solid beside me. As unpredictable as hounds could be, I had no idea how he’d react to the insult. He could say nothing and brush it off, or he could turn around and tear Grimmel’s head from his shoulders. Both were serious options.
I quickly slid my hand in Loth’s and squeezed.
He glanced down at me, and I held his furious stare. Ignore him. Don’t react. I hadn’t said the words out loud, and he couldn’t read my mind, but he saw something in me, because he calmed almost instantly.
Grimmel motioned me to my seat and strode ahead to pull out my chair for me. Lothar growled low and strode over, forcing him to step back, and slid it out instead. One of the guests laughed. I ignored them as I took my seat and Lothar did the same beside me. Tension still rolled off him, but he at least seemed to have a handle on his anger.
“You’re very growly tonight,” I said to him and laughed, since we had an audience and they weren’t missing a thing.
His shoulders stiffened. “You know how I get, kitten,” he said as he scanned the room with glowing red eyes. “I don’t like it when other males ogle you.” Then he dragged my chair closer to his and flung his arm around my shoulders.
Two of the three males at the table instantly dipped their gazes, the third smirked and sipped his wine, not sparing Lothar a glance, and kept his eyes on me. “You need to get that dog to heel, Roxana the warrior,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Drake doesn’t stand for posturing in his home.”
I sharpened my gaze on the male and squeezed Lothar’s thigh under my hand when I felt it tense to stand. Not looking away from the prick across the table, I let my pleasant smile drop. I’d really love to carve some pretty slices into that smarmy face of his. “Lothar doesn’t posture. So perhaps you should mind your manners if you don’t want to piss him off.”
His smirk stayed firmly in place. “Ah, like that is it.”
“Like what?”
“Grimmel announced you as ‘the blade,’ but it’s clear that the little lady needs her attack dog.”
Lothar growled, then drew in a breath, about to say something or perhaps roar in his face, but before he could, and with centuries of practiced speed, I slid a blade from the sheath strapped to my thigh and threw it.
The point of my blade sunk into the surface of the table, right in front of Smarmy, dead center, and only millimeters from the edge, and his soft belly.
The prick jerked back, eyes widening, alarm on his face. His gaze sliced back to me. “You could have stabbed me,” he shrieked.
Again, with speed, I slid another blade free and fired it as well. It landed so close to the first, the sound of the steel blades sliding together rang out in the now silent room. His shocked gaze sliced between my knives and me, mouth gaping. I sat forward. “Um…sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
He blustered, panting and sweating now. “Fennel.”
The guy was named after a vegetable, and a shit-tasting one at that. “If I’d wanted to stab you, Fennel, you would already be dead. And FYI, an insult to me is an insult to Lucifer. Was it your intention to insult the king of Hell?”
“Now now,” a cultured voice said, “behave yourselves.”
I turned as Drake strode into the room. He was wearing black trousers and a red velvet dinner jacket with black lapels. Drake was average height, stocky. His hair was slicked back and his aqua eyes were striking as he smiled, flashing his short, pointed teeth.
He moved to his seat at the head of the table, and Grimmel rushed to pull out his chair. Drake sat and took us all in with a congenial smile. “Fennel, my dear, Roxana has more than earned her moniker. She has bathed in the blood of more of Lucifer’s enemies than all of your father’s men put together. You must show her the respect she is owed. And despite how Grimmel announced her companion, Lothar is far from low ranking.” His gaze slid to Lothar. “By all accounts, our new friend here is not someone to be trifled with.” His lips curled up in a barely there smile, his gaze sharpening. “No wonder you make such good bedfellows.” He waved Grimmel over to fill his glass. “Why one can positively smell it on you. Did Grimmel not provide you with clean towels?”
He thought he knew why we were here, but he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t going to admit a thing.
“I like my scent on Roxy,” Lothar said in his deep growly voice.
The woman across from Fennel jumped.
“He speaks,” Drake said.
“When necessary,” Lothar said.
Drake clasped his hands together on the table. “And you think it’s necessary now?”
“Yes.”
