I’d have to find a better hiding place later, before the maids went snooping.
But first, I needed to show my face. Needed to be seen walking around the gardens or something, so Lucifer’s spies wouldn’t report me missing. Already, I’d had a suspicious absence of at least an hour.
Making my way downstairs, I kept an eye out for Pischiel. He was nowhere to be seen. I scowled. How was I supposed to shame him into being a good person if he wasn’t accessible?
I found Garadiel monitoring the gardens. He nodded at me, and I nodded back, heading toward our meeting spot.
“Where are you going?” Namiros hissed.
Where the fuck had he come from? His tone was insolent, and I ignored him, striding toward the closest exit to the gardens.
Namiros didn’t like that. I could feel him practically breathing down my neck as he stalked closer, and I ground my teeth in an effort to stay calm as I passed one of the sitting rooms.
Strong hands shoved me without warning, pushing me into the empty room.
I hadn’t expected Namiros to get physical, and I stumbled as I tripped over the long hem of my dress. He slammed the door behind him. Then he was on me with a speed that demonstrated just why he was one of Daimonion’s men.
His hands slammed into my chest and the backs of my thighs hit the arm of one of the sofas as I tripped backward.
Either Namiros was out of his damn mind, or he’d decided Lucifer wouldn’t mind if he played with me.
Adrenaline skipped my brain and arrived straight at my knuckles. I rolled off the sofa, launched myself at him, and plowed my fist into his face.
He cursed, cupped his nose, and I took my chance.
Namiros was a demon assassin, and I was weaponless and wearing a restrictive dress. I ducked out from between him and the sofa, sprinting toward the door. My best bet was to run like hell and draw as much attention as I could.
A hand burrowed into my hair and hauled me back. I yelped, kicking out, but he easily dodged it, pushing me back onto the sofa. Cold rage burst through me.
I. Was. Sick. Of. This. Shit.
Ihatedthis place.Loathedthat I was forced to play nice with assassins who were trying to kill my friends.Despisedbeing cut off from my power and stripped of my weapons.
I lowered my head and leapt off the sofa, charging him. The element of surprise was all I had, and my head hit his solar plexus, the breath leaving his lungs in awhoosh.
My hand closed over the dagger on his side.
His hand closed over mine.
My other elbow came up, and he slapped me across the face.
It was an open-handed slap, designed to piss me off. It succeeded.
I snarled, my elbow flying straight into his gut.
And Lucifer opened the door.
14
SAMAEL
Iwalked into my bedroom, with some idea of taking Danica’s sleep shirt and placing it on my own pillow in the guest room so I could breathe in the scent of her as I slept.
Pathetic. But necessary.
The griffin opened one eye and stared at me. He was large enough that he was sprawled across the entirety of the bed, although his nose was buried in Danica’s sleep shirt, his head on her pillow.
I let out a low growl. “The pillowandthe sleepshirt? As Danica would say, that is a dick move.”
