“Yeah, I know who the fuck Deianira Bronfell is,” Rolfe said as he grabbed the edge of the table.
Luna jumped to the top of the double-door fridge, a low growl sounding from her.
“The fuck is she doing here?”
“I imagine she’s here to take her final crown,” Sam said like it was obvious.
“Wait—“ Rolfe slumped into the seat beside Sam, his brows furrowing. Sam eyed the deathhound as his little mind worked, and he nearly chuckled at him putting together which female The Tower had been.
“She was the one in the red dress?” Rolfe asked.
Sam nodded. “Of course.”
“Fucking minx,” Rolfe drawled out. “Hope you gave her the ride of her life,” he grinned.
“Patience, Roll,” Sam said as he flipped the page.
“What’s your plan?”
“Not really important right now,” Sam muttered, eyes skimming an article on house plants. “I only have one question.”
“What’s that, boss?”
Sam creased the newspaper in half. “I’d like to know how she navigated the barrier.”
“Could be black market traveler,” Rolfe said, settling into his chair. “Rogue demon—”
“Council leak,” Sam mumbled, and Rolfe stopped drinking his coffee.
The corner of the demon’s mouth lifted. “Shadow visit?” he asked eagerly.
Sam drank the last bit of his coffee and pushed his chair back. “We’ll wait on Milliscent to get here, granted she hasn’t found herself completely indisposed by witches this morning,” he said as he stood.
“Fuck the both of you,” came Millie’s groaning voice as she came down the darkened hall.
“Knew I smelled a tequila rat,” Rolfe said.
Millie flipped him off and threw her bag into an awaiting chair. Her wild hair was matted to one side, clothes the same as the night before, her own demon doodle still smeared on her face. As she yawned, Luna meowed at her from the top of the fridge, and Millie smiled up at her.
“Morning, beautiful,” she crooned to the cat as she took her in her arms and cradled her.
Sam finished pouring his second cup of coffee and leaned his hips against the counter lip. Millie just looked between them with tired, annoyed eyes as she hugged the purring feline to her face.
“What are you two plotting?” she asked.
“Ask the boss who’s bed he found himself in last night,” Rolfe grinned.
“Not bed,” Sam said, sipping his coffee. “Just a little… light foreplay,” he said with a wink.
“Ugh, not in code,” Millie groaned. “Speak. One of you.”
Sam tilted his head at the blonde before them, and he nudged Rolfe’s elbow, sharing the silent notice of the blood still on her cheek and the extensions falling out of her hair. She was a mess, and Sam loved seeing her so disheveled.
Rolfe smirked. “I know,” he grunted in response. “Guess the witches weren’t so nice last night. You got a little—“ Rolfe pointed to his own cheek, gesturing that she had something on her face, and as Millie frowned and started to reach for her face, Sam grabbed her wrist.
He held her stare as Luna jumped onto his shoulder from Millie’s arms, and he brushed the red stain off Millie’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. The smell of soil and dew and muggy water, combined with the coppery tang of the blood, filled his nostrils, and he licked it off his finger.
“Mmm…” he hummed, a smile teasing his lips. “Is that swamp?”
