“I didn’t find any wounds.”
Just then Elliot decided to let go a sad little bleat, lifting his head and shoving his nose against Mal’s neck in a heart-melting way. Little con artist.
“He might be hungry,” Mal said and Elliot turned and looked at the girl, bleating again.
“What does he like?”
Tequila. Mal didn’t say it. She didnotneed a drunk goat on her hands.
“Fruit and vegetables. Maybe some crackers.”
The faery nodded and hurried off. Mal wondered if she was in the Twilight Zone. A bloody goat with a severed hand and now an Aidolon faery. What next? A house dropping out of the sky?
Mal glanced around, wondering where the girl’s parental pod might be. She didn’t see any of them. They tended to bond in family groups of three to nine and to stick close together. Even at a place as secure as Effrayant, Mal was surprised they let the girl go off on her own.
Neither Law nor Edna had shown up before the faery girl returned with a bowl of chopped fruits and vegetables. Behind her came two waiters with silver bowls of crackers and—Mal frowned. Was that Mountain Dew?
Did anybodynotwant to spoil the obnoxious, adorable, bratty little goat?
“He okay, Miss Mal?” asked Mardo, a slightly-built shifter from somewhere on the border between Mongolia and China.
“Nothing that a little TLC won’t take care of,” Mal said, adjusting so Elliot could remain cradled in her lap while eating, as he didn’t seem inclined to move.
“What happened to him?” asked Lucas, a big blond Swede with a lilting voice.
Mal knew he wasn’t human and that was about it. The big man babbled on.
“Is he hurt? Who would do that to such a sweet creature? It should not stand. It defies the heart and soul. Anyone who hurts Elliot should be—”
And the rest of what Lucas said was in a language Mal didn’t understand, but from his expression, whatever should happen wasn’t particularly pleasant.
The sound of fast, determined steps warned her of Law’s arrival. He looked steamed, and when he looked steamed, he was hotter than hell. He had a strong jaw covered in five o’clock shadow. His dark hair hung long around his neck and strands of it fell loose on his forehead. He had broad shoulders, narrow hips, and underneath his charcoal suit was a body made for sin. And Mal liked to sin all over it as often as he’d let her.
He took in the scene with a swift scan, his gaze raking over her, searching for wounds. Mal restrained herself from flipping him off.
They might have just a little bit of a trust issue. Specifically, he didn’t trust her to A) not endanger herself or her life, B) not disappear on him without a word, or C) not dobothA and B together. Meanwhile, she didn’t trust that he wasn’t having some kind of psychotic break and at any moment he’d wake up, find her in bed with him, chew off his arm, and run screaming for the hills to escape.
Clearly things were going really well in their relationship.
“Thank you all for your assistance, but it’s time for you to go,” Law declared. His glance flicked to the severed hand, and his mouth tightened.
The two waiters hurried away. The Aidolon faery hesitated, reached out, and stroked Elliot’s ear before reluctantly walking away.
“Is he hurt?” Law asked, squatting down to scratch around the knob between Elliot’s horns.
The little goat leaned into him and practically purred.
“I don’t think so. Scared, though. I put down a tracking spell and sent Merrow to see what she could find. She should be back soon.”
He nodded. “Good thinking.” He rubbed his hands across his face in an uncharacteristic gesture of tiredness and frustration, then straightened, reaching down to take Elliot from her.
The goat protested, though Mal was pretty sure it had more to do with being taken out of reach of the food and Mountain Dew and less to do with her.
She stood as Law returned the goat to his feast. He looked at her, taking in her bikini and blood-smeared skin. His mouth tightened. He had to be raging mad that something like this—whatever this was—had happened on his watch. He picked up the dismembered hand and turned it over.
His dark brows furrowed. “Damn it.”
“What?”
