He shivers with exaggerated excitement, and I roll my eyes.
“Does no one in your bloody Wing take anything seriously?” I ask with a sigh.
“Oh, we do…from time to time, but I promise you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that seriousness. Better to stay on this side of things. Keep it light and breezy, ya know? Fewer people usually die that way. Well, with the exception of that one time in that one bar, but they started it.”
I hear the distinct sound of other bodies tromping into the narrow lane behind me, but judging by the way Herm doesn’t react to their presence, I gather it’s probably the rest of Aeson’s Wing.
“Who started it?” I ask, confused about what he’s rambling on about.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes. “I’ll only tell you if you drop the butter knife…correction, knives.” His playful gaze flicks to the second shitty weapon I have pressed against the other male’s throat.
The runner has silent tears streaming down his face, and his wide, terrified eyes bounce back and forth between me and Herm. The front of the runner’s pants suddenly grows dark and wet, and the sharp scent of urine fills the air.
Great.
“Come now, Biscuit, you’ve had your fun with the man. No point tormenting the poor…” Herm’s brow furrows, and he pulls in a deep contemplative breath. “Ah, the poor owl shifter.”
“Owl shifter?” I exclaim, shocked. That can’t be right. He’s sorcai, all the Tainted are sorcai.
I shove my face closer to scent the other male. He squeaks in fright and tries to lean away from me, but he’s still pressed against the side of the building, and there’s nowhere for him to go. Earthy notes fight against the strong smell of ammonia and the metallic tang of fear. I’ve never met an owl shifter before, so I don’t know exactly what they smell like, but what I realize is missing is the pernicious rotten fragrance of the Tainted. This male smells nothing like them. I have no idea who he is, but he’s not one of Wistan’s.
I went after the wrong person.
“Why the fuck did you try to shoot us?” I demand, even more outraged than I was before.
He starts crying even harder. “My team saw the scion’s guards. We were hoping to get pictures of him—they’re worth quite a lot—but then we saw you with his Wing, and we got curious. We didn’t know you were a dragoness, or we would have never taken pictures. We didn’t realize…you don’t smell…”
“Pictures?” I interrupt, completely bewildered. “You had a gun.”
“No! It was just a camera. I swear, I’m a paparazzo. I don’t even own a gun, just a camera. It’s in my pocket, you can see for yourself!”
I look down at the male’s wet pants and grimace. “Take the camera out and drop it on the ground,” I order, hoping one of Aeson’s Wing will take the initiative and sort the camera and its contents out so I don’t have to.
“I’ll delete the photos. I promise. I didn’t know what you were. Please don’t kill me. I have a family,” he pleads as he drops a small silver device on the ground.
“Have you lost your Scorch-addled mind? What in the fucking fates were you thinking, running off like that?” Tove snarls, stomping toward me from the end of the alley, an equally disgruntled Ogdan and Farrow tight on her heels.
“Oh good, you finally caught up,” I snark at the trio.
I dare a glance behind me to find Chastain, Karis, Jori, and another male in violet scale armor that I haven’t met before. I think back to all the names Aeson listed off when it came to his Wing. He mentioned I’d meet Herm and Sondar when they were done with an assignment. If Herm is here next to me…
“Sondar?” I ask the male with long straight blue-black hair, equally dark eyes, and a rich russet complexion.
His pleased grin is all the answer I need.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he jokes, further cementing my hypothesis that this Wing is off-the-rails crazy and serially unserious.
“Why in all of the stars do you have butter knives?” Ogdan demands, and I throw my head back and blow out a deep exasperated breath.
“Like I told you on the way here, Ineedweapons.” I drop said weapons from both Herm and the owl shifter’s throats and step away.
“No, what you need to do is stay put like you’re supposed to and let us handle things,” Ogdan argues, angrily pushing strands of his loose dark red hair out of his face.
“Like I’m supposed to?” I argue, fully fed up with the shit they’ve been dishing out all day.
“He’s got photos that need to be dealt with,” Herm calls to Sondar, nodding at the owl shifter, who looks as though he now might shit his pants.
I quickly move away from him toward Tove, just in case.
