I lower my hood and work through the cramped tavern toward the bar, scanning the room as I slip onto an empty stool. I know the men I followed are here, somewhere, but they had to have already removed their cloaks because there isn’t a hooded or cloaked man in sight.
When the greasy, bulbous-nosed barkeep notices me, I lift a finger and ask for red wine, partly to look like I belong here, but also because my body is beginning its incessant craving again.
I almost expect the man to laugh me into the street, but he gives me an appreciative glance instead, then turns toward an oaken cask and opens the spigot over a mug. I don’t miss the way he leers at me when he slides the wine into my waiting hand, but I focus on my drink and ignore him.
It isn’t long before I’ve finished the short pour, so I ask for another. Longer this time. While I wait, a loudhurrahsounds at the rear of the tavern. I peer that way, only to see a man burying his face in the rather ample cleavage of a laughing woman’s overflowing bosom.
“Is it always like this?” I ask the rather rugged, unmarked woman beside me.
“Most of the time,” she answers with a huff of a laugh. “But one of the commanders married tonight, so it seems the entire Watch decided to show up for the reception and drain the city of its ale.”
Ah. Perhaps the man I sawwasEryx, then. Here for a friend’s celebration.
As I return to searching faces, I lift my refilled mug of wine. The moment the tin rim touches my lips, the scent of sandalwood soap mingled with earthy, sea-salt cologne clogs my nostrils.
I stiffen and steady my mug as a line of men push past behind us, bumping and jostling everyone seated around the bar as they head toward the stairs. Even amid the revelry, all eyes seem to hang on the quintet, at least for a spared glance.
Four of the men linger near the first-floor landing like the guards they are, but one—a lethally handsome man with smooth, black hair, crystal blue eyes, and faint silver witch’s marks—is met on the fourth tread by a beautiful woman and an attractive man, both wearing carnal smiles. He kisses them in greeting, though the kisses are lush and slow, far more sensual than a casual hello. I’m not surprised when they take his hands and lead him further up the stairs.
Again, I lean over to the woman beside me as the barkeep pours her another mug of ale. “Who was that man? The dark-haired one?”
Instead of a verbal answer, she gives me a look of warning and shakes her head, her eyes darting toward the barkeep, then to the stairs.
It has to be Eryx.Hasto be. He doesn’t know it, but his inability to keep his cock in his pants just got him captured.
Discreetly, I tug the leather band from my braided hair and loosen my locks. I’m not the best at seduction, but I’ve learned how to be persuasive.
I slip off my stool, untying my tunic, and feel for the pendant hanging around my neck. Neri will probably burst into this tavern the moment I call for him through the remnant of his heart, eyes glowing like a demon. If he does, things could go sideways quickly, so I have to be smart. I don’t want Eryx or anybody else here dead. We need to question the vice admiral and weed out the snakes that have lurked in Malgros for too long.
So I head toward the stairs, quickly working the stiletto hidden in my sleeve into my hand, just in case. It’ll be much easier and much safer for everyone if I summon Neri to a tavern bedchambers than into the crowded tavern itself. I just need to get past Eryx’s men first.
I don’t make it far enough to get the chance.
“Grab her,” a gruff voice shouts over the din. I’m quickly hauled by random tavern-goers back to the bar, where the barkeep looms over the wooden counter wearing a red-faced scowl. He seizes my wrist and jerks me forward, wrenching my torso over the bar. “You didn’t pay, girlie.” Spittle flies as he breathes like some sort of ale creature in my face.
I pat my pocket for coin, but I must’ve left my pouch on the dressing table. “I can come back tomorrow with payment. I simply forgot. I’m not from here.”
He crooks a bushy eyebrow at that. “They don’t pay for things in your land?”
“Of course, but…” I groan and jerk against his grip to no avail. I can’t tell him that in Winterhold, my money is typically no good. Something about being his king’s right-hand woman and all.
Those beady, bloodshot eyes drift down to my untied tunic. My breasts are small, but twisted over the bar as I am, their swells bulge from my stays.
“I got lots of ways you can pay, pretty.” He ogles the barest glimpse of nakedness I have to offer. “But I think I’ll take you on your knees. Right here behind the bar.”
The stiletto in my grip tempts me to bury it in his temple. He’s fucking up everything, all by being a grimy little prig, the bastard.
Before I can decide what to do, the night takes a drastic turn. The remnant against my chest warms as a frigid wind rips through the tavern, blowing my hood over my head. The wind makes every tabletop lantern flicker. Some even blow out completely, casting corners in deep shadows.
But it’s the slamming of the heavy wooden door that rattles the paintings on the walls and brings everyone to a standstill.
The music stops. The laughter dies. The chattering ceases. And all eyes turn toward the unmistakable presence looming at my back.
There’s a wolf in our midst. And he is seething.
19
NEPHELE
