Maxen wasn’t in the mood for this.
Reaper snatched his bottle again and saluted, “To dangerous girls,” before taking a long swig.
Well, he might as well just go ahead and say it. “I’m moving into the place beside her for the time being.”
A long pause.
Dagger cursed. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Reaper growled.
Knight grunted.
“It’s done.” He knew they wouldn’t like it. All of them stayed in the lodgings above the tavern. However, since he’d told her they were neighbors, he’d yet to stay there a night, which meant he hadn’t slept. He rested poorly when too much lay beyond his sight, so he’d best switch over tonight.
Maxen’s gaze stayed fixed on his drink. “Trail her, or me, if you must, but stay out of my way.”
“The others aren’t going to like this either,” Dagger said.
“I’m a grown bloody man.”
“Oh, good,” Reaper sneered. “Just the response we were hoping for, grown man. Vague, ominous, and completely unhelpful.”
Maxen’s jaw ticked. “I can handle one woman.” Such a tiny one at that, too.
“Well, don’t mind if I take you up on the offer to trail you,frère. But don’t worry, I’ll be a shadow in the shadows.” Reaper flashed a row of teeth. “Like a whisper in a nightmare.”
Christ. “You’ve always been a nightmare.”
“And proud of it,” Reaper shot back.
A chair scraped at the far end of the tavern and Maxen glanced over. Saint emerged from whatever dark recess he’d been brooding in,big as a bloody Viking, sleeves rolled. He didn’t speak. He rarely did. But his scowl was loud enough to match any ruckus.
Maxen arched his brow.
“You moving next door to that woman,” Saint said darkly, voice rough as gravel and twice as hard, “is either the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst.”
Maxen nodded. “Likely both.”
“That’s comforting,” Dagger muttered.
“Should we send for Serpent and Drake?” Knight asked, arms folded as he leaned his shoulder on the post behind the bar. His gaze was steady, dark, and unreadable.
“Won’t matter,” Maxen said coldly. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Serpent could help, you know.” Reaper chirped, half-pouring, half-slopping brandy into his mouth. “He could have the color of her drawers within the hour.”
“No.” His tone brooked no argument. “I don’t want anyone acting on this but me.”
Saint exhaled through his nose. “You sure this isn’t personal?”
Maxen glanced at him, eyes hard as iron. “Everything’s personal.”
That earned silence.
Even Reaper—bottle midway to lips—paused.
Dagger was the first to break it, shaking his head. “So what then? We let you play landlord with a tenant we’veseen, with our own damn eyes, interact with the very man who’s been poking our operations?”
