I have an immediate sense offire. A vast volcano of heat that makes me wary. Even more so because, once again and unnervingly, I can’t pinpoint exactly what he is. Certainly, I could assume he was a fire mage, but no fire mage I’ve come across has had such a strong sense of flames about them.
No. Like the woman in the park, he is something else. Something I haven’t come across before.
Well, I will relish the challenge of finding out what.
None of the other patrons are alarmed to see him. In fact, their emotions tell me they’re more comfortable now that he’s here. I suppose this is why the maître d’ hadn’t locked up. He was expecting this man.
The newcomer is as tall as Striker, which is to say that he’s taller than I estimate most of the other men in this room to be. Like them, he’s dressed in a suit, but his features are far from ordinary.
His hair is ice-blond, his skin is fair, and the breadth of his shoulders and thickness of his neck indicate a strong physique—as strong as Striker’s.
He also has amber eyes, and it confirms for me the fiery nature of his power, just as Striker is a creature of hell and all its burning rage.
The newcomer holds a golden lighter in his right hand, the lid of which he clicks open and closed, drawing the flame and then extinguishing it as he strides toward us.
The other men incline their heads or tip their chins at him, greeting him as “Jonah” as he passes them by.
He doesn’t stop until he reaches us, his voice a stern rumble. “Striker Draven, you were told to come alone.”
Before Striker can reply, I say, “He did come alone. I was neither invited nor expected.”
The newcomer—Jonah—turns his fiery glare on me, only to look into my eyes for the first time.
His own widen.
To my shock, he steps back and inclines his head in a respectful bow. “Fury, I apologize,” comes his deep, remorseful rumble. “You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
I can only blink at him and the surprising deference he’s showing me.
As he raises his head, I don’t pick up my jaw fast enough.
He doesn’t seem to miss it, a twinkle entering his eyes. “It isn’t often I’ve surprised a Fury.”
I furrow my brow at him. “You’ve known other Furies then?”
Sudden sadness resonates from him. “A long time ago.” He shakes his head slowly, and his voice loses its ferocity. “The ones I knew are lost now.”
He clears his throat, seeming to come back to himself before he gestures to our seats. “Please, sit.”
Striker has observed my interaction with Jonah without interrupting us, and now, as he takes a seat, I sense a small amount of tension leave his body.
At the same time, the level of conversation around us increases, and it isn’t accidental. I read the now-simple intentions of the other patrons: their job is to muffle the sound of our conversation. It happens so seamlessly that I imagine it’s a frequent occurrence.
Jonah turns his attention from me back to Striker. “You requested a meeting with Vanguard.”
“I did,” Striker replies. “I understood he’d agreed to meet me here.”
Jonah inclines his head. “I acknowledge this. Unfortunately, Vanguard was unavoidably detained. However, he has authorized me to set up a meeting with you tomorrow night.” Jonah’s amber gaze becomes steely. “There are conditions.”
“Name them,” Striker replies.
“You will bring with you the Master of the Assassin’s Legion.”
Striker’s surprise is palpable even without my Fury power. “Vanguardwantsa Master Assassin to be present?”
The corners of Jonah’s lips twitch upward. “Slade Baines would be there regardless. We want him where we can see him.” Jonah scans the room pointedly. “Not, as must currently be the case, lurking somewhere unseen.”
“Slade Baines is not here,” I say quietly. My power allows me to see through an assassin’s invisibility, orblur,as they call it. “Neither is any other assassin.”
