He and Slade are both dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts. Neither carries any visible weapons, although Slade’s silver assassin’s ring is a weapon in itself.
Striker’s black hair is less well-groomed than the last time I saw him—a shadow of growth around his jaw and a darkness under his eyes.
He isn’t sleeping well. I don’t need to read his emotions to know this.
As for his feelings, they are completely cloaked.
I refrain from addressing either of them until Striker removes his hand from Slade’s shoulder.
“Fury.” It’s Slade who greets me first, giving a brief bow.
It’s a rare gesture for a Master Assassin to make. They bow to nobody.
I accept the gesture and return the respect, inclining my head. “Legion Master.”
There isn’t time for more before a tingle of magic in the air makes me spin to the empty space on our right.
Three men appear in a burst of energy that quickly fades, revealing their features.
The man on the left is Jonah. He rests one hand on the shoulder of a central man, who is shorter than he, although still approaching six feet. That man has neat hair, bright eyes, andis dressed in a suit, although his collared shirt is unbuttoned. There’s ink on both of his palms.
To other supernaturals, it would probably look like he has tattoos on his hands, but my power allows me to discern that the ink is magical, a kind of conduit that enables him to act without a wand.
The third man, who is standing on the right, also with his hand on the central man’s shoulder, draws my attention.
Vanguard is as my sisters described: tall and brown-haired with a scar running down the left side of his face. The handle of a curved sword is visible at his shoulder. It seemshehad no hesitation in bringing a weapon to this meeting.
Striker and Slade both tense. After all, the rules of the meeting were clear: Vanguard was to attend with Jonah and nobody else.
Vanguard quickly raises both of his hands and steps away from the central man.
“This is Orlan,” he says, gesturing to the third man. “He won’t stay. I simply needed a way to travel here quickly. I have no intention of breaking the conditions of our meeting.”
He inclines his head at Orlan, who immediately gives Vanguard a nod and takes a step back. With a clap of his hands and a burst of power between his palms, Orlan disappears.
I’m gratified when Slade and Striker both look at me.
“The warlock is gone,” I confirm.
“Then we should begin,” Striker says, taking a step forward.
I’m surprised at the way his outer façade melts away so quickly to reveal the beast he keeps concealed. The fire in his eyes and the power radiating out from him suddenly drowns out Vanguard’s energy.
Striker isn’t even half-shifted, and his power nearly drives me to my knees.
Was he always this powerful?
I’m certain he wasn’t. Not even at the Academy, where he dominated all of the other students. It’s as if… this calm that he carries now… this quiet strength… has made him even more formidable.
The impact on Vanguard and Jonah isn’t lost on me.
They hide their wariness quickly, but their immediate emotions are open to me. They are far more cautious now than they were even a minute ago.
“You’ve got my attention, Vanguard,” Striker growls, his voice a deep rumble that thrums through me, “but I won’t be drawn into a war. Tell me what you want. Give me your terms for peace, and I’ll consider them.”
Vanguard takes a moment, silently appraising Striker. “For a beast who was built for battle, I’m surprised to hear you speak of peace, Striker Draven.”
Striker’s gleaming eyes narrow. “War is easy. I could cut through your people and not give a fuck about the consequences. Peace requires effort.”
