At least, until the world took Rhun away from her, putting her right back where she had started: on no one’s side but her own, the most cutthroat of sell-swords. Having briefly worked for the Shadow Queen but somehow escaped her service, she was happiest serving only herself. But where Vic loathed the shadows and the Wardens in equal measure, Wynnie still counted a few among the knights as friends—or at least, not adversaries—dancing toward whatever allegiances suited her in the moment, or killing when that was more convenient.
“Oh, that’s from a rabbit. Last night’s supper wasn’t going to skin itself,” Wynnie answered smoothly, touching a few fingers to the spot she’d missed and blinking guilelessly. “Anyway, I wanted to see you so—”
“So my blood could end up on your neck too?” He had never made a secret of his disapproval of the way Wynnie handled her affairs. After all, Vic got by in life without hurting anyone, even if she was just as much on her own side in all things.
It required a practiced eye to note the way Wynnie flinched at the mere suggestion. Griff, having such well-trained vision, felt a small thrill of satisfaction at the damage he had just inflicted after all the times she had let him down over the years—times she hadchosen murder and mayhem over being there for birthday parties. “Why were you researching what my boyfriend likes for breakfast, anyway?” he demanded while he had the advantage.
Wynnie took a breath, recovering herself with remarkable speed, true to the tales of all the blows she’d survived over the years. “Knowing who you’re in bed with is part of keeping you safe, which you’ve clearly demonstrated you aren’t capable of doing on your own.”
Griff’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember asking for you to be my personal guard. And I know that’s not rabbit blood on your neck, so cut the shit about my love life and tell me why you’re really here, or get out so I can spend some time with the people who actually care rather than pretending.”
“You want to talk pretend?” Wynnie invited, her nostrils flaring as she pressed a hand into the quilt between them. Little crescent moons from someone’s nails crossed all over the back of her hand—that rabbit had put up a hell of a fight. “You think you’ve walked around so free and easy all these years since you left—writing lines in your love songs that clearly aren’t about your precious boyfriend-of-the-moment, auditioning to join the ranks of those Wardens you call heroes when all they ever did was send your parents to their deaths—without a cost? You think you cut yourself off so thoroughly from the rest of us lowlifes that the gods deemed you Good and Righteous and gave you some special protection from ever having a target on your back?” Now her eyes narrowed, her voice growing dangerously soft. “You’re free and safe to follow your whims because I do what you won’t. I pay the price for you, and I’m here because it seems you’re still in danger.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes seeking his. “Maybe I am the monster you clearly believe me to be, but how can you be so sure when we don’t even know each other anymore? I miss you, Griff. I wish you’d come home.”
He stared into those dark and depthless eyes that asked so much of him, certain that without some kind of map, he was bound to get lost in them. Her gaze was a lightless, airless place, an ocean he could drown in. And wasn’t he supposed to find some comfort there rather than lose himself?
“You’re wrong,” Griff said softly when he found his voice again. “I do know you, and I have a pretty good understanding of what particular flavor of monster you are.”
Wynnie flashed a smile that was all teeth, not about to let him see her flinch again. “You’re so much like your father. Always so judgmental. So certain that you know just how to be good, but what is that, anyway? Good isn’t anything, darling. It doesn’t exist.”
She stood and started pulling on her boots. “Anyway. You might want to keep watching your back. And I’ll watch it too, no matter how much you disapprove, no matter what you think of me, no matter how much that hurts. I won’t ever stop trying to keep my family safe. It’s a big world out there, and it’s going more to the orcs with each passing day.”
She leaned in and gently smoothed his wayward hair back from his face, then drew away.
He didn’t speak again until her hand was on the door; something about her leaving so soon and the unsettled warmth of her fingers having passed through his hair made him say, “Wynnie.”
She turned back at the sound of her name.
“What kind of blood was it, really?”
“Mix of things,” she said, leveling with him at last. “Human, mostly. Hunting your attacker.”
“Okay,” he said on a heavy breath.
“I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” she told him, opening the door to reveal Alys, Liam, and Badger waiting in a huddle just on the other side, clearly having heard every word. “Vic too.”
“See you then,” he agreed, and she vanished quickly like smoke.
Chapter FourMister Dangerous
Mal gave the straps on his pack another once-over, decided he was as ready as he was going to get, and scratched the still-healing skin on his itchy right forearm. The first day of summer had come and gone, which meant it was officially time for him to leave town on his latest assignment—and he would, first thing in the morning. Right after he figured out how to tell Alys what he had to do. How he was going to right this very stupid wrong.
He had been trying to find the words for weeks now, ever since that spring night in the tea shop when he had waited until the pearly light of dawn for his boss’s return.
Kage—which wasn’t his real name, if Mal had to guess—hadn’t seemed particularly surprised to find him sitting there with his hunting knife out in welcome. Hadn’t, perhaps in a testament to what was until now a rather successful working relationship, even commented on the dried tracks of tears glistening on Mal’s dirty cheeks. He had, however, shown off all of his pointed teeth as he snarled and easily dodged Mal’s attack, his fingers closing painfully around the younger thief’s wrist untilthe knife clattered to the floor and Mal was worried he had broken something.
“What’s eating your insides?” Kage rumbled as he casually changed position to lock Mal in a proper chokehold with more strength than any man possessed. When he closed his mouth, he could mostly pass for human rather than the half-orc he was. The only other difference was his eyes, their pupils nearly serpentine, but one had to get as dangerously close as Mal was now to notice a thing like that.
“Griffin Sayer,” Mal spat with what little air he was being afforded. “You killed him.Murderedhim, you fucking half-wit, inbred, sorry excuse for a—”
“Wemurdered him,” Kage interrupted calmly, the look he was giving Mal almost indulgent—as if he were doing him a favor by giving him more credit (and not letting him finish the insult). “Or rather, we should have. But my birds saw the wretched elf-princess calling at his home not an hour ago, and her guards all aflutter nearby in the wood with weapons the likes of which we couldn’t hope to counter with anything here. I suspect we failed, but next time, we’ll torch the body for added insurance.”
Mal had intended to kill Kage right there in his own shop, to feed him to the worms. He needed someone to answer for what had happened to Griff. But if there was a chance he was still out there, still breathing, somehow miraculously clinging to life …
“I want to make a deal,” Mal spluttered. Kage was crushing his windpipe, but if he knew one thing about his boss, it was that he couldn’t resist an exchange of wits and wagers. “For Griff’s life. For his safety. Whatever it takes to spare him—name your price.”
Kage had eased up on his throat sometime during the talking. Releasing Mal at long last in favor of straightening his rumpled black shirt, he trapped the fallen knife under his boot and leveled a calculating gaze at him.
