"I said I'll manage."
Ruby looks at him with something that might be pity, which Dimitri finds more offensive than anything else that's happened tonight, and that is a competitive field. Then she shrugs one elegant shoulder and returns to her cards.
"Your funeral," she says. "Give Vex my regards."
Dimitri turns and finds Knox exactly where he left him, still enduring the succubus's attentions with the stoic resignation of a man being slowly killed by politeness.
"We're leaving," Dimitri says. "Unless you need another minute."
Knox gives him a look. It is withering, the kind of look that has been perfected over a career of dealing with difficult people and difficult things, the kind that could strip paint off walls, and Dimitri feels a flicker of reluctant appreciation for it. Especially coming from someone who has to tilt his chin up to deliver it.
Knox turns to the succubus. "It was very nice to meet you," he says, with what appears to be complete sincerity, and gently disentangles her hand from his coat. She blinks at him, momentarily stunned into stillness, and Knox takes the opportunity to step around her and fall into stride behind Dimitri.
They climb the stairs in silence. The music fades behind them, replaced by the ambient noise of the Old City, distant traffic, a dog barking, the hum of the neon sign overhead. Dimitri reaches the top of the stairs and steps into the alley, and the cold air feels close to freedom.
A figure steps out of the shadows at the mouth of the alley.
He's massive. Not just tall but built on a different scale entirely, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, with arms that could bend rebar and hands that could crush a skull without effort. Two heavy curved horns jut from his temples, sweeping back over a shaved head, and his skin has the mottled, grayish quality of something that doesn't see much sunlight. His eyes are small and dark and drunk and fixed on Knox with the flat, burning hatred of a creature looking at its natural enemy.
He makes Knox look like a child standing next to a monument.
"Well, well," the horned man says, his voice grinding. "A Templar at The Sable." He cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes off the alley walls. "You must be lost."
His hand shoots out and fists the front of Knox's coat, hauling him off his feet. Knox's boots leave the ground entirely. The horned man lifts him until Knox is dangling at the tips of his toes, coat bunched up around his throat, his face level with a chest that could double as a wall. The stench of cheap liquor and sulfur rolls off the man in waves.
"You've got a lot of nerve," the horned man growls, "walking into our territory wearing that coat."
Knox wraps his hands around the man's wrist, not pulling, just anchoring himself, and glances sideways at Dimitri.
Dimitri is leaning against the alley wall with his arms crossed. He projects amusement through the bond, lazy and unbothered, and makes sure Knox can feel it. This is not his problem. This is the Templar's problem, and Dimitri is going to enjoy watching it unfold.
Except there's something else. Something small and irritating prickling at the back of his skull, needling at him through the bond or maybe through something worse, something that feels uncomfortably close to guilt. The horned man has Knox off the ground. Knox weighs maybe a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. The man holding him could break him in half. And Dimitriis standing here with his arms crossed doing nothing, and the prickling won't stop, and he resents it with his entire being.
He ignores it. He's good at ignoring things.
"You know," Knox says tightly, "if he breaks my nose, you feel it too."
Dimitri tilts his head, considering. "Worth it. I'd take a little pain to see someone wreck that pretty face."
The horned man grunts and swivels his massive head toward Dimitri. "Stay out of it, demon. Or I'll pulverize you next."
Dimitri gestures magnanimously. "By all means. He's all yours."
Knox sets his jaw. Something shifts in the bond, a cold click, the feeling of a man's patience arriving at its terminus, and Dimitri barely has time to register it before Knox moves.
"Like I need his help," Knox scoffs, and drives his knee up into the man's groin.
The effect is immediate. The horned man's grip spasms, his eyes bulge, and a sound escapes him that is less roar and more wheeze, a high strangled note that doesn't suit a creature his size. He drops Knox.
Knox hits the ground, rolls his weight onto the balls of his feet, and pulls the mace from his hip in one fluid motion. Before the man can straighten, Knox swings in a tight, vicious arc and connects with his ribs. Blessed iron meets flesh and bone with a crack that echoes off the alley walls, and the horned man staggers sideways, one massive hand clutching his side.
He roars, properly this time, the sound rattling windows in the buildings above, and lunges. His arms sweep wide, trying to catch Knox in a bear hug that would probably crush every bone in his body.
Knox ducks under the grab, pivots behind him, and kicks him square in the back. The horned man stumbles forward, momentum working against him, and hits the opposite wall hardenough to crack the brickwork. He spins, snarling, one hand swiping blind.
Knox dodges around the hand and finds an opening with the mace.
The blow catches the man across the jaw with the full weight of Knox's swing behind it, and the crack of impact is enormous. The horned man's head snaps sideways. His eyes roll back. His knees buckle.
