Before he could launch into the details of the assignment, Taayin sauntered in, his gaze zeroing in on the female instantly.
“Where’s my invitation to the party?” the male quipped, though there was no humor in his tone.
“Can I help you?” Obsidian asked, not out of courtesy, more from irritation.
Taayin’s gaze remained on Asmia as he leaned on the credenza to Obsidian’s left, crossed his arms over his lean, muscular chest. “What’s going on?”
Obsidian smirked, turning his chair in Taayin’s direction. “Although you believe I should, I’m not required to clue you in to all my decisions.”
Irritated blue eyes shot to his face. “In case I need to remind you, I’m yourlieterra. Therefore, I should be in the know.”
Each warrior had a designatedlieterra, an angel tasked with tracking, doling out responsibilities, and handling other menial tasks they often bitched about. Though they took orders from Obsidian and his brothers, they often believed they were due far more than the warriors thought they were. Sure, as a right-hand, or assistant, they dealt with a wealth of shit that gratefully he didn’t have to be bothered with, but that didn’t change the fact that thelieterrawere inclined to do so by the roles they’d been assigned.
“And mightIremindyou,” he told Taayin, “Heaven’s gates are always open.”
The implied threat that Obsidian could send him back at any time hung heavily between them.
Taayin huffed and Obsidian could tell he was fighting the urge to argue. Not surprising considering that was his most prominent trait.
Only because he felt sorry for the poor sap did Obsidian halt his efforts to piss Taayin off the way he did him. Instead, he turned his attention back to Asmia, who was still watching him carefully.
“I need an extra set of eyes on Penelope. Mostly when she’s at work. I’m assigning you the role of temporaryritarroto myamsouelot.Effective immediately.”
Her eyes widened, mouth falling open.
Taking on a role as aritarro, even temporarily, was one of the highest honors among the Fae. It was the equivalent of alieterra,but on a more personal level.
“It would be my honor,” she said softly, bowing her head briefly before meeting his gaze once more. “Please forgive my ignorance, but I’m not sure exactly how I go about such a task since Penelope is not living with us.”
“For now,” Obsidian explained, “I want you to focus on watching over her, keeping me apprised of anything that seems off.”
“What about Stig?” Taayin asked.
“He’s still her guardian, but he’s overloaded. I need someone closer, someone who’ll clue me in immediately if there’s an issue.”
Asmia glanced at Taayin, then back to Obsidian. “Did something happen?”
He relayed the information he’d received from Penelope regarding the incident in the parking lot. Both Taayin and Asmia were watching him intently.
“Michael acted on Stig’s behalf?” Taayin asked.
“It would seem that way.” Obsidian looked at Asmia. “I want you to be present while Penelope’s at work. Keep an eye on her. And in the event I’m not with her, I want you to follow her home, ensure her safe arrival. I’m not sure what Perfidious is up to, but I’m not willing to risk her life because the demon wants to play games.”
“Should I introduce myself to Penelope?” Asmia asked.
“Not at this time, no. There’s no need.”
“It would be helpful if I had all the information you have on her,” Asmia said, squaring her shoulders, as though preparing to take the weight of the world on them.
An iPad appeared on the desk, conjured out of thin air by none other than one irritatinglieterrawho prided himself on always being one step ahead. On the screen, an image of Penelope.
Asmia picked it up, skimmed the details on the screen. Her quick perusal would enlighten her to the fact Penelope Jane Calazans was twenty-eight, born to Michael and Marisol Calazans on February 2, 1991. She had one sibling, a twin brother named Oliver. Her education background was lengthy, but her employment history was relatively short. It reflected a couple of odd jobs prior to her being employed at Caesar’s Palace Casino as a cocktail waitress for the past five and a half months, earning a shitty hourly wage, though tips tended to make up some of the difference. Her medical history reflected a clean bill of health. Birth control was the only medication she took routinely, and according to the details, it was due to the irregularity of her menstrual cycle. The last time she’d visited the doctor had been for her yearly physical and the last illness she’d been treated for was bronchitis, diagnosed eighteen months prior.
“She has a brother,” Asmia noted.
“She does,” he confirmed. “Though he’s not in the picture.”
Asmia’s eyes widened. “Did he die?”
