A single figure steps out.
I blink.
No.
It can’t be.
His eyes scan the bleachers. First the Guild, then he turns in the direction of the Diggers.
Fuck.
Fuck.
His eyes meet mine, and he gives a slight bow.
I huddle back as far as I can, trying to hide behind Taliesin.
There are monsters inside Quo, sure, but I thought the very worst of them were outside.
I was wrong.
Now one is looking directly at me.
17. TALIESIN
Aurora presses back against me, and I can feel her shaking.
A massive surge of protectiveness and anger travels through my body.
“Rory?” I can feel the vibrations of her tremors, and even though I don’t want to do any kind of public claiming, which will put a target on her back, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around her. “What’s happening? Do you know him?”
The newcomer saunters into the middle of the yard and the chant of fresh-fish dies away.
Never seen that happen before, but I get it. This guy carries himself with an aura that establishes he’s never been someone’s bitch.
“Rory?” She’s gone white. All the blood leached from her skin. The way she swallows repeatedly and can’t seem to find her voice isexceedinglyun-Aurora Drakeward.
What the fuck?
I look back to the center of the yard and try to get the measure of the person who has upset her so much.
With shiny dark hair, and pitch-black eyes, he moves with a grace that is almost inhuman. His skin is a light olive tone and flawless, and it’s obvious his slim figure is sinewy muscle underthose red scrubs that he wears like it’s an Armani suit, or some such bullshit.
The man flashes a smile in Rory’s direction, all white teeth and intention.
Oh no he didn’t.
Not. On. My. Watch.
“Clay,” I mutter to my second. “We’ve got trouble.”
“Who the fuck is that, Boss?”
“I don’t know, but I soon will.” I don’t bother to do the usual courtesy eyeball with Dimitry, just stride down the bleachers, Diggers moving right and left to clear a path for me.
The black-eyed prick waits casually, as though for all the world he’s meeting a friend to go for cocktails, or whatever rich-dicks do.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dimitry sending Heinz down as well. The giant has healed up fine and is probably raring for round two with me—or anyone else come to that—it will be a matter of his big, fat, German pride.
