Page 17 of Dragon’s Rogue

She turned her back on him and walked back to the dresser, leaning casually against it, one hand resting on the edge. Her fingers found the release catch in the decorative carving.

“I have a one-hundred-percent recovery rate—if I have the right intel. There was no mention of alarms or magical traps on the object itself. But I made it clear to you—if a job goes sideways, I’m out of there. I’m not getting caught for you, or anyone.”

The boss was ignoring her words, just as he’d ignored her fingers in his chest. “This other person. Did he get the artifact? Did he take it?”

“I don’t think so. He was right behind me, running like hell. But I don’t know for sure.”

“You idiot girl!” He advanced on her, his eyes glowing with that fiery light. Rebel hit the release catch. The hidden compartment in the top of the dresser shot open and her Colt sprang into the air. She caught the grip and leveled it at him.

It was a .45 with silver-chased grips. It also glowed with magical blue light.

“You need to chill the fuck out, Sorcerer,” she said. “This thing can punch a bullet through pretty much any armor—and any spell.” She paused. “And through Jack, if I have to. Which would mean your road into my bedroom would be closed.”

Not that she’d really kill Jack. But maybe he didn’t know that.

The boss stopped moving, his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. Projection or not, she could see him forcing himself to relax.

“It is imperative that we get the artifact away from the witch,” he said persuasively. “In the wrong hands, it can bring disaster down on this whole city. Do you want that to happen?”

Rebel thought of her sister, of her little shop and her research. She’d do anything to protect Tempest, but she didn’t know if she believed him. Nobody with demon eyes was running around trying to prevent evil, were they?

He gestured to himself, his voice soft and buttery. “The rogue witch did this to me. She used that artifact to make me what I am—this twisted creature you see before you.”

Slowly, he reached up and slid back his hood. Rebel gasped. His face was scarred and misshapen, the lower half twisted hideously out of shape. His eyes glowed red and bored into hers.

“I must have that artifact, and I must stop her from using its power. I can help Harper. I can heal myself. And I can save the others.”

His voice was mesmerizing. She could hear something whispering to her, almost beyond the range of her hearing. It sounded like He tells truth. He tells truth.

Rebel shook her head. Nobody told the truth. But it would sure as hell be nice to run into someone who did, for a change.

“If you want me to go in again, it’s going to cost double,” she said. “And we’re going to need intel on that vault alarm system.”

The sorcerer stood perfectly still for a minute, looking as though he were listening to something she couldn’t hear.

The gun was getting heavy in Rebel’s hands, but she didn’t waver.

Finally he said, “Done.” He gazed at her with those demon-red eyes. “But if you fail this time, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

And with that he was sucked back down his dark tunnel, growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared, leaving Jack Harper crumpled on her bedroom floor, gasping and vomiting.

Worst. Job. Ever.

Chapter 10

Zane descended the iron staircase from the roof down to the balcony, joining Tyr. They went in through the disused ballroom, down the grand staircase, and took the brass and velvet-lined elevator to the sub-basement level. It opened into a huge cavern filled with computers, monitors, flashing lights and humming printers.

Tyr had nicknamed it the Batcave—for good reason.

Thorne was hunched in front of his bank of computers, the way he always was, watching the information scrolling down them.

He was a big man—bigger than Zane—but it seemed like the longer he sat here, surrounded by his machines and information streams and seismic data, the smaller he got.

As if the weight of responsibility he carried was so heavy it was literally compressing him. Zane wondered when was the last time Thorne had been outside the lair.

Hell, he wondered when was the last time Thorne had spent a night in his bed, or at least sleeping on his treasure in dragon form.

Guilt stabbed at Zane. He should have kept better track. He should have made Thorne rest.