Sins of the Flesh

“I would think that this close to the meeting of allies, you would have no wish to irritate your leader’s enemies. Especially in light of the fact that it was your leader who invited everyone to the party.”


“Ah, my fearless leader. Right. Wouldn’t want to piss off Sutekh by pissing off Aset, would I? It’s not like they don’t already have a virulent hate-on for each other. Just one small correction,” he continued. His brows lifted then lowered. “Sutekh’s not merely my leader. He’s my father. Which gives me a little more leeway to break the rules.”

Father.

“Do you tell me this to warn me off? Do you think that because you are Sutekh’s son, I will bow and scrape and surrender my prize like a small beast relinquishing its kill to a larger predator?”

“Nice imagery.” He stepped closer, looming over her. “Will you?”

“Relinquish him?” She shook her head. “No.”

“Surrender,” he corrected her with a leer.

“No.”

“Disappointing.”

“Disappointment’s a bitch.”

He blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed, full and rich.

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” he asked as he stepped even closer.

She had a thing about personal space at the best of times. He was invading it. Purposely. She ignored the incursion, refusing to offer him the satisfaction of a reaction, or a reply. Instead, she stepped over Kuznetsov’s unconscious form so she straddled his torso, feet firmly planted on each side of his waist, her stance solidifying her claim.

“Shy, are you?” Sarcasm dusted his words. “I’ll introduce myself first, then. Malthus Krayl, at your service. You can call me Mal.” He grinned, more predatory than pleasant.

Malthus Krayl.

“Dagan Krayl’s brother?” she asked.

The soul reaper tipped his head to the side, and a flicker of surprise crossed his features before he masked it, though whether at her actions or her question she couldn’t say.

“And I’m guessing you know my brother’s name because you know his mate? Roxy Tam? Her being a Daughter of Aset and all.” The grin widened. “Like you.”

Smug bastard.

“Your ability to think in linear sequence is admirable.” She let none of her emotion leak into her tone. The words came out flat as a Kansas prairie. There was no cleverness involved in his deductions. She’d offered that information, gift wrapped, when she’d mentioned that she claimed Kuznetsov in Aset’s name. It was more than enough for even a fool to connect the dots.

“Ouch. Kitty has claws,” he said in a perfectly amiable tone. “I can think of better ways to use them.” His gaze raked her. “I’d be happy to serve as your scratching post.”

For a second, she stared at him blankly, not registering his meaning. And then she did. Was he…propositioning her? The possibility was appalling. Doubly so after the mistake she’d come so close to making with him last night.

She offered no reply. He deserved none. He was a soul reaper. He deserved nothing but the endless agony of the lakes of fire. Out of respect and affection for Roxy Tam—her one-time acolyte, her dearest friend—Calliope had an understanding of sorts with Dagan Krayl, at least, as close to an understanding as she was willing to get with a soul reaper. He had stood against his own kind, saved Roxy’s life, and—for Roxy’s sake—Calliope’s.

In that act, he had given birth to an uneasy truce. Calliope stayed away from him. He stayed away from her. Roxy was welcome in her home. Dagan was not. That was the most she’d been willing to concede.

At her feet, Kuznetsov released a small moan.

“I am not a kitty. I am not your darling.”

He tipped his head. “I’m guessing you’re Calliope Kane, Roxy’s mentor in the Asetian Guard. Dae mentioned you.” He widened his eyes. “Never said you were quite the hot little number, though.” His voice trailed away and his eyes narrowed as he studied her face, as though by mentioning a hot little number, he had started his brain along that track like a train.

She offered a tight smile. “I’ve been slapping the hands of lecherous—” she looked him over dismissively “—little boys for a very long time.”

“That I believe, darlin’.” He laughed off the insult. “That I believe.”

Kuznetsov twitched again. Time was slipping past. She needed to move before he awakened, and she needed a plan for exactly how to accomplish that. Scenarios played out in rapid-fire succession in her thoughts. None was satisfactory.

Her options were limited. Her directive was to retrieve Kuznetsov and question him.

The soul reaper caught her eye. “Shall we flip a coin?”

“Flip a—”

“To see who gets him, since we both want him.”

“And if I win?” she asked, only to buy a few more precious seconds.

The reaper widened his eyes and raised his brows, the picture of mock innocence. “I’ll take him anyway.”

That, she believed, and his honesty surprised her. “Not the type to play fair?”