“Why not request her incarceration now, just to be sure?” Trey said. “I’d sleep safer knowing she’d been neutralized.”
“I cannot formally arrest her without privately advising the Forum first.” Kiro’s mouth twisted. “I might have been given full rein to explore what goes on, but there are still some protocols involved when it comes to the heads of the twelve houses and their ladies.”
“Do you want me to bring Jamson back here?” I asked.
Kiro hesitated. “Only if you believe he’s played some part in this murder. But be wary. Jamson has a rather nasty streak in him, and if he is drunk, he’ll be all the more dangerous.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know. But still, stay wary. And call in help if you need it.” Kiro’s gaze switched to Trey. “It would be best if Lida is brought here without gathering too much attention.”
“Easier said than done, I suspect.”
“You have my permission to tape her mouth and hands if required.”
“And that won’t garner any additional attention, will it now?” Trey said, then caught my hand and led the way out of the room.
“So what does Jamson actually look like?” Though our footsteps made little noise on the warm stone flooring, the footman who’d initially escorted me to Hedra’s room reappeared. With a slight bow, he asked us to follow him, but kept a discreet distance.
Trey hesitated. “I’ve only seen him from a distance, but he’s tall and lean, with hair that is more dirty yellow than white.”
“And he wears the color of the Rossi house?”
“Yes. His mask rather resembles a snarling dog.”
I snorted. “Which is somewhat appropriate, if what Kiro said is true.”
“It is.”
Trey’s carriage was waiting out the front, and the odd silver tunnel had been rolled out to protect us from the weather. Trey helped me up into his carriage, his fingers gripping mine perhaps a little longer than necessary.
In very little time, we were back at the Rossi household. Once we’d reentered the main hallway, he pulled me close and slipped one hand around my waist to my spine. A show for those who were watching, I knew, but not one I was about to object to.
“I know you’re Nightwatch and more than capable of handling yourself,” he said softly, “but Jamson runs with a pack and none of them are pleasant.”
I frowned. “Then why is his presence abided?”
“Because he’s the current heir of a major house.” His expression was flat, but that edge of old pain and anger resurfaced. “As I have said, some of the ladies in this place will go to great lengths to capture such a man, no matter how heinous they might find him.”
“It seems to me that there is a very dark heart to the glitter that is life here in the Reaches.”
“I think you might be right.” His mouth twisted, though it held little in the way of humor. “Why do you think I remain at Blacklake? It’s not just for the sake of Eluria.”
“But the price of such freedom comes at a cost,” I said. “Blacklake is not without its dangers.”
“Yes. But she’s become a strong, independent woman well able to protect herself.” His smile grew, became filled with a warmth and humor that did strange things to my pulse rate. “In that, she very much reminds me of someone else.”
“And just who might that be?” I asked, pressing a little closer.
His grip tightened briefly. “A witch named Saska, perhaps?”
I slapped his arm in indignation and he laughed softly. “Or not.” He leaned forward and kissed me. It was little more than a brush of lips, but it held a heat, a promise, that had desire rising. “Unfortunately, we both have people to hunt down. This discussion can be continued later.” He hesitated, and then added, “Please be careful.”
“And you.”
“I am not the one about to face a drunken pack on their home ground.”
He stepped back and bowed before walking across to the stairs leading down to the next level. I adjusted my slightly skewed mask then moved into the ballroom, pausing at the top of the stairs as I searched the room for someone who fitted the description I’d been given. Once again, a blue-suited footman approached and bowed lightly. “Maybe I can be of assistance, m’lady?”
“I’m looking for Lord Jamson.”
Distaste briefly flashed across the footman’s face. “I believe he’s with friends in the blue room.”
“And where might that be?”
“If you follow this wall around to the right,” he said, waving a hand at the wall behind us, “it is the last door before you come to the white terrace. Be careful, m’lady. He’s in a mood.”
“Then perhaps you should wander past that room at some point in the near future, in case help is needed.” While I was more than able to protect myself, it was still four male witches against one woman armed with only a small knife and very unreliable powers.
“I’ll do as you suggest.” He bowed and left.
I followed the wall around. There seemed to be a lot more people in the room tonight, but I guessed that wasn’t surprising when the equinox was only a few hours away now. The music was rambunctious and loud, and the dance floor so crowded there was barely room to move. Even so, I heard the half scream as I neared the blue room. It was a sound that abruptly cut off, but the hairs along the back of my neck nevertheless rose.
That sound had come from a woman’s throat, not a man’s.
I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I pressed closer, listening intently. There were at least three men inside; a couple of them were talking and laughing, the other making rather crude suggestions as to what should be done next.
Underneath all that was a whimper of distress.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening. Anger surged through me and with it came the wind. She ran under the door and, a heartbeat later, had it unlatched. I quietly stepped inside. The four men didn’t even notice. Three of them were too busy discussing the actions of the forth, who was plundering a woman strapped facedown against a table.
I took three quick steps, raised a fist, and swung it as hard as I could. As the blow hit the first man’s chin and smashed him sideways, I spun and lashed out with a bare heel at the second. It hit him hard in the gut, forcing a grunt of pain as he staggered backward several feet. The third man spun around, his expression shocked even as he swung a clenched fist at my face. But the blow was wide and slow, and I had plenty of time to duck it. A quick, hard uppercut had him tumbling backward over a chair. He hit the ground awkwardly and didn’t move.
The fourth man—a man with dirty yellow-blond hair—swore and swung around, his thick cock rampant and bloody as he grabbed the air and flung it at me. It threw me back several steps before I was able to brace myself against it. The man I’d hit in the gut grabbed my arm, but I twisted out of his grip and thrust him as hard as I could against the nearest wall. I didn’t wait to see the result, but dove under another blow of air and grabbed Jamson by his ball sac.
“One move, be it from you or the air,” I ground out, “and I shall rip these things free from your body and feed them to the Adlin.”
He made an odd sound of distress and pain, and became a statue. I wasn’t even sure he dared to breathe. I slid my knife free and pointed it at the man I’d thrown against the wall. His nose was broken and there was blood all over his face and mouth. I hoped like hell it was very painful. The air stirred again but held no immediate threat. Perhaps Jamson’s friend was in too much pain to concentrate on any form of retribution.
“You got a name?” I growled.
He hesitated, and then spat. The bloody globule landed near my toes. “Franc.”