“So you’re thinking it’s Momar, and he’ll show up to this pickup party.”
“Momar himself? Never. He would never sink so low. He would send his people, though.” She chewed on her lip, back to imagining scenarios. “I’ve been going over and over this, and this is what I’m thinking. His people have been watching the area, that we know. They’ve seen the influx of people coming to this territory. Not just animals. No, people who can hold weapons when fighting.
Now there’s a last-minute order of weapons, placed in a dark corner of the magical black market by someone who’s sophisticated enough to place an order like this and get a decent price despite their obvious need for the goods. That hints at a knowledgeable mage working with the shifters. And that is where things get sticky. They’ve probably been wondering for a while now whether there’s someone besides the purple creature with house magic helping the shifters. Someone powerful. This transaction will point to someone who’s at least knowledgeable. Power and knowledge usually go hand in hand with mages.”
“Can they find you through this alias?”
“Not even their best would be able to, no. Another hint that it was placed by someone who’s been around a while. Someone who knows how the mage system works.”
“But you’re not powerful. In magic, I mean.”
“Sebastian is. All powerful mages have minions. I am said minion. I represent his power. They will be dying to know who’s behind this.”
“So it’s one of Momar’s people,” Tristan said.
“Almost certainly.”
“They hope the power player will show up to collect the guns.”
“I’m guessing so. Under no circumstances can he go. It won’t just jeopardize our current situation
—it’ll jeopardize all our plans for the future.”
“Elliot Graves’s plans.”
She jerked her head toward him, studying him now, his easy demeanor, the knowledgeable gleam in his eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly. “His alias, yes, as it coincides with Jessie’s future plans.”
“That you are helping create for her.”
A tingling started in her chest, like butterflies on fire, spreading through her body. Her skin crawled, the feeling of danger upon her.
“That her team is helping create,” she said, trying to read that strange look in his eyes. “His alias is crafted as a dark dweller. A cunning mastermind. A mage that doesn’t directly get his hands dirty. If he pokes his head up, a great many people will line up to chop it off, and mine with him.”
“You mean the Captain’s more than just a minion. Much more. Someone who pulls strings like a marionette. A super villain in her own right. A great many people would like to get their hands on both of you, I gather.”
The air seemed to heat up between them, almost solidifying, sticky and gooey and hinting of great danger now surrounding her. But there was no one here, only Tristan. A clearly knowledgeable Tristan, who’d come from unknown origins with powerful though mysterious magic. Someone that had found his way into the fold and now held power and the ear of the leaders.
Colors seemed to dance between them, light and jubilant and energetic, so opposite to what he was saying. To the feeling of panicked dread lodged inside of her. It didn’t make sense. Usually she could count on her sixth sense to steer her in situations like this, but this time her gut and the energy in the room seemed at odds.
“There you go,” he said softly, his eyes glowing a burnished orange now. “So you do know how
to use it occasionally.”
Oh yeah, she used her brain plenty.
“What’d you do with the other set of notes?” she asked, her tone neutral, the way she always handled her work affairs. “You gave one set to Austin, and the other? The one about Elliot Graves and the Captain?”
“Clever girl, though I must say, the hints were borderline obvious.” He gave her an assessing look. “You aren’t treating me like the dangerous thing you make me out to be.”
“But you are a dangerous thing.”
“Sometimes.” He paused, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I put them in a safe place. The mage didn’t know enough to incriminate you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Either of you. Hearsay, mostly, random stories, how you’re perceived. Add that to what I know about you, though, and a different story emerges.”
Her chest felt tight, as though her breath were trapped inside. As though danger had caught up with her and the plank she’d been walking for years had finally been cut out beneath her.
She wanted to ask what sort of story he’d surmised. If he’d told any of his suspicions to Austin. If he’d seek to ruin her or simply use her.
That blasted energy connecting them had slowed, though, leaving only an erotic feeling. An aching.
What was happening to her? What new magic was this that he held?
“Calm yourself, little deathwatch angel,” he whispered, putting his hand down on the cushion beside him. The ripples of magic traveled slowly along the fabric, like a throbbing syrup, until it soaked into her side and slithered into her body. She closed her eyes on a moan, lost in whatever sort of magic this was. Sinking into the hypnotic lure of it.
“Is this how you get people to talk, then?” she asked, her words wispy, her hands clutching her legs and her core clenched tight. It took everything in her not to spread her thighs and invite him in.
“You mess with their emotions until they start begging to tell you everything?”
“That is how this magic works, I think, yes. But it isn’t mine. I use pain and nightmares, as befits my magic and personality.”
“Come closer,” she whispered, not able to help it, needing this ache to go away. She couldn’t think like this, and she had to think. She had to figure out this thing with the guns. With the battle.
Maybe with her life, if his knowing smirk and obvious confidence meant anything.
“Do you think that is wise?” he asked, that voice like an exfoliation treatment.
“Please, Daddy.”
The last word had just slipped out. Maybe it was mental warfare, on herself more than him, but it drew him in like sugar water would a hummingbird. He was in front of her in moments, the possessive dominance of him swirling powerfully around them. Her body was on fire as he leaned between her knees, pushing them wide to accommodate his big body. His lips felt like heaven and tasted like sin, consuming her as his hands made a path up her thighs. One reached between them, cupping her, rubbing firmly. The other slid over her breast, and his thumb rubbed the hard peak.
She clutched him, and then her hands were at his shirt, working his buttons as she groaned into that kiss. That scorching, incredible, consuming kiss.
“No, angel, stop,” he said, capturing her hands as they worked down his bare chest and went for his pants. “Stop, Natasha. You’re overwhelmed by your magic. You’ll hate yourself for this.”
“I don’t care,” she said, pulling free to go for his belt.