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Authors: Nalini Singh
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having been summoned earlier.
The tightness in her chest relaxed at seeing him unharmed. As she took her seat, she realized Nazarach had put her and Janvier right in the middle—to better hear and spread the word of his decisions, his cruelties? It was, she was forced to admit, an efficient method of getting the message across. No need to kill hundreds. Do one viciously enough and no one would dare rise up against you again.
The man next to Ashwini waited until Nazarach’s attention was elsewhere before speaking. “Bringing my sister back was the worst move you’ve ever made.”
Looking into that electric blue gaze, that perfect skin, she raised her eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course not.” Frédéric Beaumont’s eyes were glacial when they met hers. “I’d never threaten a hunter Nazarach holds in favor.”
“Smart guy.” And he’d rip out her throat the instant he thought he could get away with it. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. “You’re into weapons, I hear.”
To his credit, Frédéric followed the abrupt shift in topic with ease. “Yes.”
“Do you know where I could get some handheld grenade launchers?”
A slight pause. “May I ask why you need them?”
“Just thinking they might come in useful one day.” The dreams had been odd, fragmented. All she could really remember was thinking that grenade launchers sure would’ve come in handy. And given her dreams… “I like to be prepared.”
“I may have the name of a supplier for you.” Frédéric continued to stare at her. “You’re slightly out of step with the world, aren’t you, hunter?”
“Or the world’s out of step with me,” she said as Janvier caught her eye.
Warning blazed in the green depths she was used to seeing filled with laughter, and the strength of it chilled her to the soul. Whatever the hell Nazarach had planned, Ashwini really didn’t want to be here for it. Briefly, she considered calling in the Guild pullout, but why put Kenji and Baden in danger if Nazarach only wanted her and Janvier as his audience?
A sudden pure silence.
Ashwini knew things had begun even before she turned to see Nazarach raising a wineglass. “To intelligent conversation and new beginnings.”
It took her a few seconds to figure out why those words drenched the room in fear. Antoine and Callan sat opposite each other, the old guard and the new. Only one, she thought, was meant to come out of this alive. “Survival of the fittest,” she muttered to herself.
But Frédéric answered. “Not always.” Leaning close, he brushed her shoulder with his. “Sometimes, it’s survival of those who can play the game best.”
She turned to him. “Your sister will get herself killed unless she learns.”
Full lips curved. “Monique is very good at making men do what she wants.”
“Yes, but Nazarach isn’t a man. And I think she might forget that one day.”
Two slow blinks. “She won’t die. Not tonight. Nazarach will humiliate her into submission and that will be enough.”
Ashwini heard an undercurrent of anger in his voice, and it was understandable, but there was something else, something that made her hidden senses recoil. Following his sensual gaze as it stroked over the bare curve of Monique’s shoulder, she shook her head. “Please tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.”
“Everyone else will die,” Frédéric whispered, his refined voice sandpaper against her skin. “It’s better to choose companions from those who’ll remain for eternity.”
Putting down her water glass, she swallowed her gorge. “That’s a unique way of thinking.”
“Far better than Janvier’s.” Frédéric looked across the table, and the two men locked eyes. “He pursues you, but you’ll turn to dust in mere decades if not sooner. Such a relationship is pointless.”
Tracing Janvier’s profile—healthy and unblemished once more—she shook her head. “There’s pleasure in the dance, pleasure you’ll
The tightness in her chest relaxed at seeing him unharmed. As she took her seat, she realized Nazarach had put her and Janvier right in the middle—to better hear and spread the word of his decisions, his cruelties? It was, she was forced to admit, an efficient method of getting the message across. No need to kill hundreds. Do one viciously enough and no one would dare rise up against you again.
The man next to Ashwini waited until Nazarach’s attention was elsewhere before speaking. “Bringing my sister back was the worst move you’ve ever made.”
Looking into that electric blue gaze, that perfect skin, she raised her eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course not.” Frédéric Beaumont’s eyes were glacial when they met hers. “I’d never threaten a hunter Nazarach holds in favor.”
“Smart guy.” And he’d rip out her throat the instant he thought he could get away with it. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. “You’re into weapons, I hear.”
To his credit, Frédéric followed the abrupt shift in topic with ease. “Yes.”
“Do you know where I could get some handheld grenade launchers?”
A slight pause. “May I ask why you need them?”
“Just thinking they might come in useful one day.” The dreams had been odd, fragmented. All she could really remember was thinking that grenade launchers sure would’ve come in handy. And given her dreams… “I like to be prepared.”
“I may have the name of a supplier for you.” Frédéric continued to stare at her. “You’re slightly out of step with the world, aren’t you, hunter?”
“Or the world’s out of step with me,” she said as Janvier caught her eye.
Warning blazed in the green depths she was used to seeing filled with laughter, and the strength of it chilled her to the soul. Whatever the hell Nazarach had planned, Ashwini really didn’t want to be here for it. Briefly, she considered calling in the Guild pullout, but why put Kenji and Baden in danger if Nazarach only wanted her and Janvier as his audience?
A sudden pure silence.
Ashwini knew things had begun even before she turned to see Nazarach raising a wineglass. “To intelligent conversation and new beginnings.”
It took her a few seconds to figure out why those words drenched the room in fear. Antoine and Callan sat opposite each other, the old guard and the new. Only one, she thought, was meant to come out of this alive. “Survival of the fittest,” she muttered to herself.
But Frédéric answered. “Not always.” Leaning close, he brushed her shoulder with his. “Sometimes, it’s survival of those who can play the game best.”
She turned to him. “Your sister will get herself killed unless she learns.”
Full lips curved. “Monique is very good at making men do what she wants.”
“Yes, but Nazarach isn’t a man. And I think she might forget that one day.”
Two slow blinks. “She won’t die. Not tonight. Nazarach will humiliate her into submission and that will be enough.”
Ashwini heard an undercurrent of anger in his voice, and it was understandable, but there was something else, something that made her hidden senses recoil. Following his sensual gaze as it stroked over the bare curve of Monique’s shoulder, she shook her head. “Please tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.”
“Everyone else will die,” Frédéric whispered, his refined voice sandpaper against her skin. “It’s better to choose companions from those who’ll remain for eternity.”
Putting down her water glass, she swallowed her gorge. “That’s a unique way of thinking.”
“Far better than Janvier’s.” Frédéric looked across the table, and the two men locked eyes. “He pursues you, but you’ll turn to dust in mere decades if not sooner. Such a relationship is pointless.”
Tracing Janvier’s profile—healthy and unblemished once more—she shook her head. “There’s pleasure in the dance, pleasure you’ll
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