him away. He wasn’t from around here. Darrion had been gone a little over a month and already the vultures were swooping in.
“Get out of my way.” Taer’s lips curled away from her teeth as she spoke, baring her fangs to him.
The guy just grinned lazily at her, revealing his own—rather less than impressive—fangs.
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. I’ll be real good to you.” His hands got a little too familiar then, grabbing her ass and pulling her into the cradle of his hips. It took Taer a few beats to realize that the bastard thought she was a whore.
Taer’s mouth turned to a playful pout. “You caught me out,” she purred, reaching behind her, her fingers grazing the butt of her Beretta. The familiar ripple of the black grip against her fingertips made her smile even more brightly. “But you haven’t caught my friend out.”
“Friend?” he asked, looking behind her expectantly for another woman. Taer pulled her weapon out and pressed the barrel to the center of his chest.
She shrugged innocently. “My friend.”
All hell broke loose around her. There were yells and orders that she drop the gun, shouts that there was a strict policy in the War Hammer that no one carry a weapon. Ignoring them all, Taer pressed the muzzle in tighter, moving the asshole backwards as she moved towards the bar.
Only when she was standing in front of the dwarf bartender did Taer remove the gun from the man’s chest and place it on the bar top. The bartender grabbed for the weapon immediately, staring at Taer like she had actually pulled the trigger. She could only assume he was Alistyre.
The elf slid out from between Taer and the bar, slinking away with a figurative tail between his legs. Taer watched him go in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Only once everyone had gone back to their drinks did she look back at Alistyre.
The dwarf was just as Taer expected him to be—short, slightly round and generally cantankerous from what she’d seen so far. He leveled a glare at her, his flint-colored eyes hard. His rusty beard hung shaggily from his face, tangled and dirty, and the faint odor of earth and stone clung to his clothes.
Ignoring his irate look, Taer got straight down to business. “I need information.”
The dwarf laughed, the sound like two boulders rubbing together. “What makes you think I’d give you information now that you’ve come in and terrorized my customers?” He was trying to intimidate her, but he had nothing on Korvain when it came to intimidation.
“I’m looking for a Mare,” she pressed on. “And I need to know whether you’ve seen him, or heard anything about him.”
The dwarf laughed again—louder this time—the sound booming around the bar. Taer noticed a few eyes rise at the noise. She’d figured this would be the fastest way to get her information, but if Alistyre didn’t start talking soon, she’d have to go to Plan B. Taer looked around, getting more and more agitated.
“Who are you looking for?”
Taer turned towards the voice, her eyes scanning the face of the light elf who had approached her. His eyes were a gray so pale they were almost white and his hair was much the same. Just with one look, she knew he was from very pure blood. But what would a light elf know about Darrion?
She ignored him, turning her attention back to Alistyre.
“Who are you looking for?” the elf repeated.
Taer looked at him from the corner of her eye. What did she have to lose? She’d gotten nowhere so far. “The master of the Boston guild,” she answered, lowering her voice.
His expression changed, his eyes darkening slightly. Abruptly, he took her by the elbow and dragged her towards the back of the dim bar. Taer fought the urge to break free of his grasp, letting him lead her to a booth surrounded on three sides by high partitions.
The light elf folded his tall, lithe frame down into the other side of the booth. “Sit,” he said, his tone hard and unyielding. He
“Get out of my way.” Taer’s lips curled away from her teeth as she spoke, baring her fangs to him.
The guy just grinned lazily at her, revealing his own—rather less than impressive—fangs.
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. I’ll be real good to you.” His hands got a little too familiar then, grabbing her ass and pulling her into the cradle of his hips. It took Taer a few beats to realize that the bastard thought she was a whore.
Taer’s mouth turned to a playful pout. “You caught me out,” she purred, reaching behind her, her fingers grazing the butt of her Beretta. The familiar ripple of the black grip against her fingertips made her smile even more brightly. “But you haven’t caught my friend out.”
“Friend?” he asked, looking behind her expectantly for another woman. Taer pulled her weapon out and pressed the barrel to the center of his chest.
She shrugged innocently. “My friend.”
All hell broke loose around her. There were yells and orders that she drop the gun, shouts that there was a strict policy in the War Hammer that no one carry a weapon. Ignoring them all, Taer pressed the muzzle in tighter, moving the asshole backwards as she moved towards the bar.
Only when she was standing in front of the dwarf bartender did Taer remove the gun from the man’s chest and place it on the bar top. The bartender grabbed for the weapon immediately, staring at Taer like she had actually pulled the trigger. She could only assume he was Alistyre.
The elf slid out from between Taer and the bar, slinking away with a figurative tail between his legs. Taer watched him go in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Only once everyone had gone back to their drinks did she look back at Alistyre.
The dwarf was just as Taer expected him to be—short, slightly round and generally cantankerous from what she’d seen so far. He leveled a glare at her, his flint-colored eyes hard. His rusty beard hung shaggily from his face, tangled and dirty, and the faint odor of earth and stone clung to his clothes.
Ignoring his irate look, Taer got straight down to business. “I need information.”
The dwarf laughed, the sound like two boulders rubbing together. “What makes you think I’d give you information now that you’ve come in and terrorized my customers?” He was trying to intimidate her, but he had nothing on Korvain when it came to intimidation.
“I’m looking for a Mare,” she pressed on. “And I need to know whether you’ve seen him, or heard anything about him.”
The dwarf laughed again—louder this time—the sound booming around the bar. Taer noticed a few eyes rise at the noise. She’d figured this would be the fastest way to get her information, but if Alistyre didn’t start talking soon, she’d have to go to Plan B. Taer looked around, getting more and more agitated.
“Who are you looking for?”
Taer turned towards the voice, her eyes scanning the face of the light elf who had approached her. His eyes were a gray so pale they were almost white and his hair was much the same. Just with one look, she knew he was from very pure blood. But what would a light elf know about Darrion?
She ignored him, turning her attention back to Alistyre.
“Who are you looking for?” the elf repeated.
Taer looked at him from the corner of her eye. What did she have to lose? She’d gotten nowhere so far. “The master of the Boston guild,” she answered, lowering her voice.
His expression changed, his eyes darkening slightly. Abruptly, he took her by the elbow and dragged her towards the back of the dim bar. Taer fought the urge to break free of his grasp, letting him lead her to a booth surrounded on three sides by high partitions.
The light elf folded his tall, lithe frame down into the other side of the booth. “Sit,” he said, his tone hard and unyielding. He
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