little Irishman whom I’d assumed was a leprechaun, although leprechauns had been extinct since the early fifteenth century. He’d turned out to be a dhampir , born of a human mother and a revenant on his third day of his turning, just before the last drop of humanity left him forever. In Declan’s case, the revenant daddy in question was either Malas himself, or Harry's sire, Prince Wilhelm Dreppenstedt; his mother, Remy, had been turned against her will soon after giving birth by House Dreppenstedt to raise the dhampir child. Someone had had different ideas; Declan had been removed from his mother’s care, and Remy had been banished to somewhere called the Darkest Corner. Talk about a dysfunctional family. The rest of Declan’s history was spotty at best and horrifying in places, but my experience with him at the PCU had been, for the most part, wonderful (despite my bitching about him). When he’d had the chance to help me with some seriously nasty zombie shit, he had; then he’d helped Malas escape from a fairly effective prison on the off-chance that Malas would keep his word and help him find his mother.
If Declan was listed as Nazaire’s DaySitter by the Falskaar Vouras , I was assuming Malas had either kept that promise or was stringing Declan along. Was Declan Edgar feeding his immortal maybe-daddy? That made me feel vaguely squinky inside. What would it be like to see them both? I liked Declan. I understood what he did, and even most of why he did it. I didn’t like Malas being on the loose, especially since he was a murderous bastard who'd helped a necromancer breed hybrid zombies and nearly released a plague of them in Colorado. I was still having nightmares about torching muumuu-wearing she-zombies, and some nights I jerked awake screaming, “Don’t fuck with the Mega Max!”
“Does Hammerfest have an airport?” Batten asked.
“I sure as hell hope so,” I said. “I wonder how far away the Bitter Pass is. I wonder if they’ll blindfold us.”
“Assuming that taking my kit is pointless,” he said.
“Pretty sure they’ll be frisking for rowan wood long before you get to court,” I told him seriously, dropping my gaze to his ankles out of curiosity as much as habit. There was a bulge under his jeans at each; one would be the Taurus, his backup gun, and the other would be a rowan wood stake in a sheath. I didn’t think I had time to investigate him for other lumps of concealed weapons, but the urge to frisk Kill-Notch’s hard body was always present.
I looked back down at the invitation, which wasn’t an invitation at all but a summons; the flowery gold script, the cheerful smiley face drawn underneath Asmodeus’ signature and His title: Overlord of the Falskaar Vouras , Prince of the Second Circle, King of Lust, and Banker at the Baccarat Table of Hell. A goddamned smiley face. He knew I'd gotten laid, the smug, sassy, three-headed creeper.
“Guess I’d better take this home to Harry. He’ll be wondering about the text.” I considered Batten again, trying not to ogle. It was really good to see him again, even clothed. I hated the vulnerability of missing Jerkface, and feeling like maybe he didn’t miss me nearly as much. How had I let him become such a big part of my life, especially in the process of gaining my career independence? How had I reached a point where I was tempted to trust him completely? “If he asks you to act as my Second, are you going to say yes?”
“I’ll think about it.”
That was better than a no, and I knew better than to push; Batten would make up his own mind on his own schedule. I straightened the papers on the desk and peeked at him once more before getting into my parka. He glanced at the surface of the desk, checked out my boobs as I did my zipper up, and then grinned up at me. The enticement in those dark blue eyes grabbed me low in the belly. He leaned further back into his chair and his legs fell open in unspoken invitation; if I hadn’t
If Declan was listed as Nazaire’s DaySitter by the Falskaar Vouras , I was assuming Malas had either kept that promise or was stringing Declan along. Was Declan Edgar feeding his immortal maybe-daddy? That made me feel vaguely squinky inside. What would it be like to see them both? I liked Declan. I understood what he did, and even most of why he did it. I didn’t like Malas being on the loose, especially since he was a murderous bastard who'd helped a necromancer breed hybrid zombies and nearly released a plague of them in Colorado. I was still having nightmares about torching muumuu-wearing she-zombies, and some nights I jerked awake screaming, “Don’t fuck with the Mega Max!”
“Does Hammerfest have an airport?” Batten asked.
“I sure as hell hope so,” I said. “I wonder how far away the Bitter Pass is. I wonder if they’ll blindfold us.”
“Assuming that taking my kit is pointless,” he said.
“Pretty sure they’ll be frisking for rowan wood long before you get to court,” I told him seriously, dropping my gaze to his ankles out of curiosity as much as habit. There was a bulge under his jeans at each; one would be the Taurus, his backup gun, and the other would be a rowan wood stake in a sheath. I didn’t think I had time to investigate him for other lumps of concealed weapons, but the urge to frisk Kill-Notch’s hard body was always present.
I looked back down at the invitation, which wasn’t an invitation at all but a summons; the flowery gold script, the cheerful smiley face drawn underneath Asmodeus’ signature and His title: Overlord of the Falskaar Vouras , Prince of the Second Circle, King of Lust, and Banker at the Baccarat Table of Hell. A goddamned smiley face. He knew I'd gotten laid, the smug, sassy, three-headed creeper.
“Guess I’d better take this home to Harry. He’ll be wondering about the text.” I considered Batten again, trying not to ogle. It was really good to see him again, even clothed. I hated the vulnerability of missing Jerkface, and feeling like maybe he didn’t miss me nearly as much. How had I let him become such a big part of my life, especially in the process of gaining my career independence? How had I reached a point where I was tempted to trust him completely? “If he asks you to act as my Second, are you going to say yes?”
“I’ll think about it.”
That was better than a no, and I knew better than to push; Batten would make up his own mind on his own schedule. I straightened the papers on the desk and peeked at him once more before getting into my parka. He glanced at the surface of the desk, checked out my boobs as I did my zipper up, and then grinned up at me. The enticement in those dark blue eyes grabbed me low in the belly. He leaned further back into his chair and his legs fell open in unspoken invitation; if I hadn’t
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