Page 15 of Shield of Fire

I smiled. “The man who destroyed Cynwrig’s place is an elf capable of magic, and he was using one of Hephaestus’s rubies.”

“Ah. Do you want me to pick you up or do you want to meet somewhere?”

I hesitated and glanced at the clock. If he was at the company office, it’d take too long for him to get through traffic to pick me up. “Meet. Shall we say twenty minutes at the side of the pub again?”

“Done. Should I come armed?”

It wasn’t legal to carry weapons in the UK—hell, even police had to get special dispensation to do so—but Ruadhán bent the rules when and where it suited, and Mathi knew few would dare charge Ruadhán’s only son.

I hesitated. “Our elf will be on the roof opposite Kaitlyn’s place, and he’ll be shielded from sight?—”

“Such a concealment cannot stop a bullet.”

“No, but you can’t shoot what you can’t see. However, he had several thugs with him last night, so it certainly couldn’t hurt.”

“Excellent,” he said, with the slightest hint of relish.

He really did have a bloodthirsty bent—something that hadn’t been apparent in the ten years we’d been together. Of course, I hadn’t gotten involved with cranky old goddesses or relic hunting during that time, either. His lust for fighting had only come to the fore after we’d all been dragged into the hunt for Agrona’s Claws.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

I smiled again and hung up. After calling a cab, I had a quick chat with Ingrid—the short, fierce-looking pixie with curly green hair and deep brown eyes I’d recently promoted to full-time manager rather than just my relief—then headed out.

The driver dropped me off near the pub that stood at the intersection of Falkner and Charles Street about twenty-five minutes later. I climbed out of the cab, tugged the hood a little lower over my face, then walked over to the pub’s side wall. The clouds were dark and heavy, promising snow rather than rain, and every breath came out frosted.

I huddled against the pub’s side wall to steal what little warmth radiated from the old bricks and did my best to ignore the gathering sense of doom.

Where was Mathi?

It was unusual for him to be late, but maybe he’d simply been caught in traffic.

Of course, he wouldn’t be driving here, and he certainly wouldn’t be catching a regular old cab. Highborn elves generally preferred to be chauffeured about Deva’s often narrow streets—hell, Cynwrig’s chauffeur lived only a few doors away from him and was on standby twenty-four-seven. He was extremely well paid for the inconvenience, of course, and it wasn’t like he worked more than a few hours every other day. Cynwrig did have a penchant for walking, though, and that suited me just fine. Unless, of course, the weather was absolutely horrendous. I might be the daughter of a minor weather god, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed getting soaked to the skin.

Mathi appeared down the far end of Charles Street and strolled casually toward me. Like most light elves, he was lean and sinewy, his body powerful without holding the obvious muscular strength of the dark elves. His hair and skin were golden, his eyes the color of summer skies, and his face so perfect it could make angels weep.

I wasn’t the type to weep at the mere sight of a beautiful man, but my hormones weren’t beyond skipping a beat or two. But then, I’d been with him for nigh on ten years and was very familiar with the glorious satisfaction all that perfection could provide. I might not want us to be anything more than friends these days, but habit and proximity were sometimes difficult to ignore.

“Did you walk here?” I asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been scouting the area.”

He stopped so close that the scent of his aftershave—crisp and green, with hints of the oaks that dominated his homeland—filled my nostrils. Desire stirred lightly through me and echoed in his eyes.

The man was incorrigible.

I stepped back, but he caught my hand and pulled me against him. His body was warm and hard against mine, his lips so close I could almost taste them.

“Damn it, Mathi?—”

“We have watchers,” he murmured. “There’re two of them—one near the terrace three doors down from Kaitlyn’s, and another leaning against the wall of the building directly opposite the pub.”

“Why didn’t you take them out?”

His hand slid down and cupped my rear. The devilment dancing through his eyes dared me to object. “Because that would have alerted whoever stands on the betting shop’s roof and perhaps forced him to react before we were ready.”

“How do you suggest we play this, then?”

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