Page 3 of A Touch of Gold and Madness

Griffin.

As an assassin, I could be swift, discreet—in and out before anyone knew they had a dead body in the speakeasy and pieced together that I was the culprit. The majority of humans tended to their business anyway, paying me no mind as I pushed through.

The cold glass in my hand would be in the way; I knew I needed to ditch it. I got it solely to maintain the façade I was part of the human militia. I couldn’t afford a misstep that would make me stand out in a negative way. Hopefully, getting rid of it wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

A man sitting on a tall wooden barrel eyed me as I approached. I stopped at the table and mustered a genuine smile, offering the strong drink to him. “I’m not feeling too great. You want this?” I asked, channeling that nauseating feminine charm to produce a sweet smile.

With a suspicious furrow of his brow, he studied the drink. “What’s the trade?”

“No trade. I just don’t want it. Can’t bring myself to waste it either.”

After giving it a sniff, contemplating whether it was contaminated, he must’ve decided the risk was worth it because he eventually shrugged and held his hand out. I gave the Mason jar to him with a nod, to which he returned, and set my sights back on the lone figure in the corner.

After tailing him for three weeks, I could identify him anywhere, especially as he stood out in the room of unkempt humans in his black pixie-style cloak. Even relaxed and slouched over the table, he still held a swagger in his shoulders that showed he wasn’t concerned about being surrounded by militia members.

Maneuvering around another couple, I eased my boots along the planked floor as I came within inches from Griffin’s lean back. The black hood draped over his raven locks, only a few strands dangling around his jawline. He tilted his head back to take a sip of his drink. I was astounded by his arrogance.

I seized the chance to take advantage of his exposed throat. Slipping a knife from my sleeve, I quickly wrapped my left arm around his shoulder from behind, pressing the blade against his trachea. Griffin Silas’s throat bobbed. I pushed harder.

Not seeming bothered by the threat, he angled his head to look over his right shoulder. As he met my eyes, a thin trail of blood slid down his throat. My breath hitched at the unexpected beauty of the merciless killer in my grasp. I’d seen plenty of photos of the prince taken prior to Devolution Day as he became the most wanted being in living history. But he’d been younger, and seeing him this close, with his Elemental gilded skin that reflected the warm glow in the speakeasy, I hesitated.

Holy shit, he was fucking ethereal.

I stood captivated by his beauty and stunned by a familiarity emanating from him like an itch I couldn’t scratch that went deeper than simply recognizing his face. Silver irises that swirled like molten metal gave him a sense ofother, drawing me in. The gold was deceptively beautiful, meant to lure you in before the Elemental depleted your soul’s energy. That was my theory, anyway.

An excited gleam sparkled in his abnormal eyes, an unhinged grin accompanying it. “Come on out, little savage,” he said in a husky baritone. “I wanna see you play.”

I snapped out of my initial shock, poised to slice a deep line across his throat. Lighting fast, his hand shot out and gripped my gloved wrist, stopping me. “Princess Gray,” he drawled. “I’ve been wondering when you’d make your move.”

Cold fear seized me as its hostage. “You’ve known I’ve been following you?”

Griffin laughed, showcasing his straight, white teeth. “I’ve quite enjoyed your distant company.” With a jolt, he pivoted out of the chair so fast it knocked over, then shoved my back against the wall. Pressing his front against mine with his knee between my thighs, he pinned my hands to the wall above me, the knife still clutched in my fist.

Griffin leaned in to where his breath caressed the shell of my ear and whispered, “I thought you wanted to play, little princess.”

My heart felt like it wanted to beat out my chest. “Fuck you.”

“Mmm…” he groaned, the sound reverberating through my bones. Without touching me, his nose traced down my neck, the warmth from his breath sending tingles down my spine.

I wished I could access my magic. Its electric nature crackled in my veins, begging me to set it free. A small zap to his hands would be enough to give me the space I needed to fight back, but within the tight confines of a speakeasy, any indication that I wasn’t human would spell disaster of epic proportions. Most humans blamed the magical species for ruining their world, so giving them a reason to attack me in their domain wasn’t wise. Which begged the question,why wasn’t Griffin glamouring his Elemental traits?

I needed to give myself some time to think.

“So,” I said breathlessly. “Was your misplaced vendetta for your parents’ death worth the destruction of our world?”

“Who says I’m the one responsible?”

“Literally everybody.”

“Define ‘everybody.’ Because if that involves your father, it doesn’t count.” When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “Let me guess. Consensus is that I killed your boyfriend, too?”

White flames burned away the icy fear at the mention of Slate’s murder. “Don’t fucking talk about him.”

Griffin chuckled. “I’m just going off the rumor mill, little princess.”

“So, you’re claiming you didn’t kill him?”

“I’m saying it’s a high possibility. Can’t be sure.”

---