Page 57 of Grin and Bear It

Thora eyed the stilettos skeptically. “I can’t run in these.”

“You won’t have to. That’s why you have my bear of a brother as backup.” Bryn helped her balance as she slipped them on. “Besides, you can hide another blade in the heel. I had them modified.”

Thora blinked, impressed. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.” Bryn smiled warmly. “But maybe that’s a good thing for both of us.”

A knock announced Artair’s arrival. Thora’s stomach fluttered as Bryn opened the door.

Artair stood framed in the doorway, the tailored black suit emphasizing his broad shoulders. His dark hair was neatlystyled, his beard trimmed to perfection. But it was his eyes that captured her—the way they widened when they fell on her, the heat that flared in their depths.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“You look...” he began, then seemed to lose his words.

Thora felt a blush creep up her neck. “Ridiculous?”

“Beautiful,” he corrected, his voice low and sincere.

The compliment settled around her like a warm blanket. She’d been called sexy, hot, fierce—but beautiful? That was new territory.

“You’re no bad yourself,” she managed, earning a delighted laugh from Bryn.

“You two are adorable,” Bryn declared. “Now go catch some bad guys and try not to ruin the dress in the process.”

FIFTY-TWO

The abandoned quarry loomed against the night sky, its jagged edges softened by moonlight. Hidden entrances led to a vast underground network where the Shadow Bazaar operated—a marketplace for those whose business couldn’t bear scrutiny in the light of day.

Artair offered his arm as they approached the entrance. “Ready, partner?”

The term sent an unexpected thrill through her. Partner. Not asset, not contact, not temporary ally. Partner implied equality, trust, continuation.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her fingers resting against the solid muscle beneath his jacket. “Lead the way.”

Underground, the Bazaar hummed with forbidden energy. Lanterns glowing with witch-fire cast blue shadows across stalls selling everything from illegal potions to cursed artifacts. The air hung heavy with incense, magic, and secrets.

“Stay close,” Thora murmured, subtly guiding Artair with the lightest pressure against his arm. “Watch how I move.”

She adjusted her posture, adopting the bored expression of someone accustomed to wealth and power. When they passedcertain vendors, she flashed hand signals—fingers splayed in patterns marking them as buyers, not threats.

A weapons seller nodded almost imperceptibly, recognizing the signal. A potion merchant averted her eyes, acknowledging their right to browse undisturbed.

“How do you know all this?” Artair whispered, his lips close to her ear.

The warm brush of his breath sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Experience. Half of bounty hunting is knowing how to move in spaces where you don’t belong.”

His genuine admiration warmed her more than it should have. Before she could explore the feeling, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.

“Well, if it isn’t Thora Halliwell. Going upscale these days?”

She stiffened, then carefully schooled her features before turning. “Damon.”

Damon Thomas leaned against a stone pillar, his tiger shifter eyes gleaming gold in the dim light. His black leather jacket and confident smirk hadn’t changed in the years since she’d last seen him.

“Security detail?” she asked, noting the communication device at his ear.

“Among other things.” His gaze slid to Artair, recognition flaring. “Interesting company you’re keeping. The Maxen heir himself.”

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