Page 79 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Zylah finally took in his features.

Tousled blond hair that swept across hazel eyes, a small bump in his nose and a gentle smile. Human, as far as Zylah could tell. No deceits settled over him, no hint of magic. He took her hand and placed the paper bag in it with a grin. The biscuits were still warm, cinnamon infusing the air, and it was the most interest she’d had in eating something that wasn’t a canna cake in months. “The debt is paid,” she said, returning his grin and raising the bag to him in thanks before making her way into the tavern.

It never ceased to surprise her how packed these types of establishments were even at this time in the afternoon. The familiar tang of ale and sweat filled the air as she eased past the patrons, making her way towards the bar.

She hadn’t spotted him yet, but she could already feel Holt’s presence, his magic pressing against her own the moment she set foot inside. She slid onto an empty stool, hooking the satchel around one leg and placing a coin on the bar to catch the barkeep’s attention.

A moment later, a tankard of ale sloshed down in front of her, the barkeep swiping up her coin. Not what she wanted, but she twisted the tankard around and eased it towards her nonetheless.

“Bad day?” a voice asked beside her, his presence so familiar Zylah hadn’t needed to look up.

She huffed a laugh, twisting to face him. He wore the same style of jacket as the locals, and Zylah bit back her smile. “Nice jacket.”

“Don’t.” Humour danced in his eyes, and something else, something she knew he tried to hide just as much as she did.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Zylah couldn’t fight her smile as he took a step closer. Her skin bristled at his proximity, her blood roaring in her ears.

“It was the only thing they had that fit, and we’re trying to look like locals, remember?”

“Of course. It suits you. You look like a woodcutter.” She tugged playfully at one of the laces crisscrossing his chest.

“A woodcutter?”

“Yeah. It’s what I overheard one of the women over there saying, anyway.” She flicked her chin in the direction of three humans. Three very beautiful humans, heated gazes lingering on Holt. “The three of them look like they’d do just about anything for you to notice them.” They probably would.

His gaze didn’t so much as shift in their direction. He took another step closer, one hand resting on her ribs, his thumb brushing the fabric of her tunic just beneath her breast. His touch was like a brand, sending white-hot heat through every inch of her. The buzzing in her veins increased, the constant thrum of need she tried to snuff out whenever she was near him.

“Three?” His voice was light and teasing, his head tipping to the side slightly as he tried to fight a smile. Even on her stool, Zylah had to tilt her head back to look up at him as he leaned in closer, his voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “Good thing I have all that self-restraint to keep me in line.”

“Pig,” she said, shoving at his chest, but there was no bite to it. He didn’t yield a step, and she didn’t remove her hand, her thoughts instead drifting to what his bare chest would feel like beneath her fingertips, to where his hands would slide over her skin if there wasn’t a scrap of clothing between them.

Holt’s eyes darkened, his attention falling to her mouth. “Zylah.”

Two tankards slammed down on the bar beside them, and Zylah remembered they were sitting in the middle of a tavern, surrounded by half-drunk humans.

“From your friend. In the corner.” The barkeep flicked his chin over Zylah’s shoulder, but she resisted the urge to turn and look. She watched Holt’s eyes darken in an altogether different way for a moment before it was gone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to think about the absence of his hand at her side or how much she’d wished they were anywhere but in the middle of this tavern.

“The Wolf,” Holt said quietly, power flaring from him for a heartbeat as he unhooked her satchel and slung it over his shoulder.

The Wolf. The cheating Fae who had beaten her back in Varda and had used his shadow magic to win the fight after leaving her broken and bloodied. Zylah still didn’t turn to look, Holt’s shift in demeanour had already earned them a few looks from strangers. She snatched up the two tankards and followed him across the tavern.

He wore his hair in a high knot, exposing the lines of tattoos running from his scalp down one side of his face, his dark eyes tracking them as they approached.

“Do we get to learn your real name?” Zylah asked casually, sliding onto the bench beside him and placing the tankards down in front of her.

Holt’s expression gave nothing away, but she could feel his anger dripping from him. He took the stool on the other side of the Wolf, angling it so that he could watch the tavern and the Fae at the same time. He’d let a small drop of his power fall over their table, the male at his side trying to hide his flinch as it passed over him and brushed against Zylah.

The Wolf disguised his discomfort with a casual laugh. “That depends, Little Bird. Do I get to learn yours?”

“Zylah. But I’m sure Malok already told you our names.” She didn’t dwell on the fact that Malok had barely given them any information about the situation they were walking into, other than that his contact would make themselves known once they arrived in Morren.

The Wolf’s eyes flicked to Holt, but he said nothing.

“Daizin.” The Fae’s eyes narrowed. “How did you slip through my shadows that day?”

“Luck,” Zylah said with a shrug of her shoulders, taking a bite of one of the street vendor’s biscuits. Daizin eyed the paper bag, eyes flicking to the door as if he knew the biscuits had come from the cart out front. “So you’re going to lead us to Malok’s key?”

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