Page 86 of Primal Bonds

Evie wrapped a hand around her coffee cup. One thumb rubbed the surface. “Thank you,” she said without looking at Jace, “but we’re probably not going to be here that long.”

Suha’s brows shot up. “I see. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

Chapter 25

Corban Savonett hailed a cab in the Baltimore Inner Harbor.

“Druid Hill Park,” he barked.

The cabby was a young male with the black hair and features of a south Asian—Pakistani, perhaps. His gaze went to the bloody gash on Corban’s neck, and he opened his mouth to say no.

Corban was already inside. He gazed back steadily.

The cabby shut his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

Corban dropped his backpack on the seat and tried not to look as weary as he felt. He’d taken a stolen motorboat to Baltimore and then abandoned it near the aquarium. He’d lost a lot of blood before he’d been able to seal the gash on his neck, and he hadn’t had any energy left to deal with the chunk Jace Jones had taken out of his thigh. He was no healer, and his quartz was drained from the demands he’d put on it to track Jace Jones to his human girlfriend’s house.

His lip curled. Figured Jones was chasing human tail. The man was weak, just like his sister. Takira could’ve been a high-ranking sentry, but she’d thrown it all away for her mate and that mixed-blood cub of hers.

The cab bounced over a pothole and pain jolted through Corban. A hiss escaped him and the cabby muttered an apology.

Corban ground his teeth. Damn Jace Jones anyway. The man should be dead by now. It had been two against one, and Corban had always been able to whip his ass.

But the scrawny kid had grown up. Corban should’ve realized that when the night fae assassin had failed to kill him, but he’d chalked it up to bad luck.

The ride to the park took fifteen minutes. The cabby let him out at an entrance near Jones Falls Expressway. “No charge,” he said.

Corban jerked his chin in acknowledgment. He hadn’t been planning to pay the guy anyway.

The street was dark and deserted, the nearest streetlight dangling brokenly from its pole. The only sound was the low-grade hum of traffic on the expressway.

The cabby eyed him in the rearview mirror, his scent an acrid mix of fear and perspiration.

Smart man.

Corban toed off his shoes and left them on the floor of the cab. His switchblade was already concealed in his hand. In one swift move, he hooked his left arm around the cabby’s throat and at the same time, pressed the blade’s catch. It sprang open and he touched the point to the cabby’s cheekbone just beneath his eye.

“Don’t move or I’ll take your eye out.”

“Easy, there.” The cabby slowly raised his hands. “I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t even charge you for the ride.”

“You’re a fucking prince among men. Now give me your shoes.”

The man’s throat worked. “My shoes?”

Corban pressed the knife deeper. Just enough to nick his cheek. It was a bluff—the last thing he needed was the attention that cutting the cabby would bring—but the man said, “Sure, sure. But you have to let go first. I can’t reach them.”

“Open your door.”

“Okay. Here I go.” The man unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll let you go, and you toss your shoes out the door.”

“That’s all? You just want my shoes?”

“That’s all.”

“Okay, sure. No problem.”

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