Page 33 of A Promise of Peridot
But she only smiled. Not a phony, performative grin. But that genuine, brilliant, dazzling Arwen smile that made it hard for me to walk straight.
“No,I’msorry. I believe I have a full house.” Arwen splayed the cards out in front of her. She did indeed have a full house—the only hand that beat Crawford’s.
Victory rang in my ears. My gorgeous, sneaky bird.
Crawford said nothing, but Rhett let out a slow whistle.
“Well done, Arwen,” Fedrik murmured.
Arwen pulled the mass of coin and clothing into her, handing back Mari’s shoes and belt. Crawford didn’t move a single muscle as she slid her undergarments on beneath the table.
“Now, about that prize,” she purred.
A dark cloud had settled over the collector’s competitive mood. “Come by my villa tomorrow night, and I’ll show it you.”
“We leave Azurine tomorrow, as my king said.”
My king.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the weapon on me at the moment.” He jerked his chin down to his oxblood tunic, with its fine gold threads and his heaps of thick jewelry.
“I’ll come to your villa tonight, then,” she pushed.
The table shifted in discomfort, Ryder picking at his nails, Fedrik looking out the window at the moon’s pale glow—but I only relaxed into my chair.
“Come on, Crawford, don’t disappoint the lady.” I grinned. “A deal’s a deal.”
“I don’t keep it at my villa,” Crawford said, his knees bumping against the table as he stood.
Arwen stood, too, face still a bit pink and flushed. “Then where?”
Griffin straightened in his seat. Crawford’s cursory gaze cut from me to him to Arwen. Then to Mari, and I wanted to kick Ryder for outing her as a powerful witch. I could see Crawford sizing up his odds against this room. My fists twitched with the thrill of the looming fight.
Lurching forward, Crawford grabbed his coin and barreled toward the back of the room, Rhett and Trevyn close behind him.
Now that, I actually hadn’t expected.
Crawford was fast for such a hefty piglet, but I was on him in seconds, my shoulder just narrowly edging open the distressed door at the back of the room they had slipped inside of, its wood marred by nicks and stains.
“Fuck off, Ravenwood,” Crawford spat through the crevice.
I would have laughed, had Arwen not raced toward the back room as well.
“Stay out there.”
“No chance in the Stones,” she huffed as she slipped with immeasurable grace through the narrow gap Crawford and I had inadvertently held open for her.
I had forgotten how damn lithe she was.
Promise to Isolde forgotten, I slammed the door open with shards of pure black mist, nearly sending the rickety thing off its hinges and knocking Crawford and the two men to the ground in a heap.
Crawford practically mangled Trevyn trying to lunge for me, swinging and missing by a mile. One swift kick to the gut sent him back down to the threadbare rug of his clandestine office.
The walls of the dimly lit room were plastered in antique oilpaintings and framed clippings from local Citrine papers. But other than a shelf of tattered books, it held nothing but a soiled green love seat, a dented metallic barrel—filled with some kind of thieved spirit, I was sure—and a leather chair behind a single desk that at one time might have been richly carved but was now tired and worn.
I heard Mari squeak from the poker table as Griffin strode in beside me. “Should I knock the two goons out?”
“You can’t be serious,” Fedrik said, a lilt to his voice that petered out as he, too, stepped inside and met my eyes. “My parents and Crawford can come to some kind of agreement to suit you and your healer. All this over a mere gambling debt?”
