Page 108 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
The thick volume on Julian’s lap slid to the floor with a heavywhumpas Dru closed the space between them in three strides and hoisted Pestilence by his ascot, pinning him against the wall.
Nick chose that moment to make a break for it, but only got as far as the kitchen counter before Julian’s voice froze him in place. “Nicholas.”
Dru’s fist reared back in line with Julian’s fine, aquiline nose, the muscles of his forearm bunched, cocked, and ready to deliver the blow.
Julian’s expression remained unperturbed and stoic, even under the threat of violence. Nick had the displeasure of knowing his brother’s lack of reaction had nothing to do with overconfidence or failure to understand aggression’s finer points. Julian Roarke had simply seen suffering and death on such horrific levels that being punched in the nose didn’t carry the emotional or psychic resonance required to physically move in self-defense.
“Should you desire a permanent case of testicular hemochromatosis, then by all means, continue, Drustan. But, I can assure you, I did not, at any time, make such comments about your paramour.”
“What’s he talking about Nick?” Dru asked, unwilling to wrest his gaze from Julian’s lest his sack be stricken with plague on the sly.
“Fucked if I know,” Nick said.
“You know very well which de Moray’s choice of clothing I find objectionable, and your efforts to misrepresent my statement is only further proof of your attempt to sow enmity between Dru and me so you can quit the premises unmarked.”
Gods-damned fucking English accent.Julian Roarke could lend the reading of theMalleus Maleficaruman air of wholesome respectability.
“Do I need to punch this motherfucker or not?” Dru asked, pointblank, casting his dark eyes on Nick.
“Not,” Nick admitted grudgingly.
Dru released Julian, who smoothed his ascot before settling back onto the chaise and retrieving his book. The few shoulder-length hairs that had escaped the queue Julian wore at the nape of his neck were likewise tucked back into place before Julian turned a thin vellum page. “Now then, Nicholas. Where were you off to in such a clandestine manner? Under normal circumstances, I would assume you were off to a meeting with the water witch, but as she is presently chained to your bed, I’m going to presume your motivation lies elsewhere.”
“I think you presume correctly,” Dru added, circling Nick from a distance.
Julian glanced up at the grandfather clock near the mantel. “I wonder where Nicholas Kingswood would be hurrying off to at half-past seven in the morning. Were we not agreed that you would kill the water witch as soon as youbroke her—if I may borrow your parlance?”
“We were,” Nick said.
“And wasn’t it you who said you’d have broken her before the clock struck midnight last evening?”
“He did say that,” Dru confirmed, folding his arms across his broad torso.
“And when we expressed our doubts that this could be accomplished in such a brief timeframe without significant effort on your part, did you not say that the onlypartyou’d need would be…” Julian hesitated, looking to Dru for back up.
“Right here,” War said, cupping his package.
“Thank you, Drustan.” Julian slid a leather bookmark between the large tome’s pages. “Am I to assume that your plans went awry?”
“Gentlemen,” Nick said with a heavy sigh, “haveanyof our plans for dealing with the de Moray witches up until this pointnotgone awry?” Both War and Pestilence remained silent.
“I was blasted by a thirty-foot wall of water, Dru had his sword stolen and has been thrown over for a zombie, the most lethal immortal in the world couldn’t manage to off an east coast cloud company CEO, and Killian Bane, Death himself, has been cast down toHellby the earth witch whom he knocked up. I think it would be fair to say that all our plans to date have been about as successful as the time Billy No-Arms Babineaux tried to jerk off.”
A crease appeared between Julian’s dark brows. “Did you…did you just employ a hillbilly colloquial anecdote? If you can’t kill Moira de Moray, at least assure me you won’t be adopting her ear-bloodying accent as well.”
“Her accent is the least of our worries,Jules,” Nick said, knowing how severely this irritated the refined scholar. “She’s growing stronger. They all are.”
“And would this explain theerrandyou felt compelled to undertake?” Julian asked.
“Since when did I need your permission to leave the house?” Nick’s keys bit into the backs of his knuckles. “Did I sit there and give you the third fucking degree when you snuck off to let Aerin rape your encyclopedic brain about zombies?”
Julian lifted one eyebrow—his understated equivalent of complete, wordless shock.
“Yeah. I knew. We all knew.”
Julian looked to Dru, who nodded his dark head.
“I’ll be deuced.” Julian shut his book sharply, the resulting puff of air rippling his loose silk shirt. “I thought myself fairly skilled in surreptitious machinations.”
