Page 37 of Samhain Savior
“Either you get what you need or it will be left behind. It’s no loss to me either way.”
Shooting me another look filled with hurt and confusion, she darted down the hall and out of sight.
Back in the kitchen, I bypassed the espresso machine and headed straight to the wet bar, snatching up the first decanter I could reach and taking several deep swallows, ignoring the way the cool surface of the crystal soothed my aching palm. Blowing out a breath, I scowled, wishing I had a cigarette; I would have given just about anything for a calming dose of nicotine, but I’d smoked my last one atStyx & Stones,and hadn’t bothered to pick up anymore. Staring out the window, I took in the darkened city, the glow of the lights hiding all but the brightest stars from view.
That thought seemed significant to me, like there was more to it than just a simple observation, but my adrenaline and alcohol-soaked brain refused to grasp on to it.
“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” Corson spoke quietly, his voice a low rumble in the kitchen behind me, and I sighed.
“Save me your judgment, Corson.”
“It’s not judgment, Archer. It’s concern. If there’s something you need to talk about, then let’s talk.”
I could see his reflection in the window, his stony face drawn into an expression of calm understanding.
Fuck him.
I didn’t need calm understanding. I needed to hit something.
Curling my hand into a fist, I let the sting of the laceration burn through me, the sharp sensation setting my nerves alight. I was losing control, not just of my temper, but of my entire realm. Asmodeus had left me in charge of this task, and so far, I’d been bested at every turn. First by the Order, then the witch, then by my own fucking magic. Something had to give, and soon. I needed a win before I lost everything I’d ever worked for.
Everything that mattered.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Archer, that collar—”
“I’m aware of what happened, Corson,” I spat, rounding on my friend and throwing the decanter to the floor. Crystal shards and expensive bourbon splashed across the hardwood, but Corson didn’t even flinch. “I’m also aware that I am still the leader around here and I believe I gave you an order. So unless you’re going to do something to challenge my rule, I suggest you get on with it so that we can get the fuck out of here.”
He looked at me, his eyes far too knowing for my liking, but I refused to back down. Meeting his gaze, I lifted my chin, offering him the fight I knew he’d never accept. Corson was more than adept at combat, but he’d never really had the stomach for leadership; he was a man whowas more than happy taking orders, but had no interest in giving them.
But judging by the disappointment in his gaze, that might not be true for much longer.
“As you wish,sir.” The honorific held no respect, and I clenched my jaw tightly to keep from showing how much that truly gutted me. This man was my friend—my brother in every sense of the word—and I was throwing my rank in his face like either of us thought it was important.
I was as disgusted with myself as he was.
“I’ll just get my things, then. We’ll be ready when you give the word.”
Turning his back on me, Corson walked slowly out of the kitchen, the tension in his shoulders proving that he was just as pissed off as I was. Too bad neither of us could do a damned thing about it.
Plucking my phone out of my pocket, I fired off some messages, arranging for some of the lesser demons in my service to deal with the mess that fucking bounty hunter had left of my house.
What was the point in having minions if you didn’t use them for mundane bullshit?
Well before the ten minutes were up, the four of them gathered in the kitchen, all looking different shades of sullen. None more so than Delilah, who stood, dressedonce again in her cloak and refused to meet my gaze while she stroked her hand over the pouch that contained her hedgehog.
It also didn’t escape my notice that Mal stood nearby, positioning his body so that he not-so-subtly stood between her and I.
Fine then. I guess the lines had been drawn.
“Where to, boss?” Vine asked, his words stuffed with false levity.
“To do the job we were assigned to do. Asmodeus wants the three pieces of the Fallen Key found. We’ve managed to fumble the first,” I complained, sweeping my arm to one side and opening a shadow gate, the image of a softly lit fountain filling the space. “Let’s hope the second is where it’s supposed to be, or there will be some serious hell to pay.”
Chapter sixteen
Delilah
