Page 7 of The Lawgiver's Firebrand
“Well. I never…”
“No. I don’t suppose you have.” Another image of Ari danced into his memories. She was on the table in the Blood Shed, her combat-booted feet kicking up a rhythm in time with the song playing. Daire threw back his head and laughed while the chamber stilled, eyes wide at his strange behavior. When he stopped, he said, “You had to have been there.”
****
Ariraced around her apartment, setting dirty breakfast dishes in the sink, grabbing discarded clothes off the floor, shoving them into over-stuffed drawers, and picking up trash. It was her normal routine. She figured the older she got, the neater she’d become. Hadn’t happened. Maybe her mother never passed on the tidy gene.
She considered what a disappointment she must be to her parents. She was habitually late, usually because she was cleaning up her messy place at the last moment. She didn’t contribute to the family business of selling spells. She hadn’t sunk her claws into a prospective mate yet. Ari glanced at her short, ragged nails.
She’d followed in the footsteps of Wynnfrith, her grandmother, a Scion Firebrand who’d died in the line of duty. It was no profession for a witch with prestigious kin who had lucrative skills. Yada. Yada. Yada.
Ari tossed a scrap of paper into the trashcan under the sink. What would they think of Daire?
Pros. He was a lawgiver.Prestigious.He had money.Loaded.He was good-looking.Definitely.He seemed virile.His seed could father many children.He had long fingers, capable of… She wiped the sweat from her brow despite the room being the perfect temp.Don’t go there.
Cons. He was arrogant.A snotty fancy-pants.He wasn’t a mage.No spells. No contribution to the household income.After weighing the pros and cons, the family consensus would probably be something likesnatch him up.You’d be lucky to have him.
While she thought of it, she sent off a hurried email to her parents, notifying them of her formal status as a rookie Firebrand. Though she didn’t expect them to cheer, she wanted to keep their communication open. Still thinking of family, she texted her cousin, Rubeus.
No hard feelings. Let’s be friends.
His reply was immediate.
Go fuck yourself.
Rubeus tended to hold a grudge, but she’d continue trying to smooth his ruffled ego. As a child, she’d always been able to talk him out of a funk when no one else could. Eventually.
Ari stopped the useless ruminating about family and the seductive incubus to tap her wrist, taking an incoming D-chip call.
Need you at the stronghold as fast as you can make it.
She responded,Sure, Commander Nace. On my way. What’s this about?
An assignment.
Before she could ask about the mission, the jaguar shifter of few words disconnected.
Checking under the bed, Ari dragged out a pair of socks. She slipped them on and, plopping on a bench in her bedroom, shoved her feet into shitkickers, lacing them up and rolling her socks over the top. Posing in front of the mirror, she was pleased. She turned to the side to admire her recent Firebrand mark and checked out her denim shorts and belly shirt. Her legs and arms showed she worked out.
The perfect body to appeal to an arrogant, horny incubus.
Racing outside, she sprinted for the nearest gateway. Ari had chosen her apartment because it was near a portal. In times like these, the decision paid off. Once there, she tapped her D-chip and materialized in a locked, guarded space at the North Shelters stronghold in the shifter region of Scath. Nodding at the security posted at the gateway, she tapped her chip again to open the door. Turning left into a long corridor, she strode toward the headquarters’ conference room, her sheathed blades tapping her hips.
Her team and Mix, Nace’s second, waited in chairs. Some slouched, patient-like. Others drummed pens or fingers on the table. Some chatted.
“I’m not late,” Ari stated, slamming through the door.
Mix shook his head. Craven and Marciella smiled. The others nodded at her arrival.
Pulling out a padded chair with no arms, she dropped into the seat beside Marciella. “What’s up?”
“We’re waiting for Nace. Some mission.”
As if on cue, the Firebrand commander shoved inside, all six-foot-seven of him. He was sleek. Big-cat muscles. Straw-colored brows and hair, which he wore long, all matching a close-trimmed beard and mustache. His nose was strong with a slight hook.
His amber, jaguar-like gaze swung around the room while a kitty-ate-the-canary grin crept onto his lips. But the commander was no pussycat.No.Nace and domesticated were never used in the same sentence. His orders were often snarled. Never purred.
Once the commander had everyone’s attention, he rested his hands on the table and leaned forward, the muscles in his arms twitching. “You’re gonna love this assignment.”
