Page 68 of A City of Flames

I scowl at the apparent sarcasm in his tone before lifting my brows as I scrunch the flower in my fist and raise it, letting petals fall to the floor.

He watches it in humor. “So terribly rude, Goldie.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Chuckling, he closes the single gap between us, lowering his head so his eyes align with mine. “Likewise,” he whispers. His gaze is a shade darker during the day, yet they still glisten in the light. “But at least I’m civil.”

“Civil?” I repeat with incredulity, standing on my tip toes and leaning into his face. “If anything—”

His sigh cuts me off, dramatic and full of contempt. “Goldie, if you’re going to give me a reason as to why you think you’re in the right, I don’t want to hear it. I’d hate to then counter that with why you’re actually in the wrong.”

I shake my head, completely lost, while scrunching my forehead as I say, “I still don’t understand how people fear you, honestly.”

“Because I’m capable of a lot of things when it comes to protecting myself, Tibith, and those that are—” He runs his eyes over me. “Assets to me.”

Oh... Now I understand.

“So, is that why you saved me from a bite?” I ask, and at the use of the word bite, any form of amusement or derisive comments leave him as his jaw stiffens. I tilt my head and continue, “Because I’m an asset in your little quest for this pendant?”

“Well done, Goldie.” The words ripple out harshly, matching his attempt at a smile. “Earned yourself a little point there, didn’t think you’d ever catch on.”

I clench my fists, blood boiling in my system even though I knew that would be the answer. If it were any other reason, I’d have to then think he actually had some sort of heart.

“You know,” I start quietly, but the underlying anger is clear as day. “I’ve despised a lot of people in my life, those that came after my brothers and me, ridiculed them or hurt them in any way, but you?” I look up through my lowered gaze at the cold, knowing gleam in his eyes, coaxing me to say it. “I hate everything about you as a person and as a shifter. And I promise you, once I get the vial and you get your stupid little pendant, I will hope to Solaris I never see you again in my life.”

“And what a great promise that is,” a whisper I’d perceive as deadly. “I’ll see you tonight, Goldie.”

I make a low sound in my throat, pushing my shoulder past him to get away, yet once I’m at the end of the street, I don’t know what wills me to look back, but I do.

He hasn’t moved from where he was standing, facing me. He’s there with his eyes trained on the floor. I don’t even think he’s looking at it properly until his head whirls to me. And for the slight moment he meets my gaze, the seriousness fades as his lip quirks to form that arrogant smirk.

I roll my eyes turning around again but feel myself slowly frowning at how that smile seemed forced, not like the ones he always shoots at me.

“Who was that?” Freya asks, her voice oddly entranced as I halt, not realizing I’d made it back to my brothers and her standing in the same spot as before.

Staring at them as if I’ve committed a crime—though I’m about to—Illias and Iker tilt their heads, narrowing their gaze while Idris’s brow lifts, cautiously.

I shake my head. “No one of importance.” Looking over my shoulder again, I don’t see Darius step out, and I assume he’s left the other way. But with the thought of his strange reaction, I turn back to my brothers and puff out a smile, wanting, needing to forget it. “Shall we continue?”

* * *

I stand outside Havenwood tavern, scrunching the piece of paper Darius gave me into my satchel. Two drunken men stumble out of the wooden double doors, jeering at one another. The foul stench of old mead and heat wavers past me like a brush of humid air.

Darius just had to send me to the Draggards of all places.

Annoyance boils inside of me, and I push past the doors into the hectic tavern. I dodge a flying tankard as it splatters across the walls behind me and huff, coming up from it.

“Hello, there, pretty—”

I lift my hand to the slurring man crossing my path. Cigar and ale reek from his breath before I shove him out of the way. His swears and insults at me are drowned amidst the fiddle playing. But that doesn’t matter once I see glistening raven hair, a leather jerkin, and a flirtatious grin towards the barmaid.

Slamming my palm against the countertop as I reach him, his head whirls to me, staring down at the half glare I have on my face.

Perching his hip against the counter, he says, “Care for a drink, Goldie?”

No. “What are we doing here?”

“We—” he emphasizes, “—are on a mission.”

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