Page 37 of Pride: Kneel Before None

A complicated question with an even more complicated answer.

I forced a neutral expression, every word carefully curated and tone measured.

“The body can react to a Knight of Hell’s mark in many ways, some subtle and others more noticeable.” A lie. This had nothing to do with my mark, and everything to do with her.

Eve’s eyes narrowed at the explanation, skepticism at odds with whatever she thought she knew.

Doubling down, I added with an unbothered shrug, “If you don’t believe me, I can have the ancient texts brought up here for you to go through. They’re written in the Old Language.”

I paused before prodding at her arrogance. “You can read Kar’kolvian, right?”

Nobody could fucking read it. I’d heard the last person who’d attempted to learn had failed after deciphering two of the nearly three hundred characters. The unfortunate sap ended up setting his own eyeballs on fire until the globs of blood and tissue caramelized in the sockets.

She stood there, chin raised and unwilling to admit she couldn’t do something. Instead, she turned back to her mug and focused on caffeinating.

With the first sip of her coffee, she made a noise of approval as she swallowed it down. She licked her lips, peering into the cup with awe. “What is this?”

I grinned, knowing my Little Spade would have expensive taste.

“The only coffee worth drinking. Gaping Souls Roasters’ ashstone blend. One bag costs more than most of my employees’ salaries.” Lucky me that Julissa had a few connections outside of her coven that not only made the grind accessible but affordable as well.

Seeing her indulge in another taste brought a sense of ease to my otherwise tense muscles after avoiding a discussion I wasn’t ready to have.

“Drink up. We have a busy day ahead.” I stepped away from the counter, approaching her.

Looking at me over the edge of her mug she raised both brows, curiosity tugging at her features.

“Ignatius will be by this afternoon. After he spoils you rotten”—I reached out, my fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with care—“I’m taking you to dinner, and then we’ll put your precognitive powers to the test.”

I leaned forward after she lowered the coffee, murmuring, “It’ll be your chance to impress me, Eve.”

My thumb swiped across her lower lip, catching a droplet of coffee still clinging there. I brought it to my mouth and let it linger against my lips as I sucked it clean, the faint sweetness of her skin mixing with the bitterness of the brew.

For someone who pretended to hate me, it didn’t prevent the hitch in her breath or stop the pink from spreading over her freckled cheeks at the minor contact.

Leaving Eve to her own whims to wander the penthouse on her own until Ignatius arrived, I retreated to the office next to my bedroom. It wasn’t as large as my primary one located above the casino floor, but it remained functional.

As promised, Val emailed me his findings on the mental exploration he had performed on my Little Spade. His telekinesis extended beyond making physically tangible objects move and allowed him to manipulate the intricate neural impulses that allowed paranormal abilities to function.

The process rendered the subject unconscious, dropping barriers. If he had been inexperienced or otherwise untrustworthy, the act of manipulating a precognitive’s inner workings could carry great risk. Eve’s complaint of feeling like shit didn’t surprise me. Unconsciousness was a blessing when you had a Drakyn half-breed probing with telekinetic fingers and rummaging through someone’s subconscious and genetic makeup.

The decision to enlist Valphyr’s assistance had been a weighted gamble. I needed to know just how deeply Eve’s abilities ran and what lay beneath it all. If I was going to rely on her powers to draw funds out of competitors while simultaneously assisting her with her brother’s bail money, I needed to verify that my long-range visions were still on the proper track. There was too much time for things to shift between what I saw our future holding and where things currently stood.

My fingers drummed against the desk’s polished surface as I mulled over Val’s last sentence. Armageddon? I’d shared drinks with monstrosities capable of melting souls, witnessed the aftermath of unspeakable horrors inflicted on an innocent royal, and had unleashed half my own wrath onto a den of Superbia’s cockroaches over a disrespectful comment about my favorite sports team.

Armageddon was relative to a Knight of Hell designed to thrive on chaos and destruction.

Val was right about one thing though—I intended to ignore his official recommendation. My life revolved around not just playing the odds, but owning them.

There was no way I’d let my Little Spade devolve into some fucking underling only capable of speaking in tongues and selling cheap fortunes at Maggotpile Square. She’d elevate and rise, never to kneel to those beneath her.

I’d make sure of it.

The sound of the penthouse door opening and shutting had me rising from my seat. Was Eve naive enough to try running from me again?

No sooner had the thought zipped across my mind than I heard a boastful voice filled with far too much enthusiasm.

“The Beauty Squad has arrived! I come bearing gifts of glamour, swagger, and splendor. Behold the beholder, the designated designer, and sassy-but-classy maker of masterpieces.”