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“Probably your plan all along. Clever Westvane, getting me drunk, hoping I wouldn’t be able to follow along.”
“You got the bottle out, princess,” he said, pointing out an unhelpful fact.
“I had a bad day.”
“I’m aware,” he said, borrowing from her bottomless well of sarcasm.
She hiccupped.
His mouth curved.
Truly took a cleansing breath. She really needed to pull it together. If she didn’t, Westvane would continue to slip important information by her. Something intuition warned her she didn’t want to happen. Whatever he planned wouldn’t end well for her unless she screwed her head on straight.
“Playtime’s over,” she said, forcing her brain to work. “Go back to the part about the Mirror Kingdoms.”
He sighed, sounding aggrieved.
Somehow, though, she knew he wasn’t.
He was too relaxed, too comfortable sitting in her kitchen to be truly annoyed. She might not know him well, but she was learning. The big, bad Slayer had a few things going for him. One — he possessed a sense of humor. Two — he wasn’t impulsive. Three — he liked her. He didn’t want to, but (despite trying his best) was failing to hide that he did. He viewed her as difficult, an obstacle to be hurdled, but all her poking and prodding made it clear he wasn’t a thoughtless thug.
Violent when needed? Yes.
Lethal when warranted? Absolutely.
But behind his predatory nature lay an active mind. He might be a hulking beast of a man, but he thought things through, ensuring an end that best served his purposes. Not his queen’s. Not his world’s.His. And that gave her an advantage. One he kept trying to take away by blowing past the facts. She understood his game now. The less she knew, the safer he would be. But then, two could play that game. She planned on dancing the dance, and not making anything easy for him.
Twirling her glass on the tabletop, she met his gaze. “Have you tasted Scotch before?”
“Never been invited to anyone’s table to enjoy it before.”
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“No friends?”
“I’ve been caged for years, Truly. Kept apart from the population. I’ve had no one but Eastbrook for company.”
“She should be shot,” she said, reacting to the pain in his undertone.
“I’d prefer to strangle her with my own hands,” he murmured, knowing she referred to Lyonesse.
“Fair enough,” she whispered, her compassion for him becoming a bosom buddy. Caged for years. Left to languish alone when it was clear Westvane enjoyed company. His willingness to spar with her proved his social bent. Everyone, after all, needed somebody. “Who’s Eastbrook?”
He ran his fingertips down the side of his neck.
She watched him trace the tattoo. A bird, of some kind. Black ink. Precise lines. Each feather drawn in exquisite detail. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen it. She had, the instant she laid eyes on Westvane. But his artwork hadn’t registered. She’d seen it, withoutseeing it, more concerned for her safety than about the bird inked into his skin.
Wanting a closer look at the tattoo, she leaned onto her forearms. Inky eyes looked out from Westvane’s throat, staring back at her. Odd, but she got the impression intelligence lived in its gaze… that the raven wanted to caw in greeting. Perception narrowed, making her skin itch with unease. The raven felt alive to her, as though its place on his skin wasn’t permanent.
“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Westvane said, dropping his hand. “Now… the Mirror Kingdoms.”
Another of his distractions. One that worked.
She needed to know all about the other realm — the one she’d opened a doorway into — in order to keep herself alive.
Picking up the bottle, Westvane tipped it toward her glass. She waved him off. More alcohol wasn’t a good idea. He might not agree, preferring to keep her addled, but surprise, surprise, he accepted her denial, topping up his tumbler, leaving hers alone. As he set the Glenfiddich down, he settled back, got comfortable and took a sip.
