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Fingers crossed, it would last.
But as she watched him struggle to control his temper — aggressive nature in overdrive, magical weapons clenched in his hands — she didn’t hold out much hope. With his lethal instincts raging, calming him down, keeping him contained inside the shop while she figured out how to open a magical door seemed more work-of-fiction than here-and-now reality.
16
WHETHER SHE LIKED IT OR NOT
The frantic shuffle on the street outside M&B went still. Aggression swelled in the ensuing silence, mixing with the taint of adrenaline. Truly smelled it in the air. She felt it in the ether. Tension rippled through her, tightening muscles over bones, warning her peace didn’t always mesh well with quiet.
Hanging by a thread, a chunk of drywall lost the battle with gravity and hit the floor. Dust swirled. The thud echoed as broken fluorescent bulbs swung, creaking against their metal casings.
Westvane’s fingers flexed around his sword hilt.
Truly stayed still, afraid movement might light the fuse on the powder keg of attitude growing inside an office turned war zone. Westvane wasn’t happy. Neither was Montrose. The difference? Westvane wanted to kill her boss for cutting off his path to the street — the most direct route to unleashing carnage.
Montrose, on the other hand, pretended not to notice. Not the best approach when dealing with a Slayer. Enraging Westvane didn’t amount to a good idea. But then, Montrose didn’t care what anyone thought — or for her opinion. He made that clear on a regular basis. The owner of M&B went his own way, wielding his ability to irritate like a superpower.
Some might call the skill endearing. Right now, Truly called it certifiable, given Westvane’s reaction made it clear Montrose stood precariously close to a line he shouldn’t cross. Not with Westvane. Not with her either, but… whatever. She didn’t have time to deal with the chaotic churn of male idiocy circling the room. She had bigger problems, along with a few additional worries.
Moving slowly, she stepped in between Montrose and Westvane, using her body as a physical deterrent to discourage murder. “Tell me what’s happening?”
“Quiet,” Westvane growled, gaze fixed on Montrose. A clang rippled in from outside. Dragging his focus from Montrose, he looked toward the steel barrier. He tilted his head. His eyes narrowed as he listened to something she couldn’t hear.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“Cars reversing,” Westvane said. “Heavy vehicles approaching.”
Worry tightened her chest. “Tanks?”
“In the city?” Frowning at her, Montrose shoved aside a broken chair. “Where do you think you are, Triple — the Middle East?”
Well, it felt like a war zone. Looked like it too. Debris everywhere. Bullet holes in the walls. Smashed lights hanging from the ceiling. Given current conditions, armored vehicles didn’t seem like much of a stretch. “What then?”
She needed to know.
Too busy listening, no one felt inclined to answer. Which made her even more twitchy. Silence, after all, didn’t mean safe. The lack of gunfire didn’t mean larger weapons weren’t being moved into position… and pointed in their direction.
An ache started behind her breastbone.
Each inhale tightened the invisible band wrapped around her ribcage. Her breathing became shallow. A sharp pain radiated over her shoulder. Heart attack territory. She had all the symptoms, but… no. This wasn’t that.
Not heart failure. Extreme anxiety — the beginnings of a panic attack.
“Westvane,” she said, some snap, more wheeze. “What’re they doing?”
“Relax, Triple. Don’t freak out.”
Don’t freak out?Terrific advice, but… was he crazy? Freaked out was a distant memory. The ramp up into terror kept shoving it out of the way.
Fighting to hold it together, Truly glared at her boss.
“There she is,” he muttered, a satisfied smile on his bat-like face. “Always so ornery.”
“I know the code to the gun safe,” she said low, struggling to pull in full breaths.
“So?”
“Keep it up, and I’ll load one and shoot you. No one’ll fault me for killing a…” She paused, staring at him. “What are you anyway?”
