“Fuck.” Ryker glanced at the door. “Of all the times she could return from her trip, why now?”
Brynleigh wished she was surprised by the unfortunate timing, but she was a magnet for bad luck. Gods damn it all.
She had only had the displeasure of being in Tertia Waterborn’s company twice—once at Waterborn House and once at the wedding—and quite frankly, that was enough for her.
She would rather step on a thousand tacks than deal with the water fae Representative tonight. Or ever again, if she was being completely honest.
Another knock. This one sounded like Tertia put her full force behind it.
“Let me in, son. The doorman confirmed you were here, and I won’t leave until we speak.”
Ryker rubbed his forehead and raised his voice. “Just a minute, Mother!”
Her response came less than a second later, her words as cold as ice as they swept through the apartment. “Don’t you try to hide from me, Ryker. We will be speaking. Tonight.”
Brynleigh had heard death threats that sounded warmer than her mother-in-law’s voice.
Ryker looked simultaneously pained and exhausted as he kissed Brynleigh’s cheek.
“You should probably go,” he whispered. “I’ll deal with her.”
Thank all the gods.
“You don’t mind?” Brynleigh asked, even as she drew shadows to her palms.
Ryker winced as his mother started banging on the door. “Not at all. Be safe. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Before he had gone to Sandhaven, those words would’ve sounded like a threat. Now, they warmed Brynleigh’s heart.
Day by day, word by word, and action by action, the ocean that had once divided them was drying up.
Shrouded in shadows, she leaned over and brushed her lips over his. “Good luck, Ry.”
Having previously been the recipient of Tertia Waterborn’s ire, Brynleigh knew he needed it.
He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “You, too, sweetheart.”
Giving his hands one final squeeze, she let the shadows swallow her whole. The last thing she heard was Ryker saying, “Hello, Mother.”
Once again,Brynleigh stood before her Maker.
The office seemed even creepier than before, the carpet redder, the walls tighter as she recounted the mission from the previous night, her hands clasped behind her back.
“Josef Longrun did not die with dignity,” Brynleigh reported.
On the outside, she was calm and composed.
Inside, she was shivering. The air in the safe house was colder tonight than normal, and her shadows throbbed.
Brynleigh’s stomach had twisted the moment she entered this place, and everything within her was screaming to leave. Her shadows throbbed, insisting danger was present.
She agreed with them. There was something wrong here. Something dangerous.
It was probably the ancient, deadly vampire sitting in front of her.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Most men of his… caliber”—Jelisette’s lip curled, revealing her sharp, deadly fangs—“do not walk into death’s embrace with any form of honor.”
For once, Brynleigh agreed with her Maker.