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.
She’d been in this line of work long enough to know that evil people were often the most cowardly. They wept, moaned, and screamed when faced with the same horrors they inflicted upon their victims.
Isvana-damned bastards.
“Yes, ma’am.” Brynleigh tucked a lock of hair behind her ear even though her stomach was cramping. “He lived a dishonorable life, and he died in the same manner.”
“I see.” Jelisette canted her head and studied her progeny.
She drummed her nails on the desk, thetap, tap, tapthe only sound in the office.
Even though Brynleigh was used to her Maker’s oddities, the knowledge that this behavior was somewhat normal didn’t ease the tension coursing through her. Every part of her was on edge as minutes dragged on.
Brynleigh needed to leave. Quieting her instincts and forcing herself to remain in this place of death was becoming more difficult by the second.
Eventually, the drumming ceased.
Another long minute later, Jelisette placed her palms flat on the desk.