Page 5 of Our Radiant Embers

Aww, really? If he thought he could intimidate me, he had another think coming.

“Honestly?” I shrugged one shoulder, easy as you please. “Right now, the air feels hot rather than thin to me. But yeah, it’s fun trying to actually earn my stripes rather than having them stitched in gold by the family tailor.”

A sneer distorted his otherwise pretty face. “Just be sure you can handle the burn.”

Man, who’d let this little terrier out of the basement? If he absolutely had to lob threats around, he could at least try to be subtle about it—wasn’t that the patented Harrington way? Smile in your face and stab you once you turn your back.

This wasn’t medieval times; we did have some form of justice system in place that went beyond ‘survival of the strongest’. But it had more holes than a Swiss cheese, and exploiting those was a skill mastered by some more than others. The police stayed out of it, of course—the Home Secretary made sure of that, and it wasn’t like there’d be any point in running to the cops for help anyway. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

But also, screw this kid and his inbred sense of entitlement. I was about to tell him just where he could stick his attitude when someone else beat me to it.

“Christian.” Adam’s voice was sharp. He left it at just that, but the message must have been clear because Christian ducked his head and slunk off after a sullen look at me.

Wow. Every single member of my family would have given me an earful for using that tone with them.

“Your family,” I told Adam sweetly, “should do a better job house-training your puppies before letting them off the leash.”

He turned to face me with that delightful scowl he seemed to reserve for me. How flattering. “Decent pitch. Almost made me believe it’s something you could handle.”

“Why thank you.” I made sure to flash him a particularly toothy smile. “It so pleases me when I amuse you, darling.”

His face twitched like he’d tasted something rotten. Chill, mate. Hating his guts didn’t mean that I was going to drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet—lines needed to be drawn, and that was one I personally wouldn’t cross.

Our magical community was rooted in conservative traditions. I was out, and while few openly objected, I was treated with amused indulgence, as though I must be mistaken. Gay and a mage? Surely not. As though the two were mutually exclusive when I was convinced that plenty of people in this room didn’t score a zero on the Kinsey scale. Case in point? Adam.

Yet in our world, professional matchmakers were judged not by the joy they brought to couples, but rather on their effectiveness in ensuring the birth of suitable heirs. It rendered deviations from the sexual norm an inconvenience.

Adam folded his arms and leaned in, voice a disgruntled murmur. “I’m not?—”

“Your darling,” I interjected smoothly, equally quiet. We were close enough that I caught a whiff of his aftershave. Still the same as—hold that thought. “That’s just fine with me. I have standards, you see, and they include a moral compass. So if you want to hang out in that nice, comfy closet of yours? Stay put. It’s none of my business.”

He stared at me for a full second before his eyes darted away. Checking to see if we were being watched, no doubt, and of course we were. In these circles, knowing who spoke to whom wasn’t just idle gossip but its own form of currency. I’d learned that the hard way when a prospective client I’d lunched with went to the Harringtons instead, choosing their overqualified services for a project that was clearly beneath their usual scale.

Live, grow, and learn to trust no one other than your immediate family and the people who’d greeted you before you were on the guest list.

Adam’s gaze caught mine, another moment of silence spinning out between us. “Thank you,” he said then, so quiet I barely caught it. “For not outing me.”

What.

“Thank you?” I echoed. My shock must have been obvious because his lips twitched, and for once it wasn’t in distaste but amusement.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Yeah, no.” I shook my head. “Definitely not. I expect that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

For a second, it looked as though Adam was going to say something else. Then his attention slid past me, and the moment was gone. I glanced over my shoulder to find another Harrington glowering at me—Adam’s dad. Well, I sure was a popular guy tonight, wasn’t I? All the sharks wanted a taste.

Except I’d had it up to here.

“And on that note,” I told Adam flatly, “enjoy the rest of your evening. I hope I won’t see you anytime soon.”

I slipped away before he had a chance to respond. God, I was so fucking done with this crowd. I’d wanted attention and I’d got it, yes—that warranted a celebration. Preferably in a pub with a well-curated selection of beers on tap and not a single cufflink in sight.

In other words: grab George and get the hell out of here. Anyone wanted to discuss business? They knew where to find me.

Just not tonight.

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