Page 30 of Siege of Blood and Betrayal

“It’s hard to miss. The guy is covered: arms, chest, neck. I wonder how far south that fretwork goes. Do you think it’s everywhere?”

Fucking hell. He’s going to get us both killed.

“Yes, and every bit of that fancy fretwork marks a kill. The guy is immortal and has been slaying for the Choir of Angels for millennia. Now, please, shut the fuck up or go wait for me in the car.”

Jaxon makes the universal sign of buttoning his lips and I pray he can do it. On any other night, I wouldn’t have brought him here.

This isn’t any other night.

When we arrive at the bar, Jaxon climbs onto the seat next to me and casts a sidelong glance. “How do you know so much about the people here?”

I pull a bowl of pretzels over and crunch one. “By hanging out here occasionally and striking up conversation. It’s a nuanced science though, so don’t try it.”

Jax frowns. “You don’t think I can hold up my end of a conversation?”

I scoff. “You’re one hell of a driver, Jax. Your reflexes behind the wheel are unprecedented and I value you as backup in a scrape, but you can’t filter well enough to make conversation here. Please. Keep your pie hole shut tight.”

“Rude.”

I take that as an agreement and raise my fingers to catch J.D.’s attention.

He slides down the bar and lifts his bearded chin. “What can I get you?”

“Two Scotch rocks, and maybe a bit of local news?” I pull out my billfold, peel two fifties off the outside, and toss them onto the pitted surface of the bar.

“Can’t promise anything, but you can ask.” He scoops up the cash and then slides two tumblers with ice onto the bar. Grabbing the Glenmorangie off the glass shelves behind the bar, he tips the bottle, giving us each a two-finger pour. “What’s on your mind?”

Trading information is a give and take. Unfortunately, I have little to give—for now, anyway.

I press my lips to the glass and toss the liquid bliss back in greedy gulps. “A group of fanger mutts made a move on theVasari seat tonight. I have it on good authority Francesco and his squire are dead.”

“McCullough? That’s a damn shame.”

Yeah, it is.“I’m wondering who’s behind it and who helped them get inside the royal residence.”

The guy arches a brow and tops me up. “Those are two big questions.”

“Do you have any answers?”

He scans the bar, looking nonchalant. “When liquor flows, there’s often talk. People want to rise above their station and alcohol gives them big ideas.”

“And have you heard any big ideas that include the Toronto seethe?”

He shrugs. “There’s been talk that the king and his son had a parting of ways and the heir apparent fucked off to flex his royal entitlement.”

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Zane isn’t some entitled prince. He’s smart and strategic and it has killed him to play the idle playboy these past few months.

“And has anyone voiced their desire to rise above their station?”

He shrugs. “No, and I wouldn’t expect there would be.”

“And why is that?”

He leans in. “Because it’s the dark races and mercenary types who come in here. If I were a betting man, I’d say you’re looking for someone who wants to take over an empire. The only reason those two groups would cross is to hire muscle to get the job done. Given your comment about the attackers being turned vampires…”

Right. “Whoever is behind this can make their own army.”

---