Page 42 of Reluctant Rebel

Sabre laughed, walking swiftly outside beside Jinx. Nobody tried to stop them. “I sure did. I wish I could have recorded it. I would have set it as Draven’s ringtone.”

Outside, they stood watching Azim run. It was more like a frolic, really, but he had some speed. “That man runs with conviction,” Sabre noted. She turned to Jinx. “It was my cardio day this morning. Would you mind?”

“Sure,” Jinx readily agreed. She stripped off, handing Sabre her clothes before allowing the tigress within her to rise to the surface.

Jinx's bones cracked and shifted, and within moments, a magnificent white Bengal tiger stood, muscles rippling beneathher striped coat. She stretched, flexing her massive paws, razor-sharp claws digging into the earth.

Sabre grinned. “Enough biscuit-making.” She nodded toward the distant figure of Azim, his form growing smaller as he continued to flee. “Try not to hurt him too much. We need answers.”

Jinx bounded forward with a low growl of acknowledgment, her powerful legs propelling her across the parking lot. Sabre watched as Jinx caught up to the satyr within a minute. Azim glanced over his shoulder and let out another bleat of alarm that Sabre heard before Jinx executed a powerful leap, landing on top of him and pinning him to the ground. Sabre strolled to them leisurely, trusting Jinx to secure their little friend.

By the time she reached them, Azim’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled against the weight of a tiger. The acrid stench of fear permeated the air, mingling with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Jinx’s claws had pierced his shoulders.

“Thanks, Jinx. You can get off him,” Sabre said, petting Jinx’s head. “Azim isn’t going to run, are you Azim?”

Azim didn’t answer, his eyes looking everywhere but at them. Jinx rubbed against Sabre’s thighs, chuffing loudly before she sat her furry butt down and began to lick the blood from her claws.

“We have some questions for you, Azim,” Sabre began. “You can either answer them honestly and quickly, or I’ll have myknivesask you nicely if you get my drift?”

“Wha-what do you wanna know?” Azim stuttered. He made no attempt to get up.

“Word on the street is you’re trying to incite a riot,” Sabre said, making a show of unsheathing her sword. The razor-sharp edge of the obsidian blade glinted in the light.

“Inciting what? Me?” Azim shook his head frantically. “You got the wrong guy. I haven’t done nothin’.”

“Dendey told me differently,” Sabre said, tapping the sword against her boot.

Azim’s brow slammed down in a fierce frown. “Dendey? That dragon is a real fuckin’ prick.”

Sabre shared an amused look with Jinx. “That seems to be the general consensus. But it doesn’t change the facts. Have you, or have you not, spoken with others about overthrowing King Abraxis? Don’t lie!” she snapped, seeing calculation enter his expression. She carefully traced the tip of her sword along his jawline, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.

Azim whimpered and pulled his head back. “It wasn’t my idea!”

“Oh, I believe that,” Sabre promised scornfully. “I’m sure you’ve never had an original idea in your thick head.”

“Some guy approached me,” Azim explained. His right hand moved slowly, wiping at the blood on his face. “But not just me. He was talkin’ big to anyone who would listen at The Howling Moon.”

“When?” Sabre demanded.

“I dunno. Last week?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Sabre questioned silkily, raising her sword.

“Tellin’!” Azim shouted frantically. “Last week. It was last week. Friday.”

Sabre crouched next to him, patting his shoulder as if he were a good boy. “And what did he look like?”

“Can I sit up?” Azim asked quietly, bracing his hands on the ground.

“Sure,” Sabre agreed easily. She nodded to Jinx. “But one wrong move and my friend here will eat you. I understand satyr shanks are very tender.” Jinx chuffed as if agreeing.

Azim eyed Jinx dubiously, slowly sitting up until his furry legs were outstretched. “The guy was disguised. I don’t know what he really looks like.”

Sabre frowned. “How do you know he was disguised?”

“Because he looked like a dead dude,” Azim answered.

She reached out, twisting her fingers in his chest hair. “What dead dude?” she demanded through gritted teeth, though she feared she already knew the answer.

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