Page 17 of Thorns of Death
“I do,” he agreed with that leisurely Italian gesture, a barely noticeable shrug. “The look on your face worries me though.”
“What look?”
“The same look you get when you decide to take on a challenge. Or to solve a puzzle. The one that will get you into trouble. Whether with this woman or the entire underworld.”
“Contrary to your belief,” I drawled, “I’m never in trouble with women. It’s the other way around. And secondly, that girl has nothing to do with the underworld, so we’re safe there.”
“How can you be so certain?” he challenged.
“She’s too direct. Outspoken. Women in our world are usually wary of men like us. They have instincts to stay away from anyone like us. Isla didn’t portray any of that fear.”
Manuel laughed as we made our way into the box. “This woman intrigues you, but apparently you don’t intrigue her, because she slipped out of the house without so much as a phone number or a love note.”
He referred to the many previous times when love notes were left with a phone number, email, address—you name it—in hopes of a repeated rendezvous. I guessed payback was indeed a bitch, because I was fucking ready to throw a fucking rock with my phone number through Isla’s window.
Wherever the fuck she was.
Both of us took our seats as I said, “I will find her. I might even bring her back to Italy with me.”
Manuel’s grin spread across his broad face as he clapped a hand on my shoulder, chuckling darkly.
“I can’t wait to meet the woman who has broken that steel armor of yours without even trying.”
“She hasn’t broken anything,” I noted, feigning nonchalance. “I just want to play with her a little bit longer.”
A glimmer of intrigue flashed in his eyes, but I didn’t think he bought my words.
Hell, I didn’t think I bought them either.
SIX
ISLA
Music was a big part of who I was.
From the moment a violin was put in my hands and I played my first note, I was sold on it. There was nothing else I wanted to do, and I spent hours, days, and weeks practicing. My brothers—Illias in particular—encouraged me to follow my passion.
I was seven when I received my first violin.
My music teacher just about had a heart attack when I strolled into class holding my very own Stradivarius violin.
Of course, Illias had done detailed research and got me the best out there. I wouldn’t have known the difference. I still had it, and hoped that one day I’d get to pass it on to my children. The truth was that I couldn’t bear to part with it. Nor the next one, or the one after that.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
My thoughts came to a halt as the rain droplets started—soft and cool. My friends and I ran inside the Philharmonie de Paris. The back entrance, of course. The manager of the building would have a cow if he saw me enter through the grand entrance.
The moment we were in the dark hallway, my friends whispered softly, “Break a leg.” The only one who couldn’t come tonight was Reina. She had to meet with her fiancé. Phoenix offered to go along with her, but much to my surprise, Reina refused.
Just as Phoenix turned to leave, I tugged on her sleeve. Athena and Raven kept walking, unaware that I’d pulled Phoenix back.
“Are you okay?” I signed.
She nodded. “I’m just worried about my sister.”
My brows furrowed. It felt like a half-truth.
“Are you sure it’s just that?” She nodded again, but I didn’t believe her. The despair was etched in her expression and sadness lurked in her blue eyes. “You can talk to me.” I hated to see her unhappy. We’d been friends for a long time now. Almost a decade. It was a gradual friendship, but was sealed in blood two years ago. Now, it was ride or die, baby. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. All of us. No matter what it is.”
