Page 117 of The King's Man
“Let’s do it. If it keeps me close to you, do it. Just… tell me what to do.”
“Thank you. And we’ll finish this business as soon as we can. Until then, I’ll carry the bags. You stay at my side. But… we’re going to have to get you some different clothes.”
He walked towards the road, pulling me with him.
“What kind ofdifferentclothes?”
Jann winced. “Something that… makes it clear why I claimed you,” he said, then pulled me tighter against his side when I scowled. “Just a day or two, I promise.”
42.Noctharrow Haven
~ JANN ~
My body thrilled when Diadre walked out of that modiste wearing the scandalously low cut outfit I’d chosen. But my heart was sick.
She was stunning. If I’d had her in that outfit in the privacy of our own space, I would have been ecstatic. The gold embroidered bodice dove between her breasts, and cut off just below her ribs, leaving her midriff bare. The trousers were loose to below the knee where they pulled in around her shapely calf. But they draped from the very low waistband and when she walked the panels parted, baring her legs almost to the hip. At every step it seemed she might be bare to my eyes—and the eye of any man who cared to look.
More of the light, flowing material used on the trousers was draped from the shoulders to drift behind her and flow around her arms when she was still. But in truth, she would be more covered by a sleep shirt.
I wanted her with a fire that threatened to consume my blood. But I couldn’t take her here because I had to appear immune to her charms. Only concerned with keeping her because she was mine, notbecause she was precious.
It grated—especially when I felt her inward flinch when she looked at herself in the mirror.
But to my relief, once I’d led her away from the modiste and through the streets towards the den where I knew my contacts would be able to help, both our minds turned to the task at hand, and my heart sang to have her alongside me.
Noctharrow was a city of wide, mostly quiet streets inhabited by people who were anything but what they presented themselves to be. The darkness of this city ran in the sewers like blood. An ignorant visitor could walk the streets safely, then die in their bed. Or not. Depending whose attention they caught.
Diadre would be safe here in my shadow. And I would be safe—unless I said the wrong thing—because there were few alliances here, and even fewer loyalties. Noctharrow Haven was a haven only for selfish ambition or the fugitive who wanted to hide. For everyone else it was a trap, or a place to refuel on a journey and keep one’s head down.
We reached the building I wanted at high sun, both of us weary. But it seemed too big of a risk to take a room and sleep. I needed answers. I couldn’t afford to let news of our investigations run ahead of the information I needed.
So, grateful for the bond and the strength that passed between us as we walked, my hand on the back of her neck, but stroking her softly with my thumb under her hair, I casually led her down the narrow stairwell to the blank, nondescript door below the street level.
When I knocked, a small window was opened in the door and a pair of eyes appeared on the other side at the level of my chest, then scanned up—and widened immediately.
Moments later, the clunk of more than one lock rattled the door, then it was swung open towards us and a small head appeared.
“Sir!” They wouldn’t use my name here. “You were not expected!”
“It was an impromptu trip. I need a drink and some food. Let us in.”
The attendant squeaked, then opened the door wider, allowing us entry. He murmured a formal greeting as I passed him. Ignoring him and the guards in the alcoves behind him, because that’s what was expected of a Nephilim General. Without a backward glance I continued down the dark, dank stone corridor that opened into a large cavern under the streets.
The space below was carved from natural stone, overly warm, and lit only by occasional lanterns scattered around the edges in alcoves. The rocky cavern had been discovered when the building above it was built. The owner repurposed it as a bunker for safety in a riot, but eventually turned it into this den—a fortified spot where entry was by permission only, and it was understood that anything that passed here, stayed here.
The city was lawless.
The Den was closely watched anarchy.
Still, I had little to fear. Most of the men and women who patronized this place had a much greater interest in information than combat, though to believe any of them was not capable of defense—or murder—would be a mistake.
Even the staff were mostly former mercenaries.
I looked around for Blanc, the owner, but it was still morning. He was probably asleep.
The long bar at the back was where most of the light was centered so the staff could see what they poured and plated. Between it and the door where we entered was a massive, oblong lounge area. Tables of various sizes and heights each surrounded by anything from cushions to tall stools, to suit the different patrons of this place.
The sturdy tables with thick, solid wood benches and chairs were at the eastern corner, and I made my way there without hesitation, urging Diadre with me, though to others it would appear she had little choice in the matter, what with my hand clamped at the back of her neck.
