Page 74 of To Catch A Rogue
Chapter 14
At precisely four, Obsidian rapped on the door to Balfour's study.
"Come in," Balfour called.
Obsidian entered, scanning the room swiftly.
"No assassins behind the door," Balfour assured him with the faintest of smirks. He wore an elegant red military-style coat with gold frogging and epaulets. It was odd to see him with a neatly groomed beard, when he'd always been clean-shaven.
"I suppose it wouldn't be seemly. All that blood in the carpet," he replied. "Devilishly difficult to explain to the tsarina."
"Ah, but if I had arranged for an assassin, the question is: Would it be your blood, or theirs?"
Obsidian sent him a chilling smile. "Don't be modest, Balfour. There's a strong chance it would be yours."
"Take a seat." The former spymaster pried the top of the decanter free. "Brandy?"
"Only if it's bloody."
"Always," Balfour assured him, but Obsidian didn't take a seat until Balfour did.
They eyed each other across the desk as Obsidian sipped his bloodied brandy. As adhampirhis thirsts were stronger than those of most blue bloods, but he was growing used to the way the Company of Rogues diluted their blood with spirits or wine.
"Do you know why I invited you here?" Balfour asked.
"I presume I have something you want. And you have something I want." Obsidian cocked his left ankle up on his right knee, feigning nonchalance. He wasn't afraid. Not of Balfour directly. The man was an excellent duelist, but Obsidian had been trained as an assassin. They both knew how this would end if Balfour tried to kill him.
Balfour sipped his drink, his dark eyes watchful. "Always so blunt."
"We're not friends, Balfour. There's no point discussing the weather."
"You know, I always liked that about you," Balfour admitted. "Ghost postured too much—I presume he's dead?"
"Yes."
"And Silas?"
Obsidian glanced down into his glass, swirling the blood through his brandy. Silas was the onedhampirhe'd thought he could trust—until he finally realized Silas was the one who'd drugged him, then set the fire he'd once blamed on Gemma. Silas had hauled him to safety, blaming "that bitch," and Obsidian had spent years believing the woman he loved tried to kill him.
A betrayal like that could never be forgiven. "I'd assumed he'd make his return to your side like a whipped dog."
"Ah. You didn't kill him."
"Despite the fact he betrayed me? Lied to me? Allowed you and Ghost to use me?" His smile was thin. "No. He was my brother once. That earns him a reprieve. Just this once. If I see him again, it might be a different story."
"Ghost was your brother too."
"No." Once upon a time he'd thought so too, but now he was no longer certain if that had been a suggestion planted in his head by Dr. Richter, the scientist who'd put the control chip in his head, or whether he'd ever truly felt that way. "Why don't you cut to the point? You didn't invite me here to reminisce upon the past."
"Fine. Let us negotiate." Balfour leaned back in his chair. "I have a task I require of you."
He couldn't help a soft laugh escaping him. "You think I'd ever work foryouagain?"
"As you said, I have something you want...."
The bastard hadn't changed. Balfour pulled strings as naturally as he breathed. "Malloryn."
The smirk came back. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, no, Obsidian. I have something better than that." Balfour leaned forward. "Don't you want to know who you are?"
