Page 174 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
Someone had infiltrated our ranks and was feeding the city information.
And they were smart. They had kept quiet while we had put an end to the auction, pretending we had the upper hand, and restrained from setting a trap.
Instead, they had identified Kali as easy prey and had patiently waited for the perfect moment to reach her, when she was alone, away from us. They had similarly attempted to eliminate Zion a multitude of times, but that insanity of his had made him a difficult target. But she was someone without experience and skills.
They were trying to lure us out. The traitor walking among us knew we were not ready for war and that meant the city did too. Ilasall sought to push us into launching the first attack to avoid a repeat of what had happened twelve years ago. Because if we were the aggressors, they could spin the story that we were the savages, the ones who had to be annihilated, so not even the dust of our bones remained.
And going after Kali had been the first move of the Head of Ilasall in our game match. We stood on the opposing sides of a chessboard, him commanding the white side as their king and me matching his moves with a knight and a queen by my side. The ones he strove to slaughter to throw me off the board.
“No. No one has tried anything at Conall’s compound, and Damia said things are quiet at hers too.” Zion grabbed his knife as a customer reached out to place a hand on Kali’s lower back.
Moving aside, she avoided his touch. He leaned sideways in his chair, about to slap her ass, but she spun away, muttering something indiscernible over the thrumming beats of music and storming off.
“If he lays a hand on her, he’ll lose his arm. His hand alone won’t be enough,” Zion ground out.
“Now, it will not.” I scooched to the edge of our booth’s seating as Kali whirled between the tables toward us, careful not to step on anyone’s feet while balancing a tray of drinks.
Zion smiled at her. “Pretty birdie.”
She ignored him, swiftly replacing our empty glasses with refills in total silence, her face distorted with a grimace and her cheeks pale.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his beer forgotten on the table.
“Nothing.” She stretched her smile wide, the facade painful to watch. “I’m good.”
“You are not.” I pulled her between my legs, stroking her hips with my thumbs. More than four months had flown by since we had brought her to the compound, more than enough time to learn to read her body language. “If you prefer not to talk for now, that’s fine, but we will later. Something is bugging you, and I will figure out what.”
Her forced smile faltered, and she rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes and slightly swaying on her feet.
My grip tightened. “But in case we have not been clear enough, there is something you should know.” I indicated to the idiot who had ignored my tattoo on her. “If he touches you, Zion will draw blood, and I, his bones.”
“Okay.” She murmured her consent and rushed to the table next to ours to take their order before I could question her lack of objections and huffs. She might have escaped me for now, but I was not letting this slide. The way she held herself was off, and a suspicion gnawed at me that she was avoiding us.
Sipping his drink, Zion tracked her movements. “I think she’s in pain.”
“Her shift will end soon.” I traced the cold rim of my glass. “We can find out the issue on our way home and then deal with it.”
He nodded. “Talking about problems. I have no idea which one of us is working for the city. The more I look into it, the more it seems that everyone could be it. Or them. We have no clue how many.” He put his beer on the table a bit too forcefully and the golden liquid sloshed over the rim.
“It has to be someone close to us or from operational teams. Otherwise, they would not be privy to the information they have.”
“So we’re essentially stuck. Living with a rat.” Flicking his hand to fling the sticky fluid off, he licked the pad of his thumb.
I swallowed as a need rose to suck the beer off him myself. “And if we do anything in the city besides our supply runs, a ploy for us to fall for most likely will await us. We cannot devise any strategies while we have a leak.”
“Fuck waiting,” he snapped. “I don’t have any patience left.” Zion picked his glass back up, downed half the contents in one gulp, and viciously wiped the beads from his chin. His lips glistened in the dim light as he rolled back his sleeves, revealing his veiny forearms.
My ink on his right arm.
My scars on his left.
My marks.
I had wounded him irrecoverably, yet I had not claimed him and his insanity as mine.
Deep down, I had an inkling that all this had been a question of time, not of want. He had toyed with my head for too long and all I could think about now was teaching him a lesson about how to bow and for everyone to see him do it. I had made sure they did with Kali at her tattoo celebration, but I was not delaying it with him.
I was doing it now.
