Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“It was supposed to be a home for his family, but they died a century ago.” She peeked under a dust cover concealing a settee. What was she searching for? “The wizard sealed himself up inside until he kicked it a few decades back. Some say he lost his mind and was up to no good, while others say this castle is his booby-trapped tomb.”
“Why would you come here without backup? Your sisters wouldn’t have sent you off alone.” He knew this for a fact, had run into the oldest Dyer sister earlier. Lea. Fearsome creature, that one.
But then, the five sisters were all formidable in their own ways, rumored to each possess a different witchly caste power.
Lea’s piece of advice for him still resonated. He would never forget it because he replayed it every day. . . .
Poppy shrugged. “You know I work jobs by myself.”
“And I’ve always wondered why.” Rök had recently undertaken a slew of solo missions himself, but he preferred the camaraderie of a partner or a crew.
“Did you know that each of my sisters is named after a plant?”
He did. Oleander or Lea, Sage, Clover, and Belladonna. Herbalists and concoctionesses, they utilized plants in hex pouches.
Funny, though, when he’d taken Poppy to dinner, she’d ordered steak, rare. “Yeah, so?”
“So, I grow best with my own spot in the sun.”
How could she be so cavalier? No job was worth her life. “Now you might be about to die in a dark castle. Plants do that too.”
She winked at him.
Frustrating witch! “At least try to use your portal. I’ll make it worth your while—”
Without another word, she started across the foyer, heading deeper into the castle. Her boot heels clicked against stone, her jeans rasping between her shapely thighs.
He watched her sexy stride for heart-stopping seconds. At least she tempered some of his teleporter’s claustrophobia. If he had to be trapped with anyone, he’d choose Poppy.
What a fitting name.
Pretty flower. Ruinous drug.
When he’d first encountered her on jobs, he hadn’t considered her anything special to look at with her bright hair scraped back in a bun and her serviceable work clothes. She had nice features and eyes the color of a new leaf, but nothing to make him do a double take.
Her scent though. It’d gotten him as randy as a stag encountering its first dose of heat.
In concoction terms, her scent was three parts vitality and one part smoky poppy blossoms, with a hint of womanly arousal. In other words: smoke-demon nirvana. So of course Rök had asked her out.
When she’d let down her hair for their date and he’d seen all those glorious locks framing her heart-shaped face, he’d been enraptured.
The little middle gap in her white teeth? Adorable. The glimmer in those green eyes as she’d mocked his best seduction lines? Made him hard. The sight of her curves in a rain-dampened dress? Gods below have mercy on this demon.
Yet after one tiny hiccup, she’d ditched their date. When she’d finally agreed to another one, the capricious witch had stood him up and blocked his number!
She was attracted to him—who wasn’t?—but it hadn’t been enough to bring her back for more. In fact, she’d avoided him for two years, dating someone else for half of that time.
He watched her for a moment more—mercy on this demon—then traced to catch up.
And didn’t go anywhere. That was going to take some getting used to. “Heading right into danger?” he asked as he jogged to her side. “Your pay must be astronomical.”
She strode toward a grand staircase, leaving a wake of disturbed cobwebs. “I’m very motivated. Your client paying you well?”
He’d let her believe he had a client; he did not have a client. “Would I ever take a job with measly pay?” Not a lie.
“Yet a spymaster like you didn’t research?” She shook her head, and a long curl escaped her bun, the color stark against her leather jacket.
“Didn’t get a chance to.” His former merc partner, Cadeon the Kingmaker, would razz Rök about the amount of research he usually did. Tonight’s preparation? Several demon brews and a blind leap into the unknown. “You could say this was a last-minute opportunity. I heard something tasty was here and wanted to jump all over it.”
Looking titillated, she said, “Spill.”
“As soon as you do,” he countered, wondering how to explain his actions. Well, I was at Erol’s bar, roiling inside, contemplating how selfish a prick I might be—
Skittering sounded from the floors above, drawing his attention. “What’s the intel on the castle’s bogeys? Could be kobolds up there.” Those gnome monsters worked in packs to take down unsuspecting Loreans.
“I’m sure it’s just rats.”
His horns all but twitched. She’s lying. Over the years, he’d discovered that she was a piss-poor dissembler. But why lie? He sensed impending danger.
Good. He welcomed it, felt more firmly in his comfort zone. Yet she looked uneasy. “Never had a mission hiccup, Red?”