Entwined Realms Volume One(41)
“You now accept that you are in danger?”
She sighed. “Guess I have no choice, do I? When a bunch of zombies and orcs come after you, it’s kind of hard to argue that it is one giant mistake.”
The teasing words came to him, another impulse he rarely experienced before entering her world. But though his first inclination was to swallow them, instead he freed them, directing them toward her. “I do not know, little human. You seem to have a great gift for arguing any situation.”
Her eyes widened. Were his words not received as they were meant? Perhaps…
And a huge smile broke out on her face, the effect that of the sun escaping from a dark grey sky. “Is that so, oh Great Leader? I’m honored that you noticed my wondrous skills in that area.”
He pushed back, gentle, not wanting to end their ease with each other. “I am sure the most silver-tongued of all elves could not argue more effectively than you.”
“That’s because no elf grew up with my family.”
He had nothing to add, so he stayed silent, letting the playfulness rest peacefully between them.
She spoke again. “How do we discover why they are after me? I acknowledge that they are after me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know why I have been singled out.” She ran her hands over her arms, the playfulness fading from her features to be replaced with a fearful uncertainty. “I’m scared.”
He did not dare touch her again, but he projected every ounce of his strength into his voice. “No matter who your enemy is, I will protect you.”
Chapter Fifteen
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“Why don’t they call this place ‘Goths R Us’ and be done with it? And seriously? Red velvet? Even I wouldn’t go there.”
Fallon didn’t waste the movement it would have taken to look down at the mouthy mage. Goth overload was an apt description of the vampire club. Black and red was the color scheme of everyone and everything, the haze of smoke beneath the dim lights could have been from the multitude of clove cigarettes or a few more nefarious drugs of choice, and with the attire on display, there was a good chance a leather-and-lace factory nearby had been robbed.
“And considering all the places you have gone, Laire, that is a statement.” She scanned the contours and corners from where they stood at the entrance. Invitation or not, this place was dangerous. Life-ending dangerous. Soul-stealing dangerous. Invitation or not, there was no letting down her guard. “Besides, do you really expect us to defer to your color judgment? Bubblegum pink? Why?”
A vision in leg warmers and a miniskirt, Laire pushed back her feathered, pink-tipped hair. “Just because you can’t understand color, don’t try to bring me down. Black should be an accent, not your whole color palette. I’d almost say you fit right in here among the groupies.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“No thanks, I don’t want a horde of suckers descending on me if I drew blood. And you,” Laire said, turning to the man who rounded out their spectacularly not-happy-to-be-here trio. “You need to up your act as well.”
“Hey, I do blue.” His dark blond hair was a shaggy mess that hung over his forehead, almost covering yellow eyes but not hiding the scar that ran down the right side of his face into his well-trimmed beard.
“Wulver, blue jeans every day are as bad as Fallon’s forever black. I do not give you a pass.”
“But jeans do good things for my tushie.” He turned his back to Laire, raising the lumberjack overshirt with one hand while pointing at his derriere with the other. “See? Proof right there. Why mess with perfection?”
Laire ogled him a touch longer than necessary before giving her nod. “You win. That is a great butt, truly a class by itself.”
“Thank you.”
“Before Laire comes up with a reason why we should start removing clothes to prove some theory, I got a question.” Fallon said. “Can we teleport out of here if this turns ugly?”
“Nope, our only hope will be for you to swing your sword, Wulver to fang out, and me to set everything on fire…Ooh! Liquor,” And Laire turned away to scamper to the bar.
“Laire, get back here! You do not drink before we meet with our mortal enemy.” Not even a stutter-step to indicate she heard. Fallon’s head fell forward, the annoyance-and-more-annoyance mixture swirling through her synapses so familiar when dealing with Laire. She turned to Wulver. “Can’t you control her?”
Wulver snorted. “Can you?”
“You are the boss.”
“Like that’s ever worked.”
They went over to Laire who was pounding on the bar. “Hey! Walking blood bank, I need some service.”