“No.”
Wulver waited a beat, but when Reign said nothing else, Wulver continued. “This attack was done by a master. The zombies were not created by someone new to the craft.”
Reign shrugged, the movement more eloquent then it deserved to be. “No master under my control had anything to do with the attack. My people know the rules. I’m sure you have studied them for magical brands – use those.”
“The zombies disintegrated once they were no longer functional. As I said, they were not created by a novice.”
Reign made a dismissive gesture. “My magical kin are not exactly union ized. I control those under me. I do not ask what others do.”
Wulver’s back was a mass of knotted muscle, but his voice was even as he continued. “There was also an orc attack in the city. Would you know anything about that? Orcs would never be able to get in the city on their own, and they would have no reason to do this without someone bargaining with them.”
“I’m afraid I do not. Is there anything else before you go?”
Laire made a great display of looking over her nails, saying in an offhand manner, “No surprise you suckheads are so weak you can’t keep tabs on one another.”
“Would you like to see how weak I am, Battle Mage? Do you truly believe I fear your little fireballs?”
Reign began to rise and Wulver began to growl. This was going FUBAR fast.
Fallon sidestepped Wulver, only the inches of the table separating her from Reign. She kept her hands down, away from her sword. “The only one here you should fear is me. I told you long ago, I’m the one to separate your soul from your body.”
Reign’s full attention was on her, those blood eyes as light as she’d ever seen. He reached toward her, the smooth skin of his fingertips grazing over her forehead while his thumb made sure, short strokes over her cheekbone, the strokes coming ever nearer her mouth.
She didn’t object. Her gaze stayed locked with his and her hands stayed at her side. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed his hand into the fall of her hair, wrapping a thick strand around his fingers and wrist. His voice dropped, deepening as he spoke words meant for her. “I love your hair. The color of blood at its most fragrant and powerful.”
The light tug on the strands didn’t hurt. Instead it sensitized her. The swirl of color in his eyes was myriad shades of red reflected and magnified. “You should let go now,” she said, low even tones that matched his own.
The corner of that edible mouth lifted, baring a fang. “Never.” He pulled her closer, keeping to that edge of discomfort that never crossed into pain. “Stay by my side.”
She ghosted her mouth across the air over his, one inch all the space that separated them, that he could feel the warm, moist puff of her breath a certainty. Her voice held a low, breathy undertone she had never heard come from her lips. “Never.”
He gazed down at her through heavy-lidded eyes, the pull on her hair now a welcome pain that did nothing to break her away from him.
Wulver’s voice came from behind her, tones that spoke of barely leashed violence. “Is there anything you wish to tell us about the zombie attack? If not, my people and I will take our leave.”
Reign’s lips thinned, the muscle in the corner of his jaw betraying itself with a small tic. His hand clenched in her hair, his greedy gaze roamed her face once more, lingering over each square inch of her skin.
Then he pulled back into himself, cloaking himself with decorum. He unwound her hair from his hand, sitting down on the couch. In moments the two women were back at his side. “I know nothing about the zombies. Good luck in finding their maker.”
Fallon turned to step down from the platform, Reign’s voice following her. “You are welcome anytime, Fallon, but please do not invite your friends again.” Without stopping she walked toward the exit, the shift in air currents preceding Wulver and Laire as they followed her.
Once they were in the car, Laire spoke. “That was productive.”
“To be expected,” Fallon said. “We knew talking with him was a longshot at best.”
Laire pursed her lips, studying Fallon with an intensity rare outside of a shoe sale. “Vampire boy is a little too touchy-feely with you, and you aren’t afraid of getting in his space. You sure you two never dated?”
Leave it to Laire to start awkward conversations at completely the wrong time. “Are you serious?”
Laire shrugged. “He may be the scourge of all the realms, but there is no denying undead boy is damn, damn fine.”
“So you think ultimate evil necromancer is my type?”
“I’d be really thrilled to find out you had a type. It’s not like I see you dating right now. Or ever.”