Magic Forged (Hall of Blood and Mercy #1)(45)

“Her ignorance makes her daring.” Josh held out my sword for me, which I took with a smile of thanks.

“What, no prophecy that as a wizard I’m closer to death, and it unhinges my inhibitions?” I joked.

“That is also likely true,” Josh agreed. “I thought I would be sensitive to your lifespan and refrain from mentioning it.”

I snorted.

Josh bowed to Killian. “How do you wish for us to proceed if we see any wizards in the future?”

“Question them,” Killian said. “If they are sent by someone, immediately kill them.” He ignored my squeak of anger. “If they ask to see Hazel, let them, but stay within range.” Killian glanced down at me.

The last orange light cast by the long-gone sun had faded, but the moon was bright, so I could still see Killian’s speculative look pretty easily. “What, you think I’m going to start getting visitors?”

“Possibly,” Killian said. “Now that it is confirmed you are under my protection, any allies you have that are brave—and stupid enough—may come.”

I bit my lip as I thought of Felix and Momoko. “You might be right,” I admitted. “Thank you.”

Killian shrugged. “Continue with your run,” he said. “The time it took you to get from Josh to the road was abysmal.” He was gone before I could say anything more, running so fast he made a slight breeze.

I indignantly held my katana to my chest. “He just can’t say anything nice, can he?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Josh said. “Are you ready?”

I puffed out my cheeks then nodded. “Yeah…Thanks.”

“Into the blackness of the night, which perhaps mirrors the color of my soul,” Josh morosely said.

“You have got to get out more.”





Several days later, in the late afternoon, I found myself the unlucky recipient of Killian’s attention as he scrutinized me in my suit—which had already been adjusted by a tailor after what I thought of as the “murder meeting”.

Apparently, the tailor hadn’t done a good enough job, because Killian was looking me over with the critical eye of a mother-in-law as he lounged on a leather couch. “You look like a child dressed up as a secret service agent,” he finally said.

I tapped my foot—my favorite part of the outfit given they were reinforced leather boots that cut off at the ankle—on the mosaic tiled flooring. “I can’t help my height.”

Killian sighed and slightly tilted his head back. “It’s going to be a pain trying to make you look even half as fierce as you should.”

“Is that why you make all the Drake vampires wear suits?” I asked.

“No. Increasing your fierce factor is something you need given that you have the appearance of a puppy. My vampires are intimidating in their suits, but for an entirely different reason.”

I rubbed the back of my neck as I thought. “It sets you apart, but it also shows how aware you are of modern times and conveniences. Is that why everyone has smartphones?”

I didn’t expect an answer, but Killian smirked. “Precisely. Given my kind’s terrible habit to be complacent and spend most of their time complaining about change, the stark difference in my Family is unsettling.” The smirk fell from his face, and he abruptly narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have a phone.”

“Nope,” I said. “I had to leave it behind when I ran.”

“You’ll need one.”

“What, so I can call Celestina if I get lost on the running trails?”

“No, because eventually we’ll have to take you out on a test run,” Killian said. “And it’s imperative that you are able to communicate.”

I tugged on the lapel of my black jacket—which was actually quite comfortable, though it was going to be a beast to walk around in when the true heat of summer hit. “It’s still tough to run over a mile at a time, and you want me to go out to a fight?”

Killian shrugged. “You need to get used to blood and death,” he said. “I can’t have you whining every time an enemy is slain.”

“If you traumatize me, I’ll just whine more,” I warned him.

A dangerous light lit up Killian’s eyes, making the black depths show just a hint of red. “Traumatize…now that is a thought.” He sat up on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at me.

I forced myself to stand still and boldly meet his gaze. (If I squirmed, I had learned he just pushed harder.) I didn’t have to like it, though. I wasn’t sure what was worse—weightlifting with Rupert or hanging around Killian like a pet.

Killian stood and glanced at the window—which had a gauzy curtain drawn to block out the brightest bits of sunshine that managed to peek through the dull gray clouds. He’d probably heard something, based on the slight quirk of his eyebrows. (I was coming to learn that his eyebrows were the gateway to his moods, and thus studied them hardcore.)

“Where is Celestina?” I asked. “She usually comes to get me right about now for practice.”

“She’s out for the afternoon,” Killian said.

“Oh, on a mission?”

Up went one of Killian’s eyebrows, signaling his amusement. “Mission? We’re not an intelligence agency.”