Gritting her teeth, she pulled the soft gray material down around her shoulders, ignoring the fine embellishments in lavender upon it. “I hate you.”
His smile widened with quiet, wicked laughter. “Delighted to know that, but tell me, am I wrong?”
Glancing down at the elaborate floral embroideries and a beautifully cut amethyst clasp and lined with the softest fur, she was sure that her teeth were about to break from gritting them so hard in her loathing to agree with him. It was a beautiful cloak made for a wealthy woman with a similarly deep hood, but unlike her usual selection of cloaks, that were always a bit too long for her, it was at a length merciful to her size.
“It is passable,” she muttered in response as she adjusted the length around her and fixed the clasp in place.
And at her side, the asshole laughed.
ChapterSix
The anger burning in the necromancer’s eyes gave him a little thrill beyond mere satisfaction. It was a dance between them that he was enjoying. The moment he had seen the merchant with his wife parading past them, he knew that he had to have it just so that he could relish this moment. Paired with the bite of the mead, it was turning out to be a pleasant enough evening. Even the hostile glares of the locals were entertaining. It would be quite satisfying to leap up and give them all a great scare, but he restrained himself and sipped at his mead as he turned in his chair, watching the hostile crowd.
He swallowed and swiped his long tongue over his sharp teeth and lips to capture stray drops. Several gasps had the corner of his mouth inching up in a grin. For all their capacity for violence and bravado, humans were such nervous creatures. Perhaps he would surround himself with some handpicked ones who would continue to entertain him. His eyes slid over to the female at his side, and his smile slipped slightly as he narrowed his eyes in consideration.
Her appearance was unfortunate, but he had to admit that her resilience against him even at his worst intrigued him. Oh, he still wished that he could simply kill her and be free of her control, but perhaps if she had not leashed him like a dog to her, he would have found her company more amusing than he did. He might have even considered keeping her.
Keep her?Was the mead going to his head already? Perhaps the many years of being dead affected him adversely. He gave his drink a skeptical look, swirling it absently. He did not feel as if he were experiencing any ill effects. What could he possibly want with a worm-white human female with an infuriatingly combative disposition? If he were to surround himself with female pets, he would choose those with complexions that had some hue of human warmth to them, and submissive natures to take to their own leashes at his feet with no desire but to pleasurehim.
The necromancer would never drop to her knees and beg to receive his pleasure. He did not know why his mind insisted on turning toward her as it had begun to as of late or what fascination she held for him that had him continually seeking her out. It had to be another effect of the resurrection. His ‘leash’ to her must demand that he, in some way, yearn for that closeness. He certainly did not wish to be in her company, especially not after so many days already passed in which they had been stuck together. It was ludicrous.
Perhaps he would feel better if he just killed something and got whatever tension that was lingering within him out of his system.
He took in the humans with an assessing look. Surely one of them would make a satisfying victim. Who was it going to be? There was more than one surly, sneering human slanting calculating looks in his direction. Some were of a size where they might even be entertaining to take down. It disturbed him, however, that though several of them were cutting him wary looks, their accusative gazes seemed to keep landing in one place.Hisnecromancer.
His lips pursed thoughtfully. It was not like him to feel possessive over another being.
On the other hand, as much as he was leashed to her, she was his, as well as the only thing keeping him together and in one piece, so to speak. Not only was he too invested in his self-interest to not tolerate any potential danger to himself through the necromancer’s untimely demise, he also was never good at sharing.
Cocking his head, he swirled the amber liquid in his cup, his eyes narrowing on one particularly large male with a network of scars and a dull metal limb glaring in her direction. The human’s eyes flicked to him once, his expression growing fiercer when they returned to the necromancer. Were they blaming her for… him?
That is terrible. I am more than capable of being a dangerous presence to be feared without her help.
Despite everything he found intolerable about her, she brought him a lightness of spirit that he had not felt since he was young. He had not enjoyed himself so much since he was a youth sneaking around his mother’s castle. Her reactions were always entertaining, and she never failed to return fire. It was surprisingly fun, though he never would have imagined that it could be if he had not experienced it for himself. Even if he could find a way to be separated from her, it would be a pity to lose that too soon.
Leaning back until he met her eyes, Ashul whispered, “I will return.”
The necromancer’s pale brows drew down, slightly bunching the dark mark on her forehead as she gave him a confused look.
“What?” she hissed back, but he was already standing and walking away from her, his predatory gaze fixed on the burly human.
What would the human do? Would he sit there and continue to glare until he found an opportunity to catch her alone, or would he make a move now? It was a curious matter. Humans were generally unpredictable since he had so little experience with their species. The way the male shifted anxiously in his chair, Ashul suspected that he would not wait.
A malicious grin slowly spread across his face as the human moved, his massive body heavy with muscle and thick with an excessive diet of beer that Ashul could almost smell seeping from every part of his body rising from the table.
Perfect.
Cutting among the crowd that slowly pulled away from the walls and remoter seats to get an eye of the action, Ashul trailed after his prey, his smile slowly growing. With only a movement of his claws, he drew the shadows in, the energies shifting around him as he prepared forthe hunt.It was a small trick of the drow but decidedly effective, perhaps even more so among humans since not one seemed to notice that he stalked amidst them.
The human lumbered forward, the veins in his neck straining as he shouted. “Hey! You, there! Necromancer. We do not want such evil works around here, or your foul toy!”
Startled, Ashul drew to a sudden stop, his eyes narrowing in offense.Toy?The human dared to call him, a minor drow prince, a toy? He would enchant wire and drag it through every limb on the male’s body until he was nothing more than a puppet of flesh, and then they would see who among them was the toy. His infuriated gaze turned toward his necromancer, but to her credit she did not so much as shift in her chair as the human approached, even though her shoulders hunched, her body tense as if preparing for imminent attack. Otherwise, she sipped her mead as if unconcerned with the male’s hostility, as if she held all the power and he was nothing. As one who recognized the tactic, seeing it in play from the small female was nearly admirable as she prepared her own attack. The air was nearly so thick with tension that Ashul could almost taste it, and it was sweet.
One of the male’s companions suddenly stood and grabbed the man’s arm. “Ryick, come on, let’s just return to our drinks,” his friend murmured worriedly. “Nothing good will come of this if she has a dark one under her power.”
Dark one.Ashul rather enjoyed the sound of that. It had a certain artistic menace to it that was applicable on so many levels.
“Are you going to say nothing?” the male snarled, brushing off a companion who tugged on his arm.