Lucian gave him a somewhat scathing glance. “Except that witches rely on natural magic, whereas a dark sorcerer uses the magic of this world and the other. In this case, that is probably as close as we’ll ever get to Aedh-strength magic.”
“Which does not mean we should discount other options without even exploring them.” Azriel’s voice held a dangerous edge. “Risa, you cannot—”
“We have to at least talk to this sorcerer,” I cut in firmly even as trepidation crawled across my skin. I’d heard too many of Ilianna’s stories to ever be comfortable in the presence of a dark sorcerer. “Even if we do nothing with the information he gives us.”
“At least someone in this little group has some common sense,” Lucian said. “I’ve arranged a meeting for this evening.”
“I’m working at the café until eleven.”
He shrugged. “Shall I pick you up, or would you prefer to meet us there?”
“The latter.” I didn’t want to be reliant on him to get back home, simply because that was one sure way to end up in his bed rather than alone in mine. Amusement teased his lips again. I added, somewhat crossly, “I thought you could only read my thoughts during sex?”
“That is mostly true.”
Azriel snorted softly. I ignored him and said, “Define ‘mostly.’”
Lucian shrugged again. “Thoughts of a sexual nature are easier to pick up. Anything else is very muddy.”
“Muddy” didn’t mean he couldn’t read them, just that they were harder to hear. Fabulous. Not.
“When and where do you want to meet?”
“There’s a lovely little bar down the Paris end of Collins Street—Maxwell’s, it’s called. Shall we say midnight?”
“Fine. Now, if you don’t mind, get the hell out of here so I can go home and get ready for work.”
“Your grouchy side is showing, my dear.” His gaze swept to Azriel. “Understandable, I guess, given the company you’re forced to keep twenty-four/seven.”
Azriel took one step forward, then stopped. Other than the slight tightening in his jawline, his expression remained as impassive as ever. But the emotional turmoil that exploded through my being just about sent me staggering.
Lucian was a dead man if he ever gave Azriel the slightest reason to attack.
He will not, Azriel said. He is not that stupid. Nor am I that rash.
You might be if you hang around me for too much longer.
Many things might happen if I hang around you too much longer.
It was a comment that sparked an avalanche of questions and possibly some hope, but before I could say anything, Azriel winked out of existence—neatly avoiding said questions—and Lucian stepped closer. His scent was an enticing mix of lemongrass, suede, and musky, powerful male.
“Until tonight.” He caught my hand in his and raised it to his lips. The kiss was light and teasing, and oddly erotic. “Wear something sexy.”
“I have no intention of wearing anything sexy—either for you or for this dark sorcerer.” I ripped my hand from his, but the warmth of his lips lingered, making my skin tingle.
Amusement played about his mouth. “I can’t still be in the bad books for previous behavior, surely.”
“You can, and you are.” I shrugged. “It’s going to take some pretty stellar behavior to get you out of the bad books.”
“Ah, a challenge. I like that.” He hesitated, then added, “One thing, though.”
I raised my eyebrows in question when he didn’t immediately go on, and he half smiled. “This may seem a strange request, but do not wear your demon sword when you meet our sorcerer. They tend to be sensitive to demon magic, and it would create the wrong impression.”
I snorted. “I’m not really caring about the impression I give to a sorcerer.”
“You might if you want a solution to your problem.” He caught my hand again and dropped a soft, sweet kiss on it. My toes curled in delight. “I promise to protect you from any harm the sorcerer might offer.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to protect me from you?”