Wicked Deal (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 2)

In the small entranceway, he turned to me. “I am serious. You are safe here.”

The intensity in his voice made me shiver.

Cursed Mates.

If he was determined to protect me—because he was, I could feel it—then why were we Cursed Mates? Where did the “cursed” come in?

I needed to learn a hell of a lot more about this. And eventually ask him.

Not now, though.

Miranda, the hostess who stood behind the podium, beamed at us. She wore the same black-pencil-skirt-and-blouse uniform as usual, looking perfectly pressed and deadly.

The Devil stopped briefly in front of her. “How are things?”

“Going smoothly as usual. The body is waiting for you.” Her gaze flicked to me, calculating. “I hope you’re right about her.”

Irritation blazed, followed by the slightest prick of jealously. There was more between these two than just club owner and hostess.

But I should not be jealous.

That was nuts.

“Thank you, Miranda.”

The Devil and I departed, and as we entered one of the many dark, labyrinthine hallways, I leaned toward him. “She’s not just the hostess, is she?”

“She’s my second in command. A banshee. Smart and deadly.”

I grinned, begrudgingly liking the idea of this Miranda. I never held on to jealousy long, and I liked the idea of a banshee second. Honestly, I liked this whole new world. It scared the crap out of me sometimes, but it was impossible not to think about how cool it was.

A frisson began to prickle at my skin as we approached a door at the end of the hall. We’d avoided the club entirely, and we were nearly to the body.

“We don’t have to stay long,” the Devil said, sounding a bit uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He hesitated, his brow creasing. “I…find myself uncomfortable making you do this.”

My eyebrows shot all the way to my hairline. “What?”

He just shrugged.

“Huh.” Surprising. He was so ruthless and efficient. The fact that he was feeling guilty about twisting my arm was… “That’s unexpected.”

“I could not agree more. Come.” The iceman had returned, ruthlessly dragged to the surface, it seemed. He turned and opened the door.

I followed him into the small room. There was a table in the middle, and on it was a body. It appeared to be completely uninjured, though it reeked of dead fish.

I held my nose. “What the heck is that?”

“That is dark magic.”

“Whew, it’s foul.” Mac had explained to me that dark magic had terrible signatures—it reeked, sounded awful, and felt even worse. But this was more than I’d imagined.

“It makes it easy to determine those with ill intent, at the very least.”

“And he didn’t control his signature like you do?”