Devilish Game (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 4)

We’re not supposed to care about each other! I wanted to shout at him.

I merely looked away, catching the eye of the woman’s little poodle. The creature glared at me, its eyes on my cards. I scowled back and tilted them in so the little cheat couldn’t see them. Despite the fact that I could feel the magic-suppressing charm that surrounded the table, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could telepathically convey to his owner what my hand looked like.

One hand in particular was so close, the betting so intense, that I nearly lost my spot at the table. Everyone else except for Atticus had folded, and the charming bastard was about to drive me away.

I could win this if I just had the slightest idea about his cards.

Now or never.

If I was going to use the charm that Grey had given me, this was the time. Carefully, I slipped my hand under the table and pulled the little charm out of the top of my stockings. Tension pulled my skin tight.

Please don’t see me.

Grey coughed and nearly spilled his drink, and I wanted to shoot him a thankful glance. No question—he was trying to draw eyes away from me. Grey was so controlled and so smooth that he would never spill his drink.

Skin cold with nerves, I pressed the charm to the bottom of the table. Immediately, I could feel the suppression magic around myself deaden.

Casually, I pressed my knee against Atticus’s under the table. Immediately, images flowed into my mind, bombarding me.

Atticus, bribing a guard. Then him sneaking around the back hallways of the casino, looking for something. Interesting.

I tried to direct my power toward his cards, wanting to get an idea of what he held. Or at least, whether he was bluffing.

Bluff.

The knowledge blasted into me. I couldn’t see his cards, but the man was definitely bluffing.

“Well?” The dealer leaned toward me, his brows raised in question. “Fold or raise?”

I looked at Atticus, my lips pursed in thought. His gaze met mine, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Well?”

“Raise. One hundred and fifty thousand.” My voice wanted to tremble when I said the words, but I suppressed it.

Atticus grinned knowingly and laid his cards face down on the table. “Fold.”

I smiled and swept my winnings toward me, unable to believe that so much money was represented by little bits of plastic.

Next to me, the poodle growled low in its throat.

Shit.

I looked down at it, catching the menace in its eyes. The little bastard was onto me.

The old woman frowned at me, her pink lipstick matching her dress to perfection. She was about to accuse me—I could just feel it—when Cordelia appeared beneath the table.

I nearly jerked, surprised to spot the raccoon on the floor. My little sidekick reached up and grabbed the poodle’s tail underneath the table.

Say anything, and I’ll make you into my dinner. I do so love Poodle Fricassee. The threat in her voice was obvious, and the poodle stopped growling.

The woman, who hadn’t noticed Cordelia, looked down when she realized that her dog had quieted.

“You’re sure?” she asked the poodle.

The little dog glanced under the table at Cordelia, fear in its eyes. It nodded, and the older woman shot me a glare, then shrugged. “False alarm.”

Cordelia disappeared, and the poodle relaxed. It still kept its gaze on me, but it didn’t look like it was going to rat me out anytime soon.

“Madame Feriama’s poodle is an excellent detector of cheats,” Anton said smoothly.